#//she baked and cookied a lot when she was alive ^^

[lovelyshu]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do Yunjin, Kirara and Chevreuse hcs of them w a girlfriend reader who likes to bake them really cute desserts and stuff :3 just reader being like "I spent hours decorating these for you" and showing them like cookies in heart or animal shapes or smth similar ^_^

MY HONEY, HONEY PIE — with yunjin, kirara and chevreuse

description. them with a reader who loves to bake cute desserts for them

tags. f!reader, reader is quite silly, reallyyy short (sorry)

comments. woahh sorry for not writing this before, I'm still trying to get back to writing and I've been failing miserably as u can see. hope u like it tho!!

YUNJIN — [sidequest]

Yunjin was going back home, feeling a bit tired not only from all the songs she had to rehearse that day, but also not having time to eat a lot.

She wasn't one to usually skip meals throughout the day, but the stress from her upcoming opera was eating her alive.

As soon as the door was open, Yunjin was met with a pair of arms wrapped around her - your arms - and a delicious smell in the air.

“You're finally back! I made you something!” - Hearing your voice was enough to make Yunjin feel home again.

But her brain only focused on what you said last.

“Something for me?”

“Mhm!! Here, it's in the kitchen.”

Now she had a better idea on what you meant, but still didn't wanted to ruin your 'surprise', so she just followed you. Silently smiling to herself.

“Aaand... It's here!”

Yunjin couldn't hide the soft smile creeping on her face as she saw you standing there, holding the cutest dessert ever that she knew was going to be tasty.

“Thank you my dear. I'm sure it tastes amazing like always.”

KIRARA — [sidequest]

Kirara was finally finished with her last package, excited to go home and cuddle you.

Even before opening the front door, Kirara felt the smell of something sweet. Her tail wiggling slightly without her noticing.

She quickly opened the door, bursting inside the house already screaming for you.

“HONEY!! I'M HOME!”

Kirara didn't had to wait for more than a few seconds before you came inside the room, giving her a quick peck on the lips and smiling.

“I smelled something good. Are you making desserts again?”

“Yep! And I've made one just for you.”

Your words made her ears perk up, for which she quickly nodded.

As you two entered the kitchen, her eyes widened as soon as she landed them on the cake sitting on the counter.

Giggling, you grabbed it and handed it to Kirara, to which she gladly took it.

“Wahh! I love you so much!”

CHEVREUSE — [main quest]

Chevreuse was still in her job, having very long days ever since the last fontaine events.

With her unhealthy addiction to junk food, Chevreuse was already going to take a short break so she could eat some.

Until she spotted you, running in her direction.

Wrapping your arms around her and basically jumping in her, you pulled away a little, holding a small bag.

“What are you doing here, love? You know I still have work to do.”

“I've made you some desserts!” — you handed the bag to Chevreuse, who, even if she tried to maintain her posture, quickly opened it to eat the dessert.

You watched her with a smile, with hands behind your back while you wiggled to the front and back.

“I baked these ones to be very special! And also so you stopped eating so much unhealthy food when working.”

Chevreuse let out a small chuckle, taking a small bite from the dessert and smiling at you again.

“They're very tasty and cute. Thank you my love.”

[lcftcult]

@hashtag-bitch || x

What could she do? Black Star had an arsenal of skills, though they were mostly redundant to what someone of Velvette's status would desire, let alone care about. So the sinner furrowed her brows as she tried to come up with something, anything, that the Overlord would like.

She furrows her brows, looking thoughtful while her tail slowly swished from side to side. After a minute, Black Star thought of one of her special skills. Both her elbows are propped on the table and then she clasps her hands together. Following a hum, Black Star asks "do you.. like cookies?"

[ddejavvu]

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

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

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

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“-visit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’re able to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gifts!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“What is it, baby doll?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s-”

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When are you guys coming back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

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

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

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

- My dad’s eating one too :( 

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

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or until you know the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[redvexillum]

Alastor baking you cookies because its your birthday and they come out tasting just like your grandmothers old recipe your family lost when she went missing. While you guys are eating them Rosie comes in and asks about them and he says he made this recipe when he was alive and stole a family cookbook from a victim he ate.

I was sleep deprived and totally misread your ask and added a lot of my own flair to this and ended up writing whatever this is. I almost followed your request to the tee - "almost" being the operative word. Basically I wrote smut. Don't ask me how. XOXO, RedVexi 💋

A/N: I am contemplating on a part two (plot heavy), but as it stands now, this is a one shot.

SUMMARY: Alastor, the love of your life with an insatiable need when it comes to your flesh.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, fluff if you really squint super hard, alastor is in hell for a reason, blood kink, implied cannibalism, established relationship, possessive/obsessive love, p in v, love at first bite

You never imagined meeting the love of your life in Hell. The mere thought would have your family doing somersaults in their graves – if they weren’t already in Hell or Heaven themselves. Yet here you were, surrounded by the strange beauty of the underworld.  

Fireflies, glowing like tiny flickering embers, danced around you, their soft light wrapping you and your love in a shimmering embrace. The marshy grass beneath you sank under your weight, while tall, gnarled trees bent over, casting a long shadow in the dim light. The distant chorus of croaking frogs and chirping crickets echoed the bayou you loved when you were alive.  

It filled you with warmth that the demon – the man – you fell for shared that sentiment. The earthy, musky scent in the air brought back memories of summers spent trekking to your grandmama’s cottage. But those sweet memories quickly turned bitter as you recalled the last moments you had with her.  

“Focus on me, my dear,” came the crackling, layered voice of Alastor. His eyes, glowing red like the fires of Hell, burned into you. The sharp points of his claws traced a slow, deliberate path from your hip up to your sides, before he stretched his arms out to clasp your wrists. He brought your hands to frame your face, his imposing form looming over you.  

Your eyes roamed over his features, taking in the twitch of his big, fluffy ears atop his head each time your breath hitched. His large, unblinking eyes tracked every tremor, every shudder that wracked your body. Whereas the most intimidating feature of him, his teeth – his sharp, dangerous teeth – glistened with saliva as he trapped you beneath him, bare and vulnerable.  

Lowering his head, his grip around your wrists tightened as his tongue laved against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He moaned in a depraved tone that would scandalize the ladies of your time. The sound he made was reminiscent of when he had a particularly delightful time eating a hunk of fresh Sinner’s meat in Cannibal Town.  

His hot tongue continued to suckle, as if trying to drink in the blood pumping quicker and quicker beneath the thin layer of your skin.  

Heat and pressure lanced through you, coursing down every nerve ending before igniting in your core. Your breath came out in louder gasps from each suck, urging Alastor to bring his hips closer to your aching centre until you couldn’t tell where you ended, and he began.  

“Mhm,” he hummed, “patience, darling,” he murmured, trailing kisses up your neck, leaving a cool trail along the edge of your chin before hovering close to your lips. “All good things must be savoured, love,” he grinned, as if the very word ‘love’ was the funniest joke he had ever heard in all layers of Hell.  

Stifling your whimper, you closed your eyes, trying to endure Alastor’s relentless teasing. Lovemaking with him was a torment of pleasure, his games designed to push you to the brink until your eyes watered from the unbearable barb of desire that prickled before sinking a thousand sharp claws into you.  

When you reached that pinnacle, sobbing for relief, Alastor’s red, intense eyes would nearly lose focus as he savoured your expression. He would then take you with a fervour as if it were his last act before his final breath.  

His love, if it could be described with one word, would be: voracious.  

His hands and body immobilized you, leaving you to writhe under the weight of his control and desires. He pressed the shaft of his hardened cock right up against the lips of your entrance. You almost cried, desperate to grind against him to relieve the pressure, the throbbing, the heat that built steadily inside you without any sign of granting you reprieve.  

A whimper escaped your lips, causing his ears to twitch, before he groaned against your sweat-slicked skin. His breath came in short bursts, his body trembling before he finally relented. Pressing, pressing, and pressing against your core, grinding and coating his cock with your essence.  

“Al-Alastor,” your voice, thin and wispy, barely made it past your throat, “p-please?” Your pleas didn’t fall on deaf ears. Alastor’s muscles seized, and he drew back, the grin on his face slowly splitting past his cheeks.  

“Please, what?” his lips curled with wicked delight as his eyes danced with amusement.  

Despite being with him for over half a century and sharing your body in an act of union for hundreds of nights and mornings, you could still feel the heat blistering your cheeks.  

Trembling, you fought against his grip around your wrists, but he pressed your arms down, letting the soft, marshy grass embrace your form. You wanted to embrace him, feel the warmth of his chest against yours, feel the thrum of his heartbeat pounding as he continued to ravage you.  

“Most improper, a lady must not act like some wanton whore in front of an unmarried man,” your grandmama’s voice echoed in your ears. Yet, despite both you and he being unmarried and sinning in front of the Lord by indulging in each other’s flesh, this was Hell. Here, propriety didn’t matter. Here, you could be true to your desires.  

“Please,” tears of uncontrolled shame pricked your eyes, “I want you, love.” Unlike the way Alastor said ‘love,’ your tongue wrapped around the word, caressing the sound as you infused it with every drop of your feelings that resided within your heart.  

You wondered if Alastor knew how much you meant to him. How much you truly loved him despite both being damned as cursed creatures.

Alastor shuddered an exhalation before his lips touched yours, sinking into your embrace. He melded with you, stretching you to make his presence known.  

A sharp yelp ripped away from your throat as Alastor increased his pace, his hips slapping against your core. The wet, sodden mud squelched beneath you, mingling perfectly with the sound of your bodies coming together over and over again.  

His hardened cock bruised the inside of you, each thrust making your body shudder. His forehead drifted lower to rest against your shoulder, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin. His claws freed your wrists, now grasping your hips with a possessive intensity.

In and out. You moaned as your fingers found purchase on the back of his head, clutching his hair tightly. In and out. His cock slide with ease through your dripping arousal, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your core.

The sound of the artificial bayou melted away, replaced by the sounds of your keening and lovemaking. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire. Legs wrapping around his waist, you sobbed as his cock penetrated you, going deeper and deeper with each powerful stroke.

You were so close, the tension coiling tightly within you, and Alastor knew it. He growled like a feral animal, his grip tattooing your skin with the shape of his fingers. He doubled down, fucking you into the ground with relentless fury. His movements were uncontrolled, each thrust a testament to his desire, as he drove you toward the edge.

Your voice, broken in staccato, climbed higher and higher, your peak approaching at dizzying speed. With one particularly hard slam of his hips, your breath was knocked out of you. Head spinning with vertigo, your eyes rolled back as your spine arched upward as if a current of electricity shot through you.  

Your walls fluttered against the molten heat of his cock, clenching tightly around him, beckoning him to join you in release.  

Raising his head, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. Warm breath tickled the sensitive nerve as he spoke, his words mingling with his breath. “How sweet your voice is, darling,” he murmured, grinding the front of his hips against your swollen, wet centre.  

“Al - t-too mu-mu-ah!” you managed to choke out before he jerked his hips, kissing the deepest part of you with the head of his cock.  

“Let me taste you, my sweetheart,” he groaned, his tongue licking the same spot he always gravitated towards. “I want to hear you scream my name.” 

If there was one thing that was peculiar with Alastor, it was that he could never finish unless he bit you, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to drink your life’s vitality.

Soft moans filtered through your lips as you lolled your head to the side, like prey on its back, open and submissive. Your neck bared for him to bite you however he pleased. Still, the tremor continued to infect your nerves. No matter how many times he had done this, you couldn’t stop the quiet whimper from escaping as you fidgeted under him. 

“Shh,” he soothed quietly, his cock buried deep within you. “You know you love it when I make you feel this way. Just give into me, darling,” his tone pitched high as he tried to smother away his chuckles. “Let me hear you beg for it,” his words laced with a dark, sinister tone.  

His breath ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The sensation was a blend of ice and fire, each touch shooting liquid heat through your veins. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the deliberate, slow pace driving you to the brink of madness despite finishing first. Your body responded to his every move, arching into him, craving more.

Always, craving more.  

When his teeth finally sank into your flesh, the pain seared through you. But immediately after, it was followed by a wave of euphoria, a release so intense it squeezed the breath out from you. The contrasting sensations of pain and pleasure intertwined, and you responded by clenching around him tightly.  

Alastor’s grip punctured your skin, his hips moving with a renewed urgency. His growls of satisfaction reverberated through your body, a primal sound that echoed in your ears. You could feel the pull of his lips, the suction as he drew your blood, mingling with the heavy thump of your heartbeat pounding in your head.  

Your lips traced over the letter of his name over and over again. The thick scent of metal blended perfectly with the earthy scent of the bayou.  

Dizzying.

Intoxicating.

Addicting.

“My dear,” he moaned into your skin, “give me more,” his voice a long, drawn-out purr as his pace slowed. A loud exhalation accompanied the throbbing of his cock inside you. He poured into you, filling you to the brim while continuing to suck and consume your essence. 

As his hips slowed to a stop, he stayed buried within you, his tongue meticulously licking you clean of any crimson liquid that escaped your wound. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body going limp as you surrendered to Alastor’s ministrations, letting him savour the moment for as long as he desired.  

His lips remained affixed to your neck, drawing out every last drop, until his cock finally softened and slipped out of you.  

He slowly drew himself up, and you could see the faint stain of your blood shading his teeth as he grinned. Leaning his forehead against yours, he said, “Sweetheart,” in a southern drawl that reminded you of the people from your hometown from bygones past.  

A worm that continued to fester and grow inside you, feasting on your brain matter, squirmed its way through your thoughts. His tone was so familiar, like you’d heard it before, but the memory was shrouded by static, a white noise that covered what your mind was trying to recall.  

When his claws reached your cheek, you knew he was waiting to hear the words you always whispered after every intimate moment you shared.  

“I love you,” you said softly against his lips. He hummed in approval. He never said those words back, but you knew that men were taught to be stoic, as you had seen countless times while growing up.  

He chuckled lightly as he returned your kiss, the saltiness of your blood mingling with the taste of his tongue as it plunged into your mouth. He licked and massaged the sensitive walls inside you, each stroke sending a pleasant tingle down your spine. You felt a small twitch of his cock resting against your cum-soaked inner thighs. 

As he pulled away, his eyes softened, the fierce red glow dimming into a warm ember. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice taking on a rare tender tone. “I have a surprise for you.” 

A well of emotions burst from your heart, flooding you with warmth and gratitude. You showered him with kisses, your lips trailing over his own and across his cheeks. Each kiss was proof of your love, a silent thank you for remembering and cherishing your special day. Despite the passage of countless years, he had never once forgotten your birthday.  

He closed his eyes, his grin softening around the edge as he basked in your adoration. His hands stroked your side, soothing and comforting. The weight of his affection wrapped around you like a toasty warm blanket.  

At that moment, you felt completely and utterly cherished, every fibre of your being attuned to the demon who held your heart in his clawed hands.  

You sat on the chair, your nerves buzzing with excitement as Alastor sat across from you. He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table and resting his chin against his hands. His grin widened, eyes squinting with a mischievous glint. Rolling his head slightly to the left, his right hand snapped his fingers. A plate of cookies appeared before you.  

You blinked once, then twice, in sheer disbelief. Alastor had cooked for you before, but as he wasn’t a fan of sweets, he had never once attempted to bake anything for you. The sight of the cookies made your cheeks flush with warmth, and giddy delight filled your heart.  

“Thank you, Al,” you beamed, your smile bright and sincere. You reached for the first cookie on the plate, noticing how it was baked to perfection. You giggled lightly as you weren’t surprised as Alastor did everything perfectly. There was nothing he couldn’t do.  

The rich smell of butter hit your nose first, and you muffled a squeal of delight as you recognized the familiar scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.  

You took the first bite, and your eyes widened. The crunch was perfect, and the taste of times long passed flooded your senses. Tears welled up as you slowly looked at the cookie now bearing your bite mark.  

It tasted like home.  

Gritting your teeth, you swallowed the bite along with your unshed tears.  

You took another bite. 

Memories surged forward – your grandmama stroking your head as you munched on her cookies. The memory was so vivid, you could almost feel her gentle touch.  

Another bite.  

The memory of her warm smile greeting you at the door, the comforting smell of cinnamon filling her cozy cottage.  

One final bite.  

The image of her packing cookies into your wicker basket to share with your family, knowing full well you would finish the rest as you walked through the bayou.  

Despite the intense desire to sob your eyes out, you chose to laugh instead, wanting to celebrate this moment with happiness and gratitude. You stared at Alastor, your heart swelling with so much love for the man who let you experience your most treasured memories with stark clarity. “Al, thank –” 

Your voice was cut off by a knock on Alastor’s door. It swung open to reveal one of Alastor’s very good friends, Rosie.

“Alastor!” Rosie exclaimed as she strolled in, her dainty fingers covering a giggle. “Oh, you’re with your sweetheart,” she said, her depthless eyes curved with amusement and her sharp white teeth glinted from the dim light. “I won’t take up too much of your time.” 

���Oh, nonsense, Rosie,” Alastor waved his hand, summoning a shadow tendril to drag your chair so you would be sitting right next to him. “Do stay for a chat! It is my sweetheart's birthday, after all! It’ll be a party!” He stretched his arms out theatrically, the room seeming to pulse with his infectious energy, making you laugh from his cute gesture. 

“Is it now?” Rosie’s face lit up with delight. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” 

You smiled brightly in response thanking her as Alastor snapped his fingers and another chair materialized by the table.

Rosie gracefully took a seat across from Alastor, looking down at the plate of cookies and tilting her head, confused. “Didn’t think you would change your taste for sweets now!” she remarked, leaning closer to inspect the cookies.  

Alastor’s hand naturally rested against the top of your thigh, his claws lightly grazing the sensitive skin. Though hidden beneath the table, his touch sent a wave of embarrassment blanketing your body, but you did nothing to push him away. His touch was a peculiar comfort, a reminder of his constant presence in your life.  

“Oh ho!” He laughed, his voice rich and resonant. “This is a gift for my sweetheart, and I daresay, it’s a hit!” 

Distracting yourself from Alastor’s claws slowly drifting closer and closer to your inner thighs, you nodded emphatically. “It’s really delicious!” You glanced over at Alastor, your eyes shining with genuine appreciation. “It’s probably the tastiest cookies I’ve eaten since coming down here!” 

“Oh, you lovebirds,” Rosie giggled as she teased lightly. She picked up a cookie, inspecting it with a curious tilt of her head. “Did you add some special meat into this?” she asked with a dark, mischievous smile.  

Your shoulders jolted up, a chill running down your spine as you looked at the plate of cookies. Alastor knew how you felt about eating other Sinners. He had reassured you time and time again that he wouldn’t push you to indulge in such a macabre practice.  

Alastor laughed boisterously, his hand still smoothing against the top of your thigh. “Oh, heavens no!” he exclaimed. You felt a wave of relief settle within you. “The recipe was from an elderly woman I’ve met in the bayou back when I was alive.” He snickered darkly, his hand climbing up closer to the apex of your thighs. “I wasn’t a fan of her taste, if you know what I mean.”  He waggled his brows, making it clear of the true meaning behind his words.

Rosie tittered in response and you... 

You froze.  

His words slowly sank into the depth of your mind. Your brows knitted together, the warmth that had previously suffused your chest turning icy. Dropping your hands, you grasped Alastor’s hand that was on you, a plea for stability, a plea that you heard wrong.  

“She had a cookbook, I believe it was called...” Alastor hummed, tapping his lips as his eyes rolled upward, trying to retrieve the lost information.  

“Cooking in the Bayou,” you whispered, the words slipping out involuntarily. It was a book your grandmama cherished, filled with recipes passed down from generation to generation. 

The sharp snap of his fingers shattered the frigid air, his smile morphing into a sinister grin before your very eyes. “That’s right!” he confirmed; his voice filled with eerie delight.  

He didn't ask how you knew the name of the cookbook.

The rest of Alastor’s and Rosie’s conversation drowned in your ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Alastor. Your gaze fixated on the plate of cookies as your stomach churned with nausea.  

His hand, heavy on your thigh, continued its ministrations, gentle strokes as he laughed and talked with Rosie.  

You were on autopilot, politely nodding and smiling, pretending to hear the words that came out of their lips. Yet, your mind buzzed with the same white noise that had plagued you for years, ever since you first heard Alastor’s southern drawl peeking out from beneath his radio-static filter.  

The static grew louder and louder, engulfing your thoughts until you felt as if you were entering a void. And then, as if tearing through the very fabric of your reality, the words that had been lurking in the shadows of your mind finally broke free. 

The pupae of truth that had writhed within your consciousness finally transformed, bursting through its thin membrane. Clarity washed over you, harsh and undeniable.  

Every fond memory, every tender moment, every laugh shared with him now felt like a cruel joke.  

Rosie’s laughter echoed hollowly in your ears, a distant and mocking sound. Alastor’s touch now felt like a brand, burning into your skin. The room seemed to spin around you, the walls closing in as the weight of the truth threatened to crush you.  

Alastor’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he continued his conversation, oblivious to the turmoil that was shredding apart your sanity. He turned his head to face you when he noticed you now openly staring at him. He smiled at you, his grip on your thigh tightening.  

Alastor was the man who had killed and eaten your grandmama. 

Alastor was the man who had killed you.  

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[brittle-doughie]

Imagine steadily sneaking out of Dark Cacao's Palace, a flourbag load of pure unadulterated determination keeping your legs sturdy. Painstakingly heading for Beast-Yeast yourself to personally confront Mystic Flour Cookie, finally face-to-face.

First, your dreams. These crestfallen memories; these should not be yours, but yet they use your crust, copied down to how it crackles and crumbles. They walk with your legs and use your voice, and not meekly. Your little colorful buttons and creme filling. Through the eternal eyes of another wearing your broken face, a heavy shade of grief insisting a strong quake through your hands and feet, reflected in a broken mirror of indestructible forks and magic. None of this has ever happened to you, all your friends were alive and running free at the center of Gingerbrave's Kingdom.

Yet the firm echo at the crack of your mind reclaims; it indeed, had.

Second, that encounter and furiously attempted Soul Jam corruption with Shadow Milk Cookie, the dark jester of silken half-truths and rusty riddles; who's immortal darkness swallowed your common sense, that shadow with countless steep blue moon slits never dulled once under the unmoving gaze of the Sun.

But now, this sudden interest-an unpardoned heart from the literal pristine white embodiment of weightless apathy and sincerity?

These situations were too specific, familiar, and suffocatingly personal for mere coincidence.

The Beasts regurd you with an infectious stench of deep nostalgia, their eyes flash an infernal fire of thought, the kind one feels upon shaking hands with an old friend. The one that crawls like a bug, wiggles like a maggot. Growing the sprout of an itch, at an open chip of dry frosting the back of your head. A push, a pull, an annoying yet strong temptation of confrontation; of an acceptance, remembrances. Like they've known you since the very first crumb fell off the Witches' baking pan.

You spent this baked life depending on the protection and care of your beloved friends, but if that interferes with the truth you seek, you will risk falling apart into flour for finally having the chance to confront one of these gods about who you used to be.

Shadow Milk was serious when he countered you into an edge of existential dread. He was a frantic for the dramatics. Even for the most serious of cataclysmic events, he danced around the subject of your connection, hoping to unveil the mystery into stellar applause. That was the plan it seemed at leaat until Pure Vanilla threw a stake into his encore.

Cut through the answers.

With a mountain of luck and enough certainty, perhaps Mystic Flour Cookie will spare you doubts.

After all, even a being like her will neigh overlook such an opportunity; the chance of finally re-welcoming you, where she and the rest of her comrades know you rightfully belong.

She actually feels compelled to thank the merger weak Cookie's influence upon your new body, their mortal stupidity and curious self-preservation was an endless plague all within its very self, almost enough for her to forgive them for slowly erasing the dear memory of your once-divine mark upon these waning lands and lesser soils.

Almost.

(Sorry I have thoughts and lots of then, I hope I ain't bothering you.)

Nah, it’s all good. This was a pretty interesting read!

From what my brain of mush can put together, Y/N was a former Primordial Cookie before being reincarnated into a regular Cookie at some point, you were having dreams of this past life at first to the lead up to the search for White Lily Cookie.

The Shadow Milk fight would be the first time you started questioning on who you really were, but Pure Vanilla/White Lily Cookie pushed him back before you could get answers.

Your reputation seemed to be revered amongst the Beasts, as such with Mystic Flour Cookie. As stated, she could almost forgive the transgressions of having your memory altered, making you forget how you left your mark in these lands. You needed to remember who your allegiances should really go to, to remember who your real comrades were.

You were getting answers from Mystic Flour, in one way or another.

[sunseed-fandump]

Gingerbrave & Friends Headcanons I Spin Around in my Head like a Microwave

Strawberry Cookie always wears her hair in a braid that's tucked in her hood. Her hair is really long (the idea of scissors being near her head makes her anxious).

Wizard Cookie used to braid her hair for her every day and he eventually taught her how to do it herself. He will still braid it for her if she asks.

Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie are the only ones who have seen Strawberry Cookie with her hood down.

Custard Cookie III likes to call Chili Pepper Cookie his "Bodyguard". His friends are usually called his "subjects" so he essentially promoted her by giving her a special title. (He thinks she's really cool.)

He also calls Strawberry a "Knight", Wizard the "Court Magician", and Gingerbrave his "Advisor". Everyone has just kind of gotten used to these nicknames.

If Custard Cookie III doesn't like someone, he will call them by their full name. It SOUNDS polite enough, but if he doesn't consider someone to be one of his subjects, that means he doesn't want them in his kingdom. And by extension he doesn't want to hang out with them.

Custard Cookie III likes riding on people's shoulders. He likes to feel tall.

Wizard also likes being tall, but he thinks being picked up is embarrassing, so he sticks to levitation spells.

Since Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie were baked by a Witch, they're actually a lot stronger than normal Cookie children. Strawberry's unnatural strength, Wizard's magical skills, and Gingerbrave's unwavering courage are proof of this.

As adults, the three of them are going to be VERY formidable because of this.

Chili Pepper Cookie runs warmer than most cookies. The children take advantage of this. She has been trapped under many a cuddle pile. (She thinks its sweet. But she has a reputation to uphold, so she puts on a fake pout.)

Wizard has been tutoring Custard Cookie III when they both have free time.

Chili Pepper cried (in private) when one of the kids gave her a gift for the first time.

Strawberry Cookie, Gingerbrave, and Wizard Cookie aren't exactly sure when their birthdays are. (Escaping took priority over keeping track of exact dates.) So they picked the day they escaped from the Witch as their collective birthday.

Custard's father is alive, but in hiding. He has been keeping track of events from the shadows. He misses his son, but glad that he at least has reliable friends taking care of him.

Chili Pepper Cookie can curse in multiple languages.

Gingerbrave would actually be a really skilled swordsman. He's just really attached to his candy cane.

[hocuspocusbabyy]

I’m sorry but just IMAGINE Eloise and Cressida as parents?!

Cressida would 100% be a full blown PTA mum, planning all the best events for her children’s school.

Eloise would inevitably be dragged along to help decorate and somehow end up agreeing the directing the school play - because she’s read the book a MILLION times! And “Couldn’t possibly let them butcher it.”

They’d have two daughters and a son. Aged, 5, 3 and 6 months. Lunet, Maeve and Benedict Jr.

Eloise would try sneaking treats that Cressida had baked for a fundraiser. Getting caught with frosting on her mouth, she swears blind to her wife she a no idea where it came from.

Cressida baking special cookies just for Eloise to eat! 😭

Eloise would read to the children every night, Cressida insisting she’s just there to tuck them in but ultimately sat across the bottom of the bed to listen too.

Cressida will often insist Eloise continues reading despite the fact the kids are already asleep, and they will have to reread that chapter again the next evening!

Uncle Benedict would love taking care of the children so their mothers may enjoy a walk or weekend alone 🥹 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Though I suppose that doesn’t leave a lot.”

Uncle Colin and Aunt Pen would already arrive with an array of wonderful gifts. Eloise has a shelf of trinkets, many from Cressida and her family. Stemming from rocks, sea shells and pressed flowers to tiny figurines and bottles of sand from Colin’s travels.

Eloise secretly adores that Cressida insists on hanging Benedict’s painting’s in their home.

Eloise will often return home to Cressida and Violet sharing tea in the garden - Violet cannot go more than a few days without visiting her grandchildren.

Aunt Daphne and Cressida would take great pride in buying the children the cutest shoes and outfits - much to Eloise’s dismay when she finds her youngest in a ‘hideous’ bonnet. “Well what has she got this monstrosity on her head for? Oh my sweet girl don’t worry mummy will protect you from the taffeta.”

Eloise often getting emotional when spending time alone with her wife and children, free of any distractions. Forgoing her book to simple watch Cressida and their toddler play in the grass with wooden blocks.

Cressida tired at the breakfast table a child on either knee, as Elouise and their eldest read the newspaper out loud. Gently kissing their temples and stirring her tea.

Eloise and Cressida often indulging in a sneaky cigarette together at the end of a long week. Hidden out on the balcony to their room - their children fast asleep in the next room. Often shushing one another when their giggling threatens to wake them.

Eloise nearly having a ‘heart attack’ seeing her child on a horse for the first time, insisting her wife is insane and she’d prefer both ‘her girls’ back on the ground.

Cressida being the good cop, Eloise bad cop in many matters. I truly believe Cressida would be the biggest softy towards their children.

Eloise helping the children with their school work, whilst Cressida knits across the room (Cressida is utterly no help academically.)

Violet often insisting on taking the children for the evening because her home is simply ‘too big’ and Cressida and Eloise are ‘still young’.

Cressida and Eloise often opting to enjoy their meals in the form of picnic. Packing up the children to spend the evening down by the river.

Cressida rolling up her sleeves and teaching the children to skim stones.

Eloise sat waiting to aid them all in drying off when they’re done. The baby resting upon her chest.

Eloise often scolding Cressida more than the children, her wife simply brushing her off with terms of endearment or a kiss.

Cressida taking birthdays very seriously, waking up early to decorate the house. They keep Violets birthday hat tradition well alive. Eloise made her one their first birthday spent together and she still has it. Violet cried when they did the same for her.

The entire family often visit for long weekends and dinners - Eloise and Cressida opted to live in the country where there is more privacy and space for them.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

I like to think that Ponyboy thought Soda was closest to their Dom and Darry had their Dad; that sure his parents loved him but he wasn't their favorite but being dead ass wrong.

Got any headcannons about Mr. and Mrs. Curtis loving their littlest baby boy? :)

HECK YEAH I DO! Thanks anon, this ask is so cute.

Ponyboy and his Parents headcanons:

-Got to ride around on Mr. Curtis' shoulders a lot when he was little, and since he was the baby of the family and their last kiddo, also was allowed to way longer than Soda or darry did (this kid was nearly five when he was finally considered 'too big' for it anymore)

-Soda was definitely one of those kids who needed their parents to sit and supervise to make sure they actually did their homework, so when Soda and Darry were doing homework but Pony was too young to have any yet, Mrs. Curtis would sit at the table with him and they'd do colouring books together while Mr Curtis helped the others with schoolwork

-When Darry and Soda were out with friends but Pony was too young to go along, Mrs.Curtis would make a pillow fort in the living room and make them each an ice cream sundae, and then they'd sit together in the fort eating ice cream and reading together. It's part of why Pony's such a voracious reader now, because his mom made it so special for him when he was little

-When Mrs. Curtis was baking chocolate cakes she'd let Pony lick the spoon whenever he was alone with her in the kitchen- which was often, him and Soda were both total mama's boys. (She did it for all her kids of course, whenever they were the only ones around, and to this day they all still think they were the only ones who she let do it since she always told them it was their little secret.)

-Ponyboy has his father's height and also his build. Mr. Curtis was never a track star, but he won a few foot races at fairs and stuff when he was a kid, and that's where Pony gets his speed from

-Anytime young Pony wondered why his dad picked such a weird name- particularly if he was upset after getting teased about it- and demanded to know why they'd given it to him, Mr.Curtis would tell a different story and they got progressively more outlandish ever time he asked

-Mr. Curtis liked movies almost as much as Ponyboy does, except he was the type of person to talk through them, and it annoyed Ponyboy so much (now he'd do anything to watch a movie with his dad again)

-Mrs. Curtis gave all her kids tons of nicknames, but her favourite ones were a little ridiculous. She called Darry 'cheeks' because he had really rosy cheeks as a toddler, Soda was 'smudges' because as a baby he always had food on his face, and Ponyboy was 'bean' because he was a bouncy baby and was 'just like a little jumping bean, aren't you my little love?'

-Mr. Curtis loved plants but couldn't keep one alive no matter how hard he tried, and he mourned every single one he accidentally killed. Pony unfortunately inherited both the love of plants and the opposite of a green thumb. After the sixth plant funeral Pony forced him to attend, Curly got him a succulent thinking it would be impossible for Pony to kill a plant that hardly needs water. The very next day he found himself attending plant funeral number seven

-Mr. Curtis would help Ponyboy and Soda make signs and banners before every one of Darry's football games when Darry was having breakfast with his team. They always offered Mrs.Curtis to join them but she usually took the opportunity of all her boys being busy to take a few minutes to herself

-Soda was always moving as a child, so Mrs. Curtis took him to one of those 'mommy and me' dance classes- but like, the 60s equivalent so like, swing dance lessons they just happened to go to together- while Darry, Pony, and Mr. Curtis would all cook dinner. Because of this, the Curtis brothers all cook more like their dad than their mom, because Mr.Curtis had the patience to help teach them in the kitchen, whereas Mrs. Curtis hated anyone else in her space when cooking (girl me too)

-Mrs. Curtis was the chocaholic that all the Curtis bros inherited their sweet tooth from. She used to buy an extra bag of chocolate chips and keep in the drawer of her bedside table because no other place in the house was safe from Darry's careful investigations and Ponyboy's pleading green eyes. And don't even get her started on Soda's ability to sniff chocolate out like a bloodhound, and steal it quieter than a ghost. That kid was never quiet, not even in church, but hide a chocolate muffin in the back of the fridge and suddenly he was a monk until it was in his belly.

-Ponyboy thinks he doesn't share much/enough resemblance with his parents, but his ears go red like Mrs.Curtis' used to when she was embarrassed or mad, and the cut of his jawline is just the same as Mr.Curtis', and he tilts his head when he laughs just like his mom did. Sometimes Ponyboy will get confused and the scrunch between his brows is so similar to the way their mom used to look when she was trying to help him with math homework that it catches Darry off guard and for a second it's hard for him to breathe

-Mrs.Curtis might have got Pony into reading, but Mr.Curtis was the one who got him into liking poetry. He could recite lines and lines of poetry off by heart and Pony still remembers some of his dad's favourites

[hypernova-writes]

Didjjdjfjfjdj I cannot contain it anymore- Can I request a fem spy x reader x fem sniper? I loveebehddhfj women saur much and I need those two so BAD 😭 Like my heart genuinely broke when I tried searching fem fortress x reader only to get NOTHINGGGG 💔💔💔 If you do this request, my life is entirely YOURS ☹️💖💖💖💖💖💖

~ 💌 anon

A/n: of course you may!! I did this as a sort of a rivalry type of them, like they try to see who could spoil you the most, I just love the whole Bloody Suit Pairing all together..

Anything You Can Do I can do better! [Fem!Spy/Fem!Sniper x reader]

-> Your girlfriends love trying to see who can spoil you more, But they both love you oh so much!

OH THE COMPETITION!!

“…’Roo..”

“Oh Darling!”

You blush as you’re standing between your two girlfriends.

Spy loved spoiling you with rich and lavish things you could never really afford on your own. A new dress you mentions, she’d bought it for you in your top three favorite colors.

She’ll pay for expensive jewelry for you (and Sniper too..), she’ll make sure the color matches your eyes, if you don’t like it, she’ll take it back and get one that matches you a lot more.. (and manages to be more expensive.

Sniper is more of a quality time type of gal, she’ll cook for you, paying attention to what you like the most, she’ll even use some of the recipes her parents taught her. She’ll have you taste testing, standing beside her.

Spy also likes to tag along in these little cooking session, she handles the baking, (i feel like she could bake a mean set of cookies..).

She’ll also tease Sniper with phrases like: “Darling, try not to kill our little wife with your cooking,” Knowing damn well Sniper can cook.

Sniper would ignore her, only rolling her eyes to place kisses on both of your cheeks before saying. “You’ve eaten it. You’re alive.”

The best cuddles in the world.

Sniper loves loves loves, having you sit in her lap, while Spy likes having you place your head in her lap.

When it comes to battles? Oh honey you are protected!

Someone gets a little too close to you and you don’t notice? Sniper has got em.

You get cornered? Don’t worry Spy is coming with a backstab to save her little wifey.

Honestly, they love you as much as they love each other, so yes, they will harm someone if anyone even dares to disrespect you. And they better hope to god that they aren’t around, or they will be dealt with.

[buckyalpine]

Your Daughter ii

Bucky x single mom reader, Steve, Sam

This is just all FLUFF

Imagine Bucky babysitting your four year old daughter for the first time. You have a conference you have to go to last minute and you’ve never left her alone with anyone else before. Bucky hates seeing the way the worry eats you, wondering who could look after her on such short notice. He loves spending time with your baby so he has no problem offering his time if that's something you’re okay with. 

You don’t want to pressure him into anything but you’re beyond grateful because there's no one else you trust more and you know she’d feel safe with him. 

“Be good for Prince Charming, alright?” You whisper, making her giggle, giving her a kiss on her cheek. She nods, going back inside to finish her breakfast, already excited about the weekend she’s going to have with mommy’s special friend. Mommy had lots of friends but Bucky was her favorite. 

As soon as you’re out the door, Bucky starts to feel nervous. He wants to do a good job and show you he’s in this for the long run, he’s here for the both of you. Your daughter is an absolute angel, so he knows he has nothing to worry about but still. He looks over the checklist you left for him, memorizing everything on it just to be safe.

He goes over to the kitchen, where your little one has finished eating, tip toeing over the sink to wash her hands. He lifts her onto a stool, helping her clean off before they go over to the living room and plop down on the sofa.  

“What do you want to do today princess” 

“It’s Saturday” She made a thinking face while clambering into his large lap, “Oh! We bake on Saturday” 

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he picked up a whisk or spatula but he wasn’t going to break tradition or disappoint the cutest face he’d seen in his life. He nodded, scooping her up in one arm, scrolling through recipes on his phone, setting her down on the kitchen island. 

“How about sugar cookies?” He took your daughters wide eyes and clapping hands as an immediate yes, grabbing what he needed from the cupboards and fridge. It didn’t take long for the kitchen to turn upside down but the sweet aroma of cookies wafting through the house made Bucky smile. He chuckled at the soft giggles your little one made as she iced each cookie, pink frosting smeared across her nose and cheeks, though not seeming to care one bit. Bucky felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, immediately grabbing it incase if was you. 

“How you holdin’ up punk” Bucky can could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, his best friend knowing how big a step this was for him. 

“We’re both alive” Bucky snorted, looking at the mess of sprinkles and sugar around the kitchen, nothing too disastrous. “We made enough cookies to feed an army”

“Say no more” 

Bucky and your daughter both do a perfect job of cleaning up the mess, thought struggling to find enough containers to put all the cookies in. She decides a tea party would be a good idea as an excuse to eat the cookies that didn’t fit into the boxes. 

Who was he to disagree? He helped her pick out a dress to wear along with matching shoes, softly brushing her hair and tying bows into her pigtails. He changed out of his flour covered clothes, cleaning himself up for a distinguished night of apple juice, cookies, carrot sticks and Beauty and the Beast. 

The doorbell rings and your daughter sets down her cup, wondering who it could be. 

“Mommy’s home?” She looks at him with curious eyes, just a tad bit disappointed all the fun is already ending. Or so she thought. 

Your babygirl has no idea what to do with herself when she's surrounded by Prince Charming's handsome friends. She hides behind Bucky’s large form, peeking from behind him before taking Steve and Sam’s large hands in her tiny ones over to her set up. 

If only you were there to witness the sight of the large men all clambered together in a circle with their pinkies up, holding cups that could fit in their palms. They’re all in various get ups your little one dressed them up in, tiaras, feathers, lace and beads strewn across them. 

Steve made a mental note to cry happy tears later, not now, watching your daughter dote over Bucky the most, constantly filling his cup, inching towards his side whenever she sat down. 

Sam was between wanting to laugh at the super solider nearly topping off the 1 foot chair he was given and crying over how cute little your babygirl was, politely making the rounds with her tray of cookies. His eyes may or may not have glossed over when she ignored her own chair and decided Bucky’s lap was a comfier place to sit. 

“You sit down and relax princess, how about you get changed and let us take care of all this” Steve smiled, clearing up the cups and plates, letting Bucky take your daughter up to get washed and changed into her pj’s. By the time she was back down, all she had to do was get comfy and pick a movie, happily snuggled between the her favorite Prince and his handsome Knight friends. 

As you walk though the door, your eyes grow wide at the mass of large shoes on the mat, smiling curiously when you can hear your baby's favorite movie and the smell of cookies still lingering around the house. You quietly padded down the hall, biting your lip seeing the three men all squished together on your sofa with your babygirl tucked right in the middle, their eyes all glues to the screen. 

Sam pawed at Steve’s thigh, silently asking for a tissue, as Belle cries over Beast, waiting for him to wake up. Your daughter was the first to notice you were home, the rest of the audience too heavily invested in the movie. 

“Mommy look! It’s our favorite part!” She wiggled out of her comfy spot, jumping into your arms as you scooped her up. 

The three men, looked up at you, all teary eyed, while your little one grinned, excited to see Beast transform into Adam so he could be happy with Belle. You giggled, watching Steve pass the box of tissues over again, collective sniffles shared between the three.

Sam and Steve shared knowing glances, noting the way Bucky’s cheeks were now tinted pink, looking lovingly at you and your daughter. They quickly said their good byes, not before promising your little one they’d be to see her again; they wouldn’t miss her tea parties for the world. 

You tucked your daughter in for the night, making your way back down to find Bucky holding two mugs of tea, setting them down on the coffee table and tugging you into his lap on the couch. 

“Welcome home, mama” He smiled, kissing your hair, his hand massaging up and down your spine. He’d never felt more loved and happy in his life, feeling like he finally had a little family to himself, a place to call home. 

“She loves spending time with you” You relaxed in his hold, toying with is dog tags, smiling to yourself over how perfect it all felt. The piece that always felt missing in your home was complete when Bucky was around. “We both do” 

He smiled against your hair, feeling more confident in his decision, thinking about the ring that sat in his drawer back at the compound. 

Soon. 

“I love you” He smiled, holding you tightly in his arms, “I love you both” 

[peach-top]

❝𝙑𝙄𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉❞

➤ ACT O. | FINAL

➤ FAREWELL DARK CACAO KINGDOM

“Ah? A letter from Dark Cacao Cookie?” the pure blonde questioned as the blue bird arrived with a letter.

The pure blonde gently grabs the letter and reads it. He perked up.

“....Who's…Dark Cacao Cookie…?”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“Your majesty, you have a letter from the Dark Cacao Kingdom.” Smoked Cheese Cookie announced while holding a letter.

“Oh? That's rich coming from someone who's always so grumpy!” Golden Cheese Cookie chuckled. “Read it for me!”

Smoked Cheese Cookie huffed then read the letter out loud. While through the letter, the general was interested, but also unsavory by the idea about the wanderer. Golden Cheese Cookie was interested upon hearing what's going on at the Dark Cacao Kingdom.

“Oh? A wanderer who ends the madness of those beasts that attacked the kingdom? Most of all, since when did that gloomy king become so soft?” Golden Cheese Cookie questioned. She then murmured, “...Hm…Should I trust him into my kingdom…?”

Smoked Cheese Cookie overheard her words, “A wanderer…there's something about him…”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“Oh-ho! A letter from my dear friend! I didn't know he missed me that much!” unnamed huntress laughed.

The unnamed huntress opened the letter. The female read through the letter from top to bottom and she couldn't help but burst out laughing upon reading it, “HAHAHAHAHA! It looks like Dark Cacao Cookie grew soft for this wanderer! I would like to see him for myself!”

“But unfortunately…I'm not in the kingdom at the time being…”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“Elder Faerie Cookie, it's a letter from the Dark Cacao Kingdom.” Silverbell Cookie called out to the guardian. “It was given to White Lily Cookie, but— Would you like to read it?”

“...?” Elder Faerie Cookie was going to hesitate but took the letter anyway. The elder faerie opened the letter and read them. His eyes widened with interest. The wanderer known as [Y] is someone that Millennial Tree has mentioned to him.

“Impossible…You mean…?” Elder Faerie Cookie gasped. Millennial Tree nodded, “I was surprised that it worked. I was able to give him the life stone to keep him alive.”

“But why? What if he remembers it all and destroy—”

“No worry, Elder Faerie Cookie. He won't be able to return back to the past. Besides…he’s the one who ended himself.” The spirit of the forest stated. The faerie’s eyes widened, “You mean to tell me that the lord ended himself? But why?!?”

“That's just a theory. I theorized that something inside him wished to end it all. He…was just a different cookie before being corrupted…” Millennial Tree frowned.

“...How did you know about that?” Elder Faerie raised his eyebrows. “Not many cookies knew how he was made nor knew if he was a different cookie. You weren't made when he was baked.”

Millennial Tree sighed, nervously fiddling his fingers, “...Will you believe me if I say that I've seen the one who created him was in my dream?”

“...!” Elder Faerie was taken back by this. He knows Millennial Tree wouldn't lie which is impossible not to believe him. “...Can't say that I don't…”

“The creator is someone I'm worrying about. They sometimes appear in my dreams, threatening me to hand him to them.” Millennial Tree furrowed his eyebrows. “But I will not allow that even if it risks my life. [Y] must live on with his new life as someone new. I cannot let him feel guilty of those sins he caused. He has the right to be happy and a second chance at life. Just trust me on this, Elder Faerie Cookie.”

“...If I were to meet this [Y], I'll see what he's capable of…” Elder Faerie sighed.

“This is him. The one who Millennial Tree Cookie was talking about…” Elder Faerie thought. He then turned to Silverbell Cookie, “Silverbell Cookie, here's someone I would like for you to trust once they arrive in the kingdom.”

“Huh?”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The next day, it's time for [Y] to leave. Most of the people really don't want him to leave because they admire him a lot. They give him gifts and souvenirs to show their gratitude.

“It's a shame to see you go, Sir [Y]...” One of the warriors frowned.

“Yeah. Without your help, we would've been done for…” another warrior said.

“I don't want to go either, but there's still more places to explore. I would like to know more about the outside world.” [Y] smiled. “Don't worry, I will return if you ever need my help. Just send me a letter. I have animal friends who can help you send the letters.”

“We won't forget your heroic act in saving the kingdom. We will honor you.” Caramel Arrow Cookie genuinely smiles at the taller male.

“Thanks, Caramel Arrow Cookie. I'm sure you're even more heroic than I am. It's a great choice to have you as the first watcher.”

“Remember, I've given you one of my specialties. The smell will follow wherever you go so you can think of me.” Affogato Cookie chuckled. The first watcher huffed, “Hope you're not poisoning him.”

“Why would I poison such a pure soul?” The priest glared at the female. “I'm only giving him something as a gift. I adore him after all.”

“Thank you, Affogato Cookie. I won't forget you or that ice cream coffee. It's one of the best ones I've ever tasted.” [Y] beamed.

“...!” Affogato Cookie blushed then looked away while fiddling with his staff, “A…ah. Don't worry, when you return, I'll make you more. I've left you a recipe in case you need it!”

“I'll be sure to remember.” The taller male nodded.

Crunchy Chip Cookie pushed Affogato Cookie aside, “Hey! We haven't finished our training yet! You promise that you'll teach me how to communicate with dragons!”

“Oh, right. We can continue when I return. Licorice Dragon would like to communicate with you while I'm gone. You'll be able to understand.” [Y] said then handed the short male a handmade whistle. “Since she's an ally, you just have to blow the whistle if you need anything. I entrust you to take care of her and her babies.”

Crunchy Chip Cookie saluted, “I vowed to protect the Licorice Dragons and the kingdom! If anything happens to them, I won't forgive anyone who harms them!”

“That the beast tamer for you.” [Y] chuckled, patting the male on the head, much to his please.

Dark Cacao cleared his throat to grab [Y]’s attention, “We thank you for protecting our kingdom, [Y]. We'll be looking forward to your next visit.”

“My pleasure. It was nice to be here. I was able to learn so much about this kingdom and meet new people. Thank you for having me here.” [Y] grinned.

Dark Cacao was a little taken back, but softly smiled, “I'm glad we were able to give you fond memories. You are free to enter the kingdom even if it's set. There's no need to wait for anyone to open the gate. They just open it for you.”

“I will remember. Thank you.”

“...” Dark Cacao Cookie wanted to give him one last gift, but he's not sure if he was prepared for it. However, he can't let [Y] leave with a gift from him. He remembers what he told himself:

ACTION SPEAKS LOUDER THAN WORDS.

“Well…bye. See you all again.” [Y] waved. The others excluding the ruler wave back to him as he is about to leave. Before he could leave, Dark Cacao grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him in a kiss, shocking everyone around him.

“M-my liege?!” the second watcher gawked.

The raven haired ruler pulled away and left without a word, leaving everyone flabbergasted. [Y] was more confused than shocked. He has seen his animal friends with their nose nuzzles together, but people who are his kind do mouth-to-mouth. So…that was his first kiss.

“Is that a normal way to say goodbye?” [Y] asked innocently. The denizens look at the male with concern.

“Pure soul doesn't know what a “kiss” is…”

“Ah…No, [Y]. It's—” Caramel Arrow Cookie leaned over and whispered in the taller male’s ear.

“Oh. Then is it ok to kiss you guys, I like you guys a lot.” [Y] asked.

The denizens were flustered by the fact that the wanderer admitted that he likes them, but the kissing is out of the question.

“N-no need.. “ Caramel Arrow Cookie sweatdropped. “I don't know if I could explain any further. How's his majesty doing?”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Dark Cacao Cookie was burning up. Kissing the wanderer then walking away, he must've thought the ruler is weird. A knock on his door was heard, “Come in.”

“My liege.” Caramel Arrow Cookie peek into the room. Dark Cacao Cookie sighed, “Did he leave?”

“Yes, he did.”

“...He didn't look disgusted, did he?”

“Well…more like clueless. He seems to like it, but he was bewildered on how it works.” The first watcher scratches the back of her head with a nervous smile on her face.

The raven haired ruler was astounded, but he found it amusing, causing him to chuckle softly upon realizing how daring the wanderer can be.

“Hahahaha…I see. Good to know.” Dark Cacao Cookie smiled fondly.

“His majesty has acted differently since the wanderer arrived. Seeing him smile for the first time is like a blessing. I hope nothing takes away that smile.” Caramel Arrow Cookie chuckled quietly.

╭ ⁞ ❏. facts

┊ ⁞ ❏. there are so many things [y] still need to learn

┊ ⁞ ❏. dark choco cookie, here we come!

┊ ⁞ ❏. fire spirit once trying to get [y] to swear, but failed when wind archer find out

┊ ⁞ ❏. [y] may or may not have connection to the beast cookies

➤ chapter vi

➤ act i. | non-existent friend.

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Little Angel

Word Count: 852

Content Warnings: None :)

“Daddy you get three guesses. What’s in my hands?” Natalie swayed side to side, looking up at Spencer with a mischievous smile, her little hands clamped together tightly behind her back. The fluffy santa hat sitting snug on her head swayed with her.

You watched from the kitchen, stirring the big pot of hot chocolate before the team came over. You didn’t even notice the big smile on your face, but watching your daughter and her daddy giggle together made you the happiest lover alive.

“Hmmm,” Spencer hummed curiously, even though he could easily profile his little girl given he’s had lots of practice with her. Natalie loved testing Spencer, making him profile her and play puzzles. “I think,” Spencer swayed his head to the side to peek as Natalie screamed loudly, giggling too. 

“No peeking!” She said, funny at first, but eventually a pout grew on her face and little tears began to run from her honey-gold eyes, just like Spencer’s. Spencer got on his knees next to her to sit criss cross on the living room carpet. 

Natalie wattled over to him, finding a seat on his left leg and her body facing him. She revealed to him what he profiled wrong. He was almost certain it would’ve been her favorite plastic cookie from a small baking set you’d bought her for her birthday. He was wrong though. 

She extended it towards his face, a little glittery, paper angel ornament she’d made in school the other day. In her wobbly five year old hand-writing it said “I'll always be your baby girl”. Morgan always called Natalie baby girl and Spence always called her baby. It was the first thing she thought of writing.

Spencer gently took it from her hands, holding it in front of his face, trying to make out the writing. He looked back down at his daughter, her arms now wrapped around his waist but too short to wrap completely. “Thank you.” He whispered, kissing her wavy mousy brown hair. 

A part of her was still upset he hadn’t guessed it though, and Spencer could clearly tell. “Hey, let’s put it on the tree, Nat.” He said lifting her up and letting her wrap her scrawny legs around his hip. He walked her towards the half-decorated tree. You guys were so busy at the BAU that Spencer didn’t even have time to assemble the tree until today.

“Can I do the star too, Daddy?” She said grabbing onto and twirling a little piece of his hair in her hand.

Spencer looked to you, waiting for the boss’ approval. You nod your head, “Sure, why not.” You said, turning the stove off and letting the hot chocolate rest. You walked over to Spencer and Natalie and dug through a box on the floor for the star.

You handed it to Natalie as she made an “oooo” sound at its intricate detail. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Spencer lifted her up to the top of the tree as she took a minute to steady it on the tree top. Spencer let her back onto his hip and stepped back, letting her look at her work. 

“Perfect, Daddy. Thank you.” Natalie began to sway her legs, a sign she was getting antsy and wanted to get down. Spencer gently let her off of him as you took her place at his side. You stood next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I love her.” He whispered to you. “Thank you for having my baby.” Spencer kissed your forehead, his words sending butterflies to your stomach. You turned to Spencer to give him a little kiss just as Natalie poked at your side. 

“Mommy you should hang the angel I made.” She handed the paper angel to you then pointed at the tree. 

“Isn’t this for daddy?” You asked her, recalling moments ago when she presented it to him. 

A moment hit Natalie, disappointment on her face. “I only had time for one star. Can you share, Daddy?” She turned to Spencer with a little pout.

“Of course, baby,” He assured her, tucking a small strand of loose hair behind her little ear. He then turned to you, holding the hand-made star, “You hang this one, Y/N.” 

You took the angel from his hands gently, then rose to your tippy toes and scanned the tree. You felt Spencer's arms come around your waist, lifting you a bit higher. You grabbed one of the faux pieces of pine and slipped your daughter's angel around it. 

“Mommy’s short.” You hear your daughter whisper by Spencer’s side, causing you to giggle.

“You know, you’re pretty short too.” You point out, throwing sass back with a smile.

Natalie put her little hands on her hips, “But I’m gonna be big like Daddy soon. You won’t.” 

Spencer’s mouth formed an “O” at the uncalled for sass, leaving you laughing. You pulled Natalie into a big hug, Spencer joining in too.

“I’m gonna be squished.” She said, wiggling her way out just as the oven dinged. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay,” You said, picking her up, “Let’s eat.”

[seokminkisser]

LAVENDER HAZE.

pairing: lee chan x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k words

genre: fluff, suggestive

tags: PININGGGG, reader and chan have a lot of tension, marijuana use, suggestive content and alluding to sex afterwards

a/n: finally got around to writing my stoner chan fic yay! smoke responsibly loves (@sunnylovespickles i hope you enjoy it bub)

yeri was going to be dead meat the minute you found her.

the problem did not lie in the fact that she had decided to ditch you at the hang out, you both had enough trust and faith in each other to mingle and socialize on your own. the problem lay in the fact that she had decided to ditch you to have a very long talk with her ex-girlfriend? situationship?

you didn’t even have time to give her an earful as she left the room giving you her pleading “just give us five minutes” look as doyeon led her away. she was a lost cause.

there weren’t many people gathered at jeonghan’s house but the living room still felt incredibly stuffy. a few people had decided to hotbox earlier and poor you had arrived at the party too late to join, the lingering smoke gave you an incredible case of fomo.

“hi pretty.”

your head lolled back making contacts with the prettiest boy in the room.

“hi channie.”

a lazy grin spreads on chan’s face as he moves around the couch to sit next to you, an arm resting on the backrest of the couch behind your head. you wanted to eat him alive.

“when did you get here?” you ask, your finger tracing the rim of your glass as you look at him. he adjusts himself on the couch, legs spreading a bit wider while his free hand rummages in his jacket pocket.

“like ten minutes ago? had to make the rounds a bit before i could come spend time with the prettiest girl in the room.” he says giving you a sly wink, his rummaging coming to a stop.

your scoff turns into a slight giggle and you hit his arm the minute the last few words come out his mouth. something about chan turned you into a giddy middle schooler even though you hadn’t been in middle school in years.

your relationship with chan was unnecessarily complicated. you were attracted to him on a level you could not even comprehend and you knew he felt the same. he took care of your weed needs and you baked him matcha cookies whenever he craved them. and yet, neither of you had taken any steps to crossing the line that kept your friendship as it was. just friendship.

“you’re such a sweet talker chan, i might get sick.”

“let me make it up to you then pretty,” chan laughs and pulls something out of his jacket pocket, “remember that video you sent me?”

you couldn’t help the squeal you let out as you pluck the three pale pink joints out of his hand. “chan do you know that you are the best and most perfect person i have ever met.” you say as cross your legs, laying the joints on your exposed thigh as delicately as possible.

“yeri better not hear that or she will have my head on a silver platter.” he grins as his eyes follow the movement of your hands resting on your thigh now. at the mention of your best friend’s name you roll your eyes and give chan a big pout.

“aww did she leave you all on your own again? poor baby. but its okay i’m here now and i’ll take care of you.”

you grin at chan and nod. “exactly, you’re here now and you brought me my favorite things.”

his smile reaches his eyes as he poked your arm. “favorite things huh? didn’t know you liked something more than free weed.”

“obviously that something is you.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, his fingertips gently touching your arm as if to test the waters. you welcome his touch, slowly inching your body closer towards him. chan takes this as a sign that he wasn’t doing too much, his upper body turning to face you better. your shoulders are touching and his free hand comes to rest on your thigh picking up one of the joints.

in the process his finger grazes your thigh and your breath hitches. his touch felt absolutely electrifying.

chan leans forward slowly, his lips softly grazing your ear as he whispers, “you gonna let me smoke you out pretty?”

your eyes flutter shut as he presses the softest kiss on the side of your neck.

“yeah, channie. would let you do anything.”

he pulls away, a twinkle in his eye as he stands up. “come on then, think jeonghan’s living room is a bit too crowded for what i have planned for you pretty.”

—

chan could already sense the pretty pout on your face as he leads you into jeonghan’s kitchen. if it were up to him he would have already found an empty room, thrown you in and had his way with you, but he promised to smoke you out and he always kept his promises.

“why did you bring me here channie, i thought we were gonna smoke.” you pout and he turns to you and motions for you to sit on the counter.

“and we will pretty, but i have to make sure you have something to drink and something to eat for after. told you i’m gonna take care of you.”

your pout turns into the prettiest smile he has ever seen as you kick your legs back and forth. “have i told you you’re the biggest sweet talker ever channie?” you smile, your fingers fiddling with the golden lighter on your lap. a lighter he had gifted to you weeks ago.

chan smiles, nodding softly as he turns towards the cupboards as he basically ransacks through jeonghan’s kitchen.

chan thinks it’s okay though because the amount of money jeonghan owes chan on account of his frequent acts of freeloading on chan’s weed stash makes chan’s snack ‘borrowing’ tendencies pale in comparison.

“mhm only for you pretty,” he says, grabbing a bottle of chilled water and a few snickers bars, your absolute favorite. he turns back to you and he is afraid he might melt on the spot.

the dim light in the kitchen illuminated you in a way that made you look absolutely angelic. he could feel his heart skip a beat, then another before his eyes moved to your exposed thighs.

you were softly scratching a nail across your skin, the scratching more akin to a soft caress along your inner thigh. it was a habit you have always had and it was one of the reasons he loved it when you wore short skirts. usually, he imagined it was his own fingers stroking your thigh.

and if god loved him, he wouldn’t have to imagine for much longer.

“come on let’s go outside,” he motions for the door and you hop off the counter trailing behind him.

it’s chilly outside, the warmth of the august air had dissipated and chan led you to the lawn chairs in jeonghan’s backyard. you sat down, legs crossing over each other and chan took the chair next to you, quietly moving it a bit closer to yours.

he hopes it’s not too obvious.

on your lips sits a little smile as you look down on your legs before holding up the golden lighter. “look! i told you i wouldn’t lose it.”

he smiles again, god knows he is unable to not smile around you, taking out the joint and placing it between his lips. “i’m proud of you baby.” he says and he barely catches the way your twinkle at the pet name. but he is so glad that he does.

you hand him the lighter but all he does is lean his head down, an indirect way of telling you to light it for him.

you bite your lip softly, delicately, as you place the lighter under the joint and chan’s head swims with images of biting your lip the same way.

softly.

delicately.

your fingers fumble a bit with the spark wheel of the lighter as you light the joint and you lock eyes. chan does not break the steady eye contact as he takes a slow drag of the joint, taking a slow exhale.

you break the eye contact first, coughing softly as you settle into the lawn chair.

“i can’t believe you actually got me a lavender joint just because i sent you that video. you didn’t have to you know?”

chan takes another drag before handing the joint to you and you take it gladly, inhaling.

“wanted to make you happy, you seemed so excited to try it.” he mumbles, playing with the zipper on his jacket. “and besides, i’ve never tried combining lavender with weed and i also wanted to try it out for myself.”

you nod taking another pull as chan has an inner battle with himself.

should he give you his jacket? it is the gentlemanly thing to do and chan wanted to impress you but he also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable but he is also sure that you wouldn’t have a problem with it but he doesn’t know if he should take it slow and—

“what are you thinking so hard about channie.”

he looks over to you, a dopey smile settled on your face, legs tucked under you on the chair. he shakes his head and you motion for him to come closer, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“if you want to kiss me, you know you can just do it.”

chan pulls away faster than lightening and you giggle at his reaction, shrugging. “i’m just saying, we have been dancing around each other for weeks now and the lavender in this joint is making me really really high really quickly so i wanna say it before i’m too far gone.”

you giggle again at the blush that started to spread on his cheek and you nudge him with your elbow. “why, you don’t wanna kiss me?” you ask, and chan sees as you start to sober up as his silence might indicate a rejection.

“fuck, of course i want to kiss you.”

“then what’s stopping you?”

at that chan stills. what exactly was stopping him? he wanted you, you wanted him and earlier he had acted to damn confident. where did that confidence go?

“okay channie,” you say leaning in close to him as your free hand comes to rest on his cheek. his breath hitches as your face comes close, the tip of your nose touching his. “i’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

he nods, slowly as if his body was stuck in a daze and you finally lean forward closing the distance between you.

holy fucking shit.

the minute your lips touch, chan feels fireworks exploding in his chest and he’s scared his heart might come to a stop. he had imagined this moment so many times but reality couldn’t even come even close to his dreams.

your lips tasted like your favorite raspberry lip balm, the sprite you had earlier, the weed you had shared.

you deepen the kiss, tilting your head to the side and chan takes your face between his hands trying to pull you as close as physically possible. a whimper escapes your lips as you let chan lead the kiss and he thinks if he dies right now his soul will be forever damned, damned to a lifetime of kissing you.

you pull away, trying to catch your breath and chan isn’t better off.

“holy shit.”

chan nods in agreement, and you take his hand standing up from the chair, joint long forgotten. “where are we going to?” he asks, standing up with you and you grin up at him.

“you can’t fuck me in jeonghan’s backyard, that’s a bit too kinky for me.”

the moment these words leave your lips, chan's already dragging your laughing figure back into the house and praying to the lord above jeonghan still had a box of condoms in his bathroom.

[gunsknivesandplaid]

Imagine if Max gets her sight back but also develops powers where she can see things in the future. (Eddie's gotta be alive and somehow they pulled Chrissy back too thanks to El.)

Like at first she just thinks her dreams coming through is a dejavu thing until she's practicing on her skateboard outside of a store and has a vision of a little kid running out in front of a car and saves him minutes later.

Lucas and her have a fight but she runs to his house to convince(stall) the whole family to let her go for pizza with them; saving them from a car accident.

Sometimes it's silly like saving Mike from tripping in the cafeteria and landing on the trash cart. Sometimes it is that they're going to have a pop up test so they all meet up to study.

She has a vision of her mom passing out at work from exhaustion and gets her to stay home that day. She has a vision next week that Ned comes back and starts beating her mom while she's seizing in the other room and is on the phone with Hopper so fast her mom trips coming around the corner of the kitchen. They go to doctor and notice her mom does indeed have a seizure disorder now from the alcoholism.

She convinces Joyce to come over with a casserole and avoid the nosy neighbors stopping by to gossip about how she moved back. Suddenly they're having more girls nights where Max El Joyce and Susan bake cookies and paint each other nails and watch movies the boys aren't all that interested in. Eventually it becomes a book club.

Then sometimes it's sad, like She sees someone in her friend group(it doesn't have to be any party member she could join like drama or something)being abused by their partner and saves them.

She sees a school bus rolling over and convinces will and El to steal cones from hopper to block that road and nobody gets hurt.

She has a vision that Steve's house is on fire and runs across the street to get Eddie to help her warn Steve.

She has a vision that the bleachers where the band sit has a screw loose and manages to convince the janitor to go check them saving Robin from a broken leg.

She saves El from being attacked by a bear when roaming the woods when her powers are weakened.

She warns Dustin that he might want to stay away from home or he'll catch his mom kissing her new boyfriend, then throws Skittles at him in the back of Steve's car to cheer him up.

She warns Nancy she might want to switch shoes before her TV reporter debut so she won't break a heel in the church fundraiser fair parking lot.

She gets overwhelmed sometimes but she also knows that whatever this is, it's important.

[twisting-echo]

Why I ship Snow White and Hades?

Before we get into this, I will state again that I am aware of Snow White's canon age, so I have her aged up to 18 in my headcanon.

(And whatever is blue and underlined is a link!)

I've said some of this before on an anonymous ask, but I'm going to further elaborate.

In my headcanon, I ship Snow White and Hades because I'm attracted to their chemistry and emotional connection. I'm also a sucker for May-December romances and height differences. In my headcanon, Hades is 6'5" and Snow White is 5'1". Their relationship dynamic is heavily inspired by Fluttershy x Discord (Fluttercord).

Also considering that in Greek mythology, Hades' wife is Persephone, who is the goddess of spring, nature, flowers, deer, death, and reincarnation, these are all things that coincide with Snow White too well.

The symbolic connections between Snow White and Persephone consuming the poisoned apple and the pomegranate are because, in both tales, the fruit represents temptation and hidden consequences.

The apple offered to Snow White by the evil queen is a direct reference to the biblical story of Eve and the forbidden fruit. Snow White’s apparent death after consuming the poisoned apple parallels the concept of resurrection. She is revived by true love’s kiss, symbolizing rebirth and redemption. 

In Greek mythology, Hades gave Persephone the pomegranate seeds while she was in the Underworld. The story goes that after Hades abducted Persephone, she became his queen in the realm of the dead. During her time there, she ate six pomegranate seeds. This act bound her to the Underworld, ensuring her return each year. As a result, Persephone spends part of the year with Hades (autumn and winter) and the other part with her mother Demeter (spring and summer). The pomegranate thus symbolizes her connection to both life and death. 

They both ate the fruit given to them as gifts, not knowing the consequences.

Since Hades isn't married to a Persephone of his own, and considering how he behaved towards Snow White in the book Mirrorverse: Pure of Heart, let's just say Hades clearly has a type~ 😏

In my Disney Mirrorverse headcanon, Snow White and Hades visit each other a lot in their respective universes. Hades will have coffee, tea, and other baked goods with Snow White at her cottage. He'll watch/help her pick flowers and spend time with the woodland creatures. They also knit together as a relaxing pastime while they converse. (Hades can knit! I've seen him do it in the episode Hercules and the Tapestry of Fate!)

Snow White will bring him cookies, cake, and coffee while he's having meetings with the other Disney villains and Greek mythology characters in the underworld. She also helps keep track of the souls that newly arrive and tries to soothe them the best way that she can. Snow White is also allowed entry to the Elysian Fields despite being alive, and she and Hades will indulge in whatever they enjoy together there.

When I made Hades and Snow White start to take a romantic interest in each other, I found their relationship to be quite an intriguing mix of contrasts and complements. Below, I listed some aspects they appreciate about each other:

Hades’ Perspective:

Snow White’s Kindness: Hades, being the god of the underworld, finds Snow White’s pure-hearted kindness and compassion refreshing and endearing. Her ability to see the good in everyone could soften his often-cynical outlook.

Innocence and Purity: Snow White’s innocence and purity are a source of fascination for Hades, who is surrounded by darkness and souls. Her light brings a sense of balance to his life.

Resilience: Despite her gentle nature, Snow White has shown resilience and strength in the face of adversity. Hades admires her inner strength and determination.

Snow White’s Perspective:

Hades’ Wit and Charm: Hades is known for his sharp wit and charm. Snow White is drawn to his charismatic personality and finds his humor delightful.

Protective Nature: Despite his dark exterior, Hades has a protective side, especially towards those he cares about. Snow White appreciates his loyalty and the sense of security he provides.

Depth and Complexity: Snow White is intrigued by Hades’ complex personality and the layers beneath his godly facade. His depth is something she finds fascinating and worth exploring.

Their relationship is a blend of light and dark, bringing out the best in each other while navigating their differences.

Everyone knows that Snow White suffered an intense anxiety attack caused by the huntsman, who is overcome by moral guilt and spares her life, but the damage is done. Snow White is faced with two terrible truths: the queen wants her dead, and she no longer has a place to live. She must survive in the forest without food or means to support herself. This sudden shift triggers an anxiety attack, which is shown metaphorically throughout the horrific "dark forest" scene. In other words, the trees were not her friends when she was having a panic attack. How do you guys think Hades reacted when Snowie told him what she went through?

Let's just say he'd be prepared to wipe out an entire forest for her if she'd let him. But she wouldn't, because she'd remind him that the forest is the home for all of the woodland animals and that she actually likes trees, despite what happened; trees are important. In other words, "Only Snow White can prevent forest fires."

Speaking of woodland animals, it's time to talk about two of my favorite little silly billies. For the record, I love the platonic love that Snow White, Pain, and Panic share. It's too precious to me! They love her and she adores them! She is their mommy and they are her babies! They would do anything for her and she for them. X3

Anyway, Pain and Panic's close friendship with Snow White. Their quirky personalities add some chaos to her peaceful life. These silly imps are known for their shape-shifting abilities and their loyalty (albeit reluctant) to Hades. And Snow White's gentle and nurturing nature would likely shine through. Here's how their friendship plays out:

Pain and Panic's Perspective:

Gentle Touch and Kind Words: Snow White, with her gentle demeanor and kind heart, approaches Pain and Panic. They’ve only ever known Hades’ wrath, so when she offers a hug or a comforting word, they freeze in shock. Their shapeshifting abilities momentarily falter as they process this unexpected kindness. It’s like a splash of cold water on their fiery, chaotic existence. Over time, Snow White’s consistent kindness begins to chip away at their skepticism. Maybe she genuinely cares. Maybe there’s no ulterior motive. Slowly, they allow themselves to lean into her touch and accept her words. It’s like a fragile plant unfurling after a long winter. Pain and Panic might not express it outright, but gratitude blooms within them. They steal glances at Snow White when she’s not looking, wondering how someone so pure can exist. Maybe, just maybe, they deserve this kindness—even if it feels foreign. 

Shape-Shifting Shenanigans: Pain and Panic transform into various creatures, specifically a rabbit, a chipmunk, and birds, to comfort her or make her laugh. They also use these forms to assist her with chores and cooking. They even disguise themselves as dwarfs to join her in the mine. 

Comedic Relief: Snow White's gentle nature clashes with their mischievous antics. They'd accidentally spill things, knock things over, trip over their own tails, and create chaos in her cottage. Snow White would patiently clean up after them, giggling at their clumsiness and finding them endearing. Snow White finds joy in their company. Their slapstick antics amuse her. She laughs when they squabble over disguises. Their friendship lightens her burden.

Loyal Protectors: Despite their flaws, Pain and Panic would fiercely defend Snow White. If the Evil Queen sends poisoned apples, they'd be there to warn her or even take the bite themselves (only to regenerate, of course).

Inventive Solutions: Need a quick escape from the Queen's huntsmen? Panic could turn into the torso of a buck and Pain into the rump, whisking Snow White away. Their unconventional methods would keep her safe. Plus, they'd make a noble steed for her and gallop around the forest.

Copyrighted Merchandise Enthusiasts: Pain and Panic's love for copyrighted merchandise would lead to quirky gifts. Imagine Snow White receiving a "Magic Mirror" or a "Poison Apple" mug from Panic and a "Fairest of Them All" or a "I'm Grumpy Deal with It" T-shirt from Pain. They'd enjoy their Disney merch together.

Snow White's Perspective:

Motherly Care: Snow White treats Pain and Panic like her own little imps. She fusses over their well-being, ensuring that they wash their hands before every meal, that they eat their veggies, and that they get enough rest (even though they're immortal). Imagine her tucking them into bed with tiny handknit blankets. (She actually lets them sleep with her in her bed as her cuddle buddies.)

Kindness and Patience: When Pain accidentally shape-shifts into a clumsy creature, Snow White would giggle and help him regain his form. She'd patiently listen to Panic's anxious rants and offer soothing words.

Tea Parties: Snow White's cottage would host delightful tea parties. Pain would spill tea on the tablecloth, and Panic would fret about staining it. Snow White would laugh, saying, "It's just tea, my dear imps!"

Protective Instincts: Snow White becomes fiercely protective. When Hades threatens them, she stands between them and (gently) tells him off. She won’t let anyone harm her babies, even if they’re shape-shifting demonic minions.

Gifts of Kindness: Snow White will gift them cookies and other baked goods. She also knitted them scarves because she worries about them catching a cold.

Song and Dance: She sings and dances with them all the time. The best way I can describe what kind of songs they sing is in this link (Pain is Steve, Snowie is Hayley, and Panic is Stan). And the best way I can describe what kind of dances they do together is in this link (never imagine them doing this dance without the sunglasses).

In this whimsical friendship, Snow White's nurturing spirit would keep Pain and Panic out of trouble, and they'd add a touch of chaos to her fairy-tale life.

The screenshot of this paragraph above is taken from @skyselfships (I Read Mirrorverse Pure of Heart) post.

For those who don't know, Mirrorverse Pure of Heart is a novel set in the universe of Disney Mirrorverse.

So what I love about the screenshot of the paragraph above is that even after Hades basically left Snow White to die, he did have enough of a heart to think about making it up to her if she did die. The thing that stuck out to most is that he'd make sure that she made it into the Elysian Fields.

The Elysian Fields were hard to reach, but for those few who were deemed worthy, they were promised an eternal life of relaxation, beauty, and amusement. The Elysian Fields, also called Elysium, went by many names. It was sometimes called the “White” Island, and more often it was referred to as the Islands of the Blessed. 

There were never storms on the Islands of the Blessed, and snow never fell. The only notable weather was a gentle, refreshing breeze that blew in from the west and an occasional light sprinkle of rain. Elysium is covered in golden flowers. The grass, trees, and water were dotted with fragrant blooms.

The Islands of the Blessed were an idyllic and pristine afterlife free of suffering, pain, and hardship. However, the heroes of legend were the only ones who were admitted because, for most people, the pastoral pleasures of Elysium were entirely out of reach. Only the most distinguished mortals, typically the sons and daughters of the gods, had ever gone there.

After learning all of this, it means that Hades doesn't let just "anyone" into the Elysian Fields. I think it shows so much about his character and the impressions she left on him in Mirrorverse: Pure of Heart. 

Recognition of Purity and Goodness: Snow White’s character is often associated with purity, kindness, and an unwavering belief in the goodness of others. These traits, while not traditionally seen as “heroic” in the sense of physical bravery or grand adventures, embody a different kind of heroism. By allowing her into the Elysian Fields, Hades might be acknowledging that true heroism can also be found in the purity of one’s heart and the impact of their kindness on the world.

Breaking Traditions: The Elysian Fields are typically reserved for heroes of legend—those who have performed great deeds and shown exceptional bravery. By admitting Snow White, Hades could be challenging these traditional criteria, suggesting that the definition of a hero is broader than previously thought. This act could symbolize a more inclusive and compassionate approach to who is deemed worthy of eternal peace and happiness.

Character Development for Hades: Hades is typically portrayed as a villain, but allowing Snow White into the Elysian Fields could show a more complex, albeit softer, side to his character. It might suggest that even he can recognize and reward true goodness, hinting at the potential for change or redemption. This adds depth to his character, making him more than just a one-dimensional antagonist.

Look at Cerberus! Isn't he the cutest thing?! Don't you just want to pet him?! X3

Anyway, we are still talking about the screenshot of the paragraph above, and Hades allowing Snow White to rub Cerberus’ belly is a hugely symbolic gesture that can be interpreted in several ways:

Trust and Acceptance: Cerberus, the fearsome three-headed guardian of the underworld, is typically portrayed as a fierce and loyal protector. Allowing Snow White to rub his belly suggests a level of trust and acceptance from both Hades and Cerberus. It indicates that Snow White’s inherent goodness and purity can even tame the most fearsome creatures.

Softening of Hades’ Character: This act could also signify a softer side of Hades. Hades showing leniency and warmth towards Snow White and Cerberus highlights his capacity for kindness and change. It adds depth to his character, suggesting that he can appreciate and reward gentleness and compassion.

Interplay of Light and Dark: Snow White, a symbol of innocence and light, interacting with Cerberus, a creature of the underworld, creates a beautiful contrast. This interplay of light and dark emphasizes the theme that goodness can exist even in the darkest places and that kindness can bridge the gap between vastly different worlds.

Closing argument:

Snow White and Hades rule the Underworld with compassion, ensuring that lost souls find solace. And they adopted Bambi, Flower, Thumper, and Thumper's sisters, Blossom, Violet, Daisy, Ria, and Tessie, as their children. (Blossom, Violet, Daisy, Ria, and Tessie are daddy's girls.)

🚫IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS SHIP, PLEASE DON'T COMMENT OR REBLOG 🚫

🚫 IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY HEADCANON PLEASE DON'T COMMENT OR REBLOG 🚫

[small-sinclair]

Hiii🌙🌙Wanted to ask if you can write headcanons of Johnny Slaughter😖 🙏 of course you don't have to do it🤗⭐ it was just a question.. ☺️😶

I can do that. I don't mind!

Headcanons of Johnny Slaughter

tw: mentions of killings, blood

He is the biggest goofball you'll meet if he doesn't want to kill you. He has a lot of bad puns and jokes.

Just for the heck of it, he says something so out there and watches his family argue/fight. He'll stay quite for a moment with a shit eating grin and leave the madness.

Banned from touching the radio.

Banned from Cook's kitchen.

Banned from Sissy's room (don't ask what happened).

VERY knowledgeable about flowers and butterflies. He has a lot of books over butterflies.

Johnny does like to go to a certain house in town to visit an old woman that reminds him of his grandmother when she was alive. He'll sit with her on the front porch in the summers and listen to her stories even if she already told it. She lives by herself and her family doesn't visit her often, which makes both her and Johnny a bit sad.

I have an hc of him having a long scar on his back that stretches from his upper back and curves to the left side of his bode like a 'J'. He got it when he fell out of a tree.

This man knows how to play the fiddle.

Ask him about his bottle cap collection.

h

I think he is a bit overprotective of Bubba. If a victim is making fun of him or taunting him, Johnny would not show mercy as they kill them.

HATES milk. He will never drink it.

He enjoys reading (tell no one).

Can't cook, but knows how to bake! Loves making muffins and cookies!

Johnny has a soft spot for dogs and cats. There's an orange cat that lives in the barn named Froggie; she's Johnny's cat.

He has another cat named Lucky; she's a turtle cat.

Johnny has a dog, too. A German Shepard named Cain.

I actually think he was once in love, but not with the girl he kidnapped (can't remember her name for the life of me). She and Johnny used to play by the watering hole before it dried out. When she got older, she had to move away. Before she did, she kissed Johnny goodbye, giving him his first kiss. He thinks about her from time to time, but shakes it away. If she really loved him, she would've came back and visited, but she hasn't.

Has kissed a guy before when he was drunk. May or may not had a make-out session behind the bar. (He enjoyed it?)

When he's not killing, he's working part time at the town's car shop. He's really good at it, too!

He actually loves kids and wants kids of his own one day, but he won't be able to stay around because of his way of life.

There's a family photo folded in his back pocket he keeps.

Whenever he as a dumb idea, he says it out loud, gets a look from Sissy and Nubbins, and they do it. All three of them share 1 brain cell when it comes to doing something dumb together.

He knows he's adopted, but he's okay with it... sometimes. He does think about what could've been from time to time, but he shakes it off. Nothing tastes sweeter than blood on his lips and Nancy's apple pie.

Johnny is touch starved.

There was this one kill that he remembers and thinks about a lot. It was with a girl about his age. Instead of running with her friends, she went to Johnny. He knew it was an easy kill, but he didn't expect that her last moments was giving him a hug and promising that everything will be okay. He didn't know why he held her close for a while and stayed with her until her last breath. His family ended up having her for dinner, but Johnny made sure he took her bones and charm necklace. He put her bones in a shoe box and buried her in the family grave. Sometimes, he wears the charm necklace and thinks of her, remembering her promise that everything was going to be okay.