#he has been hurt over and over and over and over ever since he was a child. and yet he has kept his heart of gold

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[seitmai]

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

Uff 😬

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

Damn

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

To know that you don't know a lot and will never know more is rough...

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

Sometimes being honest to oneself is not easy

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Hey, nobody slander thin crust there are far worse kind of pizza ☝🏻

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken. “…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown. “I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

God they are lowkey awkward together and neither of them just knows what to do with themselves 🥴

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

I feel like this maybe hurts Bradley more than her..

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

👀

Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese.

I mean it could be worse lol🤷🏻‍♀️

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

At that I would have laughed too 🤭

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That's really shitty, especially knowing Mav's reputation 🥴

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

At that they really share a bit of similar fate

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him. Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

Good thinking Bradley, nothing worse than an unwanted hug by a stranger 🫣

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

I'm sure he does 🤭

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.” Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

It seems his feeling run deep 😬

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?” Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that. “The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

This is rough... I get her questioning the process, it's not something that someone is usually confronted with..

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

🥺🥺🥺

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“ “Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.” You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is.

She has every right to be angry, upset and sad even if he really just ries to be nice, this is just not a good situation anyway and with the news of the investigation it just got SO MUCH worse🥴

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him. “You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

I like that he is thinking practical!

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse. He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. “You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

Just a night or two, sure 😏🤭

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: mitchell!reader, no physical descriptors other than the implication that Bradley is taller, no use of YN, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of you. This place is something that you had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not your home and it has never been, until now. Now, you’re stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, you had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of your bags in one hand behind you today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind you, reminding you that you’re standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

You shrug your duffel bag closer to your body and turn left. Bradley huffs under the weight of your luggage from behind you, watching you walk your cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of your single duffel bag, you turn slowly to face him and frown slightly. “My room.” 

You don’t remember Bradley. Not in your own memories, anyway. You know he was around, you’ve seen him in pictures but the image in your head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” You hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was yours. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was yours. It’s not like you kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that you would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between you. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on your face is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. You’re pretty sure that you’ve never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that you stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on your face, he hadn’t even considered leaving you here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for your sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” You agree, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like yours. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. You call Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of your bags and nodding for you to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as you walk silently across it, neither one of you would know that. Neither one of you was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind you, following you up. You stop at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind you.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around you with your bags in his hands and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at you. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, your shoes along the tan oak floors. Your fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding you of why exactly it is that you’re here.

Fire burns behind your eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets your bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling your eyes out, and you refuse to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again. That thick feeling sits in your throat like a stack of weights as you sit down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking your weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to you and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing you onto your feet again. 

Mobile once more, you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, you were prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing you want is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” You nod, setting into motion to help take the sheets off. You watch him instead of what you’re doing. 

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, you’ve not seen how he has been for the past few days. “I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to you with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of you until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

There’s a moment of total stillness between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of you. Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of you.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

You watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. You wonder if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. You stand there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew your dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking your brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, you can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside your shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, your experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to you as any of the other guys in the stories you grew up hearing about. Your very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at you.

He can’t hide from you forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of you. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. You’re barely unpacked. You set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever your space to claim.

You chew absentmindedly at the bite you had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above your heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why you aren’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for you. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here you are, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you. Your hair is up now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs. You’re wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes you got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think you look that much like your old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when you offer him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

You stop chewing. That last bite sits in your mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. You stare across at him, awkwardly making yourself swallow down the last of your bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at your mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” You pick up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell you not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches you, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.” You explain with a shrug.

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For you, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into yours under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” You hum, pushing back in your chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that you wake up. He hears you coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s yours, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making you uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as you stroll into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at your eyes.

You’re wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt you had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if you’re wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making you lift your gaze from busily tapping at your phone. Your gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, you find his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. You lock your gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” You head right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when you grab the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. You set the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching your face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” You skim your fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much you know about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for you to get yourself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” You ask, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make your coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. You swing it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if you’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across your mind — what’ll happen to this place when you leave it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into your tone as you curl your fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on your face, stuck between whether you’re sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for you without thought. His palm claps against your shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on your shoulder, your eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what you’re searching for, or whether you find it. His fingers squeeze softly against your skin before the touch is gone all together.

You drink your coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in your silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — you don’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces you not to wear the more formal dress you had thought you’d have to wear. You slip into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes your dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, you watch him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; you silently appreciate that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when you cut sleep from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep you up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with your car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles you from your daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” You’re stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before you’re taking your next breath, leaving him to catch up to you. 

His long strides have him at your side before long, reaching ahead of you to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at your side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops you from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against yours.

He catches your forearm as you try to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on your forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of your wrist as he nods his head towards you.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way you’ve stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards you, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who you must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from your forearm and his palm falls flat between your shoulder blades, giving you a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid her hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while you continue down the hall.

Bradley catches up to you as you rap your knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against your thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind you. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into yours and shakes your hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting your hand go, he then reaches to your right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps your back as he leans into the handshake.

You step away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?” You answer.

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to you than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

You sit in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

You blink at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Your brows knit together.

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

You shoot him a look. When it’s clear that you aren’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects 

are delivered to you.”

You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of your head.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns you. He’d heard that you had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead you about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for you. 

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing you across the parking lot, listening to you try to control your breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching you cautiously as you crowd yourself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

You sniff, turning your gaze towards the ground. The lump in your throat burns and bobs as you try to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[redrose10]

Trope- exes. Who didnt end badly, still has residual feelings for each other & met again at a mutual friend’s birthday dinner/hangout (?) with prompts 36 & 46 ? 🤎

I went with Yoongi for this one since he’s like 99% of the requests I get. I hope that’s okay!

< I Will Always Love You >

Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: A few swear words

#36 “Are you finished, so you’ll listen to me?”

#46 “And I’m here to save you.”

*******************************************************

Twelve months…two weeks…four days…five hours. That is how long it’s been since you last saw him. Since you last saw Yoongi. That night your world came crashing down. The two of you had been arguing all week. Little things here and there.

He left a dirty coffee cup on the counter and an argument ensued.

You forgot to pick up his medicine at the pharmacy on your way home and he took it personally.

He did a load of laundry and accidentally shrunk your favorite sweater. He offered to buy you a new one that night but you felt like he did it out of spite.

You accidentally knocked over a glass of wine all over his laptop causing it to short circuit. He could easily afford a new one but it was the principal of it all that upset him.

The final straw was when he skipped date night. He left you sitting at home alone for hours watching the meal you had worked hard on go cold. When he finally walked through the door he said you guys needed to talk and you agreed. After almost two hours of you both pouring out your hearts you both agreed that your three year relationship had run its course and it was best to go your separate ways.

So you found yourself a cute little apartment several blocks away. Yoongi made sure to stay out of the way as you and your best friends Jungkook and Jin helped you pack up and move all of your things. As you were leaving Yoongi told you to take care of yourself and that he would always be there if you ever needed anything. You told him to the same even though you both knew deep down you would never contact each other again. You gave him a hug and walked out. That was the last time you saw him.

Because even though you shared many of the same friends it was surprisingly easy to avoid him. It also helped that it seemed like he was doing the same. One of you was always conveniently busy or sick so it worked out.

Except tonight. Tonight was the one night you couldn’t avoid. One of your good friends Jimin was getting married. He made you promise not to skip out on the wedding and of course you agreed even though you really wanted to, especially after getting confirmation that Yoongi would be there.

Things had gotten easier as time went on over the last year or so. You stopped crying over him every day. Then you stopped thinking about him every single day. You heard that he had started dating some woman a few months after your breakup. It hurt deeply but it also motivated you to try and move on too. You went on a few dates here and there. You had a small thing with some guy named Namjoon but even though he was really sweet and nice and handsome that fizzled out after a couple of months leaving you single again.

You somehow managed to get a last minute date for the wedding though. Your neighbor. He was cute but you quickly found out he was arrogant and rude. The first thing he said to you was how he thought your dress would be shorter and you had to watch him check out practically every woman at the wedding while you were sitting right next to him. Even though you were miserable and feeling more alone than ever as you watched Jimin saying ‘I do’ to the love of his life you still did your best to fake happiness.

Jimin and his new bride walked down the aisle and as you turned to see them off you saw him. Yoongi looked as beautiful as ever, his hair was longer and his suit was somehow casual yet still wedding appropriate and looked great on him. He was smiling at Jimin and his bride before looking back and smiling at a woman. She was gorgeous with a smile almost as beautiful as his. He looked happy and content and even though you felt a small burning sensation in your chest you were happy for him.

Cocktail hour flew by and then it was time for the reception. You did your best to avoid Yoongi as much as you could through the evening. You caught little glimpses but thankfully it didn’t seem like he saw you at all, or at least he was pretending like he didn’t which you appreciated.

Dinner was served and then you sat through several speeches. Jimins best man Hoseok recounted several funny stories, a few of which you personally remembered, and it felt really good to laugh like that again.

Then the dance floor was opened up. Your date surprisingly asked you to dance. You accepted and headed to the floor. Even though he was dancing with you, his eyes were scanning over every other woman within the vicinity. At one point he even creepily licked his lips earning an eye roll from you.

“Hey uh you ready to go? I think we should find a room so we can finally be alone.”, he mumbled in your ear.

“No thanks.”

“Come on Y/N, don’t be such a prude.”

“She said she’s not interested. So I suggest you fuck off. Maybe try one of the other women you’ve been staring at all night.”, a very deep and very familiar voice said from behind you.

Yoongi and your date were having a stare down before your date scoffed mumbling something about you not being worth the trouble and walking away.

“Want to dance?”, he asked stepping in front of you.

Speechless you nodded. As he placed his hands on your hips it felt like your body was on fire and you wanted to lean into him to savor the feeling.

“Yoongi I…I thought you were here with a date.”, you questioned.

He smiled, “I was…I was dancing over there with her and then I saw how uncomfortable you were and now I’m here to save you.”

You quickly backed out of his grasp, “What?! Yoongi I’m not going to be the reason you two break up. You’re disgusting for doing that to her.”

You stormed out to the balcony area needing some fresh air. Yoongi followed closely behind.

You had tears already forming from all of the emotions you were struggling to sort through, “Leave me alone Yoongi. Please just go back to your date. I’m not going to be the reason something happens between the two of you. I don’t want her to get upset with me or think I’m trying to get you back or something.”, you pinched the bridge of your nose trying to stop the tears from falling, “I just want you to be happy and you looked so happy earlier and that makes me so happy and I just…”

You were in a panic thanks to feeling guilty because what if she saw you two and feeling angry that he would do that to her and feeling hurt at the reminder that he wasn’t yours and finally feeling a sense of relief at having him so close once again. The comforting mix of his cologne and shampoo taking you back to a simpler time but making it all worse.

He lightly chuckled before wrapping you in his arms allowing you to cry into his chest, “Y/N, are you finished, so you’ll listen to me?”

You nodded, though refusing to look at him.

“She’s not my date like that.”, he said causing you to finally look up at him in confusion. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears on your cheek.

“She’s just a friend.”, he said making you roll your eyes. He laughed but continued, “She’s just a friend who has a huge huge HUGE crush on Hobi but was too nervous to ask him out. She asked if I would be her date tonight until she had a couple drinks and worked up the courage to tell him.”, he turned and smirked, “And it looks like it worked.”

You looked over and saw Hobi and that woman slow dancing while smiling lovingly at each other.

Yoongi continued, “And if you must know I was so happy earlier because I got to see you Y/N. I miss you. I was hoping you’d be here but then I saw you had a date. Jimin said he was no one but I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“Yeah he was a mistake more than anything.”, you grumbled getting a smile out of Yoongi.

He wrapped his arms around you again and you allowed your body melt into his, “I missed you Yoongi.”, you mumbled into his skin.

“I missed you to Y/N. Fuck, I was so stupid for ever letting you go.”

“I should’ve fought harder too. I was just so tired of the arguing and feeling like everything was falling apart.”, you sniffled feeling tears begin to form again.

“Hey hey don’t cry any more. Y/N I hate seeing you cry. I’m here now. And maybe…maybe if you want to…we can start over.”

You looked up taking in his soft features and he gave you a small smile.

You nodded and gave his cheek a kiss which he happily received.

At some point someone had cracked open the door to allow the chill air to fill into the reception room which also let the soft hum of the music stream out onto the patio.

“They’re playing our song.”, you smiled as the familiar tune of I Will Always Love You rang through the air. Yoongi had sung the song to you one night after your first big fight. You were convinced that he was going to leave you. He wasn’t great at speaking his mind so instead he pulled you down on his lap and sang the song trying to do his best Whitney Houston impression. He did it to cheer you up but also let you know that no matter what happened between you two he was always going to love you. After that night it became your song.

Yoongi smirked, “Yeah I think our friends might’ve had something to do with that.”

He was was pointing inside and you saw a group of your friends staring at you both while giggling and giving you a thumbs up.

“Well if they want a show then we’ll give them a show.”, he said before taking your hand, “Y/N will you dance with me?”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst but you agreed before he quickly twirled you around and back into his comforting arms once again.

[electrosuite]

aight so i recently learned that i think only like 30% of afab people orgasm with penetrative sex alone, so i was wondering if you could do something where fem!y/n has her first penetrative orgasm with peter? thanks!

warnings: swearing, descriptive sex, oral sex

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

Your body pressed between Peter and his bedroom door made your palms sweaty. He kissed you so much more gently and lovingly than anyone you'd ever been with, but he was so passionate about it.

He held your face in place with his hands to make sure you didn't go anywhere, and you gripped his sides to pull him in close.

In a split second, he scooped you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands settling midway up the underneath of your thighs. You couldn't help but gasp at the feeling of falling onto his bed with him on top of you, bouncing a bit as you landed.

You adjusted the pillow under your head as his lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. His fingers pressed into your thigh, which was against his ribs.

You two had never been this intimate before. In fact, it was the first time you'd hung out while no one else was home. But, just to be safe, he still shut and locked his door. His Aunt May had a bad habit of walking in without knocking, so he made sure to take extra precautions.

So you were understandably beginning to get nervous. This wasn't your first time, but the first time with anyone was scary for you. You were more excited than anything.

You two had been officially dating for two months now, but you hadn't had any time to be alone together until now. So you had to take advantage of it.

You knew Peter was Spider-Man since the first week you knew each other. You came over to work on a group project that you'd been paired up on, and he'd accidentally left his mask out. He tried to play it off as being a "fan-made replica", but you saw right through that.

So it was no surprise when he swung over to your apartment and brought you back to his place today.

Peter reached up to his neckline and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor. You looked down and studied his body, noticing an almost healed cut right under his nipple, and you pointed to it.

"Does that hurt?"

He shook his head. "Only if I accidentally hit it." He didn't break eye contact as he slipped his fingers under your shirt, wordlessly asking for your permission to remove it.

Instead of answering, you reached down and took it off for him. Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed your chest, simultaneously reaching under you and effortlessly unhooking your bra.

You pushed his hair off of his forehead, combing it backwards with your fingers.

To be completely honest, nipple play didn't really do anything for you, but you decided to let him do whatever he wanted to do with your breasts. You wanted him to enjoy himself as much as he wanted to make you feel good.

"Peter," you whispered, making his eyes glance up to you as he engulfed your nipple into his mouth and circled it with his tongue, letting go with a pop.

"Yeah?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Anything."

"Ugh... I don't even know how to say this."

"Just say it."

"I don't... finish with just sex."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, penetration? I can't get there with just that."

"What does get you there?"

"Oral, usually." As soon as you said that, he unbuttoned your shorts. "But you don't have to do that if you don't want to."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"A lot of guys don't like doing it. I don't want you to think you have to."

He slipped his hand into your underwear, his fingers immediately finding your clit. You gasped softly as he traced slow, torturous circles on your sensitive nub. "I'm not most guys."

"Clearly."

"Already so wet?"

"I know. It's my weakness," you breathed with a smirk.

He pulled his hand away and pulled your shorts and underwear off. You were completely naked, and you felt more exposed than you did with anyone else you'd slept with.

"God, you're so beautiful." You couldn't hold back a chuckle. "I mean it."

He returned to his original position on top of you, kissing you deeply. He slowly moved down your body, kissing your collarbones, then your breasts, then your sternum, and all the way down to the insides of your thighs.

Your hips were grinding on their own, begging for friction and touch in the place you needed his tongue most desperately.

And, as if he could predict the begging that was about to escape your mouth, the tip of his tongue pressed down onto your clit. Your eyes closed and you let out a satisfied moan.

His hands settled on your thighs, holding your legs still. His eyes stayed locked on your face even though he could barely see it due to your head being thrown back.

But he wanted to see you feel good because of his tongue. He needed to know he was doing something right.

Peter was better at oral than anyone else who had gone down on you. Usually it took a few minutes, but with Peter it seemed like it was going to take less than one. You worried it would be a turn off for him, that he'd think it was weird how quickly you came.

"Shit, Peter, I'm close."

He hummed in response, the vibrations of his voice helping you get there. His tongue was working rapidly, his jaw sore. He was doing his damndest to make you cum, to make your legs tremble with pleasure. And every second of listening to you moan and whine and every second of seeing you writhe and grind into his face only made him harder and harder.

The feeling of your orgasm building took your breath, and if his heightened strength wasn't keeping your legs exactly where he wanted them, your thighs would be squeezing the hell out of his face.

Your hands tangled themselves in his hair and pulled a bit harder than you intended, and the feeling of his voice vibrating through your body pushed you over the edge.

You went silent for a few seconds before gasping loudly, your hips coming off the bed for a few seconds before he pushed them back down to ensure your orgasm didn't end early.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you repeated quietly.

He let you cum for much longer than you usually let yourself cum when you masturbate, so it began to get overwhelming. When you lightly smacked his hand to tap out, he pulled away so suddenly that it made your body shake. He sloppily kissed your thighs as you calmed down, breathing heavily and keeping your eyes closed.

He traveled up your body, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Good?” he asked, pecking your cheek.

“Mhm.” You opened your eyes to look at him and you smiled at each other. “Condom.”

He kissed you once more before rolling off of you and walking over to his dresser. He dug one out of his sock drawer before tucking the box back under the socks.

You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, watching him walk over. He stopped in front of you and you undid his jeans, pulling them down. He stepped out of them and kicked them across the floor. He only had his boxers on, which had a good sized tent in them.

“Lay back down,” he gently commanded, which you did. He positioned himself between your legs once more, wiggling his way out of his underwear. You looked down to see what you desired most and your mouth watered.

Admittedly, he wasn’t the biggest you’d ever had, which was sort of a relief. You didn’t love huge dicks, and you weren’t sure anyone with a vagina did. You’d never had an enjoyable time with one, so you were glad you’d be comfortable with Peter. But he was still a good size, so you were still a bit nervous.

He slid the condom on with ease before leaning down and kissing you. You could feel him grinding into you, his length rubbing against where you were most sensitive.

Your legs wrapped around his thighs, your calves pushing his body into yours.

When he pulled away a moment later, he just looked at you.

"You sure about this?" You smirked at how concerned he was.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He tucked your hair behind your ear. "Just making sure."

"I want you, Peter. Please."

You reached down and wrapped your fingers around his dick, making him let out a small sigh. You guided him to your entrance and he thrust into you. Both of you moaned, relishing in the pleasure.

"Fuck," he whispered. You looked at his face, his eyes closed and jaw slack. He was so handsome, and the sight of him inside of you drove you mad. "You okay?"

You nodded. "So good."

He adjusted his position so that he could cup your face, holding it still and kissing you deeply.

He stretched you out so perfectly and your bodies and lips fit together like an intricately designed puzzle. The moans the two of you created were harmonious and melodic and they bounced off the walls.

He started out slow, almost painfully slow. You were burning for more, unconsciously using your feet to push his hips along.

"Am I going too slow for you, baby?" he whispered.

"Way too slow."

And with that, he pretty much doubled his speed. The sudden uptake winded you, a wanton moan tumbling from your mouth.

It didn't take long for you to feel that familiar sensation, but you weren't entirely sure if you were imagining it. You never came with just penetration.

"Pete," you whined, your voice shaky. He didn't answer, instead whispering 'Hm?' into your neck. "I think... I think I'm gonna cum again."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He changed nothing, even though every fiber of his being wanted to go as fast and as hard as he possibly could. But you needed him to stay at this speed if you wanted to finish again.

And, less than thirty seconds later, his hand was over your mouth and tears welled up in your eyes. This was by far the most intense orgasm you'd ever had, and as soon as you started trembling he let himself go faster.

And, like something out of a movie, the two of you were cumming simultaneously. The feeling of you clenched down around him was what pushed him over the edge — it was too much for him.

When he finally stilled his hips, you both just laid there panting.

"Holy shit," you whispered, your eyes wide.

"Was that the first time you've ever done that?" You nodded. "Well, shit. Glad it was with me," he chuckled.

You pulled him back in for a kiss and his hand settled on your knee.

"Me too."

[greeniegaes]

Thinking about Omega SQQ again sigh

Okay. So warning this is a male lactation AU so if you don’t like that don’t read, nothing explicit happens tho, just a guy and his pups

I imagine when he first goes into his body everything feels like he’s in haywire, constantly on edge and ready for a fight. Once he’s gotten the hang of things he uses his cultivation to try and simmer down his hormones.

Only to realize it was his cultivation preventing hormones that was making him feel like shit all the time.

So eventually he sighs and stops doing that. The first few days are bad, cramps and sickness and a general feeling of wanting to claw everyone’s eyes out. He gets through that though.

Then his breasts start to come in.

He knew PIDW has its weirder parts of omegaverse so he knew that this would happen. At first he starts binding his chest but that hurts SO SO SO much that he collapses on like the third day (he was also doing it improperly because it’s him, yk) and gets stuffed into Qian Cao

MQF: I was not aware shixiong was an omega

SQQ: I’ve only recently decided to stop holding myself back

MQF: it is recommended that you form a small pack of your disciples to help with your instincts and… that *waving at SQQs chest.*

SQQ: *screams internally.* Okay :)

At this point after like a week of just draining himself and going insane he finally gives up. LBH has already started living in the bamboo hut so he’s kinda the best option so he sits the boy down.

SQQ: Binghe, I hope you know this isn’t going to change anything but

LBH, thinking: oh my god no please don’t kick me out

SQQ: since this master has allowed his omega side back out he’s been struggling with his urges about thinking of his disciples like pups. If it’s not an offense to your character can I take some of it out on you

LBH, internally: YES YES YES PLEASE OH GOD YES I NEED IT

LBH, externally: If that would please shizun then sure :]

So they start a twice daily thing of in the morning and night LBH goes into SQQs room and his nest and gets feed. Apparently milk is hella good for the skin and shit because after a few weeks he starts to look flawless somehow.

And SQQ really wants to see his other kids- DISCIPLES flourish like that. He extends the offer to a close few and some look like they going to cry at the honor of their teacher wanting to take care of them.

LBH is still the main drinker and always wants to huff when he has to share, but he does it none the less. His Shizun gets really cute during feeding sessions, purring and chirping at them, fixing their hair and playing with it, scratching their scalp, the whole nine yards.

So LBH repays it by feeding SQQ more, which also makes him have more milk in turn. He huffs and complains at his body’s need to produce so much, his chest wayyy too heavy in the middle of the day to be comfortable, leaking and wasting everything.

He ignored that though, even if LBH and his other pups- disciples offer to help him.

Eventually after the Abyss his body is still making big amounts of milk because that’s what it was used to. Most of the time he just gets it out himself and pours it into the grass, often now also starting his other feedings.

Everything starts to get to him and he’s decided that staying on the mountain is no good. So he sneaks out, by himself, in search of something to heal his heart.

All the peak lords and disciples are going crazy, nobody can find him and nobody knows where he could’ve gone. Eventually while LQG is talking to a random villager out in a border town of their territory he sees SQQ again, arms filled with two pudgy babies and looking ever so pleased.

SQQ: Oh! Hi Shidi

SQQ internally: OH FUCK I FORGOT ABOUT THE SECT

LQG: where have you been???

SQQ: sorry sorry babies are hard work I didn’t want to travel alone with them

LQG, wanting to have an aneurysm but can’t: let me just help you home

On one hand the entire sect is so relieved that SQQ didn’t die of heartbreak over losing his favorite pup or get kidnapped. On the other hand SQQ??? Where’d you’d acquire those babies?? They aren’t yours, it’s only been 6 months!!

Anyways after SQQ is safely back in the sect he doesn’t see a point in leaving. I mean! Look! Look at his pups! So cute and round! One of them has little dimples!

The other peak lords carefully go to see what was going on, YQY opening the door to the bamboo house after being told to come in and all of them are just smacked with happy omega pheromones, SQQ gently cradling them both in his arms as he rocks in a chair.

At that point all of the peak lords decide that yk, maybe it doesn’t matter how the children were acquired. They were well feed and cared for and obviously SQQ was happy again.

(He got the children from a working in the WRP, she had wanted babies and all her sisters were supportive but then she realized she didn’t like being a parent but you also can’t morally just… dispose of a child. SQQ visited there once in his depression stoop and stayed for a few days after falling in love with the kiddos. Then he just went on an adventure with his babies and got distracted by the cool world building.)

[hoaxriot]

I KNEW IT, I KNOW YOU

pairings. remus lupin x fem!reader

summary. after hogwarts, you hadn’t talk to remus or any of the marauders. yet you always think about them. when lily and james send you an engagement party invitation, you can’t not go and see him.

It had been over a year since you had seen any of your old friends from Hogwarts, and a lot had changed. You’ve fallen in love with someone else and got your heart broken, maybe it was your karma for breaking his. You know you did and you let it consume your life for a year, you felt like you had just come to terms with it. Even though friends of yours, you heard how bad you hurt Remus even though you knew it when you walked away from him and his cries echoed in your ears as you closed the door on him and your relationship.

Your apartment was quiet as you sat on your couch debating if you should even go, you knew you should. Lily and James were your best friends and you missed them, you missed everybody. You shut your thoughts down as you stood up grabbing your purse and keys and leaving your apartment.

Your heartbeat bumped against your chest and in your ears, as you drove to the Potters's house, your nails tapped against the steering wheel as your anxiety rose pulling up to the house. Staring ahead, you didn’t know how to walk into the house. Do you knock? Or do you walk in like you used to do in their room at Hogwarts? Did they even want to invite you or was it just a name they brought up? You cut your own thoughts off with a sigh as you reached to the passenger seat grabbing the present and opened your door.

Just face them. Face him. You got this. You said to yourself as you took even breaths walking up the steps to their house.

Smoothing at your floral dress, “fuck, okay. You got this.” You whispered to yourself as you knocked on the door, you heard commotion on the other side before Lily Evans appeared in front of you. She was different but the same, she gasped lightly before bringing you into her house and a hug.

You froze before replicating the action, your name fell from her lips as she pulled away. “Wow, you look… amazing. Thank you for coming.” She said squeezing your arm and taking the present, she started walking and you look at the door wanting to run but you followed her.

“Of course, thank you for inviting me. Congratulations by the way.” You felt out of place, “James! Look who came!” She said as the two of you rounded the corner, everyone from Hogwarts sat in their living room. Everyone turned at her comment, you wanted a hole to appear below you and suck you into the ground. James gasped as he stood up, running to you. He threw his arms around you, tightly. You hugged him back feeling the comfort he always brought to your life.

He pulled away with a large smile, he didn’t hate you. “Congratulations, James.” You smiled as Sirius and Peter approached the two of you, you saw Remus when you walked in but he wasn’t in front of you. They both hugged you but it wasn’t the same. They all smiled at you, like a sympathy smile that made you want to run away even more.

“C’mon, get a drink,” James said jerking his head to the group, nodding as you grabbed a glass before sitting on a single chair beside Marlene who smiled at you. Everyone fell back into a conversation, you looked around at them, nothing had changed between them yet everything has with you. You looked down at your glass of champagne licking your lips before you brought it to your lips downing the whole glass. You saw James side-eye you but you ignored it, you did not want to ruin anything about this party and you needed the drink.

You looked up meeting eyes with Remus who immediately turned away, well he hated you. You stared at him, you wondered if he ever wanted to write or call you, or if he stayed up at night thinking of you like you did. You didn't know him anymore so you couldn't even ask him. You realized you were staring at your ex-boyfriend in front of all his friends— your old friends, making you jerk your head to Regulus who was talking. He and Sirius had been working on their relationship the last time you knew of but now you saw that they were good seeing as he was here. You tried to listen but you couldn’t, your hearing became fuzzy, this was too much at once but you couldn’t leave yet.

“Excuse me,” you muttered to James before walking to the sliding door. You opened it feeling the fresh air on your face making you let out a breath of relief, "Merlin." You muttered to yourself, you cursed yourself. You leaned against the wooden gate that wrapped around their back porch looking at the sky.

You didn't know how long you stood out there until you heard the sliding door shut, turning around to see who it was. Remus Lupin stood there finally making eye contact with you, he blew out a breath as he stood beside you.

He said your name for the first time in years and you felt the tears brimming your eyes, "Remus." You whispered, you knew he didn't want to make small talk.

"Can we talk?" He asked, you immediately nodded. You missed his voice and touch, you missed everything about him but you left him.

Remus let out a shaky breath messing with his hands, "Why? Why'd you leave and never look back? You still live here, you left us all." He said, your heart broke, he was right. You didn't just leave him, you left all your friends without an explanation. "I know you, love," The nickname stabbed you in your heart. "I know why you left me, I just don't know why you completely abandoned me, I don't know you actually. I did. I don't anymore."

You inhaled deeply as you looked at him, he was already looking at you. "Remus, you had high expectations for me, for us. You always did and I could never reach those expectations, I can't apologize for that." You explained. "You, all of you were doing things with your life, you had it figured out and I didn't. I couldn't hold you back, I wouldn't allow myself to." Squeezing your eyes shut trying to hide the tears but they just fell.

Remus reached his hand out to yours before he clenched his fist, "But you never told me, I would've told you that you never would hold me back, I wanted you to be there. Just because we were doing things didn't mean you weren't." He spoke as you sniffled, in his head he begged you to look at him but you didn't. "I never-- I didn't want you to feel like I had high expectations for you, I didn't and I still don't. I love you for you." He whispered the last part making you sigh, every feeling that you had buried came crawling back to you.

"Remus..." You whispered shaking your head, "I-" You sighed. "I can't, why would you want to? I broke your heart." You said with shock in your voice, finally looking at him, tears fell onto his rosy cheeks from the fall weather.

"Because I love you," He repeated himself. "I always have and I always will even if you don't. I don't know you anymore but I'm willing to know you again and let you know me again. I just--- I love you so much that it consumes me all the time."

He whispered your name and you melted, turning to face him you gently placed your hands on his face leaning forward until he happily met your lips, and you tasted the saltiness of his tears.

Pulling away, you wiped the tears away with your thumb. "I love you, Remus." You smiled as he brought his hands to your face mimicking your actions, your thumb skimmed over his scars that had gotten lighter over the years but still showed. Remus turned his head with a laugh, you followed his eyes seeing your old friends watching the two of you. James cheered lifting his beer causing everyone to do the same making the two of you laugh,

Remus dropped his hands to grab your hand, you squeezed his hand following him into the house.

"Fucking finally," James spoke as the two of you sat on the couch beside Sirius who squeezed your knee. "Now we can really celebrate." Everyone laughed at his comment, he winked at you raising his beer. You knew you had a long ways to mending your friendship with everyone but you felt at home again.

[lexirosewrites]

Kinda sorta sleeping beauty AU Part 3

Robin drops the rope into the boat & it is instantly floating away across the lake, cutting through the water on a direct path to the shore of the island. Eddie has no oars nor does he need them it seems. He is quickly entering the thick fog surrounding the island. He wants to panic, he wants to swim away, but when the breeze shifts his nose is tickled by baked apples.

When a strange dark tendril reaches up to wrap around the boat, to stop its progress, to crush the wood & drag him down, Eddie doesn't think. He rears back his hand & stabs it w the dagger. The tendril releases him & the boat seems to speed away to the island.

When it reaches the shore he hops out & pulls it onto the sand. The fog is unmistakably pouring out from behind the trees. Eddie takes a breath & as he relishes the hint of apple in the air he closes his eyes & sees hazel twinkling like stars. He hears bird song & sees the bird from his dreams hopping along a branch before flying further into the trees. Eddie swallows his nerves as best he can, and pushes forward into the treeline.

He walks for a time before he feels himself being stalked. The forest is unnatural in its silence so he hears the shuffle of leaves as something tht isn't him moves among the trees. He hears a strange shrill clicking & turns in time to avoid the claws of a beast with no face but a thousand teeth. Eddie never trained formally to fight but the dagger seems to know what to do as it arcs in the air & stabs into the neck of the creature. The shriek it emits hurts his head but he keeps his arm moving. Stabbing it over & over, injuring its arms, then managing to cut an obvious tendon in its leg, till finally he is stabbing the creature in a place he assumes is its heart.

When he is sure it is dead he stumbles away, the image of the entrance to the maze in his mind. The hedges move w a breeze & fog pours out from the maze. It has smelled of rot & ichor since he'd stabbed the tendril in the water, but as he catches his breath before entering the maze he breathes in warm baked apples. Just as in the dream he feels himself warm from within starting w his heart.

He moves through the maze not having to rely on the scent entirely as he'd walked the correct path in his dream. When he comes upon the clearing in the center he realizes he hadn't been hearing the singing for there is the man from his dream, but he is sleeping. There is no stone bed only a pool of water pouring out fog tht the man is floating in as he sleeps. His breathing is as if he truly is in a deep peaceful sleep. Eddie approached the pools edge & without thought only following an instinct he dropped the dagger into the pool & grasped the sleeping man's freezing cold hand.

The pool of water slowly begins to glow from beneath. Eddie pulls the man from the water, and drags him into his arms. The man is cold, still asleep, but now Eddie can see movement behind his closed eyelids. Following a scrap of knowledge his uncle had given him when Eddie had his first rut the bard knight tucks the mystery man's nose into his neck. He focuses on releasing calming pheromones.

There is an intake of breath deeper than before, then plush lips brushing against his mating gland where the scent is strongest, then the omega in his arms sighs as he awakes. Eddie pulls back to look at the most beautiful human he'd ever seen.

At the same time they each reached out to touch the others cheek.

"You are real?" The omegas voice was music to Eddie's heart.

"I am," Eddie assured, "I dreamed of you."

"I dreamed of you too. For over 100 years I dreamed of you."

"What is your name my beautiful dream?"

With eyes twinkling in happiness his love answered, "Stephen, but I wish for you to call me Steve."

"My Stevie." Eddie answers, and then they r meeting in the middle to share a kiss.

When Eddie leads them out to the shore where he'd moored the boat Robin was standing there. She ran to them & hugged Steve to her tightly as Steve clung to her in return.

The sun was beginning to fully rise as the enchanted boat took them to the docks of the town, as they approached ppl gaped in wonder. Nancy was there apparently rounding up ppl to form a search party for Eddie, but when she saw the boat moving without oars directly from the island as it carried 3 ppl upon it she began laughing w relief.

The island began sinking in the distance.

[Part 3 of 3, an epilogue is also on the way]

his Stevie!!!!!!🤧😭💕

***links to come later because tumblr is acting up and won’t let me add hyperlinks right now***

(link to part one, part two)

(link to epilogue when it’s posted)

[curtins]

GOO GOO MUCK #1 — jujutsu kaisen x reader choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

you've turned the page to: CHAPTER I. ITADORI YŪJI go back to the table of contents.

"an unchangeable colour rules over the melancholic: his dwelling is a space the colour of mourning. nothing happens in it. no one intrudes. it is a bare stage where the inert is assisted by the suffering from that inertia. the latter wishes to free the former, but all efforts fail, as theseus would have failed had he been not only himself but also the minotaur; to kill him then, he would have had to kill himself." alejandra pizarnik

prologue. → there was no other ending for this story — none where you did not end up as fodder for the beast in labyrinth, not after the king decreed that you would be the next sacrifice. how ironic that itadori yuuji doesn't seem like a monster at all, just a brilliant boy who was marked for death and sorrow.

pairings. minotaur!yuuji itadori x reader (sfw!)

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps / still monster — enhypen

warnings reader comes from the royal family, has a deadbeat + awful father, mentions of injuries, death, sacrifices, angst and hurt, comfort. mildly ooc yuuji because life has dealt him a rough hand. reader picks their skin and cuticles + mention of bleeding, ambiguous ending, grief. word count. 2.9k!

a/n. y'all know i dont play abt this little guy but omg i was literally scratching my head trying to come up with decent plot. also i'm not entirely faithful to greek mythology my bad 😧 i hate spelling the word 'labyrinth' bc who the fawk came up with all that?

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

you're not quite sure how long it had been since you were thrown to the rough, cold stone of the maze, where each jagged groove bit into your skin as you traced the contours of your new prison. the walls rose ever so high, swallowing you in an oppressive and towering silence and had it not been for the cold that bit your bones, you might have sobbed.

what was the weight of family, or the worth of blood, when a father could offer his own child to the gods as casually as one might surrender a coin to the tides? you could still feel the rough ghost of his grip on your shoulder, his hand heavy with the ringed wealth that he refused to give up.

all his gold, all his riches, the coffers of a kingdom that was within your rights to inherit, what did it matter in the end — when it was you that he sacrificed? the gods did not care for mercy, was that not why they were gods? but they had demanded, and the king had answered. not with offerings from hoarded treasure, but a child of his own flesh and blood. you, stripped of finery and beaten gold, and left adrift in the maw of stone and shadow.

but now, you laugh, a bitter sound swallowed by the cold air, hoping that your nerves are able to rework themselves into something braver, to allow the maze to drink in your defiance. at this point, you're not quite sure where you'll meet your end, but you've been told the beast waits, a monster of bone and sinew and deific anger, bound to the hunger of the cruel gods.

your eyes have caught the faint outline of something strewn along the path ahead, a line of small and crooked shapes against the stone. brittle sticks left to decay? a morbid curiosity has stirred within you, drawing you closer, as you kneel in thin linen onto the grimy stone.

they are not sticks at all, but fingers. withered and mummified, bent in unnatural shapes as if frozen mid-reach. dark, claw-like nails tip each one, and the skin is shrivelled and taut over bone, in a faded mauve hue. something bruised and ever so ancient.

you just cannot help the sickened gasp that escapes you, lurching back and clutching a hand to your mouth as bitterness rises and makes a home in your throat. the grotesque trail stretches on before you, and you hazard a guess that this rotten path leads into the heart of the labyrinth. a warning, a lure?

but a sound has risen from the depths of the stone around you, a low and rumbling roar that makes the walls tremble, as if the maze itself is struggling to take a breath. the noise grows, and it sends a cold shock through you that drains away every shed of defiance you had clung to.

for a moment, you can scarcely breathe, chest tight with fear. the memory of all you wanted to be, all you dreamed of becoming, hands over you like a whisper, a fragment of hope already out of reach. you think of the things you will never see, the lives you will never touch, and it startles you — how your heart breaks with a quiet desparate longing as you regret the way you lived in this short life. you wanted more than this, even if you did not get a proper death. but you wanted more than to be swallowed up as a nameless sacrifice, your thread picked out of the tapestry of history.

a flicker of thought urges you to raise the torch in your hand, to wield it as some pitiful defense. you imagine the flames as a fragile beacon against the shadows, a last defiant spark in the face of the death that you have been handed. but even the flame trembles, casting erratic shadows, and in the pallid light, you feel the futility of it all.

your strength has failed, and you sink to your knees as a numbness overtakes your body, as you bow your head, pressing your forehead against cold, damp stone.

"please..." you murmur, the word a faint breath lost in the maze, a plea without direction or expectation. whether it is mercy you seek, or simply a swift end, you cannot say. but death has never been kind, and it would never hold its hand out to you in a painless way.

but in waiting for a blow to be delivered, your eyes crack open, vision blurred by the shadows that lovingly cling to the labyrinth. each muscle is tense as you struggle to rise from the cold floor that pressed sharply into your smarting knees. but slowly, a shape and a form comes into focus — broad and menacing, a silhouette bathed in the flickering light of your torch.

at first, he seems like a nightmare sprung from the depths of the eldest primordial myths, markings etched across his skin like a map of some forbidden world, as dark ink ripples down his shoulders, down his chest.

you blink, and your gaze adjusts to the strange half-light, and you're bewildered as the black lines begin to fade, dissolving as if they were never truly there. the intensity of his form softens, and you're not sure if the monstrous edge is beginning to fade away, leaving something...unexpected in its place.

the form before you now is young, hardly older than you, with a face that seems almost human in its expressionless calm, yet somehow haunted. your breath catches, air hitching as you take in his features — amber eyes so intensely golden that they seem to glow in the dim light, fixed upon your with a gaze that is neither hostile nor welcoming, nay. just unflinchingly steady. his hair is a soft, choppy pink; like the goddess of the dawn had run her rosy-tipped hands over his head. but he is bare-chested, the lean muscle across his torso gleaming with a faint sheen, and the broad lines of his shoulders and thickened waist speak of one who has been carved for war.

you fight to quell the tremor in your chest, a rising mixture of terror and something else — something you just cannot name. there is no cruelty in his face, nor hatred. but it is a sad emptiness, a blankness, as if he himself is lost and hollow, waiting in this forsaken pit for far longer than you can possibly imagine.

but the soft rumble of his tone pulls you back, "so, you are the next one they sent?" and his voice is coloured by a kind of bitter amusement.

his eyes, that haunting amber, crease slightly at the corners, and you cannot help but notice that despite his demeanour, his face is incredibly expressive when he speaks, with a warmth that softens his gaze, but the sadness remains. a quiet and relentless grief that settles around him like a shadow.

you feel the tremour in your own voice as you stammer, leaning back against your calves, and yet still kneeling. but your head is tilted up to meet his gaze. your heart races, an awful and unsteady ba-bump! but you force yourself to speak.

"i would ask only for mercy," you whisper, "for my only crime was being an obedient child of a harsher master."

for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. but the boy scoffs, a bitter sound that is not entirely unkind. he looks away, his mouth twisted into a grim half-smile with no real mirth, and you watch as the puckered scar on the side of his lips crumples.

"if there was any mercy in the world," he replies quietly, "they would have just executed me by now."

you pick at your nails, at the skin that is peeling off your cuticles with a sharp sting, "mercy is as much as a myth as the gods themselves."

"and yet you choose to kneel and ask me for it?"

you've looked down, focusing on the rapidly blooming crimson, "i do not want to die."

the boy does not answer at first. instead, he just stares at you with an intensity that feels as though he's examining you from the inside out. you're not sure if you meet a hint of suspicious flickering behind topaz eyes, as if you are the real danger here.

but you just test your luck, shaky but persistent, "why would execution be a mercy?"

it is no kindness to your nerves that the question hangs in the air like a fragile thread — and his response is a growl that rumbles deep in his chest, primal and sharp. it's shaken you to your core, and in that instant your gaze blurs, with your heart slamming against your ribs as a foggy vision plays before you like a twisted reflection.

you've pushed the beast too far. and for a moment in this haze you see him, this beautiful boy, morph into the very thing you had imagined in the darkness before. a four-armed creature covered in dark markings, his form expanding and distorting into something far more grotesque. would there be savage claws, reaching for your face as you recoil, tearing you into ribbons?

but the moment passes in a breath, and he's still there, slumped against the stone. no monster, just mortal fresh. no, he has not moved to strike, nor to rush at you.

instead he just sinks lower into cold stone, pulling his knees up to his chest, and resting his elbows on them, looking almost defeated. there's a strange heaviness in his posture, as if the weight of something much larger than the maze itself is dragging him down, something wide and unbearable.

"what did they tell you before they tossed you here, alongside me?"

"they told me that i was doing my father a service," you begin, and you wonder if there is a bitter drip that falls from your tongue as you let the words fall from your dry mouth, "and that the gods would award me for my pious duty and sacrifice."

the boy raises a thin brow, a faint flicker of surprise scattering itself over his faint, pale scars, "your father. the king i gather? he sent his only heir down here?"

what a sting. even a monster could understand. even the ones trapped in the dark can understand the greed that drives the hearts of men. you grimace, a fleeting shame twisting in your gut as you nod, but it is no surprise. your father's name had never been one to inspire reverence — only fear, and the hollow hope that the gods would look favourably upon his ritualistic sacrifices. it was hard not to feel small and broken in comparison to the king who stood tall in his halls of marble.

your new companion shakes his head, almost in acrid disbelief, but he continues, "i'm not the beast that they say lives down here," and at your look of disbelief and confusion, he grinds his heel down onto sharp stone, "it's not me."

your gaze drifts over him as he speaks, and your eyes fall on the harsh marks scattered over his chest. some are thin, barely more than pale lines, while others are thick and jagged — carved into him by hands that had no mercy. there's one in particular, a long streak that cuts across his face, something etched there by something far darker than any mortal blade. like patchwork.

there's a curl in your fingers, one that scratches at you. one that tells you to reach out and place your hand on thickened skin, but you tamp it down. he must have noticed the way your eyes linger on him, and for a moment, the corner of his scarred mouth quirks upward. he doesn't seem quite offended...just aware. you shift slightly, folding your legs beneath you, the thin linen shift you wear now soiled with the grime of the stone floors. the dirt clings to the fabric, staining it a muted grey.

"the beast is not me," he says again, and there's a quiet ache in his words, "he just lives within me. that's all."

you frown, trying to make sense of his words. "he?" you echo.

the boy glances at you, his gaze distant for a moment before he continues, as if he's not looking at you, but rather past your head.

"the council said they were going to kill me at first. said it would kill the monster that lives in here -," and he presses a hand harshly at his sternum, fingers splaying against his chest, "thought it would kill him if they just put an axe to my neck. two birds with one stone."

"and then...," and his smile is harsher, rueful, "then the king decided that it would be more useful to keep me down here, extend by sentence a bit. said that i could help them like this. said i could control the beast just enough to save the lives of others."

you curl your lip, and you can't fathom the cruelty of knowing your body is a prison. that your blood, bones and sinew is being used as the bars of an enclosure. such was your father's consistent cruelty.

"i am sorry that you suffered at the king's hands."

he doesn't look up at you at first. instead, his gaze drifts to your hands, where you've ripped at the edges of your cuticles, leaving faint scars that are prone to be reopened. your fingers tremble as you shove your hands into the folds of linen, hiding the fresher, red wounds.

his voice is low, but not unkind — with his eyes lingering on your hands, "i could say the same for you."

you almost smile, feeling as though a distant thunderclap has unsettled you and shaken you.

"what's your name?"

he doesn't answer immediately, the silence stretching just enough to make you wonder if he'll speak at all. but finally, his voice emerges, laced with a faint warmth, "itadori yuuji." now his eyes flicker to you, and after a beat, he adds, almost with a touch of irony, "your highness."

the title sounds wrong here, in the dark deeps, in the hollow of this wretched place, yuuji's home. you laugh, though you're certain the sound is thinned, "i'm sorry we met under these circumstances," you say, words slipping out before you can stop them. but you are sincere — and you wonder, briefly, what it would have been like to meet him in another life or another world.

yuuji laughs softly at that, and you catch the faintest glimpse of a smile, wan but genuine. it's a tragedy, you think, at how you cannot help but marvel at the way the torchlight catches onto his beautiful silhouette, illuminating small crescent marks that lay under his eyes.

"i am too," he says, and you wonder foolishly if he, too, regrets the way he lived. the strange fate that has brought you both to this moment.

your smile drops suddenly, "i will die down here, won't i?" the question slips from your lips, softer and more naive in a way that doesn't belong in the air of this place.

yuuji frowns, the furrow of his brow deepening, and his eyes darken — is there pity in his eyes? or something else that you cannot place?

"you don't have to."

you don't believe him, not truly. you know the customs of this sacrifice. the king's laws, and the will of the gods — they all point to the same conclusion. you know this, for all of yuuji's apparent mercy cannot hold back a four-armed beast when it catches the iron scent of blood in the air.

"and when the guards come with the next prisoner?" you ask.

yuuji doesn't look at you immediately. instead, he draws faint and absent patterns in the dust with the tips of his fingers.

"the guards will never be able to report back to your father then. maybe sukuna can be of some use, for once."

you frown, a thousand questions racing in your mind — about the finality of his tone or the underlying oath of blood being spilt. but the one that rises to the surface is the unfamiliar name, "sukuna?"

yuuji shifts slightly, his posture loosening, as if he's trying to make himself more comfortable in the cramped space between you. your gaze catches on his slender fingers tracing lines in the dust.

"the beast within me. gojo said he was my uncle too, apparently."

"gojo?"

yuuji's face darkens, "he was my - " he ends his sentence abruptly, as if he has not the heart to bite the last words out.

you stare at him, bewildered, your mind struggling to process the connection he’s just made so casually, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. what cruel fate.

he catches your expression and laughs softly, a sound that is more bitter than it is light.

"long story," he adds, as if that explanation is enough, his eyes glinting with something unreadable as he leans back slightly, his attention slipping into the distance.

"seems like you have a lot of those," you offer heartedly, but it darkens your heart. you do not see a boy capable of great violence in front of you. in another life, itadori yuuji would have lived a happier life — surrounded by those that he loved. but when the beast, sukuna, is unleashed, who will stand between you and the creature to protect you? how haunting, for the last face you believe you will ever see is the first face that you think you've ever loved.

[coolsketchablestuff]

Welcome to my atrocious shipping chart, I apologize in advance

Their opinions on eachother:

Headcanons below:

I've been having a story going on in my mind and it's just progressively evolved over time and this is the culmination of that specifically, so I'll try to explain the context of it here:

MAIN THING HERE IS THAT THE BEASTS (for the most part) "GET ALONG" WITH THEIR OTHER HALF

In my au thingy once they get along both half's get stronger, as if the soul jam becomes more whole (yes the ancients still ascended and reclaimed their soul jams as the rightful owners)

Burning Spice:

Got defeated by golden Cheese Cookie, after she left and he awoke from under the rubble of his castle he went to seek her out, to continue the battle, he wanted to be defeated, to be bested by the only worthy opponent, it was his DESTINY to crumble to her hands, he desired it so much. When he found and re-challenged her, she originally did fight him, but upon seeing how badly he wanted to be destroyed she decided to make him one of her treasures. At first he HATED it and would remind her how he could destroy all of it if he wanted to, but after months of slowly wearing him down he's now her right hand cookie and personal guard, very quick to fight anyone who gets to close to her radiance, he is referred to by the kingdom as "his anarchist".

Shadow milk cookie:

(because his actual story will be coming out soon I'm so paranoid about having to retcon this in the future) he has defeated pure vanilla cookie, finally! After so long!!! But wait, why didn't this victory feel right..? Why was the soul jam not reacting properly? Upon vanilla cookie crumbling should it not go back to him? Spoiler alert, no, no it did not as he was not worthy of it and the light was actively fading, as he began to slowly feel weaker with the progressive fading, having to think fast and make a decision he was not sure if he'd regret, he put all of knowledge to use and revive pure vanilla, centuries of being the representative of knowledge sure does come in handy! Ever since that day and discovering if the light fades so would he, he's tried to stay close to pure vanilla out of convenience, over time it becoming an actual friendship, though he is still overly protective/possessive of him to make sure no one hurts him.

Explanation of the relationships:

Golden cheese

- appreciates how Pure Vanilla's kindness is not conditional and relishes in the praise, though she's worried over him slowly spending less time with White Lily

- loves how loyal Burning Spice is, she is aware he's obsessed with her but she interprets it as him being greedy for her attention (it kinda is ngl)

- has fun doing stuff with shadow milk cookie, they like going to events together like parties and just messing around, they can joke with each other comfortably

Burning Spice

- kinda obsessed with Golden Cheese, seeing her as the only cookie allowed to be stronger than him, he doesn't let other cookies fight her as they're "not worthy"

- mostly sees pure vanilla as one of Golden Cheese's treasures and feels an obligation to her radiance to protect him. Is too uncomfortable to get closer to PV because he reminds him so much of pre-corruption Shadow Milk

- the new shadow milk cookie is definitely more lively, and ever since SM got along with PV his pranks have become more harmless which is enjoyable, one of his oldest buddies

Pure Vanilla

- Golden Cheese is one of his oldest friends, after everything that has happened he doesn't want to lose his friends again, he's slowly spending more time with her as White Lily is busy with other stuff and after everything he just wants to spend time with his friends

- after learning to get along with eachother, shadow milk is actually enjoyable to be around! They can talk about intellectual magic stuff, enjoy food and drinks, play games like chess, or just spend time together in comfortable silence

- does not have any strong opinions on burning spice as they do not talk much, though he isn't sure why considering how often they hang out, PV is confident he's seen BS looking at him sometimes when he thinks he isn't looking

Shadow milk

- pure vanilla is calming, when they feel worked up over something he's always there, PV is helping him get along better with cookies

- Golden Cheese Cookie is (currently) his best friend, they jokingly got along under the pretense on not being huge on WL but their friendship kept improving

- it's too much fun to prank burning spice, like SURE he could just find something they both find fun but as long as BS doesn't how actual disdain towards them he's not gonna stop! He loves to tease him too :)c

If I think of anything else I might add It? Idk, genuinely I just like having good guys in media make the bad guys nice, I enjoy "I can fix him" so much, THE ANCIENTS FIX THE BEASTS I SWEAR

[devirnis]

Okay, after having a few days to process, I am allowing myself one vent post to get it out of my system and then it’s back to ✨positive vibes✨ only

If I see one more goddamn smarmy post about how “the writing was on the wall the whole time” (with the undercurrent of “you were too stupid to see it, I have the only valid interpretation”) I’m going to lose it

Had we not had 8x05, the breakup still would have bummed me out, but I would have said, you know what, fair, we didn’t see a whole lot of their relationship, a lot of it was fanon and headcanons. We had a good run. But we did get 8x05, apparently some of it filmed out of order knowing a breakup was coming, and what was the point? To be cruel? It felt like a slap in the face to people who liked that relationship.

They could have laid some groundwork to show some cracks in the relationship, but no. Ignoring disingenuous interpretations from people who have been rooting for the ship to crash and burn since day one, 8x05 established Buck & Tommy as a solid couple. Tommy gets along with Eddie, the three of them had great chemistry together. Tommy takes care of Buck when he’s hurt. Tommy thinks the curse is a bunch of bs (as does Eddie) but still went with Buck to have a funeral for a mummy. It’s like I watched someone cook an elaborate, delicious dinner for me and then they immediately threw it in the trash, and other people around me made fun of me for being blindsided and upset because I should have seen that coming.

I won’t pretend the general audience is a monolith who all have the same opinions. I’m sure there are people who don’t care and just shrugged their shoulders that another relationship of Buck’s fizzled out. But I have 2 friends who watch the show and aren’t Fandom Fans, and they are always my barometer for how people who don’t have brain rot (affectionate) feel about the show. One really liked the relationship, the other was neutral to mildly negative on it, and both of them agreed that it felt like the breakup came out of nowhere and made no sense given the context of the previous episode. So please stop pretending that it’s only BT fandom fans who have their knickers in a twist about how it played out.

If this isn’t leading to buddie, then I don’t want to see another love interest for either Buck or Eddie for the rest of the show. Tommy had so much potential to break the cycle of Buck’s love interests (and interviews from last season seem to support that they were aware of this and planning on utilizing that) and throwing it away feels like such a waste.

So yeah, instead of being just bummed, I’m pissed. I do not know if there was BTS drama or if Tim got some other grand idea for Buck’s storyline this season — but given how plots are adopted and dropped at rapid fire pace this season (something I was willing to forgive last season because of the shortened production timeline and fewer episodes), I’m highly skeptical that there’s any sort of overarching plan here.

I’ve never thought buddie would actually happen on the show, but I also never thought either Buck or Eddie would ever be anything other than straight, so I’d be happy to be proven wrong. I’m just a little jaded by seeing people doing a victory lap convinced that buddie canon is imminent when I think that they are giving the writers a lot more credit than they deserve for supposedly crafting this epic love story for the last five or so years when a lot of that is also just generous fanon interpretation. I need explicit confirmation within the show by the end of this season that at least one of them has caught feelings or I’m over entertaining the possibility it will actually happen.

I know the joy will come back. But I really hope the same plot lines playing out ad nauseam for every character stops because I’m getting a little tired.

[neverpathia]

fuck this shit

have my voice of the broken

and please ignore how elementary my art looks

it's not the full design unfortunately, but a little guy is a little guy, I hope. + the original pencil-and-paper lineart.

now I was gonna go by a specific order, like starting from voice of the hero and all, but broken just resonated with me too much and I thought we could make a pretty neat design out of him so there we have it.

okay I have quite a bit to say about him

come on, the fact that he's the most like me out of all the stp voices surely says something. tower route isn't exactly how my very first playthrough went, true, but once she beat the ever loving crud out of me and the rest of the route unfolded

I had to do a double take he's so real wtf

everything Broken says is something that has definitely passed through my mind at some point or another, especially when it came to a few relationships of mine. the way he just defaults to surrendering. taking the easy way out, the ONLY way out, which is in fact only digging yourself deeper into the problem. somewhere in your subconscious, maybe you know this. but what other choice do you have? she's above you in every way possible. don't you want to please her? isn't this how it's all supposed to go? and, besides, you don't want to taste the alternative.

defiance can't be an option anymore. it's a path fraught with danger and fear and the Broken is blindly submissive because it's the only thing he can be. he can't let himself think like a person or feel like a person or even be a person anymore if it's all just going to get taken away from him.

maybe he's bitter. maybe he hates the world. maybe he wants to let himself feel something that's not simply her, and her, and her.

but it's too risky, too dangerous. and it's so much 'easier' to just...not. just do what she asks, because there's a course of action put before you, and you won't be hurt if you do what she says. and you don't want to be hurt. and everything she's already doing to hurt you is so much better than everything she CAN do if you defy her.

and she loves you. in this twisted, unbalanced, unfair way of hers, she loves you. call it love because you don't want to know what else it can be.

you hate this love. it suffocates you. it drowns you. it seeks out the cracks in your soul. it enters them. it expands them. but it's the only thing left in there anymore.

it may look like a choice when you reciprocate it in the same unjust way. it's turned against you and you're just blocking off your escape, that's what they see. but what does the Broken see? safety. protection. an escape from whatever she can and has thrown upon you if you don't.

you can have "whatever you want" at the cost of a "you."

I feel so bad for him, but I can't help but feel that I...am him. Just 'choosing' to submit and keel over and accept your comfortable little prison is kind of real. It's 'choosing' safety and sloth at the cost of my autonomy, but since when had it even been a choice? external circumstances nudge you towards a corner. your own willpower, or rather lack thereof, backs you further into that corner. the Broken is too familiar.

and yet the way he always makes it a point to hear others out. he empathizes. he soothes. because he doesn't want them to be Broken like he is, or rather, he's the only other one who's just as Broken and he knows how much it sucks. to be at war with yourself all the time yet you yourself are stuck and stagnant and unmoving in everything you know you hate as much as you try to pretend you love. everything you do, every second you live, as wrong as it always feels. he wishes for a choice where he has never had one himself and he can, in a way, live that choice through others.

maybe I'm just projecting idk

fyi there's a reason I gave him that particular hairstyle. it's tied together and weighed down with two teardrop-shaped ornaments. like how he's so restricted and it's heavy, it's so heavy, being sad all the time is a bitch and you can only be tired. yet the braids are still ornate. still straight and silky smooth, still beautiful. but what then? and what if a few strands threaten to escape? it means nothing, it's still what it is. helplessly fixed in place, but who would think about it.

[seitmai]

Very late and very many thoughts, so I'm gonna utilize the read more function

“How the hell are you still consistently finding this much alcohol? We’re barely finding enough food.” Heaving himself up until he’s sitting on the edge of his mattress, Jake rests his head heavily in his hands as the world continues to spin around him. Still slurring slightly, he mutters, “‘s not enough. Two bottles a night aren’t helpin’ anymore. Nightmare’s back.”

😬😬😬

The water heater broke a few months ago and with no one left in their dwindling group who knew how to fix it, freezing showers had become the norm.

Not me adding "learn basics of fixing a water heater" to my to do list lmao

Jake used to use the board as his motivation to keep fighting, to not let more names be added to the list. But now that it contains so many faces of the people he cared deeply for or respected—you, Coyote, Iceman, Cyclone, Payback—it has become a constant reminder of all the ways he failed. 

💔💔💔

 Next to her, Bob scans the area just beyond the fence, his blue eyes alert behind his cracked glasses. With his unusual prescription, it’s been impossible to find a replacement after they slipped off his face running from a pack of creatures. He made it safely to the church in one piece—one of his lenses did not. Yet, he has never once complained or made excuses for his impaired vision. 

Bob is just such a good soul 🥺

“Oh, Jake…” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as your eyes continue to roam over his body. Yet even covered, he can see your jaw trembling as you cry, “Baby, what…We promised if something ever happened to the other, we wouldn’t give up. We would keep fighting.” “I’m still here, aren’t I?” Jake snaps. But then he wilts under the weight of your gaze. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he whispers, “I almost ended it—a few times. Drugs, booze, even thought I’d take my nickname literally. Made a noose and everything. But the thing that always stopped me was that promise. So, yeah, I–I’ve been a bit of a mess since you—” he gestures at your transformed self “—and I’m sorry. I tried to be strong but losing you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. We were supposed to face this hellscape together and I didn’t know how to cope without you so I let myself become someone that I hate. But now that you’re back—”

This broke my heart.. it shows how truly broken Jake is and that every day is a struggle with her for him💔

You turn to gaze into the darkness surrounding you. “It’s like acid in my veins, a constant burning fire in my gut that only grows stronger if it’s not satisfied. Blood’s the only thing that soothes the pain for even a few hours, but it’s never enough. I’ve tried to stop myself, I have, but each time I drink it gets hard to fight. And with every life I take, I feel a little more of myself slip away. I’m not the woman you loved anymore, Jake. I’m just a monster with her face.” Jake shakes his head with a firm set in his jaw. “No. I don't believe that. It's still you. Why else would you have looked for me? The woman I love is still here and she needed to see me just as much as I needed to see her.”

He is still so in love 🥺

“And I don’t care what you think.” Without hesitation, Jake crosses the remainder of his little haven of sunlight and steps forward to join you in the inky darkness. You cower back again but he takes another step to maintain the same distance between you. “You're not going to hurt me. I know that. Because you're so strong and brave and you can fight this–”

The way he believes and trust in her more than she does herself 🥹

This newest revelation is the last straw for Jake. A man can only process so much trauma at once before he reaches his breaking point. Falling to his knees, he hangs his head, tears dripping off his face onto the dusty tile beneath him as his shoulders shake with stifled sobs. 

I just wanna give him a hug, this is a lot 😭

You fall silent again, but Jake just continues to cry with no acknowledgment of what you said. After a moment of this, you plead, “Jake, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. If you want me to go—”  “Please…” Jake breathes, the weight of the past two years pressing down on him. “Please let me hold you.” “W-what?” Based on the utter shock in your voice, that is not what you were expecting him to say. It takes everything in him, but Jake lifts his eyes so they meet yours. “Baby, I need you in my arms again. To feel you, touch you, prove this is real. I have dreamed about you every night for two years. Horrible, bloody nightmares that have destroyed my life. I need you to chase those nightmares away.”

He is desperate for a moment of solace and how it was 2 years ago that he is willing to die for that 😭

“Jake, have you not heard a word I’ve said? I’ve killed our friends and I’ll kill you too. Or worse, I’ll turn you.” “I want you to,” he whispers.

He is so done with this life 🥺

“Please…” Jake sobs loudly, too emotionally and mentally drained to get to his feet and walk to you. “I can’t live without you anymore. I need us to be together, whatever that looks like.” “You don’t know what you’re asking.” “You’ve made it pretty clear. But I’m willing to bear the pain, the…the consequences of this choice if it means I can be with you. So, please, don’t make me spend one more second without you. Either kill me or turn me, but I can’t do this anymore.”

😭😭😭

Jake can’t wait any longer. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his chest, squeezing you as tightly as he possibly can. Your skin is icy beneath his touch, but he doesn’t care. He’s holding you in his arms again and nothing else in the world matters.  Squeezing you tighter, Jake mutters, “No. It’s okay, baby. I want this. Just let go.”

He has already made his peace 🥺

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, black tears falling on his chest. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Soft moans and gasps that have Jake flashing back to all those times you were beneath him as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. And for just a second, he can bear the pain knowing he is giving you some semblance of pleasure.

He truly would do anything for her 🥺

Jake picks up the soft sound as it is breathed across the empty warehouse, his ears already tuning into sounds humans shouldn’t be able to hear. His eyes flutter open and just over your shoulder, he can see Bob and Phoenix bathed in sunlight standing at the entrance to the building. Bob has tears in his eyes, his lips whispering your name in horror as he watches the growing gory mess you are making of Jake’s neck. He glances back and forth between Jake and Phoenix, silently pleading with her to find a way to fix this.

Poor Bob 🥺

But Phoenix just stares at the pair of reunited lovers, her jaw set tightly. And Jake knows she understands. Phoenix always understands. 

Of course she does 🥹

Jake is weak from blood loss and pain, but he manages the slightest of nods. Lifting two fingers to her forehead, Phoenix gives Jake a small salute in return.

What a small but beautiful goodbye between them 😭

Then she raises her flashlight. As the beam of light strikes your shoulder, your mouth instantly disappears from Jake’s throat with an agonized hiss as you try to flee from the pain. But using what strength he has left, Jake holds you in place. Smiling as every cell in his body begins to burn differently from before, he whispers, “Together.” And he holds up his hand which is cracking and disintegrating in the light just like yours. Though still pained, your face softens as you realize what he is doing. Transformation or death, those had been his choices. However, it turns out it wasn’t an “or” but an “and”. Reaching out, you link your fingers with his, your skin flaky and fragile in his grasp. You snuggle your head against the unbitten crook of his neck, whimpering slightly as the light does its job, and you whisper back, “Together.” Jake wraps his other arm around you and holds you close, silently vowing to never let go again.

Together 😭❤️😭❤️😭

The last thing he sees before his world slips away is the strangely beautiful swirl of particles of your two disintegrating bodies intermingling in the beam of sunlight. 

A beautiful ending together, like they deserved🥹

Drink With Me (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 6. self-sacrifice Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Vampire Apocalypse AU Summary: Two years after Jake was forced to watch you ripped apart by the creatures that now terrorize the world, he is a shell of the man he once was. However, a familiar voice calling to him in the dark may give him a second chance. Word Count: 5911 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Vampires, Character Death, Murder, Grief, Biting, Mention of Suicidal Thoughts, Drinking (alcohol and blood), Language Notes: Not beta read so sorry for any mistakes! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event! 💗

Series Masterlist

“No….No!” 

He tries to race to your side, to stop the torment playing out before his eyes, but he is held back by hundreds of hands wrapping around him, pulling him away. Fighting against them with every ounce of his strength, he screams, “Get the fuck off of me! We need to help her! No! What the fuck are you doing?” 

“She’s gone, Hangman,” dozens of disembodied voices whisper in unison from the darkness behind him. “I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing else anyone can do for her now. It’s over. It’s been over for years. You failed. Just as you continue to fail every night.”

“No! I can save her! Please, let me save her this time!” Jake sobs as he continues to struggle against whatever is holding him back. “Please!”

But it’s no use. He’s not strong enough. As he is dragged farther and farther away, he sees you lift your head one last time, panic and pain etched across your face. You lock eyes with him and just have time to scream a terrified, “Jake!” before one of the creatures rips your throat out with its teeth—

Jake bolts upright with a deep gasp, only to immediately collapse back onto his mattress with a pitiful moan. He grabs his head as it throbs painfully with every beat of his racing heart and he squeezes his eyes together tightly in an attempt to stop the world from spinning around him. But it does little to help. His nearly naked body feels sticky and gross tangled in his soiled sheet and he wonders if it’s just sweat from the nightmare, or if he vomited in his sleep again. Maybe both…probably both. 

At least he is fairly certain he hadn’t pissed himself this time if the intense pressure in his bladder is any indication. However, he doesn’t have the faintest desire to crawl to the bathroom so he’ll worry about those consequences later. Instead, he rolls over and tries to push your final agonized scream from his mind so he can go back to some semblance of sleep.

Just as he begins to pass out again, he hears the curtain hanging around his small space being pushed back and the toe of a boot digs into his side. Without opening his eyes, he swats at the foot, trying to shove it away. “‘uck off, Phe,” he mumbles somewhat coherently. “‘s too early.”

“Tell that to the rest of us who have already been awake for several hours,” Phoenix snaps, driving her boot deeper into Jake’s ribs. When he tries to roll away, she sighs, “Do we really have to do this every morning? I’m not your fucking babysitter. Get up! Bob and I need your help setting up the trap while the light’s in the right position.”

There is nothing in the world that Jake wants to do more than ignore her and go back to sleep. However, she’s right. They do go through this every morning and by now he has accepted the fact that he can not win this argument. So, reluctantly, he peels open his eyes and squints up at her.

Seeing that some progress is being made, Phoenix removes her boot from his side and takes a few steps back. In doing so, she almost slips on the drink Jake had spilled the night before. Looking around his small space, she shakes her head. 

“Jesus, Hangman,” she grumbles as she kicks a few empty wine bottles out of the way, sending them clinking across the floor only to crash into piles of more. “How the hell are you still consistently finding this much alcohol? We’re barely finding enough food.”

Heaving himself up until he’s sitting on the edge of his mattress, Jake rests his head heavily in his hands as the world continues to spin around him. Still slurring slightly, he mutters, “‘s not enough. Two bottles a night aren’t helpin’ anymore. Nightmare’s back.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all got our own nightmares that haunt us and you don’t see the rest of us pickling our livers to deal with it.” She hurls a half-empty backpack at him which smacks into the side of his head, nearly knocking over his unsteady form. “Now get your shit together and meet us out front in thirty minutes. We’ve got work to do.” She stomps out of his little alcove to give him some privacy but then pivots to add, “And for fuck’s sake, take a shower.”

Forty-five minutes later, Jake steps out of the shower stall, a thread-bare towel wrapped low on his hips. He shivers slightly as he pads across the cold tile floor towards the sinks. The water heater broke a few months ago and with no one left in their dwindling group who knew how to fix it, freezing showers had become the norm. While they should be grateful they even had any water at all, Jake can’t help but recall a time when a hot shower was the best part of his day. 

A soft gasp leaves your lips as he presses his bare body against yours, pinning you to the cool tile wall. Your eyes sparkle in the muted light filtered through the shower curtain as you gaze hungrily at him. Warm water flows over his back as he sinks into you—

No. No memories. Not now. Not when he doesn’t have the luxury of going back to his “room” and drowning them in booze. 

Instead, Jake quickly dresses, trying his best not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Half the time—when there is still enough lingering alcohol in his system—he sees your mangled corpse standing behind his reflection. The other half, he left staring at the shell of the man he had become. In some ways, that’s worse because he knows it would break your heart to see what losing you has done to him.

Even though sanitation supplies had only really become a scarcity in the last few months, Jake had given up the will for self-grooming long before that. The tangled beard covering his sunken cheeks is a clear indication of that as is the long greasy strands of hair hanging limply in front of the dark circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes. You had always preferred him clean-shaven and with shorter hair. But you were gone so he didn’t give a fuck.

Exiting the bathroom, Jake heads toward the front of the church. He averts his eyes as he passes the bulletin board that had been converted into a memorial shrine for those they had lost. He remembers the days when there had only been a few names and pictures up there. Now, the fallen takes up every inch of the board and spills out across the wall. Jake used to use the board as his motivation to keep fighting, to not let more names be added to the list. But now that it contains so many faces of the people he cared deeply for or respected—you, Coyote, Iceman, Cyclone, Payback—it has become a constant reminder of all the ways he failed.  

Once, this rag-tag group of survivors who had dubbed themselves The Daggers had numbered in the dozens. But now, there are only a handful left. And with supplies and food dwindling quickly, there is no telling how long it’ll be before the rest of them earn a place on the board.

As he pushes his way through the church doors, Jake recoils as he is hit with the full brightness of the sunny day. His headache which had previously dulled slightly in the cold shower came rushing back with a vengeance. Groaning, he digs his sunglasses out of the backpack Phoenix had thrown him earlier and places them on his face. They were a cheap plastic pair Coyote had picked up for him on one of his runs to the pharmacy over a year ago, but they at least cut out some of the glare.

Phoenix is leaning against the fence with her arms folded across her chest, a scowl carved deep into her face. Now that most of those originally in charge were no longer with them, the title of leader had fallen on her shoulders. For the past few months, she had done everything in her power to hold the group together despite the increasingly dire conditions—and one jackass of a drunk who makes her life that much more difficult.   

Next to her, Bob scans the area just beyond the fence, his blue eyes alert behind his cracked glasses. With his unusual prescription, it’s been impossible to find a replacement after they slipped off his face running from a pack of creatures. He made it safely to the church in one piece—one of his lenses did not. Yet, he has never once complained or made excuses for his impaired vision. 

They were the best of the remaining survivors and had become the only real hope the Daggers had left. Yet they spent most of their days dragging Jake’s sorry ass around to ensure he didn’t drink himself to death.

Jake had been like them once: always stepping up when volunteers were needed, doing what he could to fix what was broken, protecting the people within their group. But he hadn’t been that person for the past two years. Not since he had watched you devoured before his eyes as he stood on these very steps.

It was that moment he tried desperately to avoid every night in his dreams. Reliving that day over and over again. Knowing all the moments he could have done something differently or acted faster that would have saved you yet being unable to change anything. Just forced to hear your agonizing final screams before catching his last glimpse of you whispering his name…

He needs to find more alcohol.

“About fucking time,” Phoenix mutters under her breath, pushing herself off the fence.

Bob shoots her a stern look, one that softens as he turns his attention to the new arrival. “Thanks for helping us out, Jake. We appreciate the extra hands.”

“Not like she gave me much of a choice,” Jake mutters under his breath. But seeing the way Bob’s shoulders slump at his words, he does his best to smile at him. “But I’m here now so let’s do this.”

Bob’s smile returns and he nods happily at the other man. As he turns to exit the churchyard, Phoenix shoots Jake another dirty look. He knows despite Bob’s insistence that she keeps dragging Jake along with them, she’s afraid Jake’ll screw up and cost her or Bob their lives. And it’s a fair concern. After all, it’s his fault Bob was almost killed the time his glasses were damaged. Jake had been drunk on patrol and hadn’t seen the creatures until it was almost too late to warn the rest of the team. While Bob never blamed him, Phoenix did. She tried to be as supportive as possible when Jake first began to spiral, but after the incident with Bob, she only tolerated his antics for the sake of her partner. Though not even she despised this version of Jake as much as Jake despised himself. 

Jake knew what a failure and a screwup he had become. Yet as much as he wished he could pull himself together and become the man he used to be, he also knew that there was only one person who could help him do that. 

But you were never coming back.

It’s amazing how much the world can change in such a short amount of time. In the three short years since the creatures first appeared, the center of town is now virtually unrecognizable. Vines and various foliage scale the sides of all the buildings. Cars are abandoned in the middle of the street, some with their doors still open as their passengers fled from them. Every window has been dark since the power grid failed. And without the constant upkeep, everything is starting to decay.

The warehouse is no exception. Once bustling and full of life, it has now is a shadow of its former self. With very few windows save those by the entrance and no interior lights left to brighten the space, the interior becomes a black hole after walking just a few feet into it. However due to a collapse in the roof, at certain times of the day, a single shaft of light shines all the way down to the ground floor creating a small illuminated circle on the floor. 

It is in this small safe haven that Jake finds himself. Echos bounce off the walls of the cavernous space as he puts the finishing touches on the trap in front of him. Four months ago, a few survivors passing through had shared what they had discovered with The Daggers—a way to kill the creatures. Jake still doesn’t understand how it works, something to do with converting normal light into an artificial sunlight of sorts, but luckily there were those smarter than him around who understood and harnessed this knowledge into weapons. Since then, The Daggers had managed to take out a few of the creatures. However, they quickly learned that attacking the creatures in the large packs they usually hunted in resulted in costly casualties on both sides.

It was Phoenix’s brilliant idea to take the stealth approach instead of the head-on one. They began setting traps in the area using motion lights in the hopes of eliminating some of the creatures stalking near their hideout in the middle of the night when they were at their most active. So far, they have had promising results. 

Jake is almost done setting this trap. Then he can test it and use his flashlight to get himself from this shaft of light back outside. Hopefully, he’ll then have time to sneak off to try to find more alcohol before Phoenix and Bob return for him. He hasn’t checked the houses a few blocks to the east yet and maybe—

“Jake…”

Jake’s head snaps up as his heart freezes in his chest, the trap instantly forgotten. His eyes dart around the room searching for the source of the sound. But there’s no one else there. He’s alone…he’s always alone.

Yet, just as he begins to return to his job at hand, he sees something. Squinting, he peers deeper into the heart of the building and just makes out the faint outline of a single figure within the darkness.

Instincts kicking in, Jake draws his knife from his boot and drops into a defensive stance in the center of the beam of light, waiting for the attack he knows is coming. His eyes flicker around the space, searching the darkness for signs of the rest of the swarm, yet for now all he can see is the one in front of him. But he knows that can’t be it. The creatures hunt in groups, using their numbers to overwhelm and incapacitate their victims so escape is nigh on impossible. The only few loners they had come across over the years were ones that had been injured or were too malnourished to contribute to the next hunt.

But the figure standing before Jake doesn’t seem injured or blood-crazed. It stands straight and still, completely unmoving. For several moments, nothing happens. Though still cautious, Jake begins to relax his stance a little, wondering if his eyes or mind is just playing tricks on him.

But then, a voice cuts through the silence. “I was three blocks away when I caught your scent. I don’t know how, but I immediately knew it was you.”

The knife slips from Jake’s fingers, the clatter of metal on tile echoing around the cavernous room. The voice that he had not heard outside of his dreams for the past two years punches him in the chest, nearly bringing him to his knees as tears welled up in his eyes. “B-baby?”

There is a pause before the voice continues, unemotional and flat. “I should have bolted in any other direction, put as much space between us as possible but…I couldn’t. I’m selfish enough that I had to risk seeing you one last time.”

“Oh my god,” Jake breathes. “It’s really you.”

He takes a few stumbling steps towards the figure—towards you—but you draw back further into the shadows. “No! Stop! Stay in the light.” There is a panicked edge in your tone, the first sign of emotion you have let slip in, and it is enough to make Jake listen.

As much as he longs to launch himself into your arms, he reluctantly does what you ask. He lingers just shy of the darkness, the toes of his boots resting at the point where the last of the sunbeams fade on the tiles. 

“How are you here?” he asks, his voice breaking. 

“You know how.”

He did. It was a fear that had nestled in the back of his mind these past two years that he didn’t dare consider. Whether that was out of the fear of falling into despair or building up false hope, he didn’t know. But he had never let himself imagine this moment and, now that it was happening, he didn’t know what to do. 

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he says, “You said you caught my scent…Do I smell as sexy as you remember?”

A surprised snort of laughter echoes throughout the room as you are taken aback by his question. But when you speak, he hears tears in your voice, “Yeah, Jake. As sexy as always.”

Whatever cold, distant shell you had put in place when you first arrived crumbled and Jake can now hear the real you behind the words. Swallowing, he murmurs, “Please…let me see you.”

Your outline shifts in the darkness. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, baby. For the last two years, all I could see was that last memory of you. I need this.”

“No. Seeing me like this is not going to be any better than seeing me like that. I’ve changed.”

“So have I. But I love you and I’ll still love you no matter what.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then you whisper, “Step to the other side of the light.”

Jake immediately scrambles backward, almost falling as he stumbles over the long-forgotten trap. But he makes it to the outer rim of the circle of light and waits. 

Slowly, your shape edges closer to the light. At first, Jake still can’t make out any details of the person in front of him. But when he does, his heart clenches in his chest. 

There is no denying that it is the woman he loves standing before him but yet it’s not the you he remembers. Your skin has been drained of its color and now resembles that of a corpse, cold and lifeless. Sharp, pointed teeth jut out your mouth over bloodless lips and your fingers end in claw-like talons. You are still wearing the same clothes you had on the day you were attacked but they are shredded and stiff with dried blood in various colors ranging from bright red to rusty-brown. Jake wonders how much of it is yours and how much is your victims.

Any lingering doubt he had about how you are here, any sliver of hope you had escaped your fate, is shattered instantly. This isn’t a miracle. It is a nightmare, a curse. 

But based on the gasp that escapes your trembling lips, you must be thinking the same thing as you get a good look at the man he has become. 

“Oh, Jake…” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as your eyes continue to roam over his body. Yet even covered, he can see your jaw trembling as you cry, “Baby, what…We promised if something ever happened to the other, we wouldn’t give up. We would keep fighting.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Jake snaps. But then he wilts under the weight of your gaze. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he whispers, “I almost ended it—a few times. Drugs, booze, even thought I’d take my nickname literally. Made a noose and everything. But the thing that always stopped me was that promise. So, yeah, I–I’ve been a bit of a mess since you—” he gestures at your transformed self “—and I’m sorry. I tried to be strong but losing you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. We were supposed to face this hellscape together and I didn’t know how to cope without you so I let myself become someone that I hate. But now that you’re back—”

“I’m not back, Jake. That’s not why—” You shake your head, letting your hands drop. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake and I never should have come. I should have just let you think I was dead. I-I have to go.”

“No! Please–” As Jake takes a few steps across the circle of light, you cower back, retreating further into the darkness.

“Stop!” There is a pained quiver in your voice. “I’m barely controlling myself as it is. If you get closer…I can’t hurt you, Jake. I can’t. But I know if you get any closer, I will and there’ll be nothing I can do to stop it.”

Jake shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe it. You would never hurt me.”

“You don’t get it. It’s not a choice, it’s an undeniable force. It’s hard enough to control myself when I’m fully satiated, but I haven’t fed in almost a week. Your blood—” You squeeze your eyes closed tightly. When you open them again, they have darkened significantly. There is still some color in them, not the pitch-black orbs Jake is used to seeing when the creatures were attacking, but the change still makes him inhale sharply. “The venom doesn’t just turn us into these…these things. It drives us to hunt, to kill. And that need is neverending.”

It breaks Jake’s heart to hear the pain in your voice and he can’t imagine what you’ve been dealing with the past two years. However, as much as it horrifies him, he also wants to know more. “Wh-what does it feel like?”

You turn to gaze into the darkness surrounding you. “It’s like acid in my veins, a constant burning fire in my gut that only grows stronger if it’s not satisfied. Blood’s the only thing that soothes the pain for even a few hours, but it’s never enough. I’ve tried to stop myself, I have, but each time I drink it gets hard to fight. And with every life I take, I feel a little more of myself slip away. I’m not the woman you loved anymore, Jake. I’m just a monster with her face.”

Jake shakes his head with a firm set in his jaw. “No. I don't believe that. It's still you. Why else would you have looked for me? The woman I love is still here and she needed to see me just as much as I needed to see her.”

“Jake–” 

“And I don’t care what you think.” Without hesitation, Jake crosses the remainder of his little haven of sunlight and steps forward to join you in the inky darkness. You cower back again but he takes another step to maintain the same distance between you. “You're not going to hurt me. I know that. Because you're so strong and brave and you can fight this–”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.”

“Jake, stop—”

“No. Not until you believe that—”

“I've killed Daggers.”

Your admission hangs like a dense fog between you. Obviously, Jake had realized what being turned into a creature meant for your feeding habits, but he had been trying not to focus on that. However, now faced with the truth, Jake suddenly connects a few horrifying dots in his head. 

He swallows before asking, “Coyote?”

Last year, he had gotten there just a moment too late. There was nothing he could do but watch as what was left of his best friend was ripped apart by a mass of creatures. But then, just for a second before Fanboy grabbed his arm and pulled him away, he caught a flash of one of the creatures and he could have sworn…

Your eyes widen, clearly not expecting him to know that, but you nod slightly. Then, in a small voice, say, “And Rooster.”

“Roo….Rooster?” The truth about Coyote had been painful, yet regardless of who killed him, Jake had come to terms with his best friend’s death months ago. But Rooster…

He had left the group a few weeks ago after hearing a rumor of someone sounding suspiciously similar to his godfather leading another group out in the desert. They all knew it was dangerous but if anyone could make it, it would have been Rooster. Yet if what you said was true…

“I never wanted you to find out.” Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, thick, black goo that leaves streaks in their wake. “I tried to stop myself but I couldn't. Coyote was already being attacked when I found him and the blood…this thing took over. And the worst part was he…he recognized me just before I tore his throat out. There was this mix of elation I was ‘alive’ and horror at what I had become. I still see it when I close my eyes. With Rooster it was different. I was alone when I found him. We’ve been starving since you found a way to destroy us and I needed blood so badly. He was dead before he even knew I was there.”

This newest revelation is the last straw for Jake. A man can only process so much trauma at once before he reaches his breaking point. Falling to his knees, he hangs his head, tears dripping off his face onto the dusty tile beneath him as his shoulders shake with stifled sobs. 

“Jake…I…” Your voice is brimming with tears as Jake sees your feet take one hesitant step closer to him. But then, you stop. 

For a moment, there is only the sound of his soft cries echoing through the empty space. However, when you finally speak again, your voice has more of the defiance and strength he loves most about you. “You don’t understand what it’s like. When I slip into a frenzy, nothing in this world exists except for blood. Faces…names…past relationships…none of it means anything at that moment. All that’s left is the pure animalistic need to feed. It’s only after I’ve been sated that I come back, that I can remember what happened or what I did. Standing over what’s left of a person, realizing I’m to blame, knowing I’ve murdered them or I’ve forced them to become a monster just like me. I couldn’t stop myself from killing Coyote and Rooster, but I made sure neither of them could turn. They may not have deserved their deaths, but more than that, they didn’t deserve this afterlife. It was the least I could do for them. And I’m sorry it wasn’t more.”

You fall silent again, but Jake just continues to cry with no acknowledgment of what you said. After a moment of this, you plead, “Jake, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. If you want me to go—” 

“Please…” Jake breathes, the weight of the past two years pressing down on him. “Please let me hold you.”

“W-what?” Based on the utter shock in your voice, that is not what you were expecting him to say.

It takes everything in him, but Jake lifts his eyes so they meet yours. “Baby, I need you in my arms again. To feel you, touch you, prove this is real. I have dreamed about you every night for two years. Horrible, bloody nightmares that have destroyed my life. I need you to chase those nightmares away.”

“Jake, have you not heard a word I’ve said? I’ve killed our friends and I’ll kill you too. Or worse, I’ll turn you.”

“I want you to,” he whispers.

“Jake!” Normally when discussions became this heated between you and you resorted to that sharp tone, your chest would be heaving as you became worked up. Yet this time, your heart isn’t beating and your lungs aren’t huffing air so it remains deathly still. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t condemn you to this life.”

“Please…” Jake sobs loudly, too emotionally and mentally drained to get to his feet and walk to you. “I can’t live without you anymore. I need us to be together, whatever that looks like.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear. But I’m willing to bear the pain, the…the consequences of this choice if it means I can be with you. So, please, don’t make me spend one more second without you. Either kill me or turn me, but I can’t do this anymore.”

You stare at him for a long time, your darkened eyes not giving any hint as to what you are thinking. Then, slowly, you nod. “I don’t want to kill you or turn you, but I need you too. I think…I think I always knew when I came here that this is how it would go and I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stay away.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t.” Jake opens his arms, still kneeling on the floor. “Come here, baby.”

With stilted, hesitant steps, you begin to walk towards him. You balk a little as you get closer, fighting against the instinct to avoid the sunlight, but Jake is far enough in the shadows that you can reach him without crossing into the light. Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and reach out. 

Jake can’t wait any longer. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his chest, squeezing you as tightly as he possibly can. Your skin is icy beneath his touch, but he doesn’t care. He’s holding you in his arms again and nothing else in the world matters. 

However, you apparently don’t share the same outlook. Your entire body goes rigid beneath him, every muscle tensing as he draws you in. He can feel you begin to tremble as an animalistic growl rumbles in your chest.

“Ja—I can’t—Let me go. Don’t wanna hurt—” You manage to choke the words out through a clamped-shut jaw. As your eyes turn completely black, your teeth begin to grow longer until they resemble true fangs. Several poke through your lips as you press your mouth firmly closed. You are still trying to save him despite everything.

Squeezing you tighter, Jake mutters, “No. It’s okay, baby. I want this. Just let go.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, black tears falling on his chest. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

And you sink your fangs into his neck.

Living up to your promise, there is only a small sting as your teeth break his skin. However, in seconds, your venom enters his bloodstream and Jake tries to jerk away from the searing pain. However, your clawed hand clamps firmly on his shoulder, forcing him to remain in place. The venom spreads throughout his system until every cell in his body is screaming out in agony. He wants to black out but his body won’t let him. The change is already occurring and he is being forced to be conscious for every last second of his human life.

As you drink, small sounds begin slipping out between your lips, reverberating against Jake’s skin. Soft moans and gasps that have Jake flashing back to all those times you were beneath him as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. And for just a second, he can bear the pain knowing he is giving you some semblance of pleasure.

However as a vice of white-hot agony squeezes around his lungs and heart, Jake begins to jerk in your grasp as he begins to suffocate. Feeling his distress, you slide your teeth out of his neck and press your blood-soaked lips to the wound. Running your hand through his hair, you coo, “It’s okay, baby. It’s almost over now. I can already taste the change beginning in your blood. But this next part is the worst. Fighting it just makes it harder. Try to relax and let it happen. And I’m right here, my love, forever.” Then you sink your teeth back into his neck.

The choking suffocating feeling only intensifies, but against every self-preservation instinct in Jake’s body, he tries to listen to your advice and just gives in. Closing his eyes, he begins to slip into a sort of meditative state. While the pain or pressure doesn’t lessen, the panic and tension ease slightly. And even once he feels his heart take its last beat and his lungs go still, he tries to remain in this headspace until you are finished.

He isn’t sure how long he is kneeling there before—

“No…”

Jake picks up the soft sound as it is breathed across the empty warehouse, his ears already tuning into sounds humans shouldn’t be able to hear. His eyes flutter open and just over your shoulder, he can see Bob and Phoenix bathed in sunlight standing at the entrance to the building. Bob has tears in his eyes, his lips whispering your name in horror as he watches the growing gory mess you are making of Jake’s neck. He glances back and forth between Jake and Phoenix, silently pleading with her to find a way to fix this.

But Phoenix just stares at the pair of reunited lovers, her jaw set tightly. And Jake knows she understands. Phoenix always understands. 

Jake is weak from blood loss and pain, but he manages the slightest of nods. Lifting two fingers to her forehead, Phoenix gives Jake a small salute in return.

Then she raises her flashlight.

As the beam of light strikes your shoulder, your mouth instantly disappears from Jake’s throat with an agonized hiss as you try to flee from the pain. But using what strength he has left, Jake holds you in place. 

The betrayal on your face as you turn to look at him almost outweighs the pain. Jake knows you must think this was a trick, that he must have been stalling you all along just for this moment. Yet, he had meant every word he said.

Smiling as every cell in his body begins to burn differently from before, he whispers, “Together.” And he holds up his hand which is cracking and disintegrating in the light just like yours.

Though still pained, your face softens as you realize what he is doing. Transformation or death, those had been his choices. However, it turns out it wasn’t an “or” but an “and”.

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his, your skin flaky and fragile in his grasp. You snuggle your head against the unbitten crook of his neck, whimpering slightly as the light does its job, and you whisper back, “Together.”

Jake wraps his other arm around you and holds you close, silently vowing to never let go again.

The last thing he sees before his world slips away is the strangely beautiful swirl of particles of your two disintegrating bodies intermingling in the beam of sunlight. 

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[gothamite-rambler]

If Odysseus was luckily bestowed demigod status after he died

And knowing he could easily take on Poseidon, Odysseus took the time to mess with him even more. After all, he was related to Hermes, the god of mischief. No one stopped Odysseus because he was kind of warranted this after the insanity he went through to get home.

Poseidon, Hades, Ares, Odysseus, Zeus, and Hera were having brunch together. Hera brought over another stack of pancakes for the group.

Hera: Ody, enjoy the brunch, but is Penelope not joining us today?

Odysseus: She's exhausted from last night, but she does love your cooking.

Hera: And I love her and you because you're a good man who doesn’t cheat on his wife.

Hera glared at Zeus before sitting down next to him.

Poseidon (scoffing): You act like he’s a hero.

Zeus: Not this again.

Odysseus: Let him whine again; he's still hurt that I wounded him with his own weapon.

Odysseus smirked, relishing the chaos he was stirring.

Poseidon (frustrated): At night, I can still feel the trident in my chest, puncturing my organs.

Odysseus (mocking tone): Oh boo freaking hoo. I made more use of it than you ever did, fucking idiot.

Poseidon (defensive): Hey, I’ve done serious damage to mortals, taken down fleets, made men fear me, and used the water as my body to do all of that! I am tough as steel! One human man was never an issue to me!

Odysseus (smirking): All I remember is you begging me to stop while I stabbed you with your own weapon. Then you thought you won our battle by making me a monster like you. I wanted to get home, you got upset because I didn't kill the son that from my new knowledge you never visited. Whatever makes you happy though.

Poseidon: You've heard legends about my strength and power!

Odysseus (after finishing his tea): Then I saw that you are powerful and have small penis energy and had to one up a human man. You know, like bitches do.

Poseidon (angry): I could dropkick your ass right now I don't care if other people are here! I don't give a fuck!

Odysseus (grinning): I can definitely beat your ass now as well. Want to test that theory?

Ares (intervening, amused): Uncle Poseidon, stop before he uses someone else's godly weapon on you.

Odysseus (snickering): You think he'd cry this time?

Poseidon (shouting): Okay, why is he here?!

Ares (nonchalant): Hey, leave my great-nephew alone. I invited him over for brunch.

Poseidon (exasperated): He’s not welcome here! I want him out of this brunch now!

Ares took a quick sip from his tea cup then placed it back down on the saucer. He was a God of War, but not lacking in good taste when it came to tea.

Ares (maintaining his composure): Those who want him to stay, raise your hands.

Ares, Hades, Zeus, and even Hera raised their hands causing Poseidon to shake with rage as the tides outside matched his enraged energy.

Ares (with a satisfied grin): You've been outvoted, unc. Sit down and eat your pancakes. You can fight him afterwards.

Odysseus chuckled, snatching a pancake off Poseidon's plate. The God of the Tides stood up and stomped out of the room in frustration.

Poseidon: I will be waiting outside!

With that, he left in a huff, the rage causing the tides outside to churn wildly for a few moments.

Odysseus (chuckling, mischievous): I'm glad that you welcomed me and my family to Olympus. This has been a fun time so far.

Zeus (pleased): Yeah, we all enjoy your company, and it's only been a year so far.

Hades (with a bemused expression): Honestly, anyone who makes either of my brothers this mad is always hilarious to me. Poseidon has a serious grudge against you, and it's been a long time since that last happened.

Zeus (shaking his head, incredulous): I can't imagine being that petty and holding a grudge for so long.

Ares (rolling his eyes): Dad, even I know that's a lie.

[kimmie2me]

# 04. Crossed Lines

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note: hey hey!! sorry for the late chapter!! needed time to write this + a request ill post later!! enjoy!!

.....

After the short interaction wrapped up, you found yourself glancing over at the two other detectives standing beside Midoriya. Both were new faces to you, but the contrast was instantly noticeable—Ashido Mina, with her bright eyes and bubblegum hair, radiated an unshakable optimism, while Sero Hanta’s casual smile and relaxed posture somehow balanced the energy Bakugou’s relentless intensity brought to the room. Midoriya himself, ever the polite one, caught your gaze and offered a small, friendly nod.

You decided that if you were all going to be dealing with a case this serious, a little rapport wouldn’t hurt. But the moment you opened your mouth, Bakugou’s eyes cut toward you, a warning practically glowing in his glare.

“Is this a damn tea party?” Bakugou barked, arms crossed tightly. “We got places to be, people. Let’s. GO.”

“Lighten up, Kacchan,” Midoriya replied with a smile that was almost too casual for the tension between him and Bakugou. He pushed up his sleeves, looking genuinely unfazed by Bakugou’s attitude. “We’re all working together on this one. And a team that’s familiar with each other works better, right?”

Bakugou shot him a glare, muttering something about “wasted time” as he stormed past, but he didn’t outright shut you down again, so… small victories.

“So, you’re the new partner, huh?” Sero asked, flashing a grin as you all walked toward the bullpen. “Must be tough, dealing with Mr. Sunshine over there.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the groan slipped out before you could stop it. “You have no idea. Half the time, I feel like he’s about two seconds away from throwing me out of a moving vehicle. Or into a boxing ring.”

“Oh, trust me,” Mina giggled, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s all bark… and bite. But he only goes full ‘attack mode’ if he respects you. Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya, clearly having overheard every word of the conversation, nodded with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, Kacchan... has a unique way of motivating people. If you can even call it motivation," he added, trailing off as though unsure of how to phrase it. And this was the same guy who'd gotten away with calling Bakugou a semi-affectionate nickname—in public!

You were still processing that when Mina gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder. “So, don’t take it personally if he’s a little extra harsh. You’d have to screw up pretty bad for him to really lose it on you.”

Sero grinned. “Yeah, we’ve all been on the receiving end of his ‘motivational speeches.’ Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya again nodded, a hint of nervous laughter escaping him. “He’s been like that since high school. But he’s a good detective. If you stick around long enough, you’ll see why.”

Just as you were starting to relax into the conversation, Bakugou’s voice sliced through it like a razor. “Oi! Enough chitchat. If I wanted a damn pep talk, I’d ask for it.” He shot you a glare, then pointed toward the door. “Move it. Now.”

You exchanged quick, sheepish glances with Mina and Sero, who both gave you a silent “good luck” nod as Bakugou led the way out, practically radiating impatience. Even Midoriya’s friendly wave didn’t fully shake off the weight of Bakugou’s intensity.

As you moved into the hallway with Bakugou just a few steps ahead, you couldn’t help but think: that getting to know these new teammates was going to be a marathon in itself. And given Bakugou’s lingering glare, you were pretty sure he’d do his best to make sure you wouldn’t forget it.

.....

The air between you and Bakugou was thick with unspoken tension as he pushed open the door to a quieter side room, away from the chatter and energy of the other officers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stepped inside, the soft thud of the door closing behind you magnifying the sudden silence. Bakugou’s back was to you, the crisp lines of his navy-blue police detective uniform sharp under the bright lights. The tailored fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, the insignia patch visible on his sleeve as he crossed his arms and let out a deep, controlled breath.

“Alright, listen up, rookie,” he started, voice low and rough but without the usual edge that could cut through concrete. His eyes met yours, stormy and electric, a mix of begrudging seriousness and irritation. It wasn’t quite the barking tone you were used to, but it sure as hell wasn’t gentle either. “This isn't some simple patrol. We’re dealin' with a syndicate—real, organized scum who’d sell their own mothers for a payday.”

You nodded, feeling the pressure coil tighter in your chest. He took a step closer, and you resisted the urge to flinch. He wasn’t intimidating by accident; he was all sharp edges and raw energy, a wildfire trying to behave like a controlled burn.

“I know you’re green, and I know you’re not ready for half the shit we’re about to face.” His eyes narrowed, watching for any sign of disagreement. “But that don’t mean you’re gonna slack off. This is your chance to prove you can handle bein’ my partner without draggin’ my ass down.”

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe defend yourself or say something witty to cut the tension, but he didn’t give you the chance. His hand flew up, pointer finger raised in warning. “No. Shut up and listen."

Great. The infamous Bakugou Katsuki motivational speech, part two.

“We’re runnin' recon. Stakeout. The works. This ain’t the kind of gig where you can afford to blink and miss somethin’.” He started pacing, his boots hitting the linoleum floor with a steady rhythm. The room was just big enough that his movements seemed to fill every inch of space, every stride of his reminding you that he was not just a man, but a force. “We watch, we wait, and we don’t move unless we have to. You don’t make a sound unless I tell ya to. You don’t play hero, you don’t get curious, and you sure as hell don’t run your mouth if things get tense.”

He stopped in front of you again, eyes flickering over your expression like he was reading every doubt, every hesitation. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tone it down. Instead, he leaned in, the intensity in his eyes nearly crackling.

“I’m sayin’ this once, so get it through that head of yours: the second you act like this is a game or hesitate when things get messy, we’re done. Got it?”

The room felt a few degrees hotter, and it took everything in you not to shrink under his stare. You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves. “..Got it.”

His gaze lingered, scanning for any cracks, any sign that you were bluffing. Whatever he saw must have passed his test, because he straightened, arms folding back across his chest as he nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk but something less hostile. “Now, don’t screw it up.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the words sinking in like lead. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or more anxious. You took a breath, the reality of it all pressing down on your shoulders.

“So, when’s the stakeout?” you asked, trying to mask the nerves in your voice with a false bravado. It worked well enough in theory—maybe not so much in practice.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened with the glint of a man ready for battle. “Tonight. Gear up and meet me by the west gate at 1900. And remember what I said, rookie—‘cause one slip, and we’re both screwed.”

You nodded again, the weight of the next few hours pressing like a vise on your chest. As you turned to leave, the thought flared back in your mind: Yeah, you were definitely doomed.

.....

The hours between the briefing and 19:00 were a special kind of hell. You sat at your desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as your nerves twisted into knots that no amount of deep breathing could undo. The department buzzed around you, a chaotic orchestra of voices, footsteps, and the static crackle of radios. But all of it was muffled, like cotton was stuffed in your ears. Your mind was on one thing: tonight's stakeout.

Kaminari, bless his soul, had tried to lighten the mood, sauntering over with that boyish grin and the kind of confidence that only came from blissful ignorance. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know, if this was a horror movie, you’d be the one who gets possessed first.”

“Thanks, Kaminari,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as your leg bounced under the desk. His joke didn’t help, but at least it was something.

“And then Bakugou would probably shout at the demon until it left you alone,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. That earned him a snort from Kirishima across the room, who was busy checking his gear. Even so, the tension in your chest didn’t let up.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the demon just possessed him instead,” you said, only half-joking. Kaminari barked out a laugh before leaning in.

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Just, you know, don’t do anything Bakugou said not to do,” he whispered conspiratorially.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But instead, all you could do was glance at the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until you’d have to face Bakugou’s exacting standards—and hope that you wouldn’t be the reason this mission went sideways.

…

By the time 18:30 rolled around, you were a bundle of frayed nerves. Every glance from Bakugou during prep was a silent challenge, his sharp eyes catching the tiniest missteps—your holster that wasn’t clipped properly, the radio you checked twice just to be sure it was on the right frequency. He didn’t even have to say anything; the weight of his disapproval was enough to make you sweat bullets. You could practically hear him in your head, shouting, “Rookie mistakes get us killed.��

The room felt like it was closing in, the anticipation coiling tighter with every second that passed. It didn’t help that the murmured conversations were peppered with glances in your direction. Even Kirishima, who’d shown up with a reassuring clap on your shoulder and a grin that promised camaraderie, couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had settled over you.

“Alright, everyone!” Chief Yagi’s voice cut through the room like a warm, steady beacon. The tall man stood beside Chief Aizawa, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his eyes half-lidded but sharp. The room quieted instantly, officers shifting from casual banter to focused attention. Even Bakugou, with his constant underlying intensity, straightened his posture.

“This is it,” Chief Yagi began, his voice even and calm, resonating with the kind of authority that settled nerves—at least a little. “We’re up against a syndicate that’s been one step ahead of us for too long. Tonight, we change that.”

Chief Aizawa’s eyes swept the room, pausing on you for a fraction longer than you’d have liked. “Stay sharp. This isn’t your average stakeout. Everyone needs to be on point. One mistake, and they’ll be gone before we blink.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze like an iron chain. Your heart drummed so loudly, you wondered if anyone else could hear it.

“Bakugou, you and your team are the first line,” Yagi continued, eyes shifting to the explosive blond. Bakugou’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk but was probably just his battle-ready scowl. “Be ready for anything.”

“Damn right,” Bakugou muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes flicked to you for half a second, a warning and an assurance wrapped into one.

You swallowed hard as the chiefs finished the briefing, a collective shuffling of boots and gear following as everyone moved out to their positions. The air crackled with anticipation, every officer a tightly wound spring ready to snap. The hallway buzzed with activity, footsteps echoing as your team gathered near the entrance.

And then it hit you, hard and cold like a wave crashing over your head: you were absolutely fucked. All the pep talks, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t quell the gnawing anxiety that twisted in your gut as you stepped into the night, the sky darkening into a canopy of shadows.

“Let’s move, rookie!” Bakugou’s voice cut through, snapping you back to the present. You glanced over at Midoriya, who shot you a small, nervous smile that did little to settle your nerves. Ahead, Kirishima flashed a thumbs-up, his own excitement barely contained.

The night was just beginning, but one thing was clear—you were in for the fight of your life.

.....

You, Kirishima, and Bakugou took up positions in the dense cluster of shadows outside the syndicate's hideout. The abandoned industrial park loomed like a hulking beast, its rusted metal structures catching the eerie glow of the moon. The cool night air should have been refreshing, but it only added a biting edge to the tension coiling in your stomach. Bakugou was already a taut wire, vibrating with his usual mix of impatience and adrenaline.

“Eyes open, no screw-ups,” Bakugou hissed under his breath, the snarl barely masked behind clenched teeth. His glare cut through the dark, landing squarely on you. Great, you thought. Just what you needed—his full, undivided wrath.

“Got it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of night insects.

Kirishima, bless his eternally optimistic soul, shot you a reassuring smile. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine, yeah? We’ve trained for this. Just remember the plan.”

You nodded, trying to channel even a sliver of his confidence. The plan was simple on paper: observe, gather intel, wait for the signal. But reality had a funny way of chewing up simple plans and spitting them out as complicated messes, and with Bakugou as the lead, nothing was ever just simple.

Bakugou shifted beside you, eyes narrowed and posture coiled tight like a predator about to spring. “Stop movin' like you’re an amateur on a school field trip. You make one wrong move, and they’ll hear us from miles away.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from snapping back. He wasn’t wrong, but damn if the delivery didn’t make you want to throw your boot at his head. Instead, you adjusted your stance, focusing on steady, measured breaths. Kirishima’s eyes darted between the two of you, his smile faltering slightly. He opened his mouth as if to say something encouraging but quickly shut it as Bakugou shot him a look that could’ve seared paint off metal.

“Focus, Shitty Hair. We’re not here for a group hug.”,” Bakugou growled.

Kirishima winced, but to his credit, he nodded. “Right, right. All good here.”

The quiet stretched out, an oppressive blanket that made every creak and rustle sound magnified. You kept your eyes trained on the entrance of the building, fingers flexing nervously at your side. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple despite the chill. You wanted to be calm, composed, the officer Bakugou didn’t feel like he had to babysit. But under the weight of his scalding gaze, the pressure sat heavy on your chest.

Suddenly, a small sound—a metallic clink—broke the silence. Your eyes darted to the source, and before you could register what it was, Bakugou had whirled on you, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell did I say, rookie?!" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper but fierce enough to make your pulse leap. “You tryin' to announce our presence with a goddamn megaphone?””

“I didn’t—” you started, but Kirishima interjected, trying to diffuse the escalating tension.

“Whoa, whoa, guys. Let’s just—”

“Stay outta this, Kirishima,” Bakugou snapped, never taking his eyes off you. "I swear, if you cost us this op—”

“Bakugou, I get it,” you interrupted, your voice sharp enough to slice through the static in the air. “I’m not here to mess this up.”

“Then act like it.”,” he shot back, voice dripping with impatience. His eyes were unreadable in the dark, but you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing against you. Prove yourself or get out of my way.

Kirishima shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between stepping in and staying silent. His fingers curled, the tension evident even in his usually relaxed frame. He gave you a small, apologetic look, but there wasn’t much he could do. Bakugou’s word was final.

You swallowed hard and nodded, steeling yourself. The sting of Bakugou’s criticism burned, but it fueled you, sharpening your focus. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking under his scrutiny.

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as the quiet hum of the night settled once more. The weight of the mission, of Bakugou’s piercing gaze, of your own hammering heartbeat—all of it coalesced into a single, suffocating realization.

You were in it now, with no room for doubt or error. As Chief Yagi’s voice crackled softly through the comms with the final “All units, prepare to engage,” you exhaled shakily. The stakeout had officially begun, and there was no turning back.

This, you thought as you scanned the perimeter one last time, the shadows shifting and stretching like specters. Is the worst year of my life.

.....

The first half hour of the stakeout was suffocating in its monotony. Every creak and groan of the old industrial park seemed amplified, stretching the seconds into an eternity. Bakugou hadn’t taken his eyes off the building for a second, muscles taut and ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement. You tried to match his vigilance, forcing your breathing to remain steady as the cold air bit through your jacket. Kirishima shifted beside you, the only sign he wasn’t made entirely of stone.

Suddenly, a low whistle over the comms cut through the night: the signal. Movement at the side entrance. Your pulse spiked, locking eyes with Bakugou, who barely gave you a glance before snapping, “Stay close. Don’t screw this up.”

“Right,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. This was it. Time to prove you were more than just some rookie Bakugou had to babysit.

The three of you crept forward, Bakugou leading with steps too silent for someone with such a loud personality. You mirrored him as best you could, even as adrenaline threatened to unsteady your footing. Kirishima brought up the rear, eyes narrowed and focused.

Just as you reached the door, Bakugou’s hand shot up, signaling a halt. He glanced back, mouthing, On my mark. Your fingers flexed, nerves wound tighter than a spring.

Then, a figure darted out of the building, faster than expected. Panic flared as you reacted just a beat too late. Your foot grazed a loose pipe, sending it clattering against the concrete like a symphony of mistakes.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with molten fury. “What the hell did I just say?!”

The figure froze, head whipping toward the noise—then bolted, vanishing into the maze of the industrial park.

“Move!” Bakugou roared, his voice slicing through the night.

All three of you burst into a sprint, boots pounding cracked pavement. The cold bit harder as you tore through tight corridors and rusted structures, Bakugou’s curses driving you forward.

Twisting around corners, feet pounding, shadows shifting erratically in the flashlights’ beams—you misstepped, just a fraction too slow on the slick ground. Your ankle twisted, and the world tilted. You yelped, slamming into a metal crate with a clang.

“Split up!” he barked, and you veered right, legs burning, lungs heaving to keep pace. You caught a blur of movement—a flash of dark clothing.

“Contact, west side!” you gasped into the comms.

But as you turned the corner, your target slipped into a corridor cluttered with debris. You leapt over a pipe, skidding on loose gravel, arms pinwheeling. Before you regained balance, a second figure shoved past, slamming you against the metal siding of a container.

“Dammit!” you choked, disoriented. The clatter had already alerted the team, but it was too late. Bakugou appeared from the opposite end, just in time to see them vanish through a gap in the chain-link fence.

He spun to you, fury sparking in his eyes. “Are you serious? One damn job, and you blew it!”

Kirishima came running, breathing hard, eyes darting between the exit and your crumpled form. “We can still—”

“It’s too late, Kirishima.” Bakugou spat, words cutting like glass. He yanked you up by the arm, not gentle. “Lost our best lead ‘cause of you.”

You winced as he let go, the cold fury in his eyes stinging more than the rough grip on your arm. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by harsh breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Chief Yagi’s voice crackled over the comms. “Teams, return to base. We’ll regroup and assess.”

You couldn’t look Bakugou in the eye as you trudged back, the walk a slow march of shame. Kirishima tried a comforting shoulder pat, but it only made the sting worse. Bakugou’s words echoed in your skull, sharp as broken glass.

.....

Back at the precinct, Bakugou wasted no time, cornering you in the hallway, slamming a fist against the wall by your head with a sharp crack. You flinched. His eyes blazed, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. His jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to shatter, and you could feel heat radiating from him, even in the frigid night air. This was beyond bad.

“What. The hell. Were you thinkin’?” he ground out, each word heavy with fury, barely contained. He was close enough that you noticed the scar slicing across his right cheek—a jagged reminder he was built for chaos. Right now, though, he looked like he was about to snap—and you were the reason why.

Honestly? You didn’t even know. No idea, and that was the worst of it. You didn’t know why you kept screwing up. Or why you couldn’t just…stop.

You swore you wouldn’t cry. Never. But after everything, you could feel it creeping up, your gaze dropping to avoid Bakugou’s glare, which burned with something harsher than anger—disdain. It was like fuel to the fire, but for your tears, if that even made sense.

The weight of his glare felt like it might crush you into the linoleum. Bakugou’s presence filled every inch of the hallway, every jagged line of his rage pressing in on you until even breathing felt like a mistake. But you forced yourself to hold it together, swallowing hard, refusing to crack under his gaze.

"Chief Yagi told me you had potential," he sneered, voice dripping with venom. "Thought I was wastin’ my time watchin' your back, but I guess you’re set on provin' him wrong." His eyes raked over you, assessing, but you could tell he wasn’t finding anything worth the trouble.

Your fists tightened, knuckles white, but you bit back any retort that threatened to slip out. You didn’t have a defense. You’d failed, and he was right to be angry. Still, the weight of his disappointment—and the sting of his words—cut deep.

"I fuckin' knew you'd be a shit partner, if I can even call you that," Bakugou spat, voice low and venomous. He stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. "You're not even worth the time I wasted, dragging your ass through this mess."

Your chest tightened, but you kept your jaw set, refusing to back down or give him the satisfaction of seeing your frustration boil over. You could feel the heat of his words, each one like a slap to the face. But you weren’t going to let him break you.

Kirishima rounded the corner, his face a mask of concern. He caught Bakugou’s shoulder, halting him mid-step. “C’mon, man, go easy. You know we all slip up sometimes. We were all green once, right?”

Bakugou shrugged him off, his glare flicking between you and Kirishima. "Green’s one thing. Getting a lead ruined ‘cause they don’t know left from right? That’s another."

Kirishima's jaw tensed, but he turned to you with a softer look, one that almost undid all your efforts not to crumble right there. "Hey, everyone messes up at some point. Even Bakugou’s had a few rough starts. Right, Bakugou?" he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed, jaw clenching tighter. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima didn’t back down, meeting Bakugou’s fierce gaze head-on. “But you’re the one who’s always telling everyone to learn fast, right? And they will. They just need—”

“Need to toughen up, yeah,” Bakugou snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to you, his voice low and lethal. "Next time you so much as breathe wrong on a case, I’ll make sure it’s the last time."

With one last, withering look, he stormed off, footsteps echoing down the hall. Kirishima stayed a moment longer, his hand landing on your shoulder, firm but reassuring.

"Look," he murmured, lowering his voice. "Bakugou’s tough on everyone. Hell, he was even worse with me when I started. But he’s all bark, yeah? Don’t let it get to you. You’ll learn. Just…keep at it."

You managed a shaky nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “Thanks, Kirishima.”

He gave you a reassuring pat, his smile kind despite everything. "Hang in there. If you stick around long enough, even Bakugou’s gotta acknowledge you eventually." He offered a wink, trying to lighten the mood, before heading down the hall after his friend.

The quiet that followed felt hollow, the fluorescent lights humming above as you stood there, replaying every step of the mission in your mind, every slip and wrong move magnified a hundred times over.

You barely registered the footsteps approaching until a soft voice spoke.

"You okay?"

It was Chief Yagi, his tall frame looming gently over you, eyes soft and compassionate. The chief was a man of few words, but each one seemed to carry weight. He’d been the one who vouched for you, vouched hard enough to get Bakugou’s reluctant approval. You didn’t know why he’d stuck his neck out, not when there were dozens of rookies more deserving.

“Yes, sir. Just…reflecting,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Yagi’s gaze didn’t waver, his sharp eyes searching yours as if reading every thought that crossed your mind. “Mistakes happen,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “They’re not what define you. It’s what you do afterward that counts.”

You nodded, hearing the wisdom in his words but not quite feeling it. The shame still burned, Bakugou’s words still echoing like a scar. You couldn’t shake the image of his furious glare, the way his words cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had one job. That’s all he’d said. And you’d screwed it up. Badly.

You weren’t cut out for this, were you? Maybe Bakugou was right—maybe you were just a waste of time. Everyone around you seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but you were fumbling through every step, like a toddler learning to walk. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment, his anger, like it was still seeping into your bones.

You weren’t good enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

A pit of self-loathing twisted in your stomach, deeper than it ever had before. You’d come into this job with so much hope, with the idea that you could prove yourself, that you could be something more than just another rookie. But every time you tried, it felt like you only dug yourself deeper. Every mistake you made seemed to stack up, making you a bigger target for Bakugou’s wrath.

Was this the best you could do? Stumbling through every opportunity, letting your partner clean up your mess?

You should’ve known better. You should’ve moved faster, been more careful, not tripped on that damn pipe. You shouldn’t have let the pressure get to you. But here you were, a failure in the eyes of your mentor, your team, yourself.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously. You didn’t cry. Not over something like this. But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest didn’t fade. What if this was it? What if you just weren’t built for this kind of work? Maybe you didn’t belong here at all.

You pushed a hand against the wall, feeling the cool surface beneath your palm as your breath grew shallow. What if you just gave up? What if you walked out the door, out of this damn precinct, and never came back?

You’re not good enough, the thought whispered. And you never will be.

For a moment, you stood there, weighed down by that voice—by the truth of it. And in the quiet of the hallway, with only the distant hum of the building and the haunting echoes of Bakugou’s fury, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe it.

The silence stretched on, the oppressive weight of your own thoughts bearing down on you. The anger that had been bubbling in your chest before was now buried under a thick layer of disappointment—both your own and what you imagined Bakugou’s to be.

But then, a soft voice cut through the dark fog of your mind.

"Hey." Chief Yagi’s voice was gentle, but firm. You didn’t even realize he had entered the hallway until you heard him say your name. "You doing alright?"

You flinched at the sound of your name, dragging your gaze up to meet his warm, steady eyes. Chief Yagi wasn’t like Bakugou—he wasn’t harsh, wasn’t blunt or demanding. His presence was a quiet kind of strength, and it was that quiet strength that seemed to settle over you like a blanket.

“I… I don’t know, Chief.” The words came out like a confession, raw and hesitant. You couldn’t meet his gaze for long, instead focusing on the floor as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "I screwed up. Big time. I… I don’t think I’m cut out for this."

The words tasted like ash in your mouth. They were the culmination of all the doubts you’d been carrying, every mistake you’d made, every misstep that felt like a chasm between you and your teammates.

Chief Yagi sighed softly, taking a step closer, his expression kind but knowing, like he’d seen this before. "Hey," he repeated, his voice reassuring. "Everyone messes up. Especially when they’re starting out."

You shook your head, unable to shake the feeling that you’d let everyone down. "I let everyone down, Chief. Bakugou was right. I—I had one job, and I blew it. You gave me a chance to prove myself..and I failed."

"Yeah, you made a mistake. But you didn’t ruin everything." Chief Yagi’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of experience. "We’re not in this alone, you know? You don’t have to carry the burden of every single slip-up on your own."

His words were a balm to the self-inflicted wound that had been festering. But they still didn’t feel quite enough to wipe away the guilt. "But I keep messing up," you said softly. "Over and over again. I’m just... holding everyone back."

"No," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "What you’re doing is learning. You’re learning, and you’re pushing through. That’s all anyone can ask of you. I see it, you know? The way you push yourself. The way you don’t back down, even when it’s tough."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to feel that tiny spark of hope flicker back to life inside you. But it was hard to see through the haze of failure that clouded your mind. "But what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’m just... a mistake waiting to happen?"

Chief Yagi let out another soft breath, and when he spoke again, it was with the kind of patience only someone who’d been through it all could have. "You know, no one gets everything right the first time. Or the second. Or the third, for that matter. It’s not about getting it perfect; it’s about getting back up every time you fall. And you will. I’m sure of it."

His words sank into you like a stone into water, rippling through the doubt and frustration that had been swelling up inside you. Chief Yagi wasn’t trying to erase your mistake, he was just reminding you that it didn’t define you. That you didn’t have to be perfect to be worth something.

"I’m not saying it’ll be easy," he continued, his voice steady, "but I’m here, and your team’s here. You don’t have to be alone in this, even when it feels like you are."

You swallowed hard, fighting the lump that had formed in your throat. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself a breath, a small sigh that felt like a fraction of a weight lifting.

“I won’t give up,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him, but they still felt like a promise. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep going.”

Chief Yagi smiled, a small but warm curve of his lips that sent a little spark of hope through your chest. “That’s all anyone needs to hear. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

He turned to walk away, but before he did, he gave you one last, reassuring glance over his shoulder. "And if you ever need to talk, I’m around. Don’t forget that, okay?"

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Maybe you weren’t a lost cause after all. Maybe you could get better. Maybe you were learning. And with that, you allowed yourself just a sliver of hope—enough to push through to the next day.

[rockermybuddie]

I’ll Never Leave You

Eddie x Buck

Summary: Eddie and Buck have a deep conversation on Eddies couch after Buck came over after his break up with Tommy.

Warnings: not proof read, unsure of what im even writing.

A/n: Im still not over Bucktommy break up. Blah blah blah yeah yeah yeah they only brought Tommy back for one reason.

Im still sad ok.

In my head this is what i need to see in the next episode. What i imagine is happening.

In no way am i trying to make Tommy the bad guy in this. If you have seen any of my other posts since Epi 6, you know i love Tommy and im a multi shipper.

——————

“Tommy broke up with me.” Buck muttered. Its the first thing either of them said since they sat in the couch, the case of beer almost empty.

Eddie paused and made his known face he makes when Buck tells him he broke up with is current partner.

He turns his head and sees how hurt Buck is. Of course breaking up with someone is hard but Tommy was good for Buck so even Eddie is feeling sad for Buck.

“I’m sorry Buck.” Eddie rubs Bucks shoulder reassuringly as he finishes off his beer.

The two sat there in silence again as Eddie doesn’t want to push Buck to talk and Buck is wondering why no one stays in his life.

“We both dated Abby.”

“Really?” Eddie furrows his brows as he proceeds to think of what Buck just said.

“Yep. Tommy and Abby were engaged. And after that i was the himbo.”

“Himbo?” Eddie snorted but quickly cleared his throat when he saw the look Buck was giving him.

“Sorry.”

Eddie got up and grabbed another six pack from the fridge bringing it into the living room handle Buck another beer.

“I asked him to move in with me.”

“You did?” Eddie thinks of how long him and Tommy have been together but then again he cant say anything. He asked Marisol to move in with him.

“Then he said that ‘I’ would end up breaking his heart because he knows how this ends.”

Buck leaned his head back against the couch as he finished off another beer.

“I thought he was the one. He said that he was my first not my last. But they can be they same thing, thats what i told him. He didnt believe me. Do you believe me?” Buck looks over at Eddie who is fingering his beer bottle.

“Y-yeah, sure….they can be the same thing.” Eddie mumbles out. The beer is starting to get to him.

Buck puffs out his cheeks as he looks down at the floor. He notices Eddie is still just in his underwear and a button down with the collar flipped up. But he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Everyone always leaves me.” Buck says after minutes of silence. A tear falls down his cheek but he wipes it away.

“Maddie has left me multiple times, my parents clearly didnt want me in the first place. Bobby left. The damn lawsuit. And everytime i ask someone to move in with me, they leave.” Buck named off everyone whos ever left him making him realize that maybe hes the problem.

“Buck we are all way past the lawsuit.” Eddie reminds him. “Bobby came back to the 118. Maddie and Chimney are here and Hen is here.”

“I know. I just wish people who claim they love me would stay.” Buck says

“We all love you Buck.”

“Not like that.”

Eddie turns his head and looks at Buck, the conversation at the coffee shop with Father Brian.

“You’ll always have me Buck.” Eddie tells him, he feels his heart beat start to race and he starts to feel sweat droplets around his forehead.

Buck turned his head looking at Eddie and repeated what Eddie had just said in his head trying to put it in place with the conversation.

“What do you mean by that?” Buck asks

“I- i um… I’m your best friend.”

“Yeah?” Buck can clearly tell something is going on with Eddie, and its not how drunk he is something was going on before he got there.

“I lied to you.” Eddie says, he sees the hurt fill Bucks face even more and it makes him feel even worse.

“About what?” Buck asks him. “Being my best friend?”

“No. About me. Who i am.” He sees the pain he caused turn into confusion on Bucks face.

“I went and talked to Father Brian and he said that I’m punishing myself of ‘joy’ told me to find a way to express myself.” Eddie explains

“Is that why you shaved?” Buck asks

“Part of it.”

“The other part is because i was hiding from myself.” Eddie confessed. He found it easy to talk to Buck, he didnt feel pressure or judged.

“Are you done hiding from yourself?” Buck asks. He knows Eddie feels like a failed parent since Chris is in Texas with his parents.

He knows Eddie hasnt been himself since and he hasn’t wanted to push him about it.

“Im not sure.” Eddie says “theres something else.”

Buck reaches for another beer, as he leans back onto the couch hes a bit closer to Eddie. Their arms brush against each other as Buck takes a swig of the beer. Waiting for someone to say another word.

“Find joy” Eddie mumbles

“Hmm?” Buck looks over at Eddie.

“Joy.” Eddie places a hand on Bucks cheek as he looks into Bucks blue eyes.

“Eddie.” Buck says, the hand on his cheek feeling like a hot mold leaving a scar on his face.

This had to be the beer because why is Eddie staring into his sould wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Kiss me.” Eddie whispers

“W-what?”

“Kiss me.” He repeats

At first Buck thought he was joking there was no way Eddie wanted him to kiss him. Eddie was straight to his knowledge.

“A-are you sure?” Buck asks as he notices the tent in Eddies underwear. Its pretty easy to see since hes not wearing any pants.

“Yes.”

Eddie asking Buck to kiss him sobered him up but as soon as Buck leaned down and placed his lips on Eddies he was drunk again.

Eddies lips were warm and soft against his.

Eddie adjusted himself on the couch so Buck was above him between his legs.

Bucks tongue worked its way ino Eddies mouth as Eddies fingers slipped under his shirt.

The two were shirtless chest to chest as they made out.

“Is this what joy feels like?” Eddie asks

“Yes.” Buck quickly answered.

-

As Buck laid on Eddies bare chest listening to his heart beat all these thought were rushing through his mind.

His boyfriend just broke up with him, he came to his best friend’s house to drink a beer and to not be a lone only to have ended up making out with his best friend.

That was a very Buck 1.0 move.

He just made out with his best friend who hasnt came out to himself.

What if it was all the beer?

What if this isnt what Eddie really wants?

Buck cant go back like nothing happened.

———-

A/n: I’ll probably write another story once we know what happens next episode.

[beef-brisket]

((Just living out my housewife dreams through Adam 😫😫))

Adam looked around. Everything was clean, an apple pie was in the oven, and Adam just put his homemade ice cream in the fridge. Everything should be ready to go when they get back from seed shopping.

Now, all that was left was for Adam to get presentable for Lucifer. He looked like a mess.

After an hour, Adam walked into their lounge, drying his hair. He even decided to shave today. It's been a long time since he shaved his whole face, but he liked it. It was a nice change.

He even clipped the sides of his hair, just to tidy everything up.

He put on a simple black shirt and some corduroy pants. He even found some studs for his piercings.

Walking to a small table near a window looking over pentagram city, Adam picked up his phone. Lucifer has been gone nearly six hours. And he was starting to feel it.

His skin was getting itchy, and it was getting harder to take full breaths. He hoped Lucifer didn't feel the side effects as badly as him.

He doesn't deserve it. It was Adam that drove him off, Lucifer left to be with Lilith. And he can't hate him for that. Not anymore. His heart still hurt that he didn't choose him. But why would he? Lilith had more to offer, but Adam could make up for that now. He'll treat Lucifer so well that he won't want to leave.

He had to. He couldn't be alone again. He couldn't leave Lucifer, but Lucifer could leave him.

Adam jumped when there was a knock at the door. It was loud. Forceful. But Lucifer said not to open it. Not unless it was Charlie, and she's already been.

But he was curious.

He started to walk over before someone yelled through the door.

Vaggie: Adam!? Don't you dare fucking speak to Charlie about me! I'm none of your fucking business- there's a fucking reason why I didn't want you here! You're not my fucking father! You- it makes Mt skin crawl to even know I came from you! So, don't speak about me to Charlie- ever! I'm not fucking doing it!

Adam heard footsteps stomping away from the door.

He never thought something Vaggie would say would ever hurt him. But he recognized the way his chest tightened as his face heated up, his eyes watering.

He had every right to hate him. He wasn't there. He didn't stop Lute. He didn't protect her. Like a father should.

She's another person he let down. He left Lucifer down, he let Lilith down, and Eve. And now Vaggie is added to that long list.

Adam leaned against the wall. He covered his mouth as he started to cry.

He deserves this. He deserved her words. But that doesn't make them hurt any less.

I'm coming up with some aus for you, but I need some meeting shenanigans.

I would love to know what bullshit Adam and Lucifer got up to during meetings.

Slowly healing their relationship, one meeting at a time 👀

Well I think the very first one they wouldn't even be alone together because of what happened. I think Adam would just silently glare at him.

Over time when Adam was feeling more confident to face the devil he'd go alone but by hologram, Sera's idea.

Making snide remarks, snappy comments, and being sassy.

And Lucifer would come back with his own and they would end up in banter for a while other than why they are really there.

As more time passes it's less hateful and more playful, maybe even takes on a flirty edge.

And I always see Lucifer being the one to make the first move after what happened in Eden. Adam has so many insecurities he wouldn't think that Lucifer would want him as more than maybe a friend.

Hit me with them bud 👀