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ddejavvu · 10 months

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

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

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

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“-visit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’re able to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gifts!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“What is it, baby doll?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s-”

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When are you guys coming back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

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

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

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

- My dad’s eating one too :(

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

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or until you know the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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celebrityxcrushes · 1 year

Text

OUR FUTURE

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After a drunk Aegon misses the birth of his firstborn son, he is forced to have a serious conversation with his wife about the future of their marriage.

Word count: 1234

As a drunk Aegon sneakily made his way into the hallway leading to his chambers, he thought himself to be alone. However, as he opened the door to his chamber, he suddenly faced his mother.

Immediately noticing the disappointment in her face, he quickly realized that he was in trouble. It was obvious that she had been waiting for him, and it was obvious that he had done something to displease her.

With a nervous gulp, he slowly started making his way towards his bed. His head was pounding, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep off the alcohol. "Mother," he greeted, sitting down of the edge of his bed to remove his shoes.

Alicent could smell her son from the other end of the room, and knew all too well of the state he was in. Knowing that he was far too distracted by his own headache and tiredness, she decided to get to the point.

"Y/N went into labor while you were," Alicent paused slightly and raised her brows slightly in disgust, "occupied, and your son was born about an hour ago. Luckily it was a fairly easy birth, and they are both doing well."

Leaning back into his bed, Aegon let out a small groan and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"She's resting in her chambers. I will let her know that you will join her after cleaning yourself up." With those as her final words, his mother dismissed herself and left him alone with his own thoughts.

As your husband and as the father, it was not expected of him to be in the room as you gave birth. But you had made it clear from the start that you expected him to be somewhat present. It was your first child, and Aegon knew that you were frightened by the thought of childbirth. Especially as he knew of how your own mother had passed whilst giving birth to you.

Even in his current drunken haze, Aegon remembered how he, albeit reluctantly, had given you his word - promising to be there when the labor would start.

And as he dragged himself out of bed and slowly made his way towards your chambers, he knew that he truly had messed it up this time.

You felt your entire body tense up as Aegon entered your chambers. Although he had washed himself and smelled somewhat better, there was no hiding that he had been out drinking.

Your handmaid looked towards you, silently asking you what you wanted her to do next. Giving her a small nod to signal that it was okay, you turned to greet your husband.

"My prince," you whispered and gestured for him to sit down on a chair next to your bed. "Do you wish for them to fetch our son for you to greet him?"

One of the maids had taken him to his nursery shortly after his birth, as the maesters had instructed you to rest. You felt obligated to ask, but you knew what Aegon's answer would be even before you saw him shake his head.

"No need. I simply wanted to check up on you." An awkward tension spread in the air. "I'm glad you're doing well."

Shuffling slightly to reposition yourself, you felt a stabbing pain in your stomach. The physical pain was, however, nothing compared to the emotional pain you were feeling at the moment.

It was no surprise to you that Aegon had failed to be there for you. Although you had only been wed for less than a year, you had already gotten familiar with the feeling of disappointment that came from him letting you down.

But as you laid there, screaming out in pain and asking for your husband, an alternative life flashed before your eyes. One where you had wed another man, someone loving who gave you all the love you knew you deserved. Although you knew it was impossible, the thought filled you with a sudden sadness.

As you realized that you were lost in thoughts, and that your husband was waiting for you to speak, you calmed yourself with a deep breath. "I feel a bit tired and think I might rest a bit now, if you don't mind."

Aegon stood up and turned towards the door, but couldn't bring himself to leave. He hated the feeling of knowing that you were disappointed in him. The feeling of being a disappointment, first to his parents and now to you as well, had always made him sick.

And so he turned back towards you.

"Do you love me?"

As he whispered out the words, he squeezed his eyes shut - not wanting to witness your reaction to them. Aegon was confident that you would say no, and he couldn't blame you. After all, from the moment you were wed, he had been an awful husband to you.

Never physically abusive. Not once had he laid his hands on you, nor would he ever do so. But he was never present. Far too busy with alcohol and prostitutes, instead of being a loving or attentive husband to you.

But still, no matter how awful he had been, he was still the same Aegon that you have always loved.

As you contemplated your answer, your thoughts drifted to your childhood. You had grown up in King's Landing together with both Aegon and his siblings. While you were close with both Aemond and Helaena, and they were dear friends of yours, Aegon always had been your favorite.

As a child you loved following him around, and your crush blossomed as you grew older. The day your father told you that you were to be betrothed to the prince, you felt nothing but happiness.

You knew Aegon never shared your feelings, but you naively hoped for him to fall in love with you after your wedding. Your hope only grew stronger after he one night confided in you, letting you know that he wanted a different marriage for himself than the one his parents had. He wished for true love, just as you did.

"Of course I love you. I always have," you eventually whispered back to him. However, as Aegon let out a breath of relief, you continued.

"But I don't like you."

Your words felt like a knife to his stomach, but he knew that he deserved to hear them.

"And for this marriage to properly work, I need to like my husband."

Aegon tensed his jaw, but gave a short nod to let you know that he understood your words. For the first time in a long time, Aegon felt somewhat determined to get a grip on himself. He truly wanted to do better.

"I'll make you like me again then," he vowed. His eyes stared deeply into yours, and you could tell from the glassy eyes that he was still a little drunk.

"Nothing would make me happier than that, my prince," you truthfully said and smiled at him.

You weren't a fool. You knew Aegon had made countless of similar promises, both to you and to his own mother. Swearing that he would change - claiming that he would quit drinking.

But for your own sanity, you needed to believe that he truly could do better. If not for you or your babe, then at least for his own sake.

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slaymybreathaway · 10 months

Text

Romeo and Juliet (James Maguire x Reader)

Part 1 of 2

Warnings: intense pining and embarassment, lol :)

Word Count: 880

Masterlist ♡ Read Part 2 Here

It was Children in Need week at Our Lady Immaculate College and the girls had to sit, well stand, through an assembly talking about what fundraising the school will be doing for the charity.

"Hey, where's James?" y/n asked Michelle. Y/n hadn't seen him at all this morning.

"Ach, Jesus Christ. If I've left him on the bus again my ma's going to go nuts!" Michelle stressed

As Michelle went on a rant, Claire was trying to act out a conversation with y/n. Claire made a vow not to talk for 24 hours to raise money for Children in Need.

"Robot?" y/n guessed. "Malfunctioning Robot?" she turned her head in confusion.

"Are you really not going to speak for twenty-four hours?" Erin asked.

Claire shook her head vigorously. Y/n and Michelle shot each other a look, they had a 5 pound bet placed on whether she would screw it up or not.

"Yeah that's tough, you're better off not breathing," Orla suggested.

The four other girls gave her a look. "Would she be, Orla? Or... would she be dead?" Erin raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not doing me any harm?" Orla shot back.

"What?"

"Well, I'm not breathing for Children in Need," she explained.

"Wait, so you're telling us that you are... Not breathing... Like right now?" y/n asked.

"Correct," Orla sighed.

Erin rolled her eyes. "Grand, well I'm going down to the hospital to read the sick kids some of my work," she said, delighted with herself.

"Alright, Erin I'm not lying for 24 hours to help the sick wains so you know what I'm about to say is honest. Don't you think they have been through enough?" y/n asked. Erin wouldn't stop shutting up about her novel.

Michelle nodded in agreement. Before Erin had a chance to even give a witty reply, James burst through the the auditorium door.

"Hey, I passed! I passed!" he exclaimed, a big smile plastered on his face.

"Knew you could do it!" Y/n tackled him in a hug, putting her arms around his shoulders and almost knocking him over.

James stumbled but then eventually caught his footing. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around y/n's waist, the grin remained even when she pulled away.

"What are you on about?" Michelle turned to look at her cousin.

"My- my driving test. I passed," he repeated.

"You were doing your driving test?" Erin asked confusedly.

Then, the smile on James' face started to fade. "It's literally all I've been talking about for weeks,". Y/n patted his arm in comfort.

Michelle's rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ, James. There's only so many ways I can say this. We. Don't. Listen. To. You," she said before adding "Except y/n. But that's only because she wants to shag you,"

Y/n lowered her hand, she had told no-one about the crush she was developing on the English boy. How did Michelle find out? This stupid vow of honesty made it hard for her to get out of this situation.

"Wait, you want to shag me?" James turned to look at her. She ignored him.

"What makes you think I want to shag James?" y/n crossed her arms. The other four girls looked at each other in agreement.

"Well you're always the first one to ask me where he is," Michelle said.

"And you actually listen to him rant on about geeky shit," Erin continued.

"Aye, you do stare at him alot too," Orla agreed.

Claire joined in by pointing at y/n, making a love heart, then pointing at James.

Y/n took a deep breath. "What?"

"Ah don't worry. He fancies you too, talks about you in his sleep and all," Michelle cleared up, turning back to face the stage.

"I- I do not talk about y/n while I'm sleeping," James protested, his face turning a bright red.

Damn, now his secret was out. The anxiety leading up to his drivers test kept him awake at night for the past few weeks, thinking of y/n was the only thing that made him doze off. The past 2 months, there was something about y/n l/n that made James' heart beat faster just by talking to her.

"Aye you do and all. The other night I went into your room to... To steal a condom because I snuck Adam O'Shaughnessy into my room and the prick forgot to bring one. You didn't have any either, James. Fucking virgin," Michelle laughed.

Y/n stood her hand over her face, ready for this to be over and James's face burned an even deeper shade of scarlett.

"Anyways what was I saying? Oh yeah, so I went in and there was dicko over here," Michelle pointed at James "all like 'y/n, you're so pretty when you smile'. Ah, let me tell you girls, I almost started pissing myself laughing,"

Y/n lowered her hand from her face and looked up at James, who was looking everyplace but back at her, avoiding eye contact because of the sheer awkwardness. 'That was actually, kinda sweet' she thought.

No more about the topic was said as the assembly started.

#derry girls #ireland #derry city #james maguire #james maguire x reader

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adorethedistance · 1 year

Text

House Rules - Frat!Trevor Zegras x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, PDA, intimacy (PG-13)

Words: 1765

Summary: This is the first time Trevor’s invited you over to hang at TKE outside of party hours and the evening goes better than anticipated.

A/n: I proofed this one more than I usually do so hopefully y’all like it! I guess frat trevor is the direction we’re gonna go with this acc atm lol.

“You actually came!” Trevor jeers at me from where he stands in the entrance to the TKE house. I roll my eyes and, as annoying as the teasing is, he looks too good for me to be mad. He’s leaning with his right shoulder against the doorway and both hands in the pockets of his grey joggers. It’s a pleasant surprise to see he’s wearing a t-shirt and baseball cap instead of his usual hoodie and beanie combo. Not that I don’t like the hoodie. There’s just something about being able to see how toned his chest is.

“It’s a lot easier now that there’s no one at the door hassling me about a wristband,” I say once I’m close enough to speak at a regular volume. He smiles but shakes his head in a subtle surrender.

“Touché.” As I step onto the porch, Trevor steps out from under the threshold, completely invading my personal space. Before I can question the action, he places both hands on my hips and kisses me gently as a greeting. When we pull away he looks down at me and smiles softly. He’s not even that much taller than me but I feel like he’s fully towering over me. “Come on in.”

I exhale heavily, trying to relax myself. My palms are tinged with sweat and my heart is racing from more that just the kiss. Even though it’s already been a full month since our first kiss, this will be the first time he’s brought me into his space rather than hanging out at my place. I’ve met plenty of the TKE brothers here and there but this is the first time Trevor is having me over for longer than just a quick hi and bye.

Trevor leads me into the space and now that it’s lit by more than just LED party lights, I’m really getting a feel for what this place actually looks like. The walls are stained with various shades of grey from dirt and scuffing and other activities. There’s a hole in the drywall behind the door that’s perfectly aligned with the doorknob. Dirt and grime cover the floor from countless spilled drinks and substances. My shoes are sticking to the floor as we walk and I cringe at the idea of ever being without shoes here.

“Do you guys ever clean…? Like ever?” I ask, hurrying my pace to catch up to Trevor. Once I do, he takes my hand in his and leads me down the hallway to the stairwell.

“Okay babe, rule number one: drop any and all standards of living when entering a frat house.” My heart flutters at his use of a pet name but I don’t want to draw attention to it so I choose to bicker with him.

“Why do I have to drop my standards? Why can’t you just raise your own?”

“My standards are perfectly fine thank you- this way.” At the top of the stairs, Trevor nudges me to the left and down another long hallway of questionable sanitation. It’s not as bad as the ground floor but I’m sure the dark colored carpet was an intentional choice. There are a few random decorations on the walls: a ‘Saturdays are for the boys’ flag, a movie poster for Wolf of Wall Street, and various wooden paddles that have a plethora of names and years written on them. As we reach the end of the hall, Trevor stops me abruptly and knocks on the closed door of what I assume is his bedroom. He shoots me a mildly annoyed look and I quirk a brow in confusion.

“One second!” I hear a feminine voice call from the other side. What the actual fuck? “Okay, you’re good!” Does he just keep other girls in his room at all times?

As I open my mouth to speak, Trevor swings the door open and walks in. I don’t speak but rather move to stand in the doorway to find out what’s going on. When I look in the room I see Val lounging on the end of a twin sized bed. She smiles when she sees me and I instantly relax.

“Hey!” she tries to wave as best as she can but struggles because she’s leaning back, propped up on her elbows.

“I was gone for one minute and you two were already going at it?” Trevor asks facetiously as he flops down onto his own bed on the opposite side of the room. Val scoffs a laugh and shakes her head.

“For your information, Jamie was changing shirts so I waited until he was done.”

“Please. We’ve all seen Jamie shirtless.”

“She hasn’t!” Val argues on my behalf, “And she might not be comfortable with that.”

“You’re fine with that aren’t you, Y/n?” Trevor asks nonchalantly.

“I think that’s more of a question for Jamie, is it not?”

“Thank you for being the only one concerned with my comfort level, Y/n,” Jamie says, teasingly directing the remark to Val and Trevor as he shrugs on a sage green bomber jacket.

“Rule number two: clothes are optional,” Trevor adds.

“That’s rule number two?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Jamie walks over to the bed and sits down to put on shoes and as I observe him getting ready to go, I realize I’ve been standing in the doorway the whole time. I awkwardly step through and make my way over to Trevor. As I walk over to his bed I ask,

“Where are you guys going?” Trevor lazily outstretches his arm to grab my hand and pull me down onto the bed with him. So I sit on the edge, the outside of my right thigh against Trevor’s hip, which apparently isn’t enough for him as he refuses to let go of my hand. Val answers,

“We’re just gonna grab food real quick. Plus, I’m tired of looking at him.” She points an accusatory finger at Trevor, playfully narrowing her eyes. He glares back at her before tracing circles with his thumb on the top of my hand.

“When you point a finger at someone in blame-” Trevor says in a dramatic cadence.

“There are four fingers pointing back at you!” Val completes his sentence.

“Or three…” They say in unison and then share a laugh. Jamie and I exchange a confused look and he shrugs which leads Trevor and Val to gawk at us.

“Bullet Train?” Trevor asks incredulously. I shake my head slowly to indicate the name isn’t ringing any bells.

“I know Jamie hasn’t seen it, but you too?!” Val chimes in.

“I can’t say I have.”

“We’re watching it tonight when we get back,” she declares before turning her attention to Trevor, “I’ll have Jamie text you when we decide on where to eat and you can send him your orders.”

“Oh, you don’t have to get me-”

“Don’t trip chocolate chip. I’m interning with Paramount right now so I have big girl money,” she cuts me off mid-sentence, “Plus, I don’t want anyone to starve during the movie that we will be watching.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you.”

“It’s always important to rely on the kindness of strangers… even though we’re not strangers,” Val responds sweetly. She then looks at Jamie and her demeanor changes to playful exasperation. “Are you ready yet?!” Jamie looks at her a moment, both of them biting back a smile. Before Val can react, Jamie bear hugs her to tackle her onto his bed.

“Does it look like I’m ready yet?!” He bites back jokingly.

“Yes…?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Cool,” Val stands up and holds her hand out to Jamie which he takes. She then pretends to put her whole body weight into heaving him off the bed. “God, are you made of lead?!”

“Oh shut up.” Jamie stands before placing a kiss on Val’s cheek. She smiles brightly and then pulls him out of the room.

“See you guys!”

“See ya… I like Val,” I say to put a button on the moment. Watching Val and Jamie interact so sweetly makes me smile.

“Me too. She’s been really good for Jamie.” When I turn to look at Trevor, I find he’s already looking at me. Instead of breaking the moment he sits up and he stares into my eyes. His smile grows at the sight of my own.

“What?”

“You’re pretty is all.”

“So… what do you want to do until the movie?” I ask sincerely. Trevor doesn’t answer. He just smirks and I can tell exactly what he’s trying to say. Grinning, I slip off my shoes and he moves up to rest against the headboard. Crawling onto his bed, I straddle his legs before gently sitting on his lap. Trevor’s hands find my waist, caressing the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of my cropped shirt and the waistband of my pants. He tilts his head upwards to kiss me but before we connect, I take his baseball cap by the bill and slide it all the way around until it sits backwards on his head. He smiles up at me before closing the gap between us.

The feeling of his lips on mine sparks a fire inside of me, just like the first time we kissed. It was a full month ago and yet it feels like yesterday. His lips move passionately in sync with mine. He then pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, grazing the skin with an air of desire. Our movements feel desperate for one another, consumed by kiss. The scent of his familiar cologne, the delight of tracing my fingers over his jaw bone and lacing them into his hair, the electricity of his hands sliding over my hips to firmly grab my ass, all of it envelopes me at once. I can feel myself falling hard for Trevor Zegras. .

Gripping my left hand in his hair, I drop my right to rest on his firm chest. Under the soft fabric of his cotton t-shirt I feel the grooves of his three millimeter chain and hook my fingers in it gently. He groans into the kiss and I slide my right hand up to tilt his chin up. I kiss across his jaw and then down the length of his neck, occasionally grazing a bit of his skin between my teeth. He lets out a choked whine before reconnecting our lips.

“I want you so bad right now.”

“What about Val and Jamie?”

“We’re fine. Rule number three: always knock before opening a closed door.”

“Take me.”

***

A/n: I was gonna make this a really long part but then I decided to split up the exposition and the actual smut in favor of making shorter parts. Hope y’all liked it and get the decision to split things up.

#NHL imagine #NHL x reader #Trevor Zegras #Trevor Zegras fanfiction #Trevor Zegras fanfic #Trevor Zegras fic #Trevor Zegras writing #Trevor Zegras imagine #Trevor Zegras oneshot #Trevor Zegras one shot #Trevor Zegras drabble #Trevor Zegras blurb #Trevor Zegras angst #Trevor Zegras smut #Trevor Zegras fluff #TZ 11 #TZ 46 #baby duck #patito

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beelspillowpet · 1 year

Text

“I’m Hungry.” - Beelzebub x OC/MC

It’s been a while but I slipped up (with a friend) and wrote some stuff. I ended up writing for two hours lol. ANOTHER NSFW piece with Beelzebub because of course as a Beelzebitch I have to create and consume content of him 🧡

tskr, Eden for saving me time and reminding me I drew a header lol

Content warnings: Breed Kink | Overstim(?) | Size Kink | Like reeeeeeally big cock and a tiny woman | If it’s not obvious, Jinx is TINY.

Beelzebub sat on his bed, scrolling through his DDD looking for his food apps. He had complained of being hungry and wasn't allowed to leave his room until it was cleaned. Belpheghor was nowhere to be found for the extent of the exchange program and thus Jinx, his human transfer he was responsible for, had to take the lead. His hunger got to him before long while she swept the floor.

"Gaah... I'm starving... I ordered everything and it won't be here until way later..."

"Do you... want me to make you a snack?" Jinx offers, turning her head to look at him. The limitation was that Beelzebub couldn't leave the room. She heard no clause about herself though, and while she may be pushing buttons it was better than the gluttony lord getting so hungry that he devours her instead.

Despite her question though, Beelzebub seemed unimpressed. He stared at her, eyebrow raised.

"Actual food. Not me."

"I know that. Why did you think I'd eat you?"

"Well... ugh, just forget it."

Beelzebub laid back on his bed, stretching. "Don't tell me something ridiculous like "you wouldn't taste good" or something..."

Jinx cocked her head to the side. "Given we speak about cannibals or... well, you. I'd say I probably do. But I'm not on the menu."

"You'd be right about that. But you sound nervous." Beelzebub grinned. "Ya' scared~?"

Jinx rolled her eyes, setting her broom aside. "Not scared. Just cautious. Are you hitting on me?

"It'd be offensive if I didn't." Beelzebub said, rolling on to his side before sitting up. "I'm hungry." he complained. "Are you gonna get over here and be my appetizer or what?"

It did not look like he was asking.

Jinx sort of hoped he wasn't asking.

She played with the ends of her skirt while approaching him. "You should improve your vocabulary... you're not just hungry, Bee."

He could have said anything in response- he almost did. He opened his mouth to form some sort of rebuttal without a second thought, but his body reacted on its own and grabbed her, pulling her against him. "You talk a lot when you're nervous," he said. "It's annoying. But it's also kind of cute." he could hear her scoff as he pulled at the waistband of her skirt. She took that as a sign and began undoing her cardigan and button-up, all the while avoiding eye contact. The lack of it annoyed Beelzebub slightly.

"C'mere," he whispers, tugging at her shoulder to pull her into his lap. He sits up right, beckoning her to crawl into his lap so he can kiss her better. When she sits, she flinches a bit at the growing tent poking her inner thigh. He takes the moment of surprise for granted and hugs her against his torso, effectively crushing her tiny body in his grasp. He takes her mouth greedily, the premise of eating food long forgotten by the taste of her lips on his tongue.

She squirms against him and the friction goes straight to his dick. He moans into her mouth as a hand wrapped around her waist tangles itself in her hair. "Slow down...!" Jinx complains. All the same, Beelzebub takes the opportunity to stick his tongue into her mouth and too afraid to disappoint, Jinx keeps open for him. Her little hands grip his biceps and she shakes, overwhelmed by how much of her he has already claimed.

When Beelzebub parts from her, her lips are swollen up a bit and her pupils are pink. He licks his lips. "Enjoying yourself?"

Jinx wipes her mouth with the back of her closed fist. "It's... okay!" is her response and Beelzebub laughs. He places one last kiss on her lips before he flops back on the bed.

"Get up. Let me take my pants off."

A simple request, and so Jinx crawls off him for a moment while he undoes his complicated belts. Once the diligent task was done Jinx made a move to climb back on top but was promptly pushed down against his mattress. He climbed atop her and leaned down, planting delicate kisses around her neck and shoulders. His hand supported his weight above her while the other snaked down her belly. She cringed at the sensitive flesh being rubbed over her womb, ticklish as she started to giggle under him.

Then his fingers reached her pussy.

Long, thick digits smoothed against the precious place and her legs wanted to lock up tight so badly. He was staring in her eyes now, smirking at her anxiousness. She's about to speak when his first digit- what she would assume was his middle finger- slides inside. Her hands fly to her mouth as she gives a surprised noise, eyes widening as she looks back at him. His grin widens and suddenly a second digit is in her.

It takes her a few seconds to remember where she is.

Then she tries again. "Your fingers... are huge..."

"And?" Beelzebub teased. Jinx wants to slap that grin off his face. She has half a mind too, but then his fingers start jackhammering inside her, and even her name escapes her for a moment as the sensation takes her. Her other hand shoots down to grab his arm but it's just out of her reach. She settles for digging her fingers into his shoulder instead. He growls and her grip only tightens.

"Auugh... No more fingers...! I need you inside already!"

Beelzebub just keeps going. He dips his head down and captures one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue about her nipple. He shifts his weight properly, then releases his grip on her pussy and pushes the tip of his cock against her. He lets go of her breast with a distinct pop! and she can practically hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Ready...?" he whispers, knowing full well that she won't be. His fingers were a mercy. He demonstrates this by giving a sloppy thrust against her, and (un)fortunately it doesn't snag and slips up her clit. He lands heavily on her belly, his tip now neighbors with where her womb would be. Her breath hitches at this and when she's able to look down she sees the thing between her legs.

"Ah- ah- ah! That thing is..." she swallows thickly, sweat starting to form on her hairline. "H-huge... it's not going to fit...!?"

"We can make it fit." Beelzebub replies. He pulls back and lines himself up again. Now she decides to wiggle a bit, to no avail. When he pushes inside, he can feel her little body already trying to shove him out. It only excites him as he keeps going, slowly and painstakingly burying himself inside her. When his hips meet hers, his bush of pubes tickling her thighs, she finally lets out a pathetic little cry. Her thighs are quivering, but still wide open, if not to accommodate his wider frame against her.

She feels absolutely stretched, but to feel it is one thing and to voice it is another. Her brain informs her body that she is only capable of taking it, and not making a fuss about it, and so when she lets out a noise, it's quiet but hungry. He stills inside her, knowing he can be a bit much for your average demon, much less someone as small as her. When she clenches around him now, it's not to push out his invading member, but to massage and welcome it to stay. He drools a bit.

"H-holy... fuck...!" she weeps, straining herself to be silent. "Oh my goodness..."

Beelzebub flexes himself inside her. Her little belly jumps, and he can see where her body is giving way to him. "Take deep breaths..." he coos. He leans down and gives her soft kisses to her lips and neck. She just keeps clenching and slowly it drives him mad with want. Lucifer's gift to him was a tiny pink bundle of nerves to (barely) fit around his cock and he couldn't be happier. "C'mon baby, so fucking proud of you... it'll be alright, I promise... you can do it, good girl. Good girl..."

Jinx breathes harder. She sounds as if she's desperate already and Beel wonders what she'd sound like fresh off an orgasm. He's hungry. "It's too much...!' she sobs, wiggling on him. "I-it's just so big... you're in my stomach, Beel..."

He reaches down with his now free hand and pats her belly. He shudders in fascination as he can feel his fingers pressing against his cock through her stomach. "I know it's big, baby..." his voice is sweet and gentle, as if he's genuinely concerned for her well-being in this endeavor. Then his voice dips down an octave and Jinx swears she can hear a threat in his voice. "It will only get bigger if you keep clenching around me. So relax for me, alright? Unless you wanna split open on me tonight..."

Jinx covers her mouth, trying to still her body and will herself to relax. With the way her body is stretching out for him, trying to get accustomed to its new intruder, she finds herself distracted with the very details of his cock. The little bumps and lines of his veins, the way it twitches and practically begs to bruise her insides and make her scream. She keeps her legs still, afraid that any movement will send her body into shock and clench so tight around him that he falls into his primal desires. She takes deep breaths as he instructs. In... and out... in... and out...

She does this for a while with Beelzebub on top of her, grinning and likely holding back many forms of praise or ridicule for her little body being so unprepared. He could have scolded her for being impatient with him, and spun a tale about how he should be allowed to be impatient with her now, but he knows her and knows he will have to wait, else he would never hear the end of it.

"O-oh my gosh..." she whines. "Why the fuck are you so big... augh!"

"Because I want to fuck you." he replies simply. "Isn't it obvious? Your cute little body could fit so snugly around me if you'd just let me work you open first but no. Someone needed dick so badly that she needed to forgo the important part. Now look where you are..." he whispered with a chuckle. "Practically gagging on my cock, even though I should be nowhere near your throat. I'm in your fucking guts." he punctuates his words with a sudden and sharp thrust into her. She grips her mouth as a yelp leaves her. "Feel that?"

Jinx has never wanted to slap him so badly before.

She's so focused on keeping herself quiet though that all she can manage to do now is allow him to move. Even with her sometimes strange ability to go unseen and unheard, it is a challenge to be quiet when Beelzebub is in her. She strains and struggles so hard that she's distracted, and when Beelzebub sits up right and grips her hips, the shift of his cock moving around against her walls makes her cry out. Nothing too loud, but enough to make an impression in Beelzebub's mind. He rocks his hips into her, smiling contently as he watches her eyes roll back.

"You're going to have to give up..." he says. She isn't registering what he says. "At some point you're going to have to do more than try to be quiet. Admit that it feels good."

He stops thrusting for a moment and she's able to focus on her breathing. Her body is shaking uncontrollably beneath him and if he weren't mistaken by how soon after they started, he would have expected she was close to cumming. No one, after all, can out last, much less withstand him. But Jinx was special, and far more capable of taking something that must have felt punishing to another. So when Beelzebub leaned back over here, resting his arms at either side of her little frame, he gave into his desires and began thrusting hard. He was determined to make her lose her mind.

He thrusted fast, wanting to hear her break. Jinx let out a choked scream behind her covered lips. He grabbed one of her legs and hooked it over his arm to get a better angle inside her. Her feet arched and toes curled from the scorpion's strike against her walls with each thrust. Beelzebub settled into a fast rhythm, wanting to hear her defeat. To successfully make her scream meant he'd win. That he truly did lord himself over her most delicate parts. He watched her breasts bounce, enthralled by their size before his eyes snapped down to her belly again. He could see the tent in her stomach each time he thrusted inside. Under normal circumstances it would freak him out- special effects in horror movies and all that jazz.

To know it was his own cock struggling to find more room in her body to invade and thus having to reach upwards to find it, only turned him on more. He could feel her on his cock, and he knew she could feel him in her pussy, and the idea that he would fill her with something else she wouldn't be able to remove so easily only stirred him on to fuck her harder. The bed squeaked and ached against the floorboards, his brutal thrusts strong enough to play a song against the walls both in his bedroom and inside her. She sounded like a tired old staircase at the edge of its life, protesting at the slightest addition of weight. Her eyes were stuck behind her head and finally- finally- her hands fell from her face. Beelzebub seized the opportunity to capture her lips again, though he had he curl his body to meet her lips this time around.

"In... m-myy stomach..." Jinx slurred, kissing him back sloppily. Beelzebub wanted to choke her so bad.

"Just hold on tight..." Beelzebub whispered against her lips. "Take all of me, baby, you're doing so good..." Her hands shot up to his arms at a particularly rough thrust and her eyes widened. The pained gasp she let out was a warning, but Beelzebub didn't want to hear it. He licked her lips and then settled into that little grove inside her, grinding hard and making sure she would remember for the rest of her life. The next time- if ever- something else ever reaches that far inside her, she'll remember who was the first to do it.

If she was making a case for why he shouldn't cum inside her before, she wasn't allowed to now. Her plainly whorish moans spurred him on, echoing something about him being huge in her- and duh, he was. It would take no genius to discover that the demon over twice her size would give her a reason to cry if he got a hold of anything that belonged to her below the belt. She had to tempt him with her voluptuous little form, skipping around and singing her little songs in her little skirts, wearing bras and panties just a size too small for her, talking in that cute little voice that Beelzebub only wanted to hear after she's been choking on his cock for half an hour. The sweet smell of her flesh when he held her, forcing thoughts into his mind about smothering her in tongue lashings while bathing in the scent of her sex.

He's wasted so many nights thinking about wrapping her around him and keeping her there until she was delirious and weak from pleasure, and now he has her. Legs spread wide to welcome him despite her complaints of him being a touch too big, but handling her punishment better than he could have ever expected. A true little soldier girl, powering through the worst beating she could have experienced in the Devildom- a hungry Beelzebub between her legs.

He unhooked her leg and snaked his palm up her body. He was staring at her neck. He wanted to grab it so bad. If not to choke but to just hold. To feel her pulse in his grasp and now that she was alive, crying and soon cumming all over him. He was hypnotized by it, in fact. He wanted her to describe in beautiful detail all the little thoughts running through her head, but he was graced with a woman not quite as smart as Mammon, and so he would settle, happily, for the unintelligible jargon she called a language that was spilling from her lips.

His hand missed her neck and grabbed her face. He hunched down and pulled her up, and swiftly she got onto her elbows and met his eyes. She was panting like a dog in the summer heat, locked into him while he rutted against her with reckless abandon. She hadn't once touched her clit and he could tell why; with each thrust into her, it only put pressure on that little fleshy button and worked her up. She could see it in her eyes; she was going to cum soon.

He figured he better not keep her waiting then.

He grabbed her waist and fucked her harder, and now her yelps were turning into sloppy moans. She looked disoriented and dizzy, she looked like she'd been dragged through a sauna unprotected, but through it all she was smiling now. A stupid look on her face, blissfully unaware of just how much Beelzebub would be pouring inside her.

He grit his teeth, "That's a good girl..." Beelzebub sighs, praying she doesn't make a big fuss. When he cums, he growls into her ear, and a full body shudder and a choked cry signals to him that she cums as well. Her voice jumps up a few pitches and her walls flutter around him. Her eyes are half-lidded and that stupid smile remains, all while he shoots rope after rope of cum into her open and willing body. If he's fucked the braincells out of her, the only sign of that being the case is her lack of complaint about the sensation of his seed now sloshing around inside her every time she squirms.

He pulls out slowly and her body starts to flatten against the bed finally. He takes a good look at the condition of her body between her legs. A sticky wet mess of cum and other fluids drip from her twitching and gaping hole. It clenches, looking for something to cling on to but only finds empty space. Beelzebub drools at the sight. He's half tempted to take a photo; a momento for the time he bred his human full. His phone is lost now though, having slid off the bed at some point during his mindless thrusting.

The satisfaction leaves a warm glow in his body, a distant white noise filling his head as his limbs stiffen and loosen, now missing the tight walls of her pussy as well. He leans forward and puts some of his weight on Jinx again. "You took me so well, good girl..." he says, and her response is a quivering sigh. Her legs are still shaking and her toes are curled, that stupid smile melting off her face as exhaustion takes her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Beelzebub feels a bell painfully striking in his ear. He leans up off her and makes an annoyed face.

"I'm hungry."

#om!#nightbringer #om! nightbringer #om! beel #om! nightbringer beel #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me nightbringer beelzebub #obey me smut #obey me mc #female mc #Twin Jinx #stfu jinx

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betasquads · 1 month

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FORGOTTEN, Niko Omilana (part two)

———————————

summary: Just when you thought it was over with Niko, an unexpected offer had occurred. An offer that you had needed desperately.

warnings: slight kissing

A/N: ending was a little rushed but I wanted to clear out my drafts 😔

"Contact us if you're more interested in continuing with us."

"....Thank you. Will do so." You nod towards your client. You sigh deeply, but it was a sigh of relief.

"Finally. They were so judgy for no reason." Your boyfriend says as he takes a seat next to you.

"Tell me about it." You roll your eyes, "They had to judge every movement I was doing."

"So, do you think you'll continue with them? As you know, we literally have no one else besides them." He remarks.

You shrug, "It's an 80% percent chance. But Henry did tell me that there were other clients that I might like. Particularly bigger, has better payment. So I'll see what I could get down to." He hums to make you aware that he was listening.

Something deep inside of you felt deeply guilty for the thoughts you had for him earlier was making its way into your brain, while you literally stood next to your boyfriend.

The entire shoot you were practically making up scenarios with Niko and God, did you want him so bad.

You never knew or made it official that you were over Niko. I mean seriously, who could get over this man?

Seeing him today had made it harder for you. You knew you weren't over for him, because all the feelings that you've hidden came rushing back. Even you knew you would never have a chance with him, but it was better to leave someone than hurting them.

"Babe, I need to talk to you about something important." You start, nervously.

"About?" He questions, his eyes on his phone.

You sigh, "Us." You hesitantly speak.

"Go ahead." He says confused, turning fully at you, focused with everything you had to say.

"I might still not be over someone. You know." You give a small shrug, trying to give him a small indication. Your boyfriend knew about Niko and your past with him.

You even convinced him that you were over him. But were you trying to convince him or yourself?

When it clicks, he raises his eyebrows. "Oh." He says, disappointed once he had caught on the message.

"Look, I don't want to hurt you. But I can't stay with you if my heart still beats for someone else."

You loved your boyfriend, deeply. But you didn't know if you were in love.

He nods, but a clenched jaw is on sight. "I understand." Before you could get another word to him, he gets up to leave.

—

"You're in trouble. I'm not letting this slide, Henry." You say, pretty occupied with taking your set tools.

He sighs behind you, "Look, honestly, before I even had you I had him way before you. It was..."

"It was what?" You cut him off aggressively, each time you breathed, all you could see was him. And you did not like that.

His eyes that always studied you intently, he was doing it today to you. Just like how he used to do it. You remember how much his stare made you fold, it felt so hypnotizing. You knew you wanted more.

He was fidgeting with his hands, something he always did when he was nervous. You were the one who always calmed him down by holding his hands.

He was there. He was Niko. It was real life.

And you despised that.

You never thought you'd seen him again, but your heart rate was increasing the more you realized it was reality. Looking at his face, made you get a sense of Deja Vu.

He was there, and this was real life. You had tried to process this for the past 6 hours of shooting. You still couldn't believe it.

"It was Niko that convinced me to work for you." He finally let's out after a moment of silence, but you find it hard to believe it. Niko wouldn't think about you, not even for a second.

He was the one who abandoned you.

"God, I don't wanna hear that name." You groan in disgust.

"I'm serious, y/n. He wanted me to work for you."

You scoff,"That just leads to multiple questions. How'd you know where to find me? Why was he surprised when he found out that you worked for me? Why didn't he come himself to offer it? What–" You say a little too fast and Henry rolls his eyes.

"Can you just shut up for a second? Well, I searched your name, wasn't that hard to find you. You're a little known I'd say." He shrugs.

You send him a tight smile, "What about the second question?"

"It was because I refused in the beginning. I didn't let him know that I ended up accepting to work for you. So he thought that I ended up ignoring his request. He knows I work for huge known people." He hesitates saying the last sentence, but he ends up saying it either way.

You scoff as you squint your eyes at him.

"No offense." He shrugs, unbothered.

"None taken." You mumble.

"And he didn't want to come do it himself because he knows you'd run off. Just like what you did this morning."

He shakes his head, as if he had remembered the real topic. "Look, you have to hear him out. Besides—"

"Besides what?" You send him a death stare, as if to tell him that he should not be saying anything that'll upset you.

"He's the client I was telling you about."

"The other big client?" You raise your eyebrows, trying to confirm it further more.

"Yes. Don't get angry at me, alright? It's your job, whether you like it or not. I wanted to help you find someone better than those mean clients you had. And I intend to make you both on good terms." He adds.

Your heart drops. You could work with Niko just like how you always wanted to. Your heart rate even raises as you recall that Niko was the one who insisted on working with you.

You slightly hesitate, "Now I don't know, Henry. I don't know if I can bring myself to do it."

"Im not forcing you. I'm offering you this opportunity. Even if you leave the set without being on good terms, I promise you that you're leaving with a huge amount of bag."

You smile, but not the kind of smile where it was genuine. "I'll think about it."

Henry tries to hide his smile with a serious stare, "You have till next Wednesday. Shooting starts Thursday. By the way, if you accept it then you'll have to go to him every Thursday. You'll be apart of the crew."

You nod, reluctant on whether it was a good idea or not.

—

You couldn't sleep. You shifted to every spot in your cold bed, trying to make up a decision.

Was it a good decision to work for Niko? Even after all the embarrassment you went through the past few years? Probably not.

But Henry was so right. At least the money will be better, and that small selfish part of you that still wants to see Niko, it will feed on the need of the craving for Niko's company.

You shuffle towards the end of the bed, lazily searching for your phone next to your nightstand. Once you've held it between your hands, you can feel your hands shaking.

You pressed on the call icon and checked for Henry's name. Immediately your thumb presses call, as you knew if you waited for a second maybe you would hesitate.

You waited patiently and your eyes shifted from the window to the time..2:41 am. You knew Henry wouldn't get angry after he knows the reason on why you're calling him. And after 6 rings, the phone was picked up.

"y/n. Are you serious? It's 2 am in the–"

"I accept." You say immediately, relieved that you can finally go to bed after hours of overthinking. You can feel the smile on Henry's face, from how the other end of the line was dead silent.

"I'll do it. I'll work for Niko."

—

*time skip to Thursday*

As you're making everything good on set, you still haven't seen his face. You were nervous, not the bad nervous, but the type of nervous where you could feel excitement.

You didn't know what was still making you feel like this as it's been years. In the corner of your eye, you notice Niko, unaware of your presence.

You smile to yourself and thought it would be the perfect opportunity since he probably thought you were one of his usual crews as you had a hood on, almost unrecognizable.

"Hey." You send Niko a weak smile as you adjust the camera on set.

He turns around, his face bored and plain. But when he sees that its you, his face lightens up, his eyes are wide at your presence. "y/n, hey– um hi." He stutters, not knowing what the perfect and suitable response.

"So, NDL, huh? I knew you could do it." You shake your head with a smile as you eye his hoodie.

"Yeah, Niko Defense League. I'll make sure to get you one as soon as possible." He says with the smile you've always missed.

You laugh at the name, remembering the backstory to it and how much he always wanted to have it. And now he did.

"So, you ended up accepting? You know, the offer that Henry made?" You nod while adjusting the settings on the camera.

"I guess you'll be seeing me every Thursday from now on." You smile.

His smile widens once you've confirmed it. This was his dream come true. For a while, he thought about you and always wanted to work with you, just like how the both of you had promised you'd do one day.

"Look I know that you're mad at me, but I promise you that i never intended to do that on purpose. You know, ignoring you." He cuts the awkward silence that always used to be comfortable to you back then.

"That was years ago, Niko. No excuse will make up for the time that was wasted. Let's just focus on the main part and that being is trying to get this stupid camera to work–" You try to say it as mature as possible, turning around to call the crew to help you with something.

But he grabs your hands before you could take another step, and you turn around and eye his hand.

"No, I'm not accepting this response. It can't be over. And it isn't gone, we still have time." He notices the way you eyed his hand and he let's go.

"Sorry." He mutters.

You turn around fully and cross your arms, "Whatever you have to say, say it now. Nothing that you say will justify it."

He tries to gather the words, finally speaking after what felt like an entire minute. "The only reason why I wasn't bothering to visit is because I traveled across the country to film something."

"Alright? What does this have to do with your excuse?" You shrug your shoulders.

"–and I felt terrible for ignoring you. I promise you that it wasn't on purpose. I tried apologizing to you, but my messages weren't sending in. They were never sent."

Sending in? Your face was confused, that was until you remembered something. You had gotten a new phone number later that week. You decided not to tell him now, trying to reach it further.

"Why didn't you at least come by my house? It would've been a lot more appropriate. " Your brain was trying to make excuses, trying to look for a reason on why he shouldn't be forgiven.

But your heart was pleading for him to have all the excuses, just so you could get back to him without doubting him.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe because you moved out without telling me?" His face was morphed into a hurt one.

Your face drops. You do recall your parents moving out for their new job.

Realization hits you as you realize he did infact have an excuse. An excuse that never crossed your mind.

You were so focused on what Niko did, but not focused on how it was literally impossible for him to apologize to you.

"Niko–" You say in disbelief, but one of the producers cuts the conversation.

"Do you need any help? We should be ready in 3."

"Yes– this camera isn't working." The producer gives you a friendly chuckle.

"You forgot to plug it." He points the wires.

You give an embarrassed smile, "Sorry, just a little stressed."

"Happens to all of us. y/n, right? George with you. Alright, I'll get Henry and the rest to start with today's video." You nod.

As you hear everyone else coming inside, you turn to look at Niko who was already looking at you.

The way his brown eyes studied your facial expressions was enough to make you realize that you had misread the entire situation.

You loved and missed the way he looks at you. It was filled with hope like he knew there was going to be another chance to rebuild this friendship. Maybe even more.

He couldn't wait for this entire shoot to be over, just so he could speak to you, and hug you, just like how he used to.

"Am I interrupting something?" You hear an almost familiar voice, but you couldn't point out who it was.

Your head turns and you were met by Chunkz, a friend of Niko who you knew right before you and Niko were separated.

"Uh no–"

"It's great seeing you again y/n." Before you could speak you were immediately engulfed in a hug. You just pat against his back and smile awkwardly at Niko who was biting his lip to stiffen his laugh.

Even though you knew Chunkz only for 2 months back in 2016, you remember how close you were to him. You wonder how the friendship would've been if it stayed.

"It's great seeing you aswell." Your lips twitch into a small smile.

"Alright, let go of her. You're cutting her oxygen supply." Niko smiles at you and sends a not-so smooth wink, which makes you giggle.

Chunkz gives a small pat on your shoulder before mouthing a, 'take care' and waves at you.

When Chunkz left off to the set, you look over at Niko. "You look like an educated zombie on crack while winking. Don't ever do that again." You send a pointed look over to Niko.

He doesn't respond to the insult, for some reason it just made him fall in love more. He missed your insults deeply.

"Alright, talk to you after everything's done?" He raises his eyebrows and you nod in response, returning to check if there's anything wrong with anything in general.

He admired you for a few seconds before he stood infront of the camera with Chunkz, about to film a video for the NDL channel.

—

You tried to hold your laugh everytime Niko made a joke, you forgot how much it made you laugh like there was no tomorrow. But his jokes now were more extreme. It fit in his adult prescription.

"Nah. That's just jokes right now. You are not funny."

"y/n laughing behind the cameras just proves that I am funny. Big up for the NDL, another win for us!" Niko says.

"Rigging every challenge in your channel is not fair." Chunkz shakes his head disapprovingly, despite the wide smile on his face.

—

After the shoot was finished, you sat on opposite sides of the couch, and you could feel the tension rising in the room. You were nervous. You always were.

He takes a long glance at your face, it felt like a drug you would love to overdose for. The way he studied your features with love and patience, like he tried studying each part just for him to remember.

"Are you nervous?" You hear him question, and his voice slightly wavers as he spoke.

You give a quick nod, "Is that bad?"

He shakes his head as he taps his finger against your index finger, and holds it gently. He slowly engulfs your entire hand with his, intertwining it with yours.

He brings your hand up to the left side of his chest, "Do you feel that?"

Your lips twitch into a genuine smile, "God. Are you nervous because of me, Omilana?"

He grins widely as he looks down. You don't remember him being this shy, you thought.

You remembered him being so outgoing whenever you hung out with him. Seeing him filming his video today and the things he says in them was always out of pocket. And he was simply fearless as he stood infront of the camera. But seeing him like this, made you feel warm and fuzzy from the inside. It was all because of you.

"Who wouldn't be nervous?" He says it so innocently, his heavy breaths following by.

You giggle as you felt your cheeks heating up, "You need to shut up before I seriously throw up."

Before he made a response, you beat him up to it, "We never continued our topic. You know."

His smile drops as he wishes to forget the years he spent without you.

"God, Niko. You don't understand how sorry I am." Your voice wavers.

He shakes his head, a smile appearing on his face while doing so, "Im just glad you let me have a chance to say a word. You don't know how much I've missed you." His voice cracks in the end, like he wanted to cry and fall into your arms.

"I've missed you too. So much." You sniff and chuckle at the same time, which activates his.

"When were those nice words 7 years ago? I should start ignoring you for years then–" He tries to lighten up the mood, and he succeeds to do so.

Your mouth is hung agape and you nudge his shoulders, an abnormal laugh escaping your lips, "That'll be the last time you hear them."

He mirrors your smile for a few seconds. he tucks in a hair strand behind your ear, his eyes hooded and observing. You felt so exposed just from his stare. It was hypnotizing, It almost swallowed you whole.

"Is it normal that I have the urge to kiss you?" He whispers, his eyes on your lips, his chest moving rapidly from breathing heavily, his tounge moistening his lips.

You take a while to answer which get Niko worried. He was scared that maybe he had misread the entire situation. "Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable–"

You breathlessly sputter a 'yes'. The moment you spoke, his lips is already on yours, hungry and needy. You groan at his aggressiveness, one of your hands tugging on his hair and the other on the nape of his neck.

He hums with pleasure when you bite his bottom lip playfully, tugging on your hips to be closer to his.

He's the first one to break the kiss, his gigantic hands holding your waist and guiding on of your legs to be on top of him. You swallow and your body almost gave up at his touch, your body listening to whatever Niko was doing. Both of your legs was on either sides of his thighs.

You take a moment to look at his beautifully swollen lips. You almost whimpered at the sight, too absorbed by his beauty that you didn't notice him doing the same to you as well.

He looked through his eyelashes, his large hand cups your face, your heart racing as you had just realized how the comparison between his hand and your face is.

His head tilts to the side, his eyes admiring each part of you. He tucks your hair behind your ear, "You are so beautiful." His voice is almost raspy and soothing as he said those four simple words.

Before you could give a reply, his lips was already on yours. This time his lips was pulling yours softly, unlike the first kiss. You smile against the kiss which triggers his, your heart fluttering.

Who knew you would be here with him even after all of this time?

—————————————

#beta squad #niko omilana #betasquad #niko omilana imagine #nikoomilana #aj beta squad #aj shabeel #beta squad imagine #chunkz #king kenny

33 notes · View notes

reds-skull · 2 months

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BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So remember how I didn't like how short the last chapter was? Well this one is almost as long as the longest chapter I've ever written (insane how when it goes smoothly and I don't feel like the words are fighting me, I actually write more!)

This chapter is called "Droops and Decays"

Page 11 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 4:

And a knight, wearing the blind man’s colors, Brings his sword forth and calls, halt beast, Leave my brother to be, release him from your bloody maw. The blind man steps forth, hands raised, And he calls his brother-in-pain, lower your steel, This monster is unharming, it is calm, And it needs guidance, as the blind do. The knight asks, why would the blind lead the sinners? And the blind man answers, when all other paths are blocked, We can only move forth on ways seen only by the unseeing.

Ghost doesn’t sleep in the company of others. It is not because of the person in the room, his body and mind just genuinely, physically, can’t trust anyone anymore.

(He wonders if it were Price-)

So Ghost lets his eyes rest, while his mind turns and churns over the events of last night.

“I know ye would rather leave me to die, go scurry away to whatever hell ye crawled out of. But we both know ye can’t. Now, would you rather die alone…”

“…or fight together?”

Soap… no, John MacTavish. He has quite the bleeding heart, offering to work together with the man that pointed a gun to his head not an hour prior. He wonders who he was before being discharged, if fighting alongside him tonight was how it would’ve been to work with him.

(He wonders if he could trust him-)

The 141 will arrive to the wreckage they left any moment now. Instead of finding the Sergeant, they’ll come across the charred remains of the Hunter’s soldiers. Ghost knows they’re smart enough to figure out neither of them are dead, considering there are no tire tracks beyond the destruction.

(If he were to burn and die, would Price be able to tell his body from the rest-)

He wishes he could sleep. Would’ve been more useful than the shit that’s stirring around his brain right about now.

(Maybe talking to Soap could be more useful-)

The Sergeant wouldn’t want to talk to him. Not after what he’s done.

(No better than the Hunter, no better than Roba-)

(But he wants to-)

Ghost doesn’t want things.

(That’s Simon’s job-)

Simon is dead.

(Simon can’t be dead when Ghost is still living-)

Soap shifts next to the window, and sighs. Ghost gets reminded of the way the Sergeant stirred in his sleep, his eyes scrunched up like he’s trying to close them in his dream. He took mercy on him then, kicked his shoulder lightly. Soap grasped at it like a lifeline, eyes snapping wide open to swivel around the room.

(Searching for ghosts-)

It was then he started wanting, Ghost reckons. Wanted to know what burrows into Soap’s mind, what crawls beneath his bed to sink its claws while he sleeps.

(Wants to see the beast himself-)

Fucking hell. Since when does Ghost care what other people bloody dream about?

In an attempt to stop all those buzzing thoughts, Ghost opens his eyes. Soap is still by the window, rifle in his hands, clicking lowly as he fidgets with it. He looks about as lost in his mind as Ghost was just a few moments ago.

(He wonders what Soap is thinking about-)

Ghost sits up, internally annoyed with his own stupid mind. Soap looks at him as he stretches his limbs slowly, taking stock of their condition.

“Yer leg’s faring better?” the Sergeant asks.

Surprisingly, it is. The muscles no longer shake, even if he has a general feeling of weakness across his body.

Ghost raises from the tarp, “affirmative. Ready to move?”. Soap jumps off the table, and opens the door. The fields outside are bright and calm, wheat stalks idly swaying in the soft breeze.

They return to the road, Soap still tapping at the metal body of the rifle. Eventually, he speaks up, “you think Price and Gaz reached the trucks already?”

Ghost spares him a glance, “certainly.”

The Scot slows his steps, “...maybe I should go back-”

“By the time you reach the trucks, the 141 would be gone.” It took them hours to get this far.

Soap sighs, dragging a hand over his hair, “fuckin’ hate that yer right.” He catches up to Ghost.

(He wants to know more-)

He doesn’t need to-

(He needs to know more-)

“How do you know Price?” Ghost instantly curses himself.

Soap raises an eyebrow, “how do ye know him?”

“I’m not telling you shit, Sergeant.”

Soap crosses his arms, “then I’m not tellin’ ye shit either.”

Fuckin’- how did he get stuck with such a childish, impudent, little bastard.

“Everyone knows Captain Price.” Ghost almost growls, bluffing through his teeth. Soap’s eyes light up like he caught him with his pants down.

“Aye”, Soap smirks, “everyone in the British Army knows the Captain. But not everyone knows how he looks.”

He leans in closer to Ghost, “no, ye had to be in a high rank fer that. Said ye were SAS, Lieutenant? I’m thinking ye weren’t lying after all.”

Bloody wanker. He’s not fucking stupid.

Soap leans away again, finally answering his question, “well, I didn’t know Price too personally. Was on a few missions along his squad. Tried to recruit me before I got… discharged.”

Ghost narrows his eyes. So that’s the game he wants to play. Give me a bone, I’ll give you something to chew on. As much as he wants to be annoyed, he supposes that’s fair.

(Now that he’s been given a hand, he wants the whole arm-)

“Why did they discharge you?”

Soap’s smile falters, “disobeyed direct orders one too many times. Killed an HVT they needed alive.” his blue eyes dim, “sliced his neck and choked the blood outta him.”

Ghost frowns, “how important was the fucker that they booted you out?”

Soap stops walking, Ghost turning around to face him.

“Ever heard of Vladimir Makarov?”

Ghost blinks, “you’re not-”

“I am.” Soap’s face twists, in grief or in anger, Ghost can’t tell, “I’m the one that killed Makarov.”

They stare at each other, Ghost mind whirling. If Soap is the one that…

Everyone knew what Makarov was planning. The power vacuum he left was huge, leaving Konni Group to disintegrate. Leaving people like the Hunter, to attempt to take his place in the twisted international power game.

“Ye can tell me Ah’m feckin’ daft, I’ve heard it all.” Soap starts walking, his frame more taut than usual.

Daft? “You eliminated the biggest nuclear threat since the Cold War.”

Soap laughs bitterly, “yer talking like Ah’m a fucking hero.”

“None of us are heroes, MacTavish.” Not with the amount of blood on their hands.

Yet, men like Soap… Ghost can’t say he’s evil. He’s too… compassionate for that.

Soap looks ahead, eyes fogging over with memories, “...said that to Price once. He told me…” He refocuses on Ghost, “...forget it.”

(What did Price say-)

“What did he say?”

Soap huffs, a sad smile on his face. “He told me about his previous Lieutenant. How he was a man of many sins.”

Ghost’s heart stops beating.

Soap continues regardless, “but he said Lieutenant Riley was his most caring soldier. Would always fight as hard as he can to bring everyone back home.” he turns to Ghost, whose breath caught at the Lieutenant’s name, “for those he saved, the Lieutenant was a hero. At least, that’s how Price saw it…”

“Ah wanted to be like him, back then.”

Ghost barely managed to whisper the words out, “and now?”

John smiles, “now Ah want to be better.”

His eyes shine so brightly, Ghost thinks at the back of his mind. His body is still as a statue, ceasing to exist in the now, sinking into the dark waters of the past.

(Yet Simon feels more alive than he’s been for years)

Ghost continues to scan the horizon, as the city comes into view. It becomes clearer and clearer what causing the sounds echoing through the lonely fields.

Someone is fighting against the Hunter’s soldiers. And they’re vastly outnumbered.

“What should our next move be?” Soap crouches next to him, overlooking the battle.

Well, Ghost’s goal is to find a high ranking soldier, bring the intel on the antidote out of them (gently or violently depending on how cooperative the tosser will be), and find it. He’s working with limited time - who knows when his body will lose the fight against the poison and simply give up.

Soap however… Ghost still doesn’t understand why he’s here. All he knows is that the Sergeant seems to hate the Hunter’s soldiers about as much as he does.

He supposes it’s good enough for him.

“Need to capture a soldier.” Ghost murmurs, combing for stragglers.

Soap does the same, “shouldn’t we help whoever’s fighting ‘em?”

“Don’t think they’re gonna hold up for much longer…”

The Hunter’s soldiers swirl like a swarm around one house, flashes of rifle muzzles coming from opposite windows. The fighters are cornered. It’s only a matter of time before they get overwhelmed-

Soap Jumps over the wall they were hiding behind, and starts running at full speed towards the fight.

“Sergeant!” Ghost shouts after him, “where in the bloody hell do you think you’re going?!”

Soap doesn’t spare him a single glance, swinging his stolen rifle to aim at a few soldiers, “Price and Gaz are in that building! I cannae let them die!”

Ghost’s eyes widen. He looks over to the house again. The Hunter’s soldiers are closing in…

(Price would never leave him-)

(The Lieutenant was a hero-)

(You saved them, Simon. Why?-)

(No man left behind, except when the man is Simon Riley-)

(I can’t leave them to die!-)

Ghost heaves a breath, pulling out his pistol and taking point next to the Sergeant. Soap finally looks at him, face contorted in confusion.

“If we want to do this, we need to make the soldiers split up.” Ghost says, already calculating how many hostiles they’ll need to take down, “we don’t have much to work with, but they don’t know that.”

Soap nods, “divide and conquer, eh? Sounds good.” He scans the left of the house, “I’ll take that side, circle around that building and get into a higher position.”

“Copy, I’ll take right.” that side has more winding alleys, where Ghost can pick soldiers off one by one with his knives.

“Understood. What if ye-” Soap cuts himself off, and Ghost watches how he chews on his own lip.

“What is it, Soap?”

The Sergeant’s brows furrow, “nothin’, uh… good luck.”

Ghost doesn’t answer, Soap already leaving for his path.

(Simon asks himself, if it means Soap cares whether he lives or dies-)

He needs to focus. They don’t have the night to cover them anymore, pale blue skies leaving no shadows for men like him to melt into. Ghost takes a long way around the nearby buildings, until he finds a little group of soldiers.

He unsheathes a knife, long and serrated edge gleaming under the sun. In a flash, he yanks one soldier back, burying the knife in his throat, twisting and pulling it out. The man is dead before he hits the floor.

His squad mates only realize something is wrong when they turn to talk to him, finding the soldier in a growing puddle of bright red blood. Ghost is already changing angles, quickly walking around another soldier to pull them back and grant him the same fate.

Panic spreads through them, more and more joining the search for Ghost.

More and more victims for his ruthless blade.

When the number of hostiles dwindles, Ghost circles back to the house Price and Gaz were holed up in. He watches them from afar clearing the surroundings, before opening the front door and stepping out.

He can’t see Soap anywhere. Something pinches at his chest, and a wave of concern wrecks through him.

It makes sense, that he wouldn’t return to Ghost. He did technically kidnap him… surely he was waiting for a right moment to buck it.

Hopefully, he met up with Price. The Captain will insure his safety, in that Ghost doesn’t doubt.

(He’s dead, he left you, he’s captured, gone, lost, your fault, your fault-)

Ghost hears footsteps behind him, and in a blink grabs a rifle from his latest victim and points it at the source.

“Relax, jus’ me Ghost.” Soap raises his arms, mildly annoyed.

Ghost instantly lowers the gun, “why didn’t you leave?”

The Sergeant looks around, inspecting the carnage Ghost left behind, “for one, when I say we’re fighting together, I fuckin’ mean it.” he mutters the rest, “unlike someone ‘ere…”

Soap steps forward, and Ghost can see how his hands are absolutely covered in blood, “and… I’m still not done.”

“What do you mean?” Ghost asks, stare climbing up Soap’s bloodied forearms.

Soap’s voice lowers, “you’re after the Hunter, right? I want him dead.” If Ghost was a lesser man, he would tremble at Soap’s tone, “What they’re doing to this city, killing and destroying everything in their path, it needs to stop. And Ah know the only way to do tha’ is to take them out.”

Ghost wants to tell him he’s stupid, for sticking his nose in business that’s not his, for endangering himself like this, that it’s not his job, that he should turn his back. Injustice will always exist, and in the long run, this city won’t matter.

(But Simon’s heart beats faster, his eyes shine bright, and he wants to see Soap succeed)

(he wants to make sure he succeeds)

Soap snaps him out of his reverie, “ye said ye needed to capture a soldier?”

“Affirm. We need intel on the Hunter’s location.”

The Sergeant’s grin is sharp when he replies, “could always build a little trap from ‘em…”

Ghost huffs, his mouth stretching into an unfamiliar smile, “nobody would fall for that shite, Sergeant.”

Soap sputters, “ye did!”

“Yes, because I was broken.” Ghost starts walking out, knowing they won’t find any living soldiers on this side, “your needlessly complicated contraptions will be a waste of time to build. We just need to find one distracted wanker, grab him and tie ‘im up.”

Soap walks beside him, “good thing there’s plenty of feckers out here.” he grumbles sarcastically.

Ghost hears the quiet sound of someone sneaking in the alley in front of them, and it takes a great effort to suppress the urge to shoot when the person rounds the corner.

“Stop right there!”

Gaz stands in front of them, gun pointed at Ghost. He glares at him, jaw clenched.

“Gaz!” Soap calls, hands raised to calm him, “just wait-”

“John, come here. Don’t let him grab you again.” Gaz orders. Soap, to Ghost’s surprise, keeps his feet planted beside him.

(Simon, in his heart, knew the Sergeant would keep his word)

“No. Stop aiming at ‘im, and listen to me.”

Gaz’s rifle doesn’t stray from Ghost’s head, “John-”

“Kyle.” Soap snarls, “fuckin’ listen to me for a second mate!”

The SAS operator pauses, slowly lowering his guard, “what the fuck is going on?”

“Ah know it’s crazy-” Soap starts.

Gaz cuts him off, “it ought to be if you’re protecting the bloody Ghost!”

Soap continues, “But I need to stick with him fer now.”

Ghost watches Gaz’s eyes flicker between them, “if he’s threatening you brother-”

“He’s not doing shit to me, Gaz.” Soap growls, “I… I need to kill the Hunter. And Ghost is my only way to do that.”

Gaz’s brows furrow in sadness, “John… Didn’t your therapist tell you to stop chasing this- this adrenaline?”

Ghost wants to laugh. Soap isn’t doing it for the thrill, that much is pretty fucking obvious at this point. No, the Sergeant’s goal is far more noble than that. He considers pulling out a knife again, maybe make a show of threatening Soap to get Gaz off his back, but…

(Simon doesn’t think he can see the light shatter in Soap’s eyes as he’s being betrayed again-)

What Ghost forgot is, Soap and Gaz are friends, and the Sergeant is an honorable man.

“Ah can’t jus’ go back to Scotland and pretend this never happened! I have to stop it, Gaz.” He steps closer to the man, “please…”

Gaz shakes his head minutely, “if you die-”

“I’ll die a soldier, a fighter. For a good cause, trying to protect innocent people.” He stands in front of Gaz, “what better way is there to go?”

Gaz’s eyes soften, his grip on the rifle drops completely, “...I don’t want you to die.” he almost whispers.

Soap pulls him into a hug, holding onto his friend tightly, “I died the moment they discharged me. Here, I feel more alive than I have the past year.”

“You- why didn’t you tell me?”

Soap lets him go, still holding his shoulders, “what is there to tell?” he asks in a sad tone.

They’re quiet for a moment, before Gaz sighs, looking up at Ghost.

“If you hurt him, I’ll chase you to the end of the fuckin’ earth, and make you regret ever picking up a gun.” he barks at Ghost.

Ghost, for his part, doesn’t answer. His word will not be trusted either way.

(But Simon knows, he won’t be able to hurt Soap anymore-)

Gaz turns to talk to Soap again, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to bail you out after this, mate…”

Soap hums, “I understand. What about Price? Will ye be alright?”

“Don’t worry” Gaz smiles sadly, “I never saw you.”

As if on time, Gaz’s radio crackles, “Lieutenant, have you seen anything?”

Ghost’s heart jumps, as if the Captain is talking to him.

(As if things are still as they used to be-)

The Lieutenant presses the comms, “negative, whoever it was disappeared.”

“Copy, circle back to the house, we’ll keep looking.”

“Rog, out here.” Gaz clicks off his radio, and nods at Soap. “Good luck. Don’t you dare fuckin’ lose, Soap.”

The Sergeant smirks, “wouldn’t dream of it, Lieutenant.” he shoves Gaz playfully.

The Lieutenant laughs, “fuck off, Sergeant.” Gaz’s eyes shine suspiciously, and suddenly he drags Soap into another hug.

They exchange a few words Ghost can’t make out, and Gaz retreats, leaving to find his Captain. Soap continues to watch him until he turns a corner and vanishes from sight.

The Sergeant sighs, muttering to himself, “hope I don’t fuckin’ regret this…”

Ghost is sure he will.

(Simon hopes against hope he won’t)

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slashersxoxo · 9 months

Text

Uhmmm....hi :3 I totally didn't have terrible, god awful, just fucking bad writers block for................ Almost a year... Yeah anyways I had a mental breakdown and needed to write fluff to compensate :]

So here's some Billy Lenz / Reader bc he's a wet cat and I love him

Reader isn't given any specific pronouns but they live in the girls sorority home

Words: 529

Summary: You had been living in the sorority girls home for some time now, and you knew about the man in the attic.

The girls didn't, but you did. His name was Billy, Billy Lenz

Ao3 link here

You had been living in the sorority girls home for some time now, and you knew about the man in the attic.

The girls didn't, but you did. His name was Billy, Billy Lenz. He only came down from the attic when the girls went out, and sometimes he would call the phone down stairs and you could hear him giggling from your room. You honestly didn't understand how the girls never heard him. He was loud. Very loud. But they never heard him, so it's okay.

Right now you were home alone and sitting in the living room flipping through the television channels. The phone rings and you raise a brow. You slowly raise from your place on the couch and walk over to the phone. You answer it and speak. "Hello?"

Pink oinks and squeals come through the phone, along with giggling and laughter. You sigh. It's Billy. He continues to squeal like a pig for a few moments before going silent. Than you speak. "What do you want Billy? I'm very busy." You lie.

He giggles and oinks. "Pretty piggy alone?" He asks. It's like you can feel the smile on his face. You sigh again. "Yes Billy. Didn't you hear the girls leave around an hour ago?" It's silent for a moment, and than the phone goes dead. You place the phone on its receiver and go back to the couch. You know he'll be down in a moment.

A few moments pass and you hear the stairs squeak. You don't turn your eyes from the TV. Soon, a pair of hands place themselves on your eyes and high pitch giggling is heard. "Guess who guess who guess who" Billy squeals in excitement. You smile and place a hand on his. "Oh I don't know..." You pull his hands away and turn around on the couch "Hi Billy"

He giggles and squeals, flapping his hands beside himself. "Do you wanna go to my room?" You tilt your head. You wouldn't want to be caught out here with him if one of the girls got back. He nods quickly and you smile. "Alright, come on" you stand up, and grab his hand.

He smiles widely and grips your hand tightly as you lead him to your bedroom. You both walk in and you close the door behind him. Laying down on the bed you pat your stomach. "C'mere hon" he flaps his hands again and quickly rushes over to you.

He crawls on top of you and burys his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around his back. He wriggles against you and shifts for a few seconds. "Sit still Billy" you mutter into his hair. He whines, and burys his face deeper into your neck. He takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose. You smile while rubbing his back. "Piggy smells good" he mumbles while he takes another deep breath.

You roll your eyes and hum. This isn't how it always goes, but it's nice when he comes down you two just cuddles for a while. You doubt he'll get up anytime soon. So you better get comfortable.

#black christmas 1974 #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #slasher x reader #slashers

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enigmatist17 · 11 months

Text

Gah Fox is in my head tonight!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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

The Jedi Council are in an uproar when Anakin Skywalker tells them that Palpatine is dead, and not only that, but the very Sith they had been looking for.

After a solid three hours of yelling, someone gets an idea to go talk with this Commander Fox and ask what the kriff he was thinking.

They don't get that far.

Few clones were skilled enough to make the Jedi pause, and while the number was small, there was no mistake that they could be a threat.

Alpha-17 was one of these said clones.

He's standing outside the door that leads down to the Corrie Guard barracks, and the anger that is filling the Force is great enough to make even Yoda stop walking. He has his helmet on, but the way he slowly looks over at the mass of Jedi is telling enough, and Anakin presses forward with his hands raised.

"What do you want?" The alpha ARC trooper has every word coated with rage, yet kept his calm tone.

"Thire said Fox was down here, and they want to talk to him..." He starts, but the Knight shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth when the rage increases.

"Do you Jetti come here often?" He's done being professional, snarling at the group like a viper. The only one who seems to be spared is Plo, a ripple of affection surrounds the master underneath all the anger, and all the Jedi shake their heads. "You don't get to come to play savior nor inquisitor, so go back to your Temple."

The anger isn't pure anger anymore, it's a roaring protectiveness over Fox that not even Windu was stupid enough to ignore.

"We need to ask him questions..." Master Luminara begins, and Alpha-17 stares her down. "How did he know about..."

Senators who pass by in the distance silence what she has to say, and the clone regards them before pointing back the way they had all come.

"We will come to you. Leave...except General Koon and General Skywalker." Yoda motions for the two named to walk forward, and the rest of the Council quickly depart to await news. The rage has now drawn back to more of a simmer, and Alpha-17 points to the door that looked a bit worn compared to most of the Senate building. It becomes clear to Anakin that Plo had been here before, the master giving a shake of his head as they enter the area of those who patrolled Courscant and kept its citizen safe.

To be kind, it looks like shit.

The barracks of the Guard looked, for lack of a better word, more of an afterthought than a place to house hundreds of men. Anakin can see remnants of bloodstains that never got fully wiped up here and there on some walls, and the chill that runs down his spine makes him shiver. It's no wonder Fox thought he'd be killed, serving Palpatine and living in conditions like these?

For the second time within a few short hours, Anakin feels his blood boil in rage.

Alpha-17 finally pauses outside of a door, and regards the generals for a moment.

"Play nice, Prime adjacent is with him." Plo and Anakin share a look, and Alpha-17 stands aside to take guard by the door.

The room appeared to be some sort of office, its desk that was normally in the middle of the room pushed up against a wall to create some space in the cramped room. Fox was sitting in a chair against the far wall, head in his hands as he murmured something in the clones' language that far few outside of their circle understood. The hand on his shoulder belongs to a clone that few civilians of the Republic ever saw, one that only Anakin had caught sight of once himself.

"Captain Fordo." While he may share the hazel eyes found among millions of his brothers, neither Jetti had seen them sharper than a beskar blade nor colder than Ilum on a bad day. They seem to pass through the two as if examining their very core, and it takes a moment to realize it's more than just a physical examination.

"Generals." Fordo has withdrawn his probing before speaking, and Plo is quite impressed. "Do you need something?"

"We have questions, for Commander Fox." Plo remains in place as those eyes just stare, only for them to flicker over when Anakin took a step closer. "We can ask the easiest, how did you know?"

"I had my suspicions..." Fox sounds tired, and both Jetti can see that he's still suffering from Force exhaustion despite trying to hide it. "When he ordered us to hunt down Fives...I knew. None of us were in his office, and when that happens, it's usually corpse retrieval, sir."

"Corpse retrieval?" Plo sounds horrified, and wonders how they had been so blind. Imagining his children secreting away corpses while the Chancellor smiled and played audience, it made the older Jetti feel ill, and he sends out a feeling of love to both Fox and Fordo before he can help himself. Fox jerks like he's touched a live wire, and Plo does similar when he feels a rush of protective fury slams against him in the Force. Fox puts his hand over Fordo's, and the assault ceases immediately as the older clone averts his eyes to the younger commander.

That beskar sharpness fades into a soft adoration, just for a moment.

"What happens now?" For once, Fox isn't sure what his next orders were, nor what the blade he held in his hand meant.

"Right now, suppress the information as long as we can. You and your men will not be staying down here any longer." Plo Koon knelt down in front of the trooper, and carefully placed a clawed hand on his knee. "No one will harm you ever again, you have my word."

"Mine as well. Rex and the others can clear out some unused space so your men aren't...here." Anakin spat, glaring at a poor wall as if expecting it to change into something more homely.

"Really?" Fox finally looks up, and allows himself to feel a small bit of hope.

"Really, I can't believe you've all been stuck down here like this." The younger man scowls, but gives Fox a warm smile when he looks over.

"...yes sir." Fox doesn't feel his smile as a grimace for the first time in ages, and just leans into Fordo's touch as the alpha ARC begins to comm his men with the news.

He's fallen back into the Force with a blink of his eyes, and drifts among the stars that are each of his brothers' souls.

#personal #star wars #star wars clone wars #clone wars #cc 1010 #commander fox #captain fordo #alpha 17 #anakin skywalker #plo koon #fox kills palpatine au #force sensitive clones #feral for my corrie boy

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tecchous-thicc-buttocks · 7 months

Note

Do you have any bsd headcannons you'd like to share? (literally anything, I just love learning about other peoples hcs)

OMG YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES SORRY FOR RESPONDING SO LATE IVE BEEN USING THIS IN MY DRAFTS AS A COLLECTION OF JUST ABOUT ANYTHING THAT GOES THRU MY MIND AND I'VE JUST DECIDED I'M GONNA POST IT ALR

chuuya's hat is so old (bc it keeps getting passed from person to person and he brings it with him everywhere obviously) and WORN OUT but he has no idea how to fix it. he treats it like his child but it's inevitable that the material will deteriorate over time, so he's been trying to convince himself to go to a hatter for ages and can't swallow his pride. he drunkenly told it to hirotsu once night while they were drinking, and hirotsu just sighed and got it fixed for him that night while chuuya was passed out. they never spoke about it.

dazai has met several women who actually did say yes to a double suicide. the majority didn't mean it and just wanted to toy with him, but ran when they realized he was serious. a few actually did mean it. he pulled strings and invited them to a romantic date, except that he sent therapists there instead of him, basically playing matchmaker. all those women are now doing better but ask him about it and he'll act dumb and say he knows nothing about it.

fyodor needs glasses. his eyesight definitely sucks and the hours he spends at a computer don't help. however, he manipulates himself into thinking that he's actually fine when he's not. nikolai also has shitty eyesight bc of his dull eye and the other one he's probably abused looking at the birds in the sky and thus the sun. they are literally the blind leading the blind. nikolai places his portal 2 meters from where he meant to put it and fyodor says "good job". it's incredible how they're feared terrorists.

sigma gets tired wearing heels all day. he wants memory foam but doesn't know it exists. give him his goddamn memory foam. anyways one of his employees saw him holding his feet in pain and offered him orthopedic shoe inserts. he hasn't been the same since. would give them a raise if he knew how.

tachihara used to get acne from having his bandage on his nose all day. so, he's developed an incredibly rigid skin care routine. his face is soft as hell. cheeks are smoother than you'd think.

kouyou made it her first demand as executive to raid her favourite shop where she gets all her kiminos and accessories. hirotsu led the black lizard battalion into the shop and the workers were so fucking confused. stole expensive silk fabrics and clothing of the highest quality because she doesn't settle for less, and in the process has gotten hirotsu more into fashion. they go shopping together.

speaking of shopping, kajii only goes thrifting. have you seen his clothes?? they're not his size and torn as hell but they're so damn cheap he can't resist. his sandals are so goddamn iconic. yeah he's blowing you up but his dogs are OUT like a mf psychopath. i maybe love him a little too much.

ivan has greasy hair. while doing his surgery thing wtv tf that was, fyodor was continually grossed out (ironic aint it). pushkin was then ordered to help ivan wash his hair and they died just a little bit. neither knew what the difference between shampoo and conditioner is, and they struggled with it for a long time. eventually when they came back for fyodor to do the surgery, ivan's hair smelled like flowers and was braided cutely because they gave up and went to a salon where the people working there fell a little in love with his hair and went overboard. pushkin's hair (if you can call it that...) was also in a little bowtie. they enjoyed their little adventure just a little bit. just a little ofc.

odasaku has no idea how to cook curry. he loves it and fears doing it wrong, so he just buys it from the same place over and over. considered asking for the recipe but never did because why change what is already perfection. dazai however is convinced oda has housewife abilities and can cook like a god. he never knew the truth.

fitzgerald can't do math. he pretends he's good at converting currencies but in his head it just doesn't add up. 20 000 yen? that's like.... 5 freedom eagles obviously. no biggie *throws a bunch of american dollars at the workers and just takes the item and leaves* he also doesn't give tips when it prompts on the machine, and instead prefers sliding a crisp bill to them directly. cried a little when his favourite shop told him they ran out of an item he wanted and they didn't budge after he slid them a stack of 100s (he has no idea how many were in the stack)

fitzgerald also owns an airline but he doesn't manage it personally ofc. his only interaction with it is that they provide him and the guild with a private jet to travel to japan. lovecraft did not get on. he swam??? who knows, but he did not get on that plane. lucy got sick and louisa freaked out every time there was turbulence. mark was snoring loudly the entire way and steinbeck had his nose pressed on the window looking outside the entire time the lil cutie.

agatha has the super power of drinking tea while it is still piping hot. she never burns her tongue and never complained about its temperature, except when it's too cold. the water was literally boiling once (her subordinates wanted to find out how hot she can go) and she gulped it all down without a single contortion of her face. incredible.

shirase doesn't understand english and keeps trying to learn it but every time he thinks he's getting the hang of it, someone throws cockney slang at him and he gives up.

adam finally figured out how to blow a bubble of gum, but keeps swallowing it. one day, it clogged his internal system (he's not supposed to be eating obvi) and he's been afraid of it ever since. thinks it's possessed by evil spirits his android brain can't understand. i also hc that he recharges thru solar panels integrated onto his skin and for this reason he goes to the beach to 'tan' often. HE'S SO PALE people get a little concerned for him when they see him not apply sunscreen and just lay down for hours at a time. one lady actually told him he could get skin cancer and he opened his eyes "ackshually 🤓👆" then began reciting every fact known to man about skin cancer. rip that lady

verlaine and rimbaud complain about france all the time. "fuck france i fucking hate the french this country goddamn sucks" then as soon as someone else says anything bad about it they give them death glares and threaten death for disrespecting their country.

wells has memorized a whole lot of things about quantum theory from her days studying to be an engineer because it was her favourite class. she cannot handle mechanical or civil engineering topics and physically ascends at the mention of anything to do with dynamics. i also think she's been hit on a lot while wearing disguises; she tells them she's actually a woman, they freak out, then she sends them back in time. this time, they do not approach her and thus she doesn't have to deal with the awkward rejection and doesn't even remember it.

jules verne has made little dolls and pretended that they were his friends and invented scenarios in which they hung out. i will not elaborate on this.

albatross sometimes interrupts conversations in order to listen to the engine of a vehicle passing by. tries to track them down, too. he'll be the type of guy to ogle at your car without making eye contact with you while you're still in the car. and when i say ogle, i mean ogle. checks out motorcycles more often than women.

the flags bully lippmann sometimes when he acts in a really cheesy scene. he's coming to hang out with them and they're all giggling and chuckling at him stupidly. albatross walks up to him, tucks his hair behind his ear and whispers whatever cheesy thing was said in a low voice before bursting out laughing (he usually starts laughing before he can even finish the sentence). pianoman slides it slickly into conversations, and doc 'fufu's at random moments when looking at him and he suddenly remembers the scene. iceman has not watched the movie and chuuya couldn't care less.

the first time he tried to take the train, ranpo loudly exclaimed and yelled at every turn and stop of the train. he went during rush hour too and got his entire body smooshed into the strangers next to him. he squealed when someone accidentally (accidentally) grabbed his ass in the crowded traincar, then asked loudly who did that. dramatic as hell. got his pockets picked and knew who did it, but couldn't do anything about it. he felt awful and slumped his way back home and collapsed into yosano's arms with a groan. this was the only time she'd ever willingly bought him a bunch of sweets and let him eat them in peace while he ranted to her about the atrocities

kenji is more notorious on the streets than he knows. he got recognized by some huge 200cm tall man built like a goddamn tank with tattoos all over his body who wanted to fight him. kenji was so flattered that he knew his name that he thanked him and burly dude was like. wtf. anyways they got beef ramen together afterwards bonded over cows and are now besties. he's told the agency about it but they think that by "friend" he means someone else his age.

tanizaki ran into kajii once at his favourite thrift shop. he recognized him and ran out freaked never to return. for this reason he had to keep wearing his same stanky ahh uwu girl clothes that don't fit and hasn't had a style update. actually, when doing his research for how to infiltrate the mafia, tachihara found out that there have been a lot of sightings of known dangerous ability users in the thrift store, and that's why he wears the same shirt as tanizaki.

tachihara dreads the hunting dogs meetings because they make him feel like the only sane one there. his back has become so chiseled from carrying teruko around all the time, and once - jouno thought it would be funny - he tripped on a wire laying down on the ground and almost dropped her. he had to use his ability to pick her up from the belt of the uniform to prevent her from faceplanting, and she looked like she was about to explode. he had to let her beat him up a little then she hopped back on his shoulders and nothing changed. he questions his life choices often

jouno can't handle cinnamon or ginger scents, they overwhelm him and he goes into a fucking sensory overload coma. odor orgasm. sinus sex. teruko got sick once and tachi made her the strongest herbal and ginger tea you've ever seen (learnt it from his brother rip the goat) and he collapsed on the ground with a moan. woke up a half hour layer with no clue wth just happened. tecchou eventually heard about it, placed a hand on his shoulder and said "it happens to the best of us" while nodding solemnly then never elaborated.

yeah fukuchi and fukuzawa used to steal food when they were younger but imagine them figuring out milestones together. "dude my armpits are itchy where is this hair coming from :(" "genichiro i don't need to know about that *scratches at his armpit subtly*" i think they were very goofy about it

speaking of puberty elise once freaked mori out by saying she got her period. dude was like. wtf. you're an ability. how tf. she insisted he got her a bunch of tampons n pads and chocolate and heating pads and the works, then once he (the underlings he made go do the shopping threatening their lives if they ever told a soul) bought everything, she looked at his confused and asked why he bought those things. she's an ability how could she have a period? mori cried a little that night.

bram is a swiftie for no reason other than i think it's funny. alternatively, i believe he listens to reggae for no reason other than i think it's goddamn FUNNY.

kunikida's old students sometimes run into him on the street and recognize him. they immediately straighten their backs, nod at him and quickly walk away in the most respectful way because they don't want to ruin his schedule. he nearly tears up from happiness every time.

natsume goes through 5-6 "here, kitty kitty!"s in a day when he's just vibing around. people try to feed him grass blades. people get WAY too comfortable rubbing his stomach. once, a girl saw him on her way back from school and started scratching a random spot behind his ears and he folded so quickly and just melted on the sidewalk. he wont admit it but he has that weak spot in human form too (i want to pet him so badly this is self indulgent ok). the girl was actually gin btw. she's an animal whisperer i dont know why i dont know how but she is.

#im dying just a little because of the way my head is overfilling #i rly hope the anon who asked this is still around to see my answers :sob:#i LOVE making stupidly specific hcs this isn't even the half of it #guys drop your hcs or character you want my hcs for in my inbox!! (i want someone to spam my inbox womp womp)#yeah i spoke a lot about tachi what abt it #i love him a little too much i need someone else with the same level of obsession as me #i want him as an s/o so i'll be immune to bratty vending machines #^^OMG THIS APPEARED WHEN I WAS TYPING TAGS APPARENTLY I ALR WROTE THAT??? it's still true ofc #anyways yes i like to try to cater to most characters bc i'm a sucker for the underrated lomls #i would've slapped you with more lovecraft but i must ease back into writing hcs (i haven't done this in years)#uhhhh yeah #that's all my lil dumpling wumplings idk wtf else to write #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd hcs #bsd headcanons

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connieluvsr · 6 months

Text

ONE OF THE GIRLS | part 1

pairing: (electric) guitarist!jungkook x singer!reader(f)

genre: band au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

summary: when your main guitarist gets sick and can’t perform at your show, you get help from someone unexpected.

warnings: swearing and some making out, hot jk:)), drinking, mention of drugs, smoking, slight smut.

a/n: my first story!! hope you’ll enjoy it, i thought of it while listening to one of the girls by the weeknd, jennie, lily rose depp and i was like hmm i think i have an idea)) anyways i have some more works but i dont really have ideas for what to happen next in them😭 enjoy!! Also part 2 is gonna be CRAZY and much better, please wait a bit!!

_________________________________________

“i’m so so so so sorry.” ander sighs and falls back on the couch. “i feel like im disappointing you.”

you shrug, placing your hands into your scalp and gently pulling your hair. “it’s not your fault, i just…” you pause for a bit. “don’t know what i’ll do, it’s over.”

ander gets up and rubs your shoulder. “hey don’t say that, it’s not! you still have time to find someone who can replace me.”

you touch his hand and smile, you knew he really is sorry, but you can’t just try acting fine when you’re not. you dreamed of this since forever, having people come somewhere just to hear you sing. you were the duo everyone knew, he was your guitarist and you were the singer, that’s it, no one else.

you thought you’d find someone to replace him, and you did, actually, but they’re not good enough.

“i’ll just go, it’s getting late, take care hm?” i say while taking my jacket from the hanger.

“bri.. come on, don’t be like that.” he goes after you and takes your arm.

“like what?” you ask with a curious face, thinking what could he possibly say.

he hesitates for a moment before speaking, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “Like you’re giving up! Like… Like you don’t even care anymore. There has to be someone who can help us.. i mean help you.”

you sigh, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. “who? we’ve already contacted many musicians and they all sucked. none of them clicked. our sound was perfect, and that’s all”

Ander’s gaze softens, his voice gentle as he speaks “what about… zac’s friend?” he suddenly jumps. “he plays electric guitar right? maybe he could step in.”

you raise an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “yeah i know him. even if he does, he’s Zac’s friend, we barely know him. Also he’s a total ass, he would never agree.” you’re both silent for a moment. “wait! didn’t he fucked up our first show? remember! he wanted to play in our place and his rich mommy made us move dates.” you scoff loudly. “that fucker, no, never, i won’t sing with him.”

ander listens carefully to your frustrations, his expression thoughtful. he understands your reluctance, having experienced the turmoil caused by Zac's friend firsthand. after a moment of silence, Ander speaks, his voice steady, "I get it, Bri. I really do. But people can change. Maybe he's realized his mistakes, and this could be a chance for redemption. Plus, desperate times call for desperate measures. It's just one show, and if he doesn't come through, we'll find another way. But what if he surprises us?"

you're hesitant, the memories of past encounters with Zac's friend clouding your judgment. Ander continues, his tone encouraging, "We won't know unless we try, right? Let's meet him, talk to him, see if he's willing to help. If he shows even a hint of sincerity, we can consider it. And if not, well, at least we'll know we explored all options."

after another hour of talking with ander, reluctantly, you agree to meet with Zac's friend, still skeptical but open to the possibility of him proving you wrong. Deep down, you hope he has indeed changed, but you wont ever forgive him.

“how do we do that? call zac.” i say.

“its late, go get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow, ok?” he hugs you tightly before leading you to the door. you say your goodbyes and leave.

“god its 12 am already.” you sigh and call an uber, smartass couldn’t even do it. you take off your mask, thinking of someone. you dial the person and they respond right back

“bri! hi!”

“hi! you still at work?” i ask hoping for a negative answer

“just leaving, what’s up?”

“can you pick me up from ander’s house?”

“what were you- ok we’ll talk in the car, i’ll be there soon, k?”

“thank you”

you waited for your friend to come, and she did finally, after you froze yourself outside. but it’s better than paying that expensive fucking uber.

“hi. thank you again.”

“no prob, now tell me why are you leaving ander’s house at 12 am?”

“you act like we never do music together” you giggle and look at her

“yeah but it’s late tho” she raises an eyebrow she has a point.

“we talked about someone to replace him since he’s got some flu i don’t know and he’s not feeling well.” you take a look on the window

your friend's eyes widen in understanding, her expression softening. "Oh, that sucks. Is he going to be okay?"

you nod, sighing with relief that she didn't press further. "Yeah, he'll be fine. but we're kind of in a tight spot for the upcoming show. we tried finding replacements, but it's been a disaster. Ander suggested Zac's friend, the one who messed up our first show ages ago. I'm not thrilled about it, but we're open for it.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Zac's friend? Seriously? After what he did last time? You sure about this?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I'm not sure about anything at this point, but we're desperate. If he's changed, even a little, and he can play bass guitar, we might have a chance."

Your friend nods slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Well, I hope for your sake that he's gotten his act together. And if he hasn't, you'll figure something out. You always do."

Her words offer a sliver of comfort in the midst of your uncertainty. As you drive home together, you can't help but feel a mix of anxiety and determination.

“um… should i talk with zac for you?”

“what do you mean? you’re friends? since when?” you ask with a lot of curiosity

“well… we kinda.. hooked up…” she smiles as if she remembers every single detail

“WHAT??” your jaw drops in disbelief, shocked by the revelation. "you hooked up with Zac? When did this happen?"

she chuckles nervously, avoiding your gaze. "It was a while ago, he came to my club and tipped a lot, then asked for a blowjob, i said only if you give me head too and he actually did it” she laughs a bit seeing your shocked expression. “but if it helps you, I can talk to him and see if he can convince his friend to help you out."

you're torn between feeling surprised, betrayed, and oddly hopeful. "i don't know how I feel about this, but if you think he'd listen to you, maybe it's worth a shot. Just... be careful, okay? I don't want any more drama."

she nods, her expression serious. "I promise I'll handle it delicately. I'll talk to Zac and gauge his friend's interest in helping you. We'll see how it goes."

as she drives you home, you can't shake off the mix of emotions swirling inside you. you hope for the best and that he’ll agree and maybe be actually down to earth. you can’t lie you’re not nervous.

————————————————————————

next day you wake up totally in a sweat, the dream of being booed off the stage didn’t help your concerns at all, you felt like you need to talk to him as soon as possible, and hope for the best

taking your time to actually think about how to approach him to agree, but you thought he won’t ever do this for a random stranger, so you thought about avery and zac, she knew she’s make zac convince him.

“i talked to zac”

“and!?” you jump off your bed

“he said y’all should meet beforehand and he’ll see if he wants to, he wants to hear you sing too, but he doesn’t know what’s in for him, so i told zac to tell him… popularity? he’ll be on stage and be known so yeah.”

“AMAZING. GREAT.” you hug her tightly “love you, you’re the best. now where and when should we meet?”

“he said you should go at his studio later tonight. seems cool”

“sounds good to me, now what should i wear?” you look for some clothes

“you seriously think about what to wear? you don’t even know if he’s gonna agree.”

“true, true, but i have to make a good impression , i cant go in adidas sweats.

“yeah, yeah, now should i tell you i have a date with zac?”

“no way!! i’m glad, really!.”

“maybe one day even a double date with… what’s his name? jungkook?” she giggles at your expression.

“with that fucker? no. one show and its over, i get ander to sing with me and that’s all.” you shift in your place and think about ander, you gotta tell him everything.

feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, you spend the day preparing mentally and emotionally for your meeting with Zac's friend. The thought of finally finding a solution to your musical dilemma fills you with hope, but the fear of rejection lingers in the back of your mind.

“we’re here” says avery and gives you a comforting smile as you head inside.

as you step into the professional studio, a wave of inspiration washes over you. the air is thick with creativity, and the walls are adorned with soundproof panels, the room is dimly lit, the glow from the mixing console casting a warm ambiance over the space. cables snake along the floor, connecting various instruments to the mixing desk, creating a web of musical potential.

the room is a dark gray and a little black, you look around mesmerized, like you never went into a studio, you did, but not like one of those. i wonder how much he spent on all of this, or his family. you correct yourself.

in the corner of the studio, you notice a boy sitting on a stool, his fingers expertly gliding over the strings of a bass guitar. the bass guitar itself is a work of art, its body carved from rich mahogany, the natural wood grain accentuated by a glossy finish.

your thoughts are interrupted by a loud zac “hello girls, finally in jk’s crib!” he smiles widely then takes avery by her hand then places a soft kiss on her jawline, she totally blushes and i can see with the corner of my eyes how unamused jungkook is.

“hi brianna, nice to meet you.” he gives you his hand and smiles.

“you too! you shake his hand but your attention goes to the dark haired boy as he makes a sound to make us all look at him.

“you must be brianna.” he gets up and his hands fall in his huge hoodie pockets.

“yes, i am, and i’ve heard you’re jungkook?”

“you’re chinese?” avery suddenly blurtes.

“avery what the hell?” i ask embarrassed and look at his face, to see his reaction, nothing. “i’m so-“

“korean, if you really wanna know.”

avery realized her mistake and mouthed a sorry, to end the awkwardness i try to say something but he’s faster.

“so, you wanted to replace your guitarist hm?” he asks as he sits down and offers us to do the same, i sit down and take my strands of hair out of my face and fix my skirt.

Jungkook's gaze meets yours, his eyes a shade of deep brown that seems to hold a world of experiences. his tone is casual, yet there's an underlying intensity as he speaks, "yeah, I heard about your situation. mind if I give it a try?"

you nod, appreciating his straightforwardness. "absolutely.”

he picks up the bass guitar, his fingers caressing the strings with a practiced ease. As he starts playing, the studio fills with the low, resonant tones of the instrument. his skills are undeniable, and you can't help but be impressed by the way he effortlessly navigates the fretboard, creating a melody that resonates with the very soul of the song.

Avery and Zac watch in awe, clearly captivated by his performance. you find yourself drawn into the music, feeling the vibrations of the bass reverberate through the room. despite the initial awkwardness, there's a growing sense of excitement. maybe, just maybe, you've found the missing piece to your musical puzzle.

When Jungkook finishes playing, he looks at you, his expression earnest. before you can say how amazing that was, you get "now your turn.”

“i.. ok, what should i sing?” you awkwardly get up.

“you’re asking me?” he says with a confused look, sitting down where your place was.

“n-no just, ok i’ll start.” you nervously laugh and avery gives you a thumbs up making you smile.

“I’ve been posing with red skies,” you begin singing ‘Feet don’t fail me now’ by Joy Crookes, your voice shaky at first but gaining confidence as you delve deeper into the lyrics. with each word, you pour your emotions into the song, your voice resonating with the passion that fuels your music.

as you sing, Jungkook’s intense gaze never leaves you. his eyes reflect the understanding of the emotions you’re trying to convey, and it feels like he’s not just hearing the lyrics but also feeling the soul of the song. Avery and Zac, too, are entranced by your performance, nodding in appreciation as your voice weaves a story through the air.

the studio seems to fade away, leaving only the melody and the raw emotions you’re sharing. Your voice rises and falls, carrying the weight of the lyrics and the hope of a new beginning. In that moment, you’re not just singing; you’re baring your soul, connecting with the very essence of the music.

you finish and get applauses from everyone but jungkook.

“that was amazing” zac says, but don’t want his opinion, you want his friend’s. you wait, and you wait. and he opens his mouth suddenly. “cool.”

you give a confused look “cool?”

“yeah, we might work, rehearsals when i tell you i’m free and at your place.”

you’re taken aback by Jungkook's nonchalant response, but his words sink in. "sure, rehearsals at my place. we’ll work out the schedule," you reply, trying to hide your surprise.

Avery nudges you subtly, her eyes filled with excitement. after the initial tension and uncertainty, it seems like Jungkook is on board, even if his demeanor is more reserved than enthusiastic. you decide not to dwell on his reaction, choosing to focus on the opportunity ahead.

"thank you, Jungkook. we appreciate you giving us a chance," you say, mustering a smile.

he simply nods, his expression unreadable. despite the lack of exuberance, you can sense his commitment to the collaboration. with the pieces falling into place, you're eager to start rehearsals and see how this unexpected partnership will unfold.

Zac and jungkook watch you leave and zac places a hand on his shoulder

“what was that bro? you don’t know how to flirt, at least you were cool with the “at your place”

“you dumb fuck, i don’t want to flirt, i just need more recognition, that’s why i’m doing that, and i can’t here since dad comes with his artists you forgot?”

Zac raises an eyebrow, his surprise evident. "recognition ? buy you're incredibly talented, Jungkook. you’re practically a musical genius. ehh do you need more recognition? you forget your dad can put you all over the city’s billboards?”

Jungkook's gaze flickers, a mix of frustration and determination in his eyes. "it’s not about money, zac . it’s about proving myself, making my own mark without relying on my family's name. i want people to see me for who I am, not just as someone's son. and helping brianna, it's a step towards that."

Zac's expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. "i get it, man. we all have our struggles. just remember, we believe in you, not because of your last name, but because of your music."

Jungkook nods, appreciating zac’s support. "thanks, Zac. just hope I can live up to your expectations."

"You will," Zac says, clapping Jungkook on the back.

————————————————————————

your phone buzzes with an unknown number, and curiosity piques your interest as you answer the call. "hello? who’s this?" you inquire, your voice laced with suspicion.

"jungkook," comes the curt response from the other end of the line. shocked and unprepared, you hold back the exasperation that bubbles up within you. you didn't miss his arrogant tone, but deep down, you knew you needed him.

"yeah, Jungkook?" you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm, emphasizing the unnecessary delay in his introduction.

"meeting tonight. gotta talk about some stuff and all," he states, his tone bored, as if discussing your collaboration is a mundane chore for him.

"aren’t you gonna ask if I'm free?" you retort, refusing to let his dismissive attitude go unchallenged.

"don’t try to act busy," he says, his words carrying a mocking tone. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it infuriates you. He's clearly relishing this power play.

"i’m pretty busy, actually, but tonight I'm free. Come around 7 pm," you inform him, trying to assert a semblance of control over the situation.

"9? Okay," he counters, his response catching you off guard.

"what—" you begin to protest, but he ends the call abruptly, leaving you fuming with frustration. The audacity of the man infuriates you.

puzzled and slightly unnerved, you find yourself questioning how Jungkook got hold of your number. the mystery gnaws at your thoughts, prompting you to dial Avery's number, seeking clarification.

"hey Ave, you gave Jungkook my phone number?" you ask, your voice tinged with confusion and concern.

"hey, babe, no, why?" Avery responds, her confusion mirroring your own.

"he called me about meeting tonight. Are you sure? Maybe you gave it to Zac, and Zac gave it to him?" you suggest, trying to understand.

"damrn, no, i haven't," Avery replies, her voice filled with genuine surprise. There's a brief pause before she continues, her tone taking on a mischievous edge, "That's quite weird. Oh, also..." She bursts into giggles, and you can't help but sigh in exasperation.

"tonight at yours, huh?" she teases, her laughter spilling through the phone.

"gosh, stop, I'm hanging up," you grumble, rolling your eyes at her antics.

"no, wait! But something important!" she insists, her tone turning serious for a moment.

"what?" you ask, unable to resist the curiosity despite your annoyance.

"wear protection!" she says, her laughter bubbling up again, and you can't help but groan at her audacity.

"bye," you retort, deciding it's best to end the call before she can come up with any more embarrassing suggestions. Hanging up, you're left with a mix of confusion, irritation, and a reluctant smile at Avery's playful antics. As you prepare for the evening's meeting, you can't shake the feeling that dealing with Jungkook will be far more complicated than you initially anticipated.

——-

a/n : part 1!! i cant believe i finally posted this. i wanted to make it as one part but it was sooo long.

i hope you enjoyed it! also if you might find grammar errors its because english isnt my first language!

(any recs and tips are gladly taken since im new to tumblr!)

#bts jk #jungkook #jk #jeongguk #jk x reader #jk x you #jeon jk #jeon jungkook #jungkook and reader #jungkook x oc #taehyung #bts jungkook #bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader

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