#like I’ve been terrified of natural disasters

[amelia-mariee]

“do i actually want to do a total 180 and switch career paths to the job these people have in this movie/show i just watched, or do i just want a friend group like that” is a constant thought in my mind

[pamwritessometimes]

Loving Soldier Boy…

Soldier Boy x reader (drabble)

Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence

Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.

You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.

But you?

You thought you had him figured out.

He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.

“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.

Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”

Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.

And Butcher — he just tsked.

“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”

But all that didn’t matter.

Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He’s a walking contradiction.

He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.

And you love it.

You love that you make him hesitate.

That you make him stay.

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.

But he’s fluent in actions.

Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.

Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?

Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—

You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.

It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.

It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—

Well.

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Ben’s not stupid.

But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.

You blink. “Because it was beeping?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”

“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”

“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.

Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.

Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.

He doesn’t do restraint.

Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.

Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.

“To be fair, he was being a dick.”

“He was giving you a parking ticket.”

Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

And he knows it.

No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”

You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”

Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”

You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”

And fuck.

Maybe you do.

Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.

When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.

You have no defense.

Because what are you even supposed to say?

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.

Maybe you can’t fix him.

But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help

Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍

xx Pam

[lov3lyl3tters]

“𝓘𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓔𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓸𝔀”

Summary: After a haunting case, you and Spencer find yourselves alone in a quiet hotel room, questioning life, loss, and love. If the world were ending… at least you’d have each other.

warnings: Angst/Comfort, mentioning of a case involving a child, talking about the end of the world

The motel room is quiet except for the low hum of the old air conditioner and the occasional sound of a car passing by. It’s late—well past midnight—but neither of you can sleep. Not after a case like this.

Spencer sits beside you on the edge of the bed, his tie loosened, his hair a mess of soft, tired curls. You can feel the heat of his arm against yours, close but not touching. You’ve both said very little since the unsub was caught. The team went back to their rooms, but you and Spencer… you lingered in the silence.

You’re not even sure why. Or maybe you are.

Maybe it’s because something about this case—the children, the senseless cruelty, the way the mother kept whispering, “He was just a boy”—broke something loose inside you.

You lean your head back against the wall, exhaling slowly. “Do you ever think about it?”

Spencer glances at you, his profile softly lit by the yellowed bedside lamp. “Think about what?”

“The end of the world.”

He pauses, then gives a slight, curious smile. “Statistically speaking, there are several possibilities. Natural disasters. Nuclear war. AI singularity. Solar—”

You reach out and gently press a hand to his knee, smiling tiredly. “Not how, Spence. Just… if it happened. If it was all over tomorrow.”

He quiets. The silence stretches, but not uncomfortably. He looks down at your hand, where it rests on him, then up into your face like he’s searching for something there.

“I think I’d regret not telling you something,” he says finally, voice low.

Your heart stutters, a flicker of electricity under your ribs. You shift to face him fully, knees brushing. “Tell me now.”

He hesitates—just for a second—but then he meets your gaze and says it as easily as breathing.

“I love you.”

The words hit softly, but they land like thunder.

Your breath catches. You blink once, twice. “You do?”

Spencer’s smile is small but unwavering. “Yeah. I do. I’ve loved you for a while, actually. I just… never knew if it was the right time.”

You laugh, a quiet, almost broken sound, because of course he’d wait for the right time—like love could be scheduled between arrests and autopsies and jet rides home.

“And now seems like the right time?” you ask gently, even as your chest swells with something bright and terrifying.

“If the world ended tomorrow,” he says softly, “I’d want to know you heard it at least once. That you knew.”

You stare at him. Not because you’re surprised—deep down, you always hoped, always wondered—but because the way he says it feels like everything. Like your heart finally knows where to land.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the adrenaline crash, or the heartbreak you both just witnessed—but you don’t hesitate. You cup his face in both hands, leaning in to press your forehead to his.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

His brows furrow in mild shock. “You do?”

“I do,” you say, voice trembling. “And I think I’ve been trying not to. Because I was afraid that if I said it out loud… it would make everything more dangerous.”

“It doesn’t,” he whispers. “It just makes it more real.”

You nod against him. “If the world ended tomorrow, I’d want it to end with you. In a room like this. Quiet. Close. Loved.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s soft at first—hesitant, almost reverent. But then your fingers slip into his hair and he leans into you fully, like he’s waited lifetimes for this moment. The kiss deepens, slow and achingly sweet, and every awful thing from the case, from the world outside, melts away in the warmth between your mouths.

You don’t need the world to end. Not tonight.

But if it ever does… at least you got this.

[airybcby]

hi! may i request shidou ryusei with the 🍓 and🍭 <33

ofc!

a shidou ryusei strawberry lollipop :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° what am i to do ?

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event :)

♡ content — shidou ryusei x gn! reader, gn! reader, reader has strong feelings for shidou, set in high school, unrequited love :)

♡ synopsis — shidou ryusei was like a hurricane of chaos, and you weren't sure your feelings would survive the hit.

You should’ve known something was up when Shidou Ryusei's name appeared next to yours on the list of marriage simulation partners.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor, pairing you with the one person you’d spent the past few years trying not to fall for.

But it was Shidou—a human hurricane, all sharp smiles and chaotic energy. You’d been swept up in his orbit long before this simulation ever began, even though you knew better.

For someone like him, love wasn’t a slow burn. It was an explosion. And you were terrified of being caught in the aftermath.

The first day in the shared apartment was like stepping into a storm.

“Yo, partner,” Shidou drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe with a cocky grin. “You ready to play house, or what?”

You rolled your eyes, dragging your suitcase inside. “It’s only for a week, Shidou. Try not to get too comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m plenty comfortable already,” he shot back, tossing his duffel bag onto the couch. “The real question is—are you ready for this?”

He gestured vaguely between the two of you, a wicked glint in his eye.

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Living with Shidou was...an experience.

He had no concept of personal space, always lounging too close or draping an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Relax,” he’d say whenever you stiffened under his touch. “You act like I bite or something.”

You knew better than to entertain him with a response.

But it wasn’t just the teasing.

It was the quiet moments, too—the rare glimpses of vulnerability that he never let anyone else see.

Like when he’d stay up late after dinner, staring at the city lights through the window, lost in thought. Or when he’d talk about his dream of being the best striker in the world, his voice softer than usual.

Those moments were what made it so hard to keep your feelings in check.

One evening, the two of you were tasked with planning a mock anniversary dinner for the simulation.

Shidou, naturally, insisted on making it “interesting.”

“C’mon,” he said, dragging you into the kitchen. “Let’s cook something fancy. How hard can it be?”

As it turned out, it was very hard.

An hour later, the kitchen was a disaster zone, and Shidou was laughing so hard he could barely stand.

“Okay, okay,” he said between gasps. “So maybe cooking isn’t my thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, despite the mess.

In moments like this, it was easy to forget that this wasn’t real—that none of this meant anything to him.

As the weeks went on, you found yourself getting more and more tangled in Shidou’s web.

Every playful remark, every fleeting touch—it all felt like something more than it was.

And you hated yourself for it.

Because no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, you knew that Shidou wasn’t capable of the kind of love you were looking for.

The breaking point came during one of the program’s mandatory relationship check-ins.

The counselor asked the two of you to describe what you’d learned about each other during the simulation.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

But Shidou, as always, didn’t hold back.

“I’ve learned that you’re way too serious,” he said with a grin. “But that’s okay. Someone’s gotta keep me in check, right?”

The room erupted in laughter, and you forced a smile, playing along.

But deep down, his words felt like a slap in the face.

Because while you were falling for him, he was just playing a role.

On the final night of the simulation, the two of you sat on the couch, flipping through the stack of photos from your tasks.

“Not bad,” Shidou said, holding up a picture of the two of you from the anniversary dinner. “We almost look like a real couple.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your chest tightening.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hey. What’s with the long face? You’re not actually gonna miss me, are you?”

You forced a laugh, brushing it off. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the truth was, you didn’t know how to let him go.

As you packed up the next morning, Shidou leaned casually against the doorway, watching you.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice unusually soft, “you’re not half bad at this whole ‘marriage’ thing.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching. “Thanks, I guess.”

For a moment, it felt like he was going to say something else—something important.

But then he smirked, breaking the tension. “Don’t miss me too much, okay? I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Weeks later, you saw him on TV, scoring the winning goal for his team.

He grinned into the camera, all sharp edges and uncontainable energy, and you couldn’t help but smile, too.

Because even though he’d never been yours, a part of you would always belong to him.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

he is the SILLIEST BILLY!!

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[dioslesbianwife]

Can I please request the bucciarati gang with the partner who has the stand wonder of you.

It's a perfect stand especially if they stared dating them and they aren't in the mafia.

(What's more terrifying than golden experience requiem and wonder of you together 💀)

sure! i hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <33

Bruno Bucciarati

At first, he doesn't understand why strange accidents keep happening whenever he pursues you romantically.

He figures it out quickly, he’s sharp, after all.

“So… you don’t even control it? It just… happens?”

Despite the risks, he’s patient and careful in how he approaches the relationship.

Strategizes ways to stay close to you without triggering calamities.

If anyone outside Passione tries to pursue you with ill intentions, they’re dead men walking.

“You’re safer with us. If the world itself wants to punish those who harm you, I’ll make sure it has no reason to.”

Zips around calamities like a pro, dodging any bad luck with ease.

Giorno Giovanna

He admires the sheer power of your Stand.

Tries to counter calamities with Gold Experience if he senses them coming.

Finds loopholes to pursue you without triggering the Stand.

Indirect methods of affection, like sending gifts or written notes, work well.

When people try to harm or manipulate you, Wonder of You ensures they suffer.

Giorno watches and lets it do the work.

But if necessary, he’ll finish the job himself.

“Even fate seems to protect you… but that won’t stop me from doing the same.”

He’s the only one who seems to adjust effortlessly to dating you.

Guido Mista

At first? He’s paranoid as hell.

“Babe, I tripped down a flight of stairs just thinking about kissing you. That’s NOT normal.”

Once he realizes your Stand activates when someone ‘pursues’ you, he tests its limits.

Finds creative ways to be affectionate without triggering it.

Letting YOU make the first move seems to be the safest method.

Sex Pistols hate it when calamities happen. They warn him constantly.

“Boss! Don’t even THINK about kissing them!”

If someone dangerous comes after you?

He watches with morbid curiosity as karma hits them instantly.

“Damn… That guy just got hit by a truck.”

Narancia Ghirga

Poor guy suffers the most.

Has the worst luck, and this Stand makes it worse.

“Bruno, I SWEAR I didn’t mean to fall off the roof! I was just thinking about them!”

Cannot pursue you directly.

You have to make the first move, or he accidentally triggers a disaster.

But he doesn’t stop loving you. If anything, it makes him more determined.

“Even if the universe doesn’t want me near you, I’ll find a way!”

If enemies come after you, he lets them experience what he’s been dealing with.

Pannacotta Fugo

At first? He’s skeptical.

When he realizes it’s real, he’s deeply fascinated but frustrated.

If he tries to get too close, his bad luck skyrockets.

“I just got hit in the face with my own book. What the hell.”

Carefully tests how to be near you without triggering it.

Protective as hell. He knows your Stand will punish enemies, but he still worries.

“Even fate protects you. That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

If someone tries to hurt you, he doesn’t interfere, but he watches with satisfaction as calamity destroys them.

Leone Abbacchio

His reaction?

“Oh, great. Dating you is literally bad for my health.”

He grumbles about it constantly but never actually leaves.

Frustrated that he can’t pursue you directly.

Relies on YOU to take initiative in the relationship.

If someone outside Passione threatens you?

He smirks when Wonder of You takes care of them.

“Hmph. Should’ve known better than to mess with you.”

“I’ve been dealing with bad luck my whole life. What’s a little more?”

Trish Una

At first, she’s SO confused about why strange things happen when she thinks about getting closer to you.

But once she learns the truth, she adapts quickly.

Naturally cautious, so she figures out the safest ways to be with you.

Makes you take the lead in romantic moments.

“You’re the one who has to hold my hand first, alright?”

If someone harasses you, she watches them get destroyed with a smirk.

“How unfortunate for them. Oh well.”

She handles dating you better than most of the guys.

[mirims1997]

A Line Crossed

Summary: Following the Pr written statement released by Ashlyn, Bellingham’s new love interest, Jude Bellingham finds himself in the midst of media scrutiny. In an attempt to save his image, his mom hires a sharp Pr agent who takes over to fix Jude’s tarnished reputation and along the way ends up mending his heart.

————————————————————————

Chapter 1: A bad Impression

This is extremely personal' - Real Madrid star Jude Bellingham’s girlfriend Ashlyn Castro releases emotional statement as she hits back at dating history claims

Jude Bellingham's girlfriend Ashlyn Castro speaks out in 'extremely personal' monologue on claims about her dating past and 'escort site' hoax

I stared at my tablet in utter disbelief as the onslaught of news articles about Ashlyn Castro, Jude Bellingham’s alleged girlfriend, invaded my feed. “How can they be so reckless? I definitely thought he had a better media team. They work with whom again? This is such a rookie mistake. Don’t you think?” Sierra, my office mate, is barely ever right about anything. But today, she is spot on. This, indeed, is a textbook PR disaster. How can they do this to Bellingham? A 10 minutes video reiterating poorly woven arguments, easily detectable lies and a laughable show of self victimization on top of that? Someone is getting fired as we speak. I turn off my tablet, take a sip of my now-cold latte and watch Sierra continue her monologue about the does and donts of our job.

“My hair is getting longer. It needs a trim.” I try to shift the topic to something else and that seems useful enough to shake her out of her Bellingham stupor as she blinks at me incredulously. “Can’t you let it be a bob? You are too serious looking with that pixie cut. It scares off clients.” That’s the point, I mutter to myself.

A knock sounds on the door sparing me any further conversation with opiniated Sierra. Bernardo confidently strides in, smirking at me like he won the lottery. “You are called in for a meeting Miriam. HR and the lots. With that personality of yours, I am surprised you survived this long.” If glares could kill, Bernando would be withering at my feet. “3 months is a record in our company. Even interns stick around much longer, but can’t say I won’t miss your haughtiness.” I gather my tablet, drink the last sip of my coffee, ruffle my unruly hair and reapply my lipstick. “Bernando, darling, have you considered stand up comedy? Makes for a lovely career! And you are a natural. You make me laugh every morning with how ridiculous you are.” The last thing I heard as I slammed the door behind me was the shrieks Sierra let out as she laughed her ass off.

————————————————————————-

As I stood outside the office. I stared at my reflection in the mirror placed next to the door. I cannot for the life of me figure out why a PR agency would have mirrors hang in all kinds of unseemly places there but today, I am glad it is. I smoothed down my sheer green shirt and perfectly tucked it in my black pencil skirt. I ruffled my dark locks one more time and toyed with my golden hoops to ease my anxiety. I looked really good today. And for what is worth, I’d rather be dismissed looking immaculate than walk out of the door looking like Bernando. I knocked the door and entered the office in confident strides, the sound of my heels clicking disturbing the eery silence. I looked at the head of HR searching her eyes for any sign of anger or at worst of disappointment. Too busy psychoanalyzing my terrifying boss, I did not notice the presence of another equally intimidating woman. “Hello Ms Miriam. I’ve heard great things about you. I am Denise Bellingham, mother of Jude Bellingham, the Real Madrid football player. I’ve personally requested this company’s best media specialist agent and your name was immediately brought up by Ms. René over here. My son’s public image has been sabotaged due to an unreliable social media specialist and I need someone brilliant enough to rectify the situation as soon as possible.”

I stared at Denise as she spoke so gracefully as if she had everything she said written and memorized before coming here. Not one hair was out of place. Everything about her was pristine and monitored, from the spotless and ironed collar of her white blouse to the way she moved her hand in an enchanting manner. That is a woman used to bending the world to her way. That is a woman I understand and can work with.

“Miriam Gibran, Social Media and Digital marketing specialist. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance Ms. Bellingham.” I shook her hand firmly as she stared me down.

“You are quite young. You must be really good if you are your superior’s number 1 suggestion.”

“Thank you Ms Bellingham. I take my job very seriously. That is why I am baffled as to why Mr Bellingham has thought it wise to skip our first debriefing. I do understand that as the head of his affairs and mother, your presence should suffice. But in such delicate matters and if we are to follow my work approach, he needs to be here.” I can see Mrs Renée glaring at me from the corner of my eyes, probably fuming at the obvious jab at Jude’s character.

Something shifted in Denise’s face, her lips quirking to half a smirk.

“In fact, Ms Gibran, Jude is..”

“Here.” A masculine heavily accented English voice sounded from behind me as a door closed softly. I could feel the overwhelming presence of a tall body basking in the pin drop silence that followed his entrance. I turned around and there he was :the Jude Bellingham, hands in pockets, eyes dangerously piercing and lips tagged into a smirk. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he sauntered towards my increasingly flustered boss. He smiled at her nervousness and shook her hand then held it with both hands. What a disgusting display of good English boy charm.

When his eyes finally met mine. I felt a jolt in my chest at the blatant shift in energy. Gone is all that good lad charm. In its stead a predatory gaze Swiped across my face and body in a barely noticeable manner, knocking the wind out of me and sending a shiver down my spine. I will be damned if I show it.

“Miriam right? Beautiful day outside! Don’t you think?” He glanced at me trying to gauge my reaction at his infuriatingly irrelevant comment, an attempt at placing me in a category, so he can act accordingly for the rest of our transaction.

“Sure! Very beautiful. So is Ashlyn, but here we are dealing with ugly consequences. Sit down Bellingham. I don’t like my time wasted.”

Hello Jude girlies! This is the first chapter of A line crossed. I look forward to hearing your thoughts

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 14/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

2019 – Bradley

                Reconnecting with Jas after nearly a year and a half of no contact feels like a fragile glass butterfly in his hands, one he’s scared to hold too firmly in his hands, terrified it will shatter if he moves wrong. He continues sending pictures of his morning cup of coffee, although it’s just with a heart emoji now; no daily apology. Simply an acknowledgement that he thinks of him pretty much as soon as he wakes up. He doesn’t always get one back immediately, but their time zones are very different right now. Jas has admitted that sometimes he takes the photo and saves it to send, so he can pretend they’re sharing, existing at the same time. Bradley admits to wanting to be able to make him coffee every morning. Knows exactly how he takes it.

                His leave has been approved for December, and he’s put in a cushion of an additional week either side to allow for missed flights and natural disasters and he’ll fucking go AWOL if he has to. He hasn’t shared his little contingency plan with Jas, but he will if worst comes to worst. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, or look forward to it. Doesn’t want to build it all up for it to crumble down around him again. And he’s working very hard to ensure he doesn’t sabotage himself. Not this time. His therapist has given him a lot to think about and sometimes he really hates how right they are.

                Right now though he’s in Ramstein working with the Airforce, some cooperative training gig and he’s trying to use it as a cultural thing, but he feels like he could just be on a base somewhere, anywhere, back home. For some reason it makes him feel homesick for what he thinks must be the first time in his life. Last Christmas he’d spent it with Ice and his family for the first time since he was a teenager. Their relationship healed enough now for him to realize and regret how many years he’s lost. He guesses the maturity and therapy have probably helped, although he sometimes feels like a little kid again, seeking out attention and approval. One of Ice’s kids has kids themselves, and that is wild to him. Ice can’t talk very well, but considering how expressive his face can be when he chooses it to be he’d had entire silent conversation with Bradley while he’d been staying.

…            …            …

>>I’m in Germany.

>>Huh. I’m in Japan.

>>Oh. I like Japan.

>>We’ll have to go together sometime.

>>Wait.

>>What are you doing in Germany?

>>What do you mean?

>>I’m deployed here?

>>Uh. I know you’re Navy. I mean. Yeah.

>>You let it slip years ago.

>>Oh. Shit. Did I?

>>I didn’t realize.

>>Yeah.

>>So. Only seems fair to tell you I’m Navy too.

>>Shit. Really? God. What are the chances?

>>Well, I crunched the numbers few years ago, and they’re not that farfetched.

>>Of course you did.

>>And I’m in Germany helping out with a cooperative training exercise. Just a short four month stint and then back home in June.

>>You sure you don’t want more details?

>>Positive. I like the idea of us having some topics of conversation we haven’t covered.

                He desperately just wants to blurt it out, has in fact tapped out his name and exactly what he does, only to delete it all. He’ll respect Jas’s wishes, even if he doesn’t like them. Even now, knowing they’re both in the Navy and Bradley could, if he wasn’t respecting Jas’s personal boundaries, call Ice and ask him to pull every active-duty man with the initials JAS and born in 1986. Surely there aren’t that many.

>>Talking has never been something we’ve struggled with.

>>Have you seen the new How to Train your Dragon movie?

>>Weirdly, I have. Why?

>>Well, I’ve only been able to watch it in German. I think I understand what is happening, but can you run me through what exactly they were looking for? I didn’t get why it was so important.

                He wants to ask why Jas has seen a movie for kids, but he doesn’t, instead waits for Jas to fill in all the bits of plot Bradley missed due to watching the film in the nearby town with a German dub rather than watching it on base.

…            …            …

                “Bradshaw. The CO would like to see you.”

                He nods his head to acknowledge the words and heads off immediately. He doesn’t know why he’s being summoned but he’s not going to start disobeying orders or summons. He knocks on the door and waits to be called in.

                “Lieutenant. You’ve been called in for a special detachment. You leave for North Island at seventeen-hundred.”

                “Today sir?”

                “Yes. A matter of urgency it seems. A shame, you’re a damned good instructor and flier. I’ll be sure to have you back.”

                “Thank you sir.”

                He’s handed the papers, a mere formality now, he’ll have electronic ones sitting in his HR account. He’s got a few hours to pack, say some goodbyes. North Island. Of all places. Okay. He’s heading back stateside.

…            …            …

                He manages to get some sleep on the flight, then rest and report in. North Island is home and it also isn’t. He always feels mixed up emotionally when he’s here, too close to his parents and all his memories with Maverick growing up. He goes and collects the Bronco from storage, unsurprised to find a note telling him it’s been serviced and run, and he swings by to visit Ice, who doesn’t seem surprised to see him at all. He looks tired though, wearing a thick jacket and scarf despite the warm spring day. Bradley knows better to mention anything, Sarah having warned him. He stays for lunch, plays with the grandkids and then, because Ice is an angel amongst men, heads to the Hard Deck where he’s just been told his best friend probably is. The fact that she’s also been called to whatever this mission is fills him with pride, she’s a damned fine aviator, definitely better than him in some respects; and definitely able to make the most of having a back seater.

                Of course she’s pissed off with him for not telling him that he was going to be here, and he can’t exactly tell her he only knows because the COMPACFLT dropped him a message. He does mutter about being in a different country less than twenty-four hours ago but she just pulls a face at him and he knows she doesn’t accept it as a reason or an excuse. It hurts a little to see Seresin again. To think about the potential they had. He looks good though. Happy and confident, the little smirk always there just on the corner of his lips. He always wants to kiss it off, but it's not his place. Has never been his place. He plays it off, tries to anyway, and his mouth still takes off without him, brain distracted by looking and he really has to practice better self-control.

                “Hangman. You look… good.”

                There’s a flash of annoyance and Bradley winces. He’s glad he went with something as mundane as good, except him saying that has always been a lead into hooking up. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this. Not with anyone, but especially not with Seresin. They aren’t anything to each other, never were, never will be. He’ll apologize as soon as he can for the slip up.

                “I am good Rooster. I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.”

                He rolls his eyes, but he deserves the sharp look, the slight meaness, although he also can’t ignore it, because Seresin is still an arrogant shit, for all his beautiful flying. Natasha is muttering under her breath, talking about not caring about dick sizes, and he has to stop himself from laughing as she blatantly and obviously changes the subject, the others grabbing the lifeline like drowning men. He focuses back in on the conversation just in time to hear Seresin again.

                “And which one of y’all has what it takes to follow me?”

                He snorts.

                “Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.”

                Fuck. He hadn’t meant that. Not like that. God. Another thing to apologize for. He’s opening a fucking tab.

                “Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel. But that’s just you, ain’t it, Rooster? You’re snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment… That never comes.”

                He knows it’s a jibe about his fucking inability to commit to his relationship, and he’d like to prove him wrong by telling him that he’s very firmly back with his guy, but it feels empty when he flirted with him not even five minutes ago. What the hell is it with Seresin that always brings out the worst in him. He’s going to have to apologize but he’s going to hate every fucking second of it.

                “I love this song!”

                Right.

                He’ll apologize as soon as he no longer wants to punch him.

…            …            …

                Fortunately Natasha’s presence, the piano playing and singing force him to unwind and it shifts his mood considerably, exactly what his therapist has told him to do. Not that a piano is frequently available, but he’s working on it. He sees Seresin head out and he follows him quickly, ignores Natasha’s hissed warning to not get into a fight.

                “Hey! Seresin! Wait up!”

                “What do you want Rooster?”

                He sucks in a big breath. He can do this.

                “I just wanted to apologize. For flirting. I shouldn’t have done that. For several reasons, but it was shitty of me and I’ll work on it not happening again.”

                Seresin looks at him, expression tense and he’s worrying a toothpick which Bradley does his best to ignore.

                “Anything else you want to apologize for Bradshaw?”

                Bradley pauses, thinks back to what he said and pulls a face.

                “Fuck. Yeah. You won’t lead anyone into an early grave either. I didn’t mean that. It was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”

                “Anything else?”

                Bradley blinks.

                “Uh. No… not that I can think of? Why?”

                The look Seresin is giving him is calculating, like he’s trying to figure something out; then Seresin is reaching out and tugging on his shirt.

                “Thought you might like to apologize for crimes against fashion. This is one godawful shirt you’re wearing…”

                “I like this shirt.”

                “Of course you do. Hmm.”

                “Are you going to apologize to me?”

                “For what?”

                “For calling me slow?”

                “Nothing wrong with slow Rooster…”

                The look on his face, the way he juts out his hip and licks his lips around the fucking toothpick… Bradley feels the flush hit his cheeks, can tell his neck and chest are also going warm and he steps back. He can’t and won’t engage with this. With him.

                “Was good seeing you Seresin. Have a good night.”

…            …            …

                He gets back inside the Hard Deck and he spies Natasha talking with Bob, knows she’s starting the process of getting to know her new back seater, which is usually to beat them soundly in whatever macho game they think they’re better at, and then to show them that she can and will fly, and fly well. Then she usually forces them into a self-care night of face masks and nails, for which Bradley is usually invited along to if he’s around, although he knows Coyote has been seconded into the roll a couple of times.

                “You look… whole,” Natasha says, and she reaches for his hand, inspects his knuckles and Bradley huffs in annoyance, pulling his hand back when he realizes what she’s doing.

                “I didn’t punch him.”

                “No. You just stalked out of here looking like you wanted to.”

                “I actually went and apologized to him.”

                Both her and Bob blink.

                “Seriously?”

                “What can I say, I’m the bigger man, admitting when I’m wrong and apologizing.”

                “I still feel like I should go outside and check for a body…”

                “It’s fine. I’m going to try and be nice.”

                “Yeah. Okay. Good luck with that.”

                “What she said,” Bob says.

…            …            …

                The thing is he does try, but he’s also completely thrown by the fact that Maverick is there and is apparently the one teaching them. His anger is bubbling fresh, like he never took it off the boil and he’s angry again with Ice for not fucking warning him. Maverick doesn’t look at all surprised to see him and that makes him feel even angrier. He desperately needs to either run, punch some pillows or angrily play out his feelings on a piano until he calms down. None of which he can do while he watches his godfather stand at the front of a makeshift classroom and tell them all that the mission success will come down to the pilot in the box.

…            …            …

                “So, Rooster, mind if I ask you a personal question?”

                Jesus Christ, one apology and the man is going to ask about his whole life history. Now is not the fucking time, not to mention the line is open and everyone can hear them. He scans the skies and screens for any sign of Maverick.

                “Would it matter if I did?”

                “What’s the story with you and Maverick?” Speak of the fucking devil… “It seems like he’s got you rattled.”

                “That’s none of your business. Now where the hell is he?”

                “Been here the whole time.”

                “Holy shit,” Seresin breathes and Bradley pulls a face, because that tone is also far too similar to what he sounds like in bed and he can not be thinking about that right now.

                He get’s shot down for a second time, knows he’s toeing the line of being an idiot, doesn’t need Natasha railing at him, or the four-hundred push-ups he insists on doing which leave his arms feeling like jelly and Hondo looking at him like he pities him. He goes back to his accommodation on base and stares at the key to his family home, wonders if he should do anything about it, ignores Natasha’s messages and falls into a fitful sleep without even changing out of his clothes.

…            …            …

                He wakes later, and his first instinct is to make coffee, except it’s late and he needs to get used to the time difference. So he makes himself a hot cocoa from the supplies, although the fat he has to chip away at the solid mass tells him it likely won’t be worth the effort. Still, it gives him something to do. He snaps a picture and sends it, just adds a jet lag is real over it and sends it. Jas has been unnaturally quiet the last couple of days and Bradley desperately wants to just pick up his phone and call him. Except he doesn’t have his number and he won’t ask for it.

                Calling was never an option in the beginning, not with the lack of service out on carriers, and the fact that exchanging numbers also meant exchanging names. Bradley has never not answered the phone with his whole name, so he’d never offered. He’s got so many regrets on so many fronts he feels like a twenty-sided dice.

>>Everything okay?

>>You’ve been kind of quiet these last couple of days.

>>You ever bump into someone and think that it was maybe me you were talking to?

>>Um. Actually yeah.

>>Once. Years ago.

>>But there just ended up being all these little facts that didn’t line up so I figured it wasn’t you.

>>Was he hot?

>>He was alright. Easy enough on the eyes.

>>Nothing happened. I was his instructor at the time.

>>You and your moral compass.

>>I’m rolling my eyes at you.

>>I’m not a saint.

>>Never accused you of that. Not sleeping with someone because you’re in a position of power. That’s pretty decent of you.

>>Got to try being a decent human right?

>>I guess.

>>Sometimes I fuck up but got to keep on trying.

>>Yeah. I guess you do.

…            …            …

                Internally he’s a mess. The fact that the mission seems impossible, has been called a suicide mission, he’s having to see Maverick everyday, and Seresin keeps looking at him like he’s trying to puzzle something out. Like how big the body bag needs to be maybe. Now he’s being told he isn’t flying fast enough, he’s going to get shot down and he’s going to be responsible for the death of his friends. Like any of them won’t suffer the exact same fate.

                “It’s not the plane, sir, it’s the pilot.”

                “Exactly!”

                “There’s more than one way to fly this mission.”

                “You really don’t get it. On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back. No offense intended.”

                “Yet somehow you always manage,” Bob murmurs and normally Bradley would smile at the comeback, but he can’t right now. His frustration and anger are carefully balanced and he doesn’t want either of them to tip over.

                “Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that’s all.”

                “Lieutenant.”

                “We’re going into combat, son, on a level no living pilot’s ever seen. Not even him. That’s no time to be thinking about the past.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “Rooster.”

                “I can’t be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man.”

                “That’s enough.”

                “Or that Maverick was flying when his old man…”

                “Lieutenant, that’s enough!”

                “That’s enough.“

                “You son of a bitch!”

                “Hey, come on!”

                “I’m cool, I’m cool. Hey, hey.”

                “That’s enough.”

…            …            …

>>I have had an awful fucking day.

>>Tell me something to cheer me up?

                He doesn’t get an answer.

…            …            …

                He still doesn’t have an answer the next morning and he sends off his usual morning picture of his coffee, feels his entre body unclench when he gets a picture in response. There still isn’t any messages but it’s not complete radio silence. There is a message from his Captain, telling him to report to the Hard Deck in civvies appropriate for the beach and he lets out a long sigh. Sends a screen shot to Ice with a what the fuck is he thinking now? To which he gets back a line of laughing-crying emojis and your guess is as good as mine.

                Well. He has no idea where the hell Maverick dreamed up dog-fight football, but at least they’re not all getting drunk together. That would have been a recipe for several disasters. It’s not that warm, but once they’re all running around it heats them up enough and it feels good to simply run around and play, forget, even for a little while, that one or more of them might be dead in a couple of weeks.

…            …            …

                As if they needed reminders about just how dangerous their jobs are without the added aspects of the mission in front of them they have the day from hell and Bradley feels responsible. Thinking his verbal sparring with Hangman somehow made it a bad day he somehow jinxed them all. Having Coyote come so close to burning in because of g-Loc, and then Natasha… his best friend. Listening to Maverick yell eject at them over and over is going to be added nightmare fodder he’s sure will enter rotation, something he can look forward to. He sits in the quiet of the room, turning when he hears footsteps.

                Maverick.

                And no-one else around to act as a buffer.

                Well shit.

                He’s tired and already emotionally raw, doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

                “They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation. They’re gonna be okay.”

                “That’s good. I’ve never lost a wing man.”

                “You’re lucky. Fly long enough, it’ll happen. There will be others.”

                “Easy for you to say,” Bradley bites out. “No wife. No kids. Nobody to mourn you when you burn in.”

                He feels detached from what he’s saying, but the anger is all still there, and he feels justified in that at least, although he’s also lying. As much as he might be angry, he’d still grieve Maverick if he died. Of course Maverick tries to be calm and rational and instead of calming him down it has the opposite effect, and he’s snapping out words again, and Maverick is snapping back and god, it’s a wonder Ice didn’t bang their heads together earlier.

                “Maverick,” Warlock says, stopping them from screaming more hurtful things in each other’s faces.

                Then he learns that Ice has died and of course bad things come in threes.

                He leaves Maverick with Warlock and heads off into the dark for his base housing.

…            …            …

>>You know how I told you about my uncle?

>>The one with cancer?

>>Yeah?

>>He died. His funeral will be in a couple of days and I’m going to have to somehow not cry in front of everyone.

>>Would you give me your mobile number?

>>Why?

>>Because I’d really like to hear your voice. Talk to you properly.

>>I wouldn’t call until you gave me the go ahead.

>>I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.

>>I feel very alone.

>>I thought the other day was bad, but today has been so much worse.

                He wanders around aimlessly, wonders if maybe he should bite the bullet and either go to the rec room and play the piano there, or see if the piano at his closed-up parent’s house is even playable. He’s half-dressed for bed, mind so far away he doesn’t register the knocking until it’s louder and more insistent and he heads to the door, opening it and half-expecting to find Maverick there.

                “Hangman?”

         ��      “Rooster.”

                “Uh. What are doing here?”

                The look on Seresin’s face tells him he’s not exactly sure either, and the fact that he’s not certain is something he’s even more annoyed about.

                “I just… I know your dad flew with Admiral Kazansky. I... I thought that maybe you might know him more than just as the COMPACFLT and be... I thought you might want company.”

                “I...” Bradley starts, because he really does want the company right now, Natasha is in hospital, Coyote is with her because sometimes things like near-misses force you to reevaluate. Not that she can come, but he wouldn’t call her anyway, doesn’t want to rain on her happiness. Not when there is no guarantee of any future right now, the bird strike and g-Loc incidents both really driving home how dangerous their jobs are.

                “Not anything else, by the way… just company.”

                “No. I... Yeah. Company would be good. Thanks.”

                “Also I figured I should take a leaf out of your book and apologize. I’m sorry. About bringing up your dad. That was a dick move.”

                Bradley blinks.

                “Um. Okay.”

                “Right. Sleeping right? You want me to cuddle you?”

                “Actually yeah, since you offered,” Bradley replies, giving Seresin a disparaging look but then takes in the fact that he’s dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt, like he maybe come over after he’d already gotten ready for bed.

                “Come on then, finish getting ready. Always waiting for you to catch up Bradshaw…”

                “Yeah yeah, give me a minute.”

                He shuffles around, puts on a t-shirt in deference to the fact that Seresin seems seriously intent on hopping into bed with him, and not for sex. He brushes his teeth and washes his face, unable to bring himself to do any more. His mind is thinking about Sarah and the kids and grandkids. Funerals, oh which he feels like he’s been to too many. He folds himself into the bed, his head and body already feel heavy and weighed down and he cannot believe he’s watching Seresin of all people turn off the lights and then slide into bed beside him, his arm settling over his waist like a drag sail.

                “Go to sleep Bradshaw, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

…            …            …

                Despite everything he has one of the best nights’ sleep he’s had in a long time, and he can’t put it down to the sheer emotional exhaustion of the last couple of days. He woke up several times during the night, not used to having someone else in the bed, but each time Seresin had been there, arm settled around Bradley like he was holding him together. He’s not there now though, but Bradley can hear someone in the kitchen and it can’t be anyone else but Seresin. He stands and stretches, feels his back and neck click and reaches for his phone, feels a little swoop of happiness when he sees he has a message.

>>I don’t want you to be alone right now either.

                He grins and quickly types out a response as he heads to the kitchen.

                “Hey, morning.”

                “Morning. How are you feeling?”

                “Uh. Better. Thanks,” Bradley offers, because he’s a little unsettled by this softer and more accommodating version of Seresin.

                “Here,” Seresin says, and he slides a mug of coffee across to him. It’s not his usual mug, but that’s okay. The mug isn’t the important part, and he snaps a quick picture.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Um. Just taking a photo of my coffee,” Bradley states, looking up as Seresin makes a slight choking sound. “Thanks by the way, for the coffee and for staying last night. I really needed the company.”

                “Yeah. Uh. Anytime. I’ve got to go. Glad you’re feeling better Bradshaw.”

                “Uh, yeah. Thanks… see you later…” Bradley says, voice trailing off as Hangman flees like he’s on fire.

                Weird.

                He takes a sip of his coffee and blinks in surprise.

                It’s perfect.

…            …            …

                He drags himself through his morning routine and heads to Ice’s house, needs to see Sarah and the others, the only family he has. Or at least that he’s currently talking to in civil tones. He lets himself get hugged as he hugs them all in return, they’re all talking in soft mumbles with empty platitudes he knows don’t ease the grief. But being with others who are also grieving helps. He’s allowed to feel sad and miss him when he’s surrounded by people who feel exactly the same way.

                Sarah is poised and calm, her red eyes the only thing belying the fact that she’s been crying plenty. He’s sitting down talking to Samantha, Ice’s eldest daughter, when Sarah finds him and presses an envelope into his hands.

                “He wanted me to give this to you as quickly as possible after his passing. I think he was adding it to it just yesterday…”

                His throat goes tight and he runs his fingers along the crisp edge of the envelope, swallows and then gives up, lets the tears fall and hugs her back tightly as she presses a kiss to the top of his head, feels Samantha hug him from the side. He guesses he has some reading to do.

…            …            …

Dear Bradley,

If you are reading this it’s because I’m dead. Now, as outcomes go, this isn’t what either of us wanted, I’m sure. I’m glad I only had one rule with you as a teenager, and that you listened to me. This is the natural progression of things, children having to bury their parents. I am sorry that you have had to do this so often though, your life has not often been fair to you. There is one silver lining of being a dead man, and that’s getting a dying wish. Your mother had a dying wish you see, and I didn’t agree with what she wanted, but I had to respect it. It was her dying wish after all. And now this is mine, so if I meet her in the afterlife, then I know she’s not going to be able to hold it over me.

I want you to know that she never wanted you to fly.

She asked Maverick to pull your papers.

I tried to convince both of them that it was a terrible idea. But your mother became very difficult to argue with, being dead and all, and well, Maverick is one of the most stubborn and pig-headed men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m glad I’ve been able to count him as being a friend, because having him as an enemy would be ten times worse (and it was already pretty trying some days, as you can imagine). Anyway, I could already envision what would happen, you get your own stubborn and pig-headedness honestly at least, and it was then polished by being raised by Maverick after your mom passed.

Now, I am not asking you to forgive Maverick. However I am asking you to try. He loves you and cares for you, but what he is most terrified about is failing both of your parents. He thinks they’d be perfect parents, so holds himself up to that ideal. He thinks he needs to be perfect. Being a parent myself I know that’s impossible, I’ve just tried my best to make decisions based from a place of love and support. Maverick has always tried to make his decisions based on what he thinks your parents would want for you. Your mom didn’t want you to fly and yet here you are. And Maverick has to see that and know he failed her. And he failed you. And he will always believe he failed your father.

I never had to second guess my parenting decisions, even if I would later make a different decision with hindsight. I knew I made the best decision I could at the time with the information I had, making it from a place of love, then I couldn’t really regret it. Maverick second guesses everything when it comes to you. For all his don’t think, just do bullshit, he overthinks everything when it comes to you.

One of your parents gave you anything and everything you wanted, because he only saw you for a few months of your entire life. In between all the training and deployments, it just wasn’t enough. He loved you, do not ever doubt that, and he’d be so proud of the man you are today. I believe he would have supported you going to USNA with his whole heart. He’d be proud of you being a naval aviator. He would love that you were a pilot.

Your mother had to become both parents and then manage your early teen years and at the same time she wanted to protect you from everything bad in the world. She couldn’t protect you from losing your father, or then losing her, and I am sure she thought she was protecting you by asking Maverick to pull your USNA papers. However neither of your parents knew you as well as Maverick knew you, and yet he tasked himself with an impossible task.

So you have had a parent who only knew you really as a baby, another as a child, then another as a young man and now you’re an adult with a life and career of his own. You might have a better chance of getting Maverick into therapy than I ever did, simply by asking him. I am proud that you go. That you listened and took my advice. It’s always nice to be right. It’s been a pleasure watching you grow into the man you are today, and I know you will continue to grow.

Having you back in my life has been one of my joys. Getting to know you again, share stories with you. I’ve written a lot more down for you, and there’s a box with your name on it. Lots of photos because I’m old and we had film cameras. Make all the old jokes you want, I’m dead and I don’t care. Growing old is a luxury for some, and I am glad I got as far as I did. Anyway, I think Samantha might be digitizing the photos. Ask her. Please stay in touch with them all. You are a part of our family, even if it didn’t feel that way for you for some years. You are always welcome, never forget that. I want you to be in each other’s lives again. Maverick’s as well. You need him even if you think you don’t. And he needs you too. You’re both going to get invitations to Kazansky family gatherings, and it’s going to be awkward if you’re not talking to each other. At least give it a try. That’s all I’m asking.

Never forget how loved you are Bradley.

By all of your parents.

Ice

Saw you flying today. Made me so proud. Also made me wish I could have flown with you. Watching you fly is like watching the best of myself and Maverick. He is very unhappy with me about the mission. Doesn’t want to have to make the choice. He views it as lose-lose all round, which might be true. I hope it isn’t, for both your sakes. If I have any say in it you’ll all return safely home. I’m tired, so I’m going to go to bed now. Love you kid.

…            …            …

                They’ve been given the day off, which seems a little ridiculous considering how close the mission is. He’s immeasurably glad though, he feels shaky and emotionally raw, and he still has to get through the funeral and somehow process the whole shifting worldview that his mom made Maverick promise. That Maverick wouldn’t just tell him that confuses him, what would he do? Hate his mom for wanting to keep him safe? He just doesn’t get it. He opens his phone, not really having had a chance to look at it since the morning after he’d sent his coffee picture. Jas hadn’t replied by the time he left to go to Ice’s house, but when he opens his phone now he can see he has a couple of new notifications. The coffee cup in reply looks familiar and he realizes it’s his coffee cup. The one he usually uses except this morning… What the hell?

                He opens up Grindr and clicks on the new message, is pretty sure he knows what to expect when it displays and there it is.

>>I’m in the Dagger Squad.

                Just like that his world tilts on its axis again and he stares at the five words. Closes it and then reopens the app. Reads the words again. Actually turns off his phone and forces it to re-start. The words stay the same.

                JAS.

                Born in 1986.

                Texan.

                God he’s an idiot.

                Not just in the navy, he’s a Naval aviator.

                A photo of his own coffee cup sent back to him from this morning.

                He’s laughing at his own stupidity and he’s already cried so much today but he feels like he might just burst into tears again, his emotions all too exposed and he needs to find out where Jas-Jake-Seresin, (what the hell does he call him now?), lives. He rings Natasha, knows she’s still with Coyote. Coyote will know where Jake, (Jake feels right? Maybe?), lives. Because it’s not on base. Of course Coyote won’t give him the address and Bradley feels like screaming. Tells him to ask Jake, then to text it through to him when he gives it to him. He’s that certain Jake will give it to him. He could just ask himself, but he also doesn’t want to give Jake an opportunity to ignore him. Not that he thinks he will.

                Last night suddenly makes a lot more sense, now that he thinks about it. No one else would have known about Ice passing, and yet Jake turned up, because he’d figured it out. God. When did he figure it out? He’s trying to reconcile Jas and Jake Seresin in his head. The brash confident and arrogant naval aviator he knows and has had plenty of sex with, and Jas, the open, vulnerable and sweetly-sassy man that he’s… also had plenty of sex with. Well. At least he knows they can handle the long-distance aspect of any relationship. God he really wants to see him now.

                The address comes through and he taps it into his phone, following the directions as he drives, wishes it was closer. He doesn’t bother telling Jake he’s on his way, he already knows because Coyote has given Bradley his address. With permission. He pulls up and it’s a newly built block of condos, and he has to look for a carpark for too long before he finds one. He lets himself feel annoyed at the poor planning, grateful that it pushes the grief and shocked-joy just to the side for a moment, no matter how brief. It allows him to gather his bearings as he walks up the pavement and knocks on the door. While he waits for an answer, he wonders if he should send a message. Why the hell not.

>>Answer the door Jas.

>>Give me one good reason.

>>I love you.

>>Now please answer the door.

                “Hi.”

                “Hi.”

                He stands there and just… looks. Jake’s wearing exactly the same clothes as when he left Bradley’s place earlier today, and he looks soft. A little scared and Bradley realizes that he’s maybe worried that Bradley might be disappointed somehow. He reaches out, slow enough that Jake can stop him, or step away; cups his cheek in his hand, runs a thumb over the apple of his cheek. Wants to enfold him in a hug and be hugged in return.

                “Thank you.”

                “Uh. You’re welcome?”

                “You want to know what I’m thanking you for?”

                “Sure.”

                “My second chance. Always planned on thanking you in person.”

                “Um. Yeah.”

                Bradley bites his lip, won’t mention aloud the groveling and body worship that Jas had mentioned, is sure that Jake might not yet be in a place to hear him say words out loud. Written word is something completely different. He wants to kiss him, definitely wants to carry out the body worship, but he feels like they’re all the way at the beginning, needing to feel each other out a little bit, emotionally that is.

                “Can I hug you?”

                “Yeah, of course. Come in and close the door.”

                Of all the hugs he’s had today this one feels the best, firm, grounding and warm. Both of Jake’s arms around him, head resting against Bradley’s shoulder while his nose and mouth press against the side of his head. He presses a kiss to the top of his head.

                “When did you figure it out?” Bradley asks.

                “When did I suspect, or when did I know? Because there’s kind of different stages I went through…”

                “Yeah? Want to share? Because I… needed you to point it out apparently.”

                “Always a little slow Bradshaw…”

                “Oh my god I’m never going to live this down am I?”

                “Nope. Probably not.”

                “Okay. I’m okay with that. Come on. Blow me away with your superior intellect…”

                “You want to have this conversation while we hug in my entryway?”

                “I don’t want to let you go.”

                “Oh. I have a sofa? Or a, uh, bed?”

                “How about we start on the sofa. Can we both fit?”

                “Worth a try…”

                He makes himself comfortable in the corner and then holds out his arms, silently inviting Jake to curl up in them, to settle himself in the v of his legs. He desperately wants to be holding him again and hopes he equally wants to be held. Fortunately Jake seems to, relaxes against him and Bradley feels a sense of contentedness well up inside him. They’re both facing the same direction and part of him is glad; feels like it might be a little too overwhelming to have this coming conversation face-to-face. It’s like a compromise between being online versus facing each other.

                “So… what was your first clue?”

                “Uh, your shirt at the Hard Deck. Payback made a comment about how it wouldn’t be possible to miss seeing you arrive and it pinged something in my mind, about when we were meant to met up. You said I wouldn’t miss you…”

                “Ugh. You mean the time I stood you up to sleep with… you. I’m still very sorry about that by the way.”

                “Well, I’ve sort of made my peace with it. I mean, I can stop being jealous about the other guy at least…”

                Bradley huffs in amusement, tightens his arms around him a little.

                “Oh… When you asked whether I was going to apologize about fashion crimes. That was you sounding me out.”

                “Trying at least. You blanked me so I figured it was just a coincidence.”

                “Okay… then what?”

                “Um. I saw a photo of your dad. Nicholas Bradshaw.”

                “Nick.”

                “And Bradley Bradshaw. NickNick. Stupid double-barreled names. Then I remembered your first username, and you hating the name Pete… And how you really don’t like Maverick. Lots of coincidences that just suddenly were too many to just ignore and they made sense.”

                “Yeah…” Bradley breathes, smiling against Jake’s hair. He likes that Jake has been paying such close attention, would never have thought it of Seresin or Hangman, but it’s definitely Jake through and through.

                “So… Uh. I suspected and then seeing that photo kind of confirmed it. Your moustache and how you said you look like him. Your dad I mean. You do look a lot like him. Anyway, I thought you knew who I was, and you were making fun of me.”

                “What? Never...”

                Jake twists to give him a look, eyebrow raised in disbelief and Bradley shakes his head.

                “Not about this,” Bradley stresses.

                “So, I suspected, and then I thought you knew and hadn't told me and I got so angry...”

                “You picked a fight,” Bradley says with dawning realization, because he’s fucking been there and done the same thing, like picking at a wound.

                “I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry.”

                “I swear I had no idea.”

                “Oh yeah, I know that now. Last night when I turned up... I almost asked you. Last night was when I started to realize that you really had no idea.”

                “Gorgeous and smart…” Bradley says, and he’s never seen Jake blush before, but he’s doing it now, his face going pink from the corner of Bradley’s eye. “And then my coffee cup picture from this morning... Shit. That’s when you really realized I was truly fucking clueless.”

                “Yeah. And I needed to figure out a way of telling you but I had no idea how…”

                “Well, you did a good job telling me. You made my coffee perfectly and I still didn’t put it all together.”

                “Still took you long enough to get here though.”

                “Oh, I didn’t check the messages until about an hour ago. I messaged Coyote pretty much immediately. Did you think it took me that long to figure it out after you told me you were in the Dagger Squad?”

                “Well, it has been about four hours.”

                “No! I’ve been at Ice’s all morning. Spending time with the family.”

                Jake makes a choking sound.

                “You’re actually�� family?”

                “Yeah,” Bradley says with a quiet sigh. “After my mom died and when Mav was deployed I lived with Ice and his family. When I left Mav I pretty much left Ice too. I made up with him a few years ago. Here. Read this…”

                He shifts awkwardly and pulls the letter out of his pocket, pulling Jake back into his arms and handing it to him.

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yeah. I have literally no secrets from you.”

                He reads it again over Jake’s shoulder, let’s himself cry again and tries to not feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s holding Jake and crying. He’s allowed to feel emotions. He’s not an automaton.

                “Jesus Bradley…”

                It’s the first time Jake has said his name and he lets out another little hiccupping cry, but it has happiness behind it this time, not that Jake can tell and he lets out a little laugh of just how ridiculous the whole situation is.

                “Yeah. Ever had emotional whiplash? I think that’s what I’m experiencing today. It’s pretty fucking rough.”

                “Stay here tonight. Hell. Did you sleep okay last night? You said you didn’t want to be alone…”

                “Last night was great. Exactly what I needed thank you. And yeah, I’ll stay here. Might need to borrow some clothes.”

                “Or we can just… go to bed.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Ni-, Ro, Bradley… I do not want to waste any more time, especially considering how much time we might not have.”

                Fuck. Now there’s a depressing thought. Although it also seems like Jake is having the same internal battle about what to call him as he’s been having.

                “What’s your middle name?”

                “What?”

                “I’ve been calling you Jas in my head for so long, when I get angry with you I’m going to need to full name you…”

                “Jacob Andrew Seresin.”

                “Bradley Peter Bradshaw. Nice to meet you.”

                “You’re an idiot,” Jake says, but he’s turning, shifting to face him and Bradley smiles, knows he probably looks messy with fresh tear tracks, but he’s smiling at him and Jake is smiling back.

                “We were so close so many times weren’t we…”

                “Yep. Think it had some silver linings though.”

                “Yeah? Like what?” Bradley asks, because he’s curious.

                “Don’t want to think about some of them right now. Want to take you to bed.”

                “Yeah. Lead the way…”

…            …            …                 Every touch is reverent, and he hasn’t slept with anyone in a long while, not since he last slept with Jake in fact, which has him realizing that he hasn’t done anything sexual with anyone but Jake for… nearly three years. Huh. He’ll share that little tidbit of information later, when he’s not sliding his hands under Jake’s t-shirt and working it up off his body. Jake’s working Bradley’s clothes off, and he doesn’t usually feel the need to check in, not when it’s the middle of the day, both completely sober, but he still needs to, the emotions of everything making it a necessity.

                “Okay?”

                “Yeah, yeah. It's okay. This isn’t our first fucking time…”

                Bradley grins, lets himself press his body against Jake’s, letting them both lower their bodies into Jake’s bed. He’ll pay more attention to Jake’s room and bed when he no longer wants to give absolutely every bit of his attention to the man under his hands and mouth.

                “Sorry if I want to cater to my body worshipping kink…”

                “Selfish,” Jake says, his voice breathy and Bradley bites at his collarbone lightly.

                “Yeah. Very selfish. You should totally kick me to the curb.”

                “Mmm. See if you can convince me otherwise…”

                He feels a happy and excited swoop of pleasure that Jake seems playful, happy in himself to have Bradley in his bed, to stay in his bed for more than just sex.

                “I love you,” Bradley murmurs, and he kisses a trail down Jake's neck, then back up. Lets his fingers touch everywhere he can reach, captures Jake’s mouth in a kiss as he grinds his hips down, feels Jake’s mouth gasp open and he licks into it. They’ve had sex with each other a lot, but it’s never quite felt this heavy. Like every touch, every shift of their bodies against each other, carries with it a little bit extra weight, extra meaning.

                “I love you.”

                There are definite benefits to already being familiar with Jake’s body, knowing how he responds, what he likes. It’s been long enough since they last slept together than it’s all novel and new, while also having the deep-rooted feeling of familiarity and sense of homecoming. He wants to worship every inch of him, Jake seems more than willing to let him. The fact he can pepper his actions with I love you is exhilarating, being able to both show Jake and tell him in equal measure.

                He knows he can make Jake come twice, wants to take him apart and hold him together, give him absolutely everything. God, all the things he’s fantasized about are now potential things they can explore together and he grins into the jut of Jake’s hips, sucks little kisses as he teases along the band of his underwear.

                “Off off, get them off…”

                “It’s been months, or years, depending on how you count. What’s a few more minutes? You know I like the anticipation and building up.”

                “Fuck off, you can edge me another time. I know you want to. Right now I want you to make me come.”

                “Demanding.”

                “Damn right.”

                He pulls Jake’s underwear down and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth as he continues to work the underwear down his thighs. It’s a little uncoordinated, Jake trying to help by thrusting his hips up, his cock hitting the back of Bradley’s throat so suddenly he gags, unprepared, digs his fingers into his hip to stop him from doing it again as he pulls the underwear off and throws it elsewhere. He feels Jake’s fingers running through his hair, deliberately ignores the subtle direction to go faster, slows down and grins when he hears Jake groan and mumble asshole under his breath. Jake groans again, his whole body tensing then relaxing under him and Bradley lets himself finally speed up.

                He shifts, kneels between Jake’s spread legs so he can get an unobstructed view up his torso, can watch his face as Bradley gets his hands and mouth all over him. His fingers encircle Jake’s cock and he works fast, mouth and tongue licking over his balls before sucking the head back into his mouth. Jake is watching him, mouth open, chest shuddering with broken breaths and Bradley feels a swell of sudden and immense gratitude that he gets to have this. That Jake is allowing him to have it.

                “I love you,” he says, his eyes not leaving Jake’s as he opens his mouth and sucks Jake down again, lets Jake’s hips thrust up, ready for it this time and shivers at how gorgeous Jake sounds saying his name. He works his hand faster, presses a knuckle against his perinium, licks and sucks his balls and it’s a tight fit but Jake just stretches his legs wider to give him more space to work. He sees the muscles in Jake’s stomach clench, loves that he knows that that’s one of Jake’s tells, that he’s close to coming. Then he is, shooting up over Bradley’s fist, hitting his chest and stomach.

                “I love you,” Bradley says again, it becomes like a prayer as he runs his hands over his calves and thighs, presses kisses up his inner thigh and his balls again. His eyes haven’t left Jake’s. He licks up Jake’s stomach, cleaning up Jake’s come as he goes, smirks at the little broken sound Jake makes. Wonders if he should have said something about the lack of condom this time, but hopes that Jake simply trusts him. Three fucking years.

                “God I love you…” Bradley whisper, wants, needs, Jake to know the truth of him. Jake kisses him, tongue seeking out every groove between his teeth, moaning against him and he realizes he’s maybe getting off on the taste of himself in Bradley’s mouth. God they’re going to be able to explore and try so much more now that they have the trust that exists between them. Something he knew he wanted, and to have it, he feels so damn lucky.

                Both of Jake’s hands are in his hair, he’s being kissed so thoroughly, Jake’s grinding his hips up against him where he’s partially holding himself above him. Then one of Jake’s hands is on his ass, gripping and pulling and oh. He grinds down, presses his erection against Jake and grins into his mouth.

                “Why are you still wearing underwear?” Jake complains.

                “Mmm… was too busy getting reacquainted with your body.”

                He loves the torn expression on Jake’s face, clearly wants to argue some point, but also can’t think of anything that he can argue about. Instead he digs his fingers into Bradley’s ass cheek and rolls his hips and Bradley moans, much closer than he thought he was. He wants to drag this out, continue re-learning every inch of Jake’s body with all his years of knowledge he’s acquired.

                “Come on, want to get my mouth on you… take you fucking underwear off.”

                Oh. This isn’t quite going the way he had planned in his head, but he stands and quickly strips off the garment which Jake has been scowling at. He’s more than okay doing what Jake wants as well. He follows Jake’s annoyed muttering directions until he’s straddling his chest, head of his cock a mere inch above Jake’s mouth. It’s a fucking gorgeous sight and his mouth is dry as he watches Jake, eyes dark, and then the tight warm heat of Jake’s mouth takes him in and he groans, his hips twitching reflexively. Then Jake’s hands are on his hips, encouraging him and his eyes fall shut as he lets himself start rolling his hips, the suction around his cock tight and warm. He opens his eyes to look at Jake, to give himself a visual to what he’s feeling and experiencing and –

                “Oh god… Jake. Fuck.”

                He pulls out sharply, not able to give any warning before he’s coming. Not that coming all over Jake’s face and neck is any better than coming in his mouth, but he’s not going to assume. His breath is coming in panting gasps, his body shaking and he puts a hand down to hold himself up, stares and Jake’s eyes carefully open and Bradley shifts down, needs to be kissing him again. He cleans up his own come this time, peppers his licks with kisses and murmured I love yous against the shell of Jake’s ear. It’s not what he had planned maybe, but it’s no less perfect. They’re going to need a shower, and he can’t wait to introduce that new level of intimacy into their relationship. He settles beside him, pulls up the sheet and reaches out to place a hand on his waist, fingers brushing softly.

                “So… It’s nice to finally meet you. Properly I mean…” Bradley says, eyes searching Jake’s face and he’s smiling and feeling fond and content. Soft, he realizes, thinking about Natasha’s word she uses to describe him sometimes, especially the last couple of years when he’s been working at getting better at being more in touch with his emotions.

                “I love you,” Jake says, and like hearing his name for the first time Bradley feels like he’s going to burst. At the same time it’s like Jake Hangman Seresin melts away and Jas is there, eyes wet with unshed tears and he kisses him again, feels the wetness slide over the pad of his thumb.

                “I love you so much.”

                “Can’t believe it took us this long.”

                “You know we could have avoided all this if we'd just told each other our names...” Bradley says, because he’s definitely going to dig a little. He’s still him.

                “Names? We could have sent each other photos of our faces…”

                “Neither of which you wanted by the way. So I’m making you take the blame for just how long it took. But you also get the credit for figuring it out…”

                “Damn right I do.”

                “Love you Jake…”

                “God you’re a sap…”

                “Only with you.”

                Jake blushes and Bradley smirks, because genuine sincerity is apparently the way to make him a complete mess.

…            …            …

                Their day back at training after Ice’s funeral he feels more settled and is immediately thrown off balance again by the fact that Maverick isn’t there. He sits there in disbelief as he hears Admiral Simpson outline new parameters and agrees with every muttered and under-the-breath comment. A little distracted by the noise coming in over the radio.

                “Uh, Maverick, range control, uh, green range is confirmed. I don’t see an event scheduled for you, sir.”

                “Well, I’m going anyway.”

                “Nice,” Natasha murmurs and Bradley rolls his eyes. Of fucking course everyone is already impressed with him. He hasn’t even fucking done anything yet.

                “Setting time to target: Two minutes fifteen seconds.”

                “Two-fifteen? That’s impossible.”

                Bradley agrees in principle, however he also knows that Maverick knows himself. He wouldn’t set a time like that if he didn’t truly believe he could fly it. Jake turns around and smirks at him, as if to say this is your fucked up family and Bradley subtly gives him the finger, although inwardly he feels thrilled that he has someone with him, that knows him so well and his whole bullshit relationship with Mav. It’s such a relief, especially now that Ice is gone.

                “Final attack point. Maverick’s inbound.”

                He looks around the room, and he understands why everyone is so invested. If Maverick can do this then it proves it’s actually possible. He already knows it is, Maverick wouldn’t be trying to teach them if he didn’t think it wasn’t possible. But the others need to know it. Know it like he does.

                “Popping in three, two, one.”

                He leans forward, can feel the tension in the room mounting.

                “Bombs away.”

                Seconds tick by.

                “Bull’s-eye!” “Holy shit!” “Yes.”

                “Damn.”

                Damn indeed.

                He knows then, looking at Cyclone and Warlock’s faces that they’re probably going to send Maverick. Make him team lead. Which means either he's going, or Jake is going. There aren’t any guarantees and he can't believe their actual time together may only be counted in days.

…            …            …

                By mutual agreement they don’t talk about it. They also don’t mention anything to anyone else, instead sequestering themselves away at his family home that no-one knows about except Mav, who definitely won’t be looking. They have to air it out, and deal with the dust and cobwebs, but’s it’s not as bad as it could be and he wonders if he has something else to retroactively thank Ice for, even if he can’t anymore. They buy new sheets and pillows and the entire house soon smells of them and sex and takeout food, neither of them wanting to waste time cooking when they can just be holding each other.

                He keeps up his morning cup of coffee picture, tells Jake he doesn’t ever want him to doubt how he feels about him, even when he’s lying in bed and the cup of coffee in question is brought to him by a nearly naked Jake. Tells him the view that comes with his morning cup of coffee is much improved. The time they have together might be short but he’s going to make the most of every moment they have together.

…            …            …

                “It has been an honor flying with you. Each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission. My choice is a reflection of that and nothing more.”

                He feels sick. He doesn’t care about flying and proving Mav wrong. Not anymore. He just doesn’t want Jake to go and then not come back. He has no idea who Mav will choose, and he knows Jake feels the same about him going. They’re both good. But there are so many things that can go wrong. There’s a reason why Mav has been listing off fucking miracles.

                “Choose your two foxtrot teams.”

                “Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob.”

                “And your wing man?”

                “Rooster.”

                The relief he feels is immediate, knowing that Jake is going to be safe. Is going to live. It’s immense. The look of on Jake’s makes him feel sick though, because he knows it’s exactly what he’d be feeling if Jake had just been named Maverick’s wingman instead. They find a quiet spot and Jake kisses him like he’s trying to climb inside his body, Bradley presses them together like he’d let him climb inside if he could. Then they’re having to head up on deck.

                “Give em hell,” Jake says, and he doesn’t need to say any more, he can see the unspoken words in his eyes and tense line of his jaw. You come back to me, you have to come back to me. He nods in understanding, an unspoken promise.

…            …            …

                He can’t lose his last parent, not now.

                God.

                If he survives this Jake is definitely going to kill him.

                And he’s probably going to get kicked out of the Navy.

                He hopes Jake will be okay with him being unemployed.

…            …            …

                “You all right?”

                “Yeah, I’m good. You all right?”

                Then he’s being pushed to the ground and he winces at the pain in his ribs, his head swimming a bit. Fuck. He thinks he has a concussion.

                “What the hell?”

                “What are you doing here?”

                “What am I doing here?

                “You think I took that missile so you could be down here with me? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

                “I saved your life!”

                “I saved your life! That’s the whole point! What the hell were you even thinking?”

                “You told me not to think!” Bradley snaps, because he’s got tone on him now, the fucking self-righteous asshole. They both pant, catching their breath and just stare at each other for a few moments, and he still doesn’t really know how he’s going to relearn how to not be constantly angry or upset with Maverick.

                “Well, it’s good to see you.”

                “It’s good to see you too,” Bradley states, because he’s meant to be building bridges, not yelling, no matter how much of an idiot he thinks Maverick is.

                “So what’s the plan?”

                Maverick is insane.

                That’s the plan.

                No sane person would think this was somehow feasible.

                “You’re not serious.”

                He’s thinking about Ice’s letter, talking about how he was always glad to have Maverick on his side, because it beat having Maverick as an enemy and god he hopes that still remains true. That Maverick has some infinite well of good luck. Or a guardian angel. Hopefully both.

                “You’ve got to be shitting me. An F-14?”

                “I shot down three migs in one of those.”

                “We don’t even know if that bag of ass can fly.”

                “Let’s find out.”

                “Mav!” Bradley calls out, but he’s already hustling away. “Oh for fucks’ sake…” Bradley mutters under his breath as he heaves his aching body up and convinces himself that he has to follow Mav. Does he not have pain receptors? Surely he’s aching at least half as badly as Bradley is.

                “There’s guys up there, Mav.”

                “Yeah.”

                “There’s more over there.”

                “Okay. Let’s start running.”

                “Yeah, run. Run.”

                He feels like he’s stepped back in time, the hangar holding the enemy F14 rusty. His body coursing with adrenaline and Maverick is looking crazy-eyed. Bradley knows the feeling.

                “Once… once I give you the signal for air, you’re gonna flip this switch until the needle gets to 120. When the engine starts, you got to pull out the pins and disconnect everything. You understand?”

                “Yeah.”

                Then Maverick is running around and Bradley’s glad that he apparently knows what he’s doing. He thinks of Ice and how he’d always said how crazy Maverick was. He’d always sort of thought he was exaggerating for the sake of telling a good story but is starting to think he downplayed some of the more dangerous shit that Mav has taken part of. It’s a little terrifying to think about. He hops into the back of the F-14 and stares at all the dials and little screens, only vaguely familiar. Maybe from a visit to a fucking museum. He’s starting to really believe that Mav lives the not thinking aspect of his motto, because when he questions the wings coming out, raises entirely valid concerns about it being a taxiway he is just plain ignored. No. He gets told to hang on, like he has another option or any say in the matter.

                “Holy shit!”

                Holy shit seems to be his inner and outer mantra for the next few moments, Maverick intent on having a one-sided conversation that he doesn’t need to contribute to, which is just as well because he has nothing of value to add. The way Maverick asks him to get in touch with the boat is infuriating, like it’s a simple press of a button like a kid’s walkie-talkie. Nothing is fucking working, and he doesn’t know enough to get it working. He has to ask, feels like Mav is teaching him how to drive all over again, and that was an unmitigated disaster until Ice and Sarah took over.

                “Throw the, uh… The uhf-2 circuit breaker. Try that.”

                “There’s 300 breakers back here. Anything more specific?”

                “I don’t know. That was your dad’s department.”

                “I’ll figure it out,” Bradley mutters, and he continues looking, only to see something out of the corner of his eye and he freezes for a micro-second. “Mav, tally two, five o’clock low. What do we do?”

                No one is ever going to believe him that Mav’s plan here is wave and smile. He follows the instructions though, can hardly believe that it somehow buys enough time for Mav’s brain to speed through however many options he thinks he has. Bradley doesn’t know how many he’s got, he can’t get past the idea that he’s going to die. Again. The idea of dying. Not actual dying. Maybe it’s just a day where he’s going to constantly think he’s going to die, but never actually does. Fuck he really really hopes so. He will live with the nightmares if he doesn’t actually have to die.

                “All right, listen up. When I tell you, you grab those rings above your head. That’s the ejection handle.”

                “Mav, can we outrun these guys?”

                “Not their missiles and guns.”

                “Then it’s a dogfight.”

                “An F-14 against fifth-gen fighters?”

                “It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot. You’d go after them if I wasn’t here,” Bradley states, absolutely certain of the fact. The taxiway was apparently easy and not risky at all. Holy shit his mind supplies.

                “But you are here,” Mav counters.

                “Come on, Mav. Don’t think. Just do.”

                God he hopes he doesn’t die. Then Mav has shot one of them down and he can’t believe it, warns him about the next one, feels helpless without the option to fire his own missiles. Watching the fifth-gen fighter in action is unreal and god he wants to fly one. Then they’re getting low and heading back into the canyon area, heading out toward the sea, so at least in the general direction of the boat at least. He’s grateful that the terrain does seem to confuse the targeting system, that they still haven’t been shot down and he knows if he lives through this he will need to thank Mav every day. Fuck. If Ice is somehow watching he’ll make sure it happens just to ensure they make up. It would be a power move from him for sure.

                When the second fifth-gen plane goes down, the pilot ejecting just before it smashes into the side of the canyon walls Bradley feels his heart start beating again, like his entire body has been in stasis for however long that all took. It probably wasn’t longer than a couple of minutes, but it feels like a lifetime and the briefest moment in time all at once. Through some miracle he gets the radio working, and if anyone asks him what he did he won’t be able to tell them. He attempts to get in touch with the boat, but he’s not sure if it’s working two-way, too distracted by the sudden beeping indicating the location of a bogey and he looks for it, knows he needs to be another set of eyes. Why can they not catch a fucking break? The fifth generation fighter appearing on their nose is a blow, as is them running out ammo, then flares. Nothing left to offer even the smallest splinter of hope. The plane is taking hits and he’s glad they built them to withstand hits because they would be dead by now. Then Mav is talking about gaining altitude and ejecting and he listens this time, pulls the handles desperately, his stomach sinking when nothing happens, the ejection function clearly broken.

                “I’m sorry, Goose.”

                Oh shit. He can almost feel the waves of Mav’s guilt, that his death is going to be as his back seater just like his dad. He feels like throwing up, not advisable and he’s not going to be alive to have to do anything about it –

                BOOM.

                The explosion, cloud of black smoke, vibrations and then the new jet appearing all happen simultaneously. Then the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

                “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seat belts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright positions… And prepare for landing.”

                “Hey, Hangman, you look good.”

                “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good. I’ll see you back on deck.”

                He’s pretty sure there’s a threat in there but he could cry he’s so relieved and happy. Soon the adrenaline coursing through his body is going to stop and he’s going to hit a wall but Jake will be there. Mav will be there.

                He’s alive.

                Nothing else matters.

…            …            …

                Having working engines to land matter.

                He’s once again very glad that Mav is the one flying.

                Fuck this shit.

…            …            …

                He’s never crash landed on a deck before and he never wants to do it again. He wonders if people have bucket lists of things they don’t want to have happen, but which have happened anyway. Sounds like it might make for depressing lists.

                “You good?”

                “Yeah. I’m good,” Bradley says, but he’s already thinking about saying similar words to Jake. Searches for him as he steps down from the F-14, his legs wobbly, body aching and head starting to pitch like he’s in a storm. He spies Jake, can’t help but smile at him goofily. He looks so good and he wants to kiss him. It’s probably not a good idea.

                “Chalked yourself another kill.”

                “That makes two,” Jake says, and Bradley will save the fact that he now technically has three for a day when he needs to bring Jake down a peg. Or when he needs to remind him that he had no choice, because taking life is not a thrill either of them particularly want.

                “Mav has five. Makes him an ace.”

         ��      Bradley shakes his head, because he’s pretty sure Mav doesn’t like the idea that he’s killed people either, although again he expects similar sage advice to don’t think if he ever asks him about it. Maybe he might surprise him though. He calls out to him, glad they’re at least going to have a chance of mending their relationship and he smiles, starting to feel the world tilt again.

                “Thank you for saving my life.

                “It’s what my dad would’ve done,” Bradley says, and he knows it’s the truth. The hug he gets has him wincing and Jake hasn’t stepped further away than a couple of feet, has clearly been watching him carefully, is pushing his way towards him, his hands running over Bradley's face and torso in concern and he presses his face into his hand, suddenly feeling like sleep would be a really good thing to do right now.

                “You need to go to the fucking sickbay.”

                “Uh… Something you want to share with the class Hangman?” Natasha asks.

                “Yeah. I just saved his life, don't want him to fall off the fucking carrier and waste all my hard work.”

                “Come on, take me to sickbay.”

                “Okay, that’s weird... Maybe he's concussed,” Natasha says.

                “Oh, he’s definitely concussed,” Maverick says, and Bradley wants to argue, but Jake’s arm is around his waist and supporting him, leading him away from the noise.

                Then they’re going down some steps, Jake turns at the bottom and reaches for him, kisses him and Bradley smiles and hums appreciatively, even with his brain feeling like it’s swimming in soup he’ll never turn down being kissed by Jake.

                “I thought you were taking me to sickbay?”

                “I am, but first I’m going to kiss you because I am so happy to see you alive. And I won’t yell at you, because I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion –”

                “And broken ribs,” Bradley adds, because he’s pretty that where the pain is coming from.

                “Jesus Rooster. I am so angry with you. How dare you risk yourself like that. You’re an idiot!”

                “Your idiot though. I hope?”

                “Yes you’re mine. Damn it. Come on, sickbay.”

                “Thought you were going to kiss me?”

                “I did, but then you mentioned broken ribs. And I’m thinking we’re going to have to get creative for a little bit while you mend… come on.”

…            …            …

                Of course Mav ends up in the sick bay too, being forced to be looked over by an exasperated Cyclone and amused looking Warlock. Both clearly relieved that everyone is back alive, even if not well.

                “So, how long have you two been together then?” Mav asks, and Bradley follows his gaze to his and Jake’s linked fingers. The fact that Jake hasn’t left his side. Yeah. That’s not subtle at all. He guesses they’re done with keeping it from everyone then. He’s more than okay with that.

                “Couple of days.”

                “Over a decade.”

                They look at each other and both pull a face.

                “It's complicated.”

                Maverick looks between them and simply nods his head.

…            …            …

                Jake doesn’t leave him alone, only when Natasha arrives and tells Jake to go and eat and have a shower does he actually go, kissing him quickly and throwing Natasha a wink as he leaves. She looks a bit worried and confused and he’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

                “So… you finally giving up on your penpal huh? Settling with Hangman?”

                “What?”

                “Your online boyfriend. You giving the thing with Hangman a go instead now? I thought you were… going with the guy online.”

                “Uh. Not exactly. Jake is my online boyfriend.”

                “What?”

                “Yeah.”

                “The guy you’ve been… holy shit. You’ve been together for years and you’ve only just figured it out?”

                Oh fuck, he realizes his mistake then, realizes he’s never going to hear the end of it. From both her and Jake both. And probably fucking Coyote too.

                “Haven’t the two of you been fucking each other for like, the last three years?”

                “Natasha!”

                “Oh no, I have heard too many drunken ramblings about his ass to let this go. You owe me so many foot massages if you want me to keep this quiet.”

                “Fuck.”

 …           …            …

>>I need to tell you something.

>>Through Grindr?

>>Yeah well, it’s relevant I guess.

>>Wanted to tell you before I delete it off my phone.

>>I haven’t hooked up with anyone but you since 2016.

>>I mean, it’s either been you in person, or you on here. So no one but you.

                “Really?” Jake asks, voice loud in the quiet of the room.

                “Yeah, really.”

                “Oh.”

                “Mmm. You’re my first choice online and you’re my first choice in person so pretty much makes you my only choice…”

                “Good. Just the way I like it.”

                “Me too.”

2019 - Jake's POV

[niallerspayno]

Gotta Be You - Part 2

Masterlist

As Liam Payne’s little sister, you’ve always lived in the background—quiet, careful, and content to let him take the spotlight. When he joins One Direction, he brings you on tour, hoping you’ll find your place. Instead, you find Niall. He’s sunshine in human form—warm, kind, and instantly drawn to you. But you’re shy, cautious, and terrified of breaking Liam’s one rule: his bandmates are off-limits. Still, Niall waits. As years pass and friendship slowly turns into something more, you start to wonder—could he be your first everything?

Tags: Niall x reader, Liam x sister!reader, slow burn, angst, forbidden love, mutual pining, smut (virgin reader, protected p in v)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 - coming soon

...

You’ve been working with the boys for nearly two years now, and by now, tour life feels like second nature. What started as Liam bringing you along to “help out�� has turned into an actual job. You’re officially assistant tour manager now, working alongside Paul, juggling schedules and solving last-minute disasters without batting an eye. You’re not just Liam’s little sister anymore—you’re part of the team.

The boys are on their second world tour, and at nineteen, you’ve grown into the role more than anyone expected—maybe even yourself. You’ve learned how to handle dressing room chaos, venue miscommunications, and sleep-deprived crew members. The adrenaline of it all—the music, the travel, the pressure—it suits you in a way you never imagined.

And Niall’s still in your life.

That hasn’t changed.

Not in the way that matters.

You and Niall have stayed close. Friendly. Easy. Safe. Sometimes too safe. The two of you still share snacks on the bus, still joke about inside references no one else remembers, still find quiet corners to talk when the world feels too loud.

But your feelings for him? They never went away.

You’ve tried to ignore it. Told yourself the timing’s never been right, that Liam would never be okay with it, that friendship is better than nothing. And you’ve never let yourself cross that line again. Just one kiss, shared in moonlight and fear, tucked away in a corner of your memory.

You’ve kissed other people since—nothing serious, a few clumsy moments at parties or backstage afterparties when you let yourself pretend—but none of them made you feel the way you felt on that balcony. Not even close.

Tonight, the afterparty is in full swing. The venue is buzzing with crew, industry types, and the boys from 5 Seconds of Summer, who’ve joined the tour as openers. Music pulses low from the speakers, and you’re posted up at the bar with a drink in hand, catching your breath after another hectic show.

You swirl the straw around your drink, letting the ice clink softly against the glass. The hum of conversation wraps around you, warm and hazy, and you let yourself relax into it.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ashton says, appearing beside you with that signature smirk, a drink in one hand and mischief in his eyes.

You smile, grateful for the distraction. “Pretty sure I saw you five hours ago during soundcheck.”

“Details,” he says, leaning one elbow on the bar. “You’re off the clock now, aren’t you? That means I get to charm you properly.”

You laugh, tilting your head at him. “Is that what this is? You charming me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” he says easily. “Besides, I’ve been warned not to flirt with the guys’ sisters, so technically, I’m following protocol by being subtle.”

You raise an eyebrow. “This is you being subtle?”

He shrugs, unabashed. “I’m Australian. We’re not built for subtle.”

He nudges your arm lightly, and it’s easy to smile with him—it always is. Ashton’s charming in a way that doesn’t feel dangerous. He’s safe. Flirty, sure, but he doesn’t make your heart stutter the way—

You feel it before you see him.

That shift in the air.

Your eyes flick across the room, and there he is. Niall. Leaning against the far wall, drink in hand, laughing at something Louis just said. But then his gaze lifts. Finds you.

And just like that, the air changes again.

You look away too quickly, but not quickly enough. You saw the flicker in his eyes—the moment he realized who you were with. What it might look like. What it might mean.

Ashton doesn’t miss it either.

“Friend of yours?” he asks, casually sipping his drink, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

You nod, feeling the tightness in your chest return. “Yeah. Just… Niall.”

Ashton watches you for a second, then offers a quieter smile. “I didn’t mean to step on anything. You want me to back off?”

“No,” you say too fast. Then softer, “There’s nothing to step on.”

He hums, unconvinced, but lets it go. “Well, in that case,” he says, tipping his glass toward yours, “here’s to letting things be what they are.”

You clink your glasses together. And when he grins at you again, you smile back.

But your mind’s already drifting—pulled toward the boy across the room whose eyes never stay off you for long. The one you’ve never really let go of.

And the worst part?

You don’t think he’s let go either.

...

You slip back to your hotel room long after midnight, heels in hand, hair tousled, makeup a little smudged. The hallway is quiet now—no music, no laughter, no crew members stumbling in after one too many drinks. Just you and the echo of your own footsteps on the carpet.

You close the door softly behind you and lean against it, exhaling. The afterparty was… fine. Loud, a little messy, full of faces you half-knew and flirtations you didn’t want to think too hard about. Ashton had been sweet, funny, even charming in a laid-back kind of way. And it had felt good, at first—to be noticed like that. To feel a little desired.

But it hadn’t lasted.

Because even while you were laughing with him, your eyes kept drifting across the room. Kept finding Niall. And his kept finding you.

You’re just about to head to the bathroom and wash off the night when there’s a knock at your door.

Three soft taps. Hesitant. Familiar.

Your heart jumps.

You open the door to find Niall standing there, hoodie on, head down. He looks up slowly, his eyes searching yours.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

You nod and step aside. He slips past you, standing in the middle of the room like he’s not sure whether to sit or speak. His jaw is tight, and his hands are still in his pockets like he’s holding something in.

“I saw you leave,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t like the look on your face.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly tired. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t buy it. “Were you gonna go home with him?”

Your eyes shoot up. “What?”

“Ashton,” he says. He says the name like it’s sour in his mouth. “He was all over you tonight.”

You blink, caught off guard. “He wasn’t all over me. He was just being friendly.”

Niall scoffs under his breath, then runs a hand through his hair, pacing a step or two. “Maybe. Maybe he was. But I know how this stuff goes. You get close, you let your guard down, and then someone uses you for a night and moves on like it meant nothing.”

Your breath catches. “Is that what you think I’d let happen?”

“No,” he says quickly, turning to face you. “No. That’s what I’m scared of.”

His voice cracks slightly, and something in you softens.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, or who you can be with,” he says, quieter now. “You’re allowed to… you know. Be with people. I just—” He stops, jaw clenched, frustration and worry warring in his expression. “I just didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You hesitate, fingers gripping the blanket beside you. “It wasn’t going to go anywhere. I wouldn’t have let it.”

“Why not?”

The question hangs there, heavier than you expected. You swallow, heart racing.

“Because,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve never done that before.”

Niall goes still.

His brows pull together, lips parting like he’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. He takes a slow step closer, his voice low, disbelieving. “You haven’t?”

You shake your head, eyes dropping to the floor. “Not that weird, you know,” you mumble, trying to sound light. “It’s not like there’s been a queue of people lining up for the chance.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to unhear what you just said. “Are you serious?”

You glance up, shoulders tensing. “Don’t make it a thing, Niall. It’s not like I’m waiting for some perfect person or anything. I just... haven’t felt right about it. That’s all.”

He exhales, and something flickers behind his eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just—”

He pauses, his jaw tightening as he tries to find the words.

“I would.”

The words land between you, soft but weighted. Your eyes snap to his.

“What?”

“If you ever wanted,” he says, voice careful now, vulnerable. “If you wanted it to be me. I would.”

You blink, thrown off balance by the quiet intensity in his voice. “You don’t have to say that just because you feel sorry for me or something.”

He steps forward again, closing the space. “I’m not saying it because I feel sorry for you. I’m saying it because I care about you. Because you matter to me, and if you ever decided you wanted that... I’d make sure it felt right. And safe. And real.”

Your breath catches. “Niall...”

He watches you carefully, like he’s afraid to push too far, too fast. His voice stays soft, steady. “It doesn’t have to mean anything more than you want it to.”

You stare at him, heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you’re scared of all the relationship stuff,” he continues, his thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “I know you’ve got reasons for keeping your distance. And I’d never try to change that. But if this is something you’re thinking about—if it’s something you want to do—I’d be there for you. No pressure. No expectations.”

He hesitates, then adds, “Just one friend helping another out.”

You bite your lip, throat tightening at how kind he sounds. How careful he’s being with you.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’d really do that? For me?”

“I would,” he says, without hesitation. “Because I know what your first time should be. It should be with someone who makes you feel safe. Someone who won’t make you regret it.”

You let the silence sit for a moment, the truth of it settling in your chest like something delicate but warm.

And then you nod, slow and unsure. “Okay.”

His eyes flicker—surprise, then something else. Something tender. He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, you’ll change your mind.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, just for you. “We can stop at any second. You say the word, and it’s done. No questions, no pressure.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper.

There’s a quiet between you, soft and thick with everything unspoken. Then Niall glances toward the door behind you, then back at you again.

“Do you… wanna come to my room?” he asks softly, his voice a careful murmur. “I’ve got, um… protection there. And it’s quieter. More comfortable.”

It doesn’t sound awkward. It doesn’t sound like a line. It just sounds like him—gentle, thoughtful, not pushing, just offering.

The words settle between you, warm and steady.

You nod, your voice catching slightly. “Okay.”

A small smile flickers across his face—nervous but real—and he reaches out, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slotting between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

No fanfare. No fear.

He gives your hand a light squeeze and you follow him, slipping out of your room into the soft hush of the hallway. The air feels different now—charged, but not rushed. His pace is unhurried as he leads you down the corridor, the hotel carpet muffling your footsteps.

When you reach his door, he lets go of your hand just long enough to swipe his keycard. The green light flashes, and he pushes the door open, stepping aside to let you in first.

His room is dim, only the bedside lamp on, casting a golden glow over the space. The bed’s unmade, a hoodie tossed over the armchair, guitar leaning against the wall like always. It smells like him—clean laundry and something faintly woodsy—and it makes your chest tighten in a way that’s not entirely nerves.

He closes the door behind you, then turns to face you again, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can still say no, you know. At any point. I won’t be upset.”

You meet his eyes, the sincerity in them making your heart thud a little harder.

“I don’t want to say no,” you whisper. “I want to be with you.”

The way he looks at you then—like you’ve just handed him something breakable and precious—makes you feel more seen than you’ve ever been.

He nods once, stepping closer. “Okay,” he says, voice low. “Then let’s take it slow, yeah?”

You nod back, already breathless.

“Slow’s good,” you say softly.

He smiles, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Then, still watching your face, he leans in and kisses you—slow, careful, like he’s tasting the moment, like he wants to memorize it.

His lips linger against yours, warm and tender, his hand drifting to cradle your jaw as if afraid you might slip away. There’s no rush in him, no urgency—just a quiet kind of reverence, like he’s savoring something he’s wanted for a long time but never dared to take.

You kiss him back, a little hesitant at first, then with more certainty, your fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. The soft hum he lets out at your touch makes your stomach flip, and he deepens the kiss just slightly—enough to make your breath hitch, but still gentle. Still careful.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier now.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek.

You nod, voice soft. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We don’t have to go any further. I mean it.”

“I want to,” you whisper, meeting his eyes. “I want it to be you.”

His expression shifts—something tender, something almost awed—and he leans in again, kissing you softer this time, like he’s trying to anchor you. His hands slide to your waist, warm and steady, and yours drift up to his shoulders as he starts guiding you gently toward the bed.

You sit down first, heart pounding, and he kneels in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your thighs.

“I’ll keep asking,” he says, voice low, his gaze locked with yours. “Every step of the way, alright? You just say the word and I’ll stop.”

Your breath catches again—because no one’s ever looked at you like this before. Like you’re something sacred. Like you’re not just wanted, but cherished.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He rises to his feet and leans in for another kiss—deeper this time, but still slow—and then he’s pulling his hoodie off, the fabric brushing against your hands as he goes. You let your fingers follow the line of his arms, your nerves giving way to something warmer, steadier.

When he leans down and presses his mouth to the skin just below your jaw, your eyes flutter shut, your breath catching in your throat.

His lips are warm, unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. His hands settle gently at your waist as he pulls back just enough to look at you again.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent.

You nod, lips parted. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

His hands move slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to stop him. When his fingers brush the hem of your shirt, he hesitates—waiting. You nod again, and he slips the fabric upward, lifting it over your head and tossing it gently aside.

His gaze drops, sweeping over you, and you expect to feel exposed—but you don’t. Not with the way he looks at you. Like he’s seeing something beautiful.

“You’re… gorgeous,” he breathes, his thumb brushing softly over your bare side. “You always have been.”

You reach for him then, letting your hands skim beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, and he helps you pull it off. His skin is warm under your palms, and you can feel the steady thud of his heart as he leans in to kiss you again—deeper this time, slower, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile.

He shifts, guiding you gently back onto the bed, his body coming down to meet yours with a softness that makes your chest ache.

Every kiss he trails down your neck, every whisper of his hands across your skin—it all feels like a promise. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. He just… takes his time.

When he reaches behind to unclasp your bra, he pauses again, his eyes meeting yours. You nod, shy but sure, and he lets it fall away, his gaze softening as he takes you in.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you don’t even have time to doubt it—because he says it like it’s fact. Like there’s no other way to see you.

His kisses continue, down your chest, your stomach, reverent and slow. When his hands find the button of your jeans, he hesitates again, waiting for your okay.

You give it, breathless. “I want this.”

Niall leans in, kissing you again—this time deeper, hungrier, like something inside him finally gave way. You can feel it in the way his hands tremble just slightly as he eases your jeans down, his touch still careful but now laced with something warmer, more urgent.

Once you’re bare beneath him, he draws back just enough to look at you—really look at you. His gaze doesn’t linger anywhere too long, like he’s not trying to memorize your body, but the way you feel. His breathing is shallow, chest rising and falling as he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your fingers reach for the hem of his shirt, and he lets you pull it over his head. The tension in your stomach twists tighter at the sight of him—familiar in so many ways, and yet this feels entirely new. He kisses you again, slower this time, and shifts his weight as he reaches over for protection.

He keeps his eyes on you as he rolls it on, his movements quick but careful. He leans down, nose brushing yours, his voice rough now—lower than before.

“Tell me if anything’s too much, yeah?”

You nod, lips parted, heart racing in your chest. “I will.”

He lines himself up, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your hip. And when he finally enters you, it’s a slow, cautious push—and your breath catches hard in your throat. His eyes widen in alarm.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “Just… adjusting.”

He stills completely, every muscle in his body tense as he waits for your go-ahead. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He lets out a breath of relief, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. And when he starts to move—gentle, rhythmic, patient—it’s like everything inside you slowly begins to open up.

Each thrust is careful at first, your body learning the rhythm, his hand cradling the back of your thigh to keep you close. He watches you the whole time, waiting for any sign that you’re unsure—but you aren’t. Not anymore. Not with him.

Your fingers dig lightly into his back, your hips rising to meet his. The discomfort fades into heat, the stretch becomes something good, and suddenly you’re pulling him closer, your voice whispering his name like a secret you’ve been keeping for years.

Niall’s head dips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “You feel incredible.”

You tilt your chin toward him, catching his mouth in another kiss—sloppier now, messier, both of you breathing harder. It’s not perfect. But it’s real. And it’s yours.

His pace builds just slightly, your soft moans meeting the low sounds he makes with each thrust. There’s nothing rushed about it—just heat, intimacy, the thrum of something that’s been simmering for too long finally coming to the surface.

He presses his forehead to yours as the rhythm deepens, the air between you thick with sweat and need.

“You’re okay?” he asks again, panting now, his voice wrecked.

You nod, nails dragging down his back. “Better than okay.”

His pace picks up just slightly—still slow, still careful, but with a growing urgency, like he’s losing himself in you. The tension builds between your bodies, every touch, every breath, drawing you closer to the edge.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the soft gasp that escapes him nearly undoes you.

“Niall,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he breathes, his mouth trailing kisses across your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “Not letting go of you.”

One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding the place where you need him most, circling with practiced care—just enough pressure, just enough rhythm. You cry out softly, your hips rising into his touch, your body unraveling beneath him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice strained. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Come on, love… let go for me.”

Your whole body tenses, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. It’s overwhelming and soft all at once, like being pulled under and held at the same time. You cling to him as you fall apart, every nerve alight, your heart hammering in your chest.

He groans low in your ear as you tighten around him, his rhythm faltering.

“Fuck,” he pants, and then with a few more shaky thrusts, he follows you over the edge—his body pressing deep into yours as he comes, his arms trembling with the effort to hold himself steady.

For a few long moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths, tangled together in the quiet dark. His weight is warm above you, comforting, anchoring. He doesn’t move right away—just leans his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

Then he pulls back gently, his eyes flicking down, making sure you’re still okay. You nod, too blissed out to speak, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek before slipping away just long enough to clean up and discard the condom.

When he returns, he climbs back into bed beside you without a word, just pulls you into his chest and wraps both arms around you like you’re the most important thing in the world. You tuck your face into the curve of his neck, your fingers resting over his heart, still beating fast.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Then he whispers, voice low and raw, “You alright?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. I’m… really good.”

He exhales, relief soft and warm against your hair. One of his hands slides up your back, the other resting low on your hip, keeping you close.

There’s a beat of quiet before he murmurs, “Will you stay?”

Your heart skips. You lift your head just enough to look at him, his face half-lit by the glow from the streetlight outside. His expression is open—hopeful, but careful not to push.

“I don’t know if I should,” you admit quietly. “If Liam sees me coming out of your room in the morning…”

He nods, lips pressing into a small, understanding smile. “You don’t have to stay all night,” he says gently. “If you want to go back, I get it. I just… wouldn’t mind falling asleep with you.”

Something about the way he says it—so honest, so unguarded—undoes the last bit of hesitation in your chest.

You press your forehead against his. “Okay. I’ll stay for a bit.”

His arms tighten around you in silent thanks, and you feel him relax fully for the first time since stepping into your room hours ago. You close your eyes again, breathing in the warmth of his skin, the scent of him—clean cotton, something citrusy, unmistakably Niall.

Neither of you says another word.

His thumb strokes along your hip in a slow, absent rhythm. Your breathing syncs with his. And the world outside the quiet of his room fades away.

You don’t even notice when “a bit” becomes all night.

...

The morning sun is already stretching across the sheets when you blink awake, warm and tangled in Niall’s arms. His bare chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, and for one blissful moment, the world is soft and slow and safe.

You shift slightly, and his arms tighten around you. “Still here?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You nod. “Didn’t want to move.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. “S’nice waking up like this.”

But your stomach clenches, reality creeping back in. Liam. The rest of the band. The fact that you're very much still in Niall’s bed… wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

“I should go before anyone sees—”

A knock at the door cuts you off.

You freeze.

Niall’s eyes fly open. “Shit.”

Another knock. Then Louis’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. “Niall? You alive in there, mate?”

Niall throws the blanket off and jumps out of bed like it’s on fire, grabbing for his joggers. “One sec!”

You scramble upright, wrapping the blanket around yourself and looking around frantically for your clothes. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

He rushes to the door, trying to block your view with his body. “Just—just give me a minute!”

But Louis doesn’t wait.

The door swings open, and Louis barges in—Harry right behind him.

Both of them stop dead.

Their eyes lock onto you, wide-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, sitting on Niall’s bed. Then they look at Niall. Then back to you.

Then Louis says. “Oh.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “Wait. Wait—wait.”

Niall holds up a hand. “Okay. Everyone calm down. It’s not—It’s not what it looks like.”

Harry points between the two of you. “Really? Because it looks like you shagged Liam’s little sister.”

You let out a strangled groan and pull the blanket higher, like maybe if you cover enough skin, you’ll disappear entirely.

“She—she needed help,” Niall blurts, arms flailing slightly as he tries to form a sentence. “I was just… being a good friend.”

Silence.

Dead, suffocating silence.

Louis blinks slowly, like he’s trying to reboot. “I’m sorry—what?”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Niall.”

“Mate.”

Louis steps forward, hand on his chest like he’s been personally attacked. “Did you just say you slept with Liam’s sister and your excuse is she needed help?”

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

Niall winces. “Okay, that sounded worse out loud—”

Harry throws his hands up. “Worse? Worse? You said it like you unclogged her sink, not took her virginity!”

You let out a panicked gasp. “Harry!”

Louis’s mouth drops open, full comedic shock on his face. “*Wait—wait—hold on a second—her first time!?”

You can’t breathe.

The room tilts—just slightly—but enough to make your vision blur at the edges. Your chest rises too fast, and you clutch the blanket tighter around you, fingers trembling.

Niall notices immediately.

“Hey—hey,” he says, his voice low and urgent as he kneels in front of you, blocking the boys from view. “Look at me. You’re okay. It’s alright.”

Your breath shudders out of you. “I—I can’t—I didn’t mean—”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” he says again, reaching for your hand under the covers. His touch is grounding, warm and steady, and when you finally manage to look up at him, his expression is soft and serious, all traces of flustered humor gone. “Just breathe with me, alright? Deep breath in—just like that, good girl—and out…”

You follow his lead, shakily mimicking the rise and fall of his chest.

Louis and Harry go quiet behind him, the weight of what’s happening finally settling over them like a heavy blanket.

“Guys,” Niall says without turning around. “You need to stop. Please.”

Harry rubs the back of his neck, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t realize she was—”

“You think Liam’s gonna be this chill when he finds out?” Louis mutters, but it’s less joking now, more a nervous deflection.

“He’s not going to find out,” Niall snaps, still soft but with enough heat to silence them.

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliated tears stinging at the corners. “I shouldn’t have said anything—I wasn’t supposed to—”

“Hey,” Niall interrupts gently, brushing your hair back with careful fingers. “Don’t. Don’t do that. You don’t have to be ashamed of anything. Not with me.”

You nod, but your throat is still tight, and the second you glance toward the doorway—where Louis and Harry are awkwardly hovering like they don’t know if they should stay or leave—the panic tightens again.

“Can you…” you start, voice barely audible, “can you ask them to go?”

Niall nods without hesitation and turns over his shoulder. “Guys—please. Give us a minute.”

Harry nods, pulling Louis back by the arm.

“Right. Yeah. Of course,” Harry murmurs. “We’re not gonna say anything. We’ll… we’ll talk later.”

Louis gives Niall a look—part disbelief, part warning. “You owe us a massive explanation when she’s not hyperventilating.”

Then the door clicks shut behind them, and it’s just you and Niall again.

You let out a shaky breath and let yourself collapse against him. His arms come around you instantly, tucking you into his chest like a shield against the world.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against your temple. “They just surprised you. That’s all.”

“They’re so loud,” you say, trying for a laugh but sounding more like you’re about to cry again.

Niall chuckles under his breath. “Tell me about it.”

You stay there for a while, curled up in the quiet thump of his heartbeat, your own panic slowly ebbing under the weight of his arms.

After a long moment, he leans back just enough to look at you. “Still wanna run away to a different country? Because I’m still down.”

You crack a tiny, teary smile. “Only if we go somewhere Liam can’t fly to.”

He grins, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. “Deal.”

...

Part 3

[oceannote]

The Space In Between

Note from author: Hello, my lovely people. As I said last time, new day, new fic 👀. This is extra special because it really got me into a crazy writing mood. The scenario is not as complicated as it looks, but it might be a bit disappointing for those expecting a Yoongi fic. I promise it is coming, but for now we will focus on Mrs. Jeon for a bit. XoXo YK

Summary: As a celebrity personal trainer, your inner circle was always filled with very popular idols. But what happens when one of your closest clients wants to become more than your friends, even though you are dating his group member?

Warnings: Characters are fake and are a result of fiction, mentions of cheating, explicit content and swear words. Do not copy, translate or remake the story.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “I am absolutely exhausted,” I groan, dramatically collapsing into the car seat like I’ve just run a marathon through hell. I fiddle with the seatbelt that’s currently trying to slice my hipbone in half. “This thing is literally trying to kill me. Who designed these?”

From beside me, Hoseok chuckles, giving me a thumbs up like we’re in a buddy-cop movie. “Hey, we really appreciate you coming, though. The guys are probably dying to see some familiar faces before they rejoin the chaos that is real life.”

He flashes me that signature Hobi smile, the one that could make flowers bloom in winter.

In the front passenger seat, Jin turns halfway around, bracing himself on the back of my chair like he’s about to deliver some divine prophecy. “I bet you're counting down the minutes until Yoongi’s back, huh?”

I shrug, fiddling with the fuzzy cat-shaped keychain dangling from my bag, a mini version of Mochi, our shared white menace. “It’s not too bad. He’s in public service, so his schedule's been flexible-ish. But yeah… I haven’t seen him since May 1st, so I’m definitely ready for some in-person boyfriend energy again.”

And if it wasn’t clear before, yes. Min Yoongi is my boyfriend. That Min Yoongi. The mysterious, effortlessly cool, slightly terrifying BTS rapper that millions of people would sell their soul to share a coffee with? Yeah. Him.

How did that happen? Great question.

Let’s rewind.

A few years ago, I got hired at HYBE as the main personal trainer and pilates instructor for idols. I know, plot twist, right? And in a shocking turn of events, not running my mouth for once actually paid off. My client list exploded. At this point, 80% of the idol industry had been trained under my guidance. HYBE artists in particular were my speciality. So naturally, when I met Yoongi at some swanky corporate event, I was already neck-deep in professional idol land.

And yet, Yoongi was… different. Quiet. Sharp. Inappropriately funny when no one else could hear. We went from polite conversations over buffet shrimp to full-blown dinner buddies within a month. And then, of course, came the romantic disaster waiting to happen.

We started dating while he was already enrolled in his military duties, which probably sounds like the least ideal situation. But honestly, it was kind of perfect. With the other members scattered in different stages of service, we had room to just be. No cameras, no pressure, no “oppa” nonsense.

It was all going great, until it didn’t.

Yoongi, in a moment of boyfriend brain malfunction, meant to send me a cute post-nap selfie of us snuggled in bed, our heads barely peeking out from under the covers like two sleepy dumplings. Adorable, right?

Except he accidentally sent it… to the BTS group chat.

Yeah. That group chat.

I’ll never forget the chaos that followed. Namjoon apparently dropped his tablet. Taehyung’s response was, “Omg hyung???? 😳💀💀💀” Jimin just sent thirty-seven skull emojis and the words “I KNEW IT.” And Jungkook? He texted me separately: “So… you and hyung? For real?”

Lucky for Yoongi, I already had a decent rapport with the members. I was especially close with Jimin and Taehyung through training. And Jungkook… well. Jungkook and I were very close before Yoongi and I ever started dating. Practically work besties.

So now, here I am. In one of two black vans crawling toward the military base to pick up Jimin and Jungkook, who are finally, finally wrapping up their last hours of service. My makeup is doing its best to hide the exhaustion, my heart is low-key sprinting a marathon, and I’m trying very hard not to overthink seeing Jungkook again for the first time in months, after going ghost mode on him.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Jin asks, eyeing me with raised eyebrows and an annoying amount of insight.

“Ready for what?”

“For the moment, Jungkook sees you again and possibly bombards you with questions regarding how you completely forgot about your friendship since you started dating Yoongi.”

I scoff. “He’ll be fine.”

Hoseok laughs so hard he almost chokes on his iced coffee. “You keep telling yourself that, Y/n. You keep telling yourself that.”

And somewhere in the back of my head, I hear a familiar voice.

‘So… you and hyung? For real?’

Yeah. This is going to be fine.

Right? The car slows down as we approach the entrance of the military base, and the first thing I notice, unsurprisingly, is the crowd.

Dozens of cameras are already positioned in front of the gates. Lights are flashing even before we fully come to a stop. Reporters are lined up like they're waiting for royalty to arrive. Honestly, it feels a bit surreal, even though I should be used to this by now.

“Yep… media circus is in full swing,” Jin mutters, peeking through the front window with a sigh. “Didn’t even give them ten seconds of peace.”

“They probably camped out here overnight,” Hoseok says, shaking his head. “They always do this. Every time someone is discharged.”

I lean forward slightly, catching a better glimpse of the chaos outside. “I think I should stay inside,” I say quietly, pulling back just as a blinding camera flash hits the window. “The last thing they need right now is someone new in the frame for people to speculate about.”

Jin turns back toward me, his expression soft. “Good call. It’s already going to be overwhelming.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. “Better to let them have this moment with the cameras before they get a chance to breathe.”

They both nod at me once more before slipping out of the van, their faces already composed for the media. As the door slides shut behind them, it feels like someone just opened floodgates, camera shutters go off like rapid gunfire, and a wave of voices erupts all at once.

I quietly shift toward the back of the van, climbing over to the end bench and settling in as comfortably as I can. This… is going to take a while.

From my spot, I can see just enough through the tinted windows. The crowd is thick. Security is barely keeping the reporters behind the rope lines. The energy is loud, chaotic.

About ten minutes pass before the large steel gates finally open.

And there they are.

Jimin and Jungkook step out side by side, wearing their uniforms with a quiet pride that’s impossible to ignore. Even from here, I can tell something’s changed. Their posture, their expressions, there’s a gravity in the way they walk now. More grounded. More sure of themselves.

They’ve grown.

Literally too.

Jungkook was muscular before, but now he looks like he could lift Jin and toss him over his shoulder like a gym bag without breaking a sweat. His shoulders are broader, his jawline sharper, and his walk, confident, steady. Even the way he scans the crowd is different. More focused. Controlled.

And Jimin… god. His dancer’s build has shifted. He still moves gracefully, but there’s a solid strength in him now. His arms, his back, even through the uniform, you can see the lean muscle sculpted from daily drills and constant training. He looks like someone who’s been through something and came out the other side tougher.

I watch as they walk toward the others. The moment Jin and Hoseok spot them, they break into a run.

“Jimin-ah!” Hoseok calls out, arms already wide.

Jimin barely has time to react before he’s being wrapped in a full hug, and then Jin’s joining in, slapping Jungkook on the back so hard it actually makes Jungkook laugh.

“I can’t believe it’s really over!” Jin says, eyes already glassy. “You two look like you came back from a drama shoot, not the military!”

Jungkook grins, pulling him in for a tight hug. “Hyung, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“You’re not allowed to cry before me,” Jimin chimes in, his voice soft but teasing. “That’s the rule.”

Reporters are shouting questions now, microphones shoved into the chaos from every angle.

“How does it feel to be discharged?”

“Jimin-ssi! Jungkook-ssi! What are your plans now?”

“Is BTS planning a comeback soon?”

Neither of them answers right away. They’re too busy taking it in, hugging their members, greeting staff, exchanging quiet words that don’t carry over the noise. Hoseok hands them each a bouquet, classic white roses wrapped in blue ribbon, and Jin tries to snap a selfie while the camera flashes nearly blind him.

I stay still, tucked into my corner of the van. Watching. Taking it all in. My heart’s racing a little faster than I’d like, but I can’t help it.

This is a big moment, for them, and somehow… for me too.

And then it happens.

Jungkook turns his head slightly. His eyes scan the crowd, casual at first. But then he pauses. Looks past the cameras. Past the noise. Toward the van.

Our eyes meet through the tinted glass.

Just for a second.

But he sees me.

And I know it. After about twenty more minutes of interviews, camera flashes, and a seemingly endless stream of questions from the press, the atmosphere finally begins to shift. Hoseok and Jin stand off to the side, quietly admiring the way Jimin and Jungkook handle the attention with that familiar polished ease, half-practiced charm, half genuine relief to be back.

The crowd starts thinning, the PR team begins giving signals, and finally, someone calls out, “Alright, let’s wrap it up here. Let’s get the boys to the vans.”

From where I’m sitting, I can just barely see through the tinted glass. The four of them start to split, Jimin and Hoseok walking toward the first van, deep in quiet conversation. Jin follows a few steps behind Jungkook, who’s moving steadily in our direction.

I feel my heart drop straight into my stomach.

The sliding door opens with a mechanical hiss, and then…

There he is.

Jungkook steps in first, followed closely by Jin, and the moment our eyes meet, it’s like the world pauses. His gaze lands on me like a weight, pinning me in place. It’s not surprise on his face, not exactly. It’s something deeper, recognition, warmth… longing?

I blink, but before I can even say his name, he moves. Without warning, Jungkook launches himself over the bench separating us, throwing his arms around me in a hug that’s more relief than greeting.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” he says, voice low, face buried against my shoulder. I feel him inhale, and it’s clear he’s taking in the scent of my hair like it’s something he’s missed. Like it’s something he’s needed.

I laugh, soft and stunned, and glance at Jin with wide eyes. “Uh… hey to you too,” I say, tapping Jungkook’s back a couple times in the universal please release me now signal.

Jin raises his eyebrows, clearly just as taken aback as I am. “Okay, dramatic reunion noted,” he says lightly, though there’s an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook finally pulls back, eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed. He climbs over the bench and settles into the seat next to Jin, but his eyes don’t leave mine. They’re shining. And not just with happiness. There’s something else there, something heavier, more personal. And I don’t want to name it.

Not yet.

“Ahh, Jungkook,” Jin says, squeezing his shoulder with a brotherly warmth. “Can’t believe you’re actually out. You made it.”

Jungkook nods, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath for months. “Yeah… I still can’t believe it either. It feels unreal. I’m excited, but it’s… weird too.”

He turns to me again. “And Y/n. Seriously, thank you for coming. It means a lot.”

I smile, sitting forward slightly so I don’t have to talk over the seats. “No worries. I figured it might be my last chance to see you before you get swallowed up by schedules and rehearsals again.”

“That’s exactly what’s about to happen,” Jin says with a chuckle, leaning back against his seat. “Ten days from now, Yoongi’s out, and after that, poof, Y/n belongs to him again. This might be our final moment of freedom.”

I laugh at the joke, light-hearted and warm, and Jin joins me. But Jungkook doesn’t laugh.

His expression doesn’t shift right away. He just stares at the space between us, jaw tight for a split second before he smooths it into a smile. But I saw it, the flicker of something real, unfiltered, just beneath the surface.

Because for Jin, it’s a joke. But for Jungkook, it’s not.

He knows this moment, me, sitting here, waiting for him, sharing space, smiling like old times, it’s temporary. Once Yoongi’s out, this soft in-between space we’re in disappears. And he won’t have moments like this anymore.

Not like this.

Not with me.

Jin leans his head back and closes his eyes briefly, rubbing at his temples. “God, it’s already starting. Schedules. Emails. I’ve got fifteen unopened messages just from the stylist team.”

“I haven’t even turned my phone back on,” Jungkook mutters.

“You’re in for a lovely shock when you do,” Jin replies.

Jungkook glances at me again, then speaks a little softer. “Did Yoongi… know you were coming today?”

I hesitate. “Yeah. I told him. He said it made sense, that you’d probably want people you were close to there. He was fine with it.”

Jungkook nods, but doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You were always there,” he says after a beat, almost like he’s not talking to me directly, just stating a fact. “Before. During. Even when you couldn’t visit often. I felt that.”

I don’t know what to say to that. So I just look at him. And he looks back, like he wants to ask something he knows he can’t.

Jin breaks the silence with a yawn. “Okay, this van better stop at a convenience store or I’m going to collapse. I need real food, not protein bars and cafeteria rice.”

That makes Jungkook laugh, and the tension finally cracks. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

We drive off a few minutes later, the mood lighter again. But as I stare out the window, I can still feel Jungkook’s eyes on me, watching, remembering.

And maybe, just maybe, wishing things were different. 10 months ago — 11:12 PM

Private bathroom, second floor of the gym

“Don’t touch me, Jungkook.” My voice is sharp, more out of panic than anger, as I swat his hand away from my shoulder and storm into the private bathroom.

The door creaks shut behind me with a heavy thud, but it doesn’t stay closed for long. He follows quietly, but with purpose. Click. The lock turns. The silence between us now is suffocating.

“Stop yelling,” he says lowly, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it, arms crossed, his chest still heaving from the workout, and now, from this confrontation. “Please.”

I turn to face him, still brimming with fury, my heart pounding in my ears. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” I snap, voice lower now, but no less sharp. “Do you even realise what you’re asking me?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Then tell me. What exactly am I asking you?”

“You’re asking me if I’m in love with you,” I say, voice trembling slightly, though I try to steady it. “Knowing that I’m with Yoongi. Knowing he’s your friend. Your brother. What the hell is wrong with you?”

His jaw clenches, and he runs a hand through his damp hair, breathing hard. “Then just answer the question,” he says, stepping forward, pointing toward the door. “Say it. Say you don’t have feelings for me, not even a little, and I swear to God, I’ll walk out of here and never bring it up again.”

I blink at him, stunned. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping as he takes another step forward, closing the space between us. “But you’re not trying to convince me that I’m wrong. And that says more than anything.”

“Jungkook…”, I warn, pressing my back against the cold tile wall near the sink. “Don’t do this right now.”

“Why not now?” he snaps. “Why is it always the wrong time with you? We’ve been circling each other for two years. I know you. I know how your mind works. I know how you pull away whenever things feel too real.”

He pauses, breathing shakily, his eyes scanning my face like he’s looking for permission he already knows he doesn’t have.

“I watched you run away from this,” he says, quieter now. “From us. Every time I tried to show you there was something more than just ‘friendship’ here, you shut it down. And then, suddenly, you’re with Yoongi. Just like that.”

I say nothing, because there is nothing to say.

“You took the safe option,” he continues, his voice cracking slightly. “You knew he was steady. Predictable. He wouldn’t mess things up. But me?” He laughs bitterly. “I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” I whisper.

“I still do,” he replies.

I close my eyes, feeling the air shift around us. There’s barely any space left between our bodies now. I can smell the post-workout scent of him, clean sweat, faint cologne, something that’s always been him.

“I care about Yoongi,” I say, barely audible. “He’s good to me. He’s never made me question….”

“But does he make you feel like this?” Jungkook interrupts, eyes locked on mine. “Do you lie awake at night thinking about him the way I think about you? Do you stop breathing when he walks into the room? Does it hurt to not touch him when you’re this close?”

I inhale sharply, turning my face away, but he doesn’t let me hide.

“You’re not just hurting me by pretending this isn’t real,” he says. “You’re hurting yourself.”

His hand lifts gently, almost unsure, like he’s giving me time to pull away. But I don’t. His fingers touch my cheek, warm and trembling slightly. I meet his eyes. There’s a storm behind them, but also something softer. Something aching.

And that’s when it happens.

I move first.

The kiss is hesitant, painfully slow, like we both know it’s a mistake, but neither of us can stop. His lips meet mine like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. Like he’s been holding this in for so long, it hurts to finally let it out.

We stay like that, lost, for just a moment. But it feels like the world pauses.

When I pull away, my forehead rests gently against his. Our breaths are short. My hands are shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

He doesn’t speak. His eyes close, and for a second, I swear I feel him nod, just once. Like he already knew this would be the end before it even began.

Because that kiss wasn’t a promise. It was a farewell.

A final, selfish second in a world where we could’ve been something else, before I walked back into reality, into Yoongi’s arms, and left Jungkook behind. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “So, Y/n,” Jin says suddenly, turning in his seat to face me with that mischievous glint he always seems to keep tucked behind his polite smile. “Are you going to join us for dinner tonight? Taehyung and Namjoon are coming too. Should be a good time.”

I lift my gaze from my phone, a little surprised at the question. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Little welcome-back thing. Nothing fancy, just the usual suspects and too much food.”

I glance toward Jungkook beside him, but he’s staring out the window, fingers absently tapping against his leg.

“I can’t,” I say, giving Jin an apologetic smile. “I have a late training session tonight, with some of the Twice girls. Their schedules are tight this week.”

Jin gives me a small, understanding nod, but Jungkook reacts more slowly. His eyes flick toward me for a moment, then back to the front of the car.

“Oh,” is all he says.

That single syllable lands heavier than it should. There's a subtle shift in the air, like the temperature dropped a couple of degrees.

I glance back at my phone, suddenly wishing I hadn’t mentioned Twice by name. Not because I’m hiding anything, but because Jungkook knows them, too. He trained at my studio with them once or twice. And now I wonder what he’s thinking.

No one says much after that. The silence is… comfortable, but not effortless. A little too still.

Ten minutes later, the van pulls up behind my apartment building, the driver easing us into the private back entrance like always. A familiar routine. No flashing cameras, no curious glances, just the quiet hum of returning home.

“Well,” I say, unclipping my seatbelt and grabbing my bag from the floor, “it was really good seeing you both again.”

“You too,” Jin says, smiling softly. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Jungkook just nods. Brief. Almost too brief.

“Bye,” I offer, pushing open the van door and stepping out into the cool evening air. “Take care, yeah?”

Another nod, and I give them one last wave before slipping through the revolving doors and into the lobby of my building.

I’m halfway down the hall toward the elevator when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Jungkook: Is there any way I can convince you to come to dinner tonight?

I stop walking for a moment, staring down at the screen. My thumb hovers over the reply button as a slow sigh escapes my lips.

Of course. Of course, he wouldn’t let it go that easily.

I lean against the wall near the elevator and begin to type.

Y/n: I really can’t, Jungkook. The session runs until 9 pm, and by the time I’d be done and showered, it’s too late. Plus, my car’s still in the shop. I don’t feel great taking the train that late by myself.

His reply comes faster than I expect.

Jungkook: I’ll come pick you up.

Followed quickly by:

Jungkook: And I’ll drop you off. You won’t have to worry about anything.

I pause, jaw tightening slightly.

Y/n: Jungkook… I don’t think that’s a good idea.

The dots appear. Then disappear. Then reappear. Then finally:

Jungkook: Don’t worry. It’s not like that. I’m bringing my girlfriend to the dinner too. I just hoped… maybe we could go back to being the friends we were. You know. Before.

I reread the message. Then again. Then again, just to make sure I didn’t misread it.

Girlfriend?

My heart stutters for a moment. Just a beat, small, subtle, but it’s there. I feel it in the way my hand tightens around my phone. In the way my thoughts scatter like startled birds.

Since when?

A strange weight settles in my chest. Not jealousy, exactly. Just… something close. Something hollow.

He has a girlfriend. That should be a good thing. It is a good thing. It’s what people do. They move on. They find someone new.

But I hadn’t realised he had.

And I hadn’t realised how much that would make me feel like I’d just missed a step on the stairs.

I type, then delete. Then type again.

Y/n: Okay. Sure. I’ll be ready at 9:30.

His reply is instant.

Jungkook: Great. See you later.

I slide my phone into my pocket and step into the elevator. As the doors close in front of me, I lean my head back against the wall, eyes drifting up to the ceiling.

Friends.

Just friends.

Right. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Try to stretch it out, and when you dance, try to use some tape under it,” I tell Momo as she waves me goodbye. It’s a little past 9 PM, and the gym is finally quiet.

The last echoes of Twice’s chatter have faded into silence, the sound of their laughter replaced by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint scuff of my sneakers against the polished floor. I’m alone now, wiping down the weights section with practised speed. My body’s aching and my eyelids feel like they’re being held open by sheer willpower, but I’ve still got one more thing to do, get home, change, and somehow make it to dinner in one piece.

I toss another used towel into the laundry bin and grab a fresh one, crouching to wipe down the last bench. That’s when I hear it, the familiar ding of the front doorbell. It startles me for a second. No one else is scheduled this late.

I turn, expecting maybe a staff member who forgot something. Instead, standing casually just inside the entrance is Jungkook.

He’s in his usual off-duty look, an oversized black t-shirt that nearly reaches his thighs, ripped jeans, and those chunky sneakers he always says are “surprisingly comfortable.” His hair’s a little tousled, like he ran his hands through it one too many times, and he’s got that same unreadable expression he always wears when he’s thinking too much and saying too little.

“Oh. Hey,” I say, straightening up and tossing the damp towel in the bin. “What are you doing here?”

He gives me a lazy half-smile and leans his weight against the leg press machine like it’s home. “Figured you’d be finishing around now. I remembered your car’s still in the shop, and thought you might end up taking the metro. I was nearby, so I thought I’d drive you home, save both of us some time before dinner.”

I blink, caught slightly off guard. “You really didn’t have to. I was going to take a taxi.”

“Well, I’m already here,” he says, eyes following me as I cross the room to shut down the speaker system. “Might as well follow through.”

He says it so casually, like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. But the way his gaze tracks my every move… it’s different. It’s not quite intense, not quite soft. Just… observant. Like he’s searching for something on my face, but isn’t sure what.

I glance at him briefly over my shoulder. “Didn’t you have to pick up your girlfriend, too?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Minjeong’s taking an Uber to the restaurant. It’s easier that way, with the press and everything.”

I pause for a second, the name catching me off guard. Minjeong.

Something clicks.

Wait. Minjeong. Winter.

“So… you’re dating Winter?” The words slip out before I can stop them, a little sharper and more surprised than I meant.

He lets out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isn’t it kind of weird to call her by her stage name?”

“I mean… yeah. Sorry.” I turn back to the laptop, pretending to focus on logging out even though my hands are suddenly colder than they were a second ago. “I guess I just didn’t know. That you two were… together.”

“It’s not a secret,” he says, a little more gently now. “Just new. Kind of recent.”

“Oh.” I close the laptop softly. “Still. Surprising.”

He walks a few steps closer, still giving me that unreadable look. “Is it… a bad surprise?”

I hesitate, then shake my head. “No. Just unexpected. That’s all.”

He watches me for another beat, like he wants to say something more but decides against it. Then, as if sensing the air's shifted, he shrugs it off.

“Well. You ready to go?”

I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Yeah. Just give me a second to turn off the lights in the back.”

As I walk away, I can feel the weight of his gaze still on me. There’s nothing inappropriate in it, nothing dramatic. But something about the way he showed up tonight, the way he mentioned Minjeong like it was just a passing note, and the way he looked at me when I said her name… it all sits heavy in my chest.

Not quite tension. Not quite confused.

Just something unspoken.

And maybe that’s what’s bothering me most of all. His car is parked in the underground garage, right next to the service elevator reserved for staff and VIPs. One of the many perks of working at a gym designed exclusively for idols: privacy was taken seriously. No paparazzi. No fans lurking outside. Just a quiet, dimly lit basement and a sleek black G-Wagon that looked like it hadn’t seen a speck of dust in its life.

I pull open the passenger door and slide inside. The familiar scent hits me instantly, something like bergamot, leather, and the faintest trace of his cologne. Jungkook doesn’t say anything right away. He simply taps the start button, shifts into drive, and the car eases forward with a low hum.

It’s quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that feels heavy instead of comfortable.

“I didn’t know you could tint your front windshield,” I say, peering through the darkened glass ahead of us. The entire car is blacked out, almost like we’re in a cocoon detached from the outside world.

He glances over at me, the corner of his mouth curving up just slightly. “Well, when you’re an idol, you learn that there are ways to make certain things happen. Privacy becomes more like a… necessity than a luxury.”

“I can see that now.”

A short pause.

“You know,” he says after a beat, eyes still on the road, “I did miss you.”

I stiffen slightly, the words landing in the space between us with a weight I’m not ready to carry.

“Jungkook…” I start, voice low. “I don’t think we should….”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he cuts in quickly, glancing at me before returning his focus to the street. “Not like that, Y/n. Don’t worry.”

My grip on my bag loosens, just a little. I look out the window as we turn down a quieter street, my street. “Then how do you mean it?”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding something in for too long. “I mean it like... I missed my friend. We used to hang out almost half the week. Random late-night ramen runs, movies at your place, gym sessions that turned into therapy appointments.” He smiles softly. “Then I went into the military, and everything just… stopped. We barely talked. Except that one time.”

I swallow and look over at him, finally meeting his eyes for more than a second. “Yeah. That one time.”

He nods slightly, pulling into the parking area behind my building. He puts the car in park but doesn’t make a move to get out.

There’s a silence again. This time, it’s loaded.

“It’s really good that you got a girlfriend,” I say, still watching him. “I’m really happy for you, Jungkook. I mean that.”

His eyes flicker with something I can’t quite name, surprise? Gratitude? Maybe a bit of both. “Thank you. Yeah… I am. It’s still new, but it feels good. Peaceful.”

“That’s all anyone can hope for,” I murmur, then add quietly, “I mean it. You deserve to be happy.”

He watches me for a second, his expression softer than I expect. “And you?”

I blink. “Me?”

“Are you happy?”

The question catches me off guard, and I hesitate before answering. “I’m... trying. With Yoongi, things are solid. We’re figuring it out, even with the distance. It’s just... you know. Life doesn’t pause for any of us.”

Jungkook nods slowly. “No, it really doesn’t.”

I take a breath, then speak before I can second-guess myself. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

I look over again, carefully. “Can we please just put what happened that night behind us? I don’t want it hanging over us anymore. I miss having you as my friend.”

His face softens, and without hesitation, he replies, “Of course, Y/n.”

A quiet smile passes between us. No tension, no hesitation, just mutual understanding. Maybe even relief.

We both open our doors at the same time, stepping out into the soft hum of the quiet back alley. The air is cooler than I expected.

I turn, surprised to see him locking the car and casually making his way to the building entrance. “Wait, you’re coming up?”

He gives me a look, eyebrows raised. “I hope you didn’t think I was just going to wait in the car like your personal chauffeur.”

A short laugh escapes me. “Honestly? I wasn’t sure.”

“Well,” he says, already halfway to the back door, “you invited me. And also, I’ve been dreaming about your coffee ever since the army started serving whatever that was in the mess hall.”

I shake my head, following after him with a smirk. “You’re impossible.”

“I missed being impossible with you,” he calls back, and even though the words are light, there’s something real underneath them. We step out of the elevator, trying to move like two shadows rather than two fully grown adults returning from a military base reunion. I keep glancing over my shoulder as we make our way down the hallway toward my apartment, silently praying we don’t run into Mrs. Ko from 502. That woman has eyes like a hawk and the energy of a detective on her fifth espresso.

“Could you walk less suspiciously?” Jungkook murmurs behind me, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “You’re going to draw more attention like that.”

“I am not suspicious,” I whisper back. “I’m just being cautious. The last time someone saw me bringing a man home, I got a passive-aggressive note on my door about ‘maintaining the moral purity of the hallway.’”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Still haven’t moved out of the drama-filled retirement building, huh?”

We reach my door, and I unlock it with a sigh of relief, stepping inside and quickly ushering him in. He slips off his sneakers and gently pushes the door shut behind him.

“Wow,” he says, looking around the living room. “Your place hasn’t changed at all. Same plants. Same little bookshelf. Even the same candle that smells like vanilla and… what is that, regret?”

I laugh under my breath, tossing my gym bag onto the entry bench. “It’s vanilla and cedarwood, thank you very much. But yeah, not much has changed.”

He walks in further, taking in the room with that quiet curiosity of his. “It feels… emptier, though.”

I glance around, noticing what he means. The missing stack of coffee table books, the second yoga mat gone from the corner, even the cereal boxes that used to fight for shelf space. “Well, yeah,” I say, pulling a towel out of my gym bag. “Half of my daily stuff is at Yoongi’s now. Toothbrush, charger, extra hoodie. It just made sense.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything. Just flops down on the couch and unlocks his phone, the screen glowing in his eyes. I watch him for a moment before heading toward the bathroom.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” I call over my shoulder.

“Go ahead,” he replies without looking up. “I’ll just be here, slowly losing circulation in my legs from your stiff couch.”

Fifteen minutes later, I step out of the bathroom, clean and wrapped in my favorite robe, hair damp and clinging to my shoulders. I go through the motions of skincare on autopilot, but my brain is somewhere else entirely. I pause in front of my open closet, arms crossed, staring at the overflowing hangers like they personally wronged me.

I press the robe tighter around myself, tugging the belt like it's going to give me divine fashion wisdom. Nothing looks right. Everything feels either too formal or not enough. I’m stuck in that weird in-between zone, wanting to look like I didn’t try but also like I magically look amazing by accident.

“You good?” Jungkook’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I jump a little.

He’s peeking into the room, one hand on the doorframe, the other still holding his phone.

“I have no idea what to wear,” I admit, still staring at the closet like it might grow legs and walk away.

He opens the door a little wider and steps inside cautiously. “Well, considering we’re just going out for late-night barbecue and possibly over-ordering every side dish on the menu, I’d say... jeans and a T-shirt?”

I glance at him over my shoulder. “That’s it?”

“Comfy, simple. You’ll thank me after your second plate of pork belly,” he says with a small grin, walking a bit further in. “Also, your closet is terrifying. I think it just sighed at me.”

I huff out a laugh and grab a slouchy pair of jeans from the pile that’s half-folded, half-chaos. Then I pull out a fitted black T-shirt that always makes me feel slightly more put-together than I actually am.

“This okay?” I hold up the combo toward him.

He nods. “Perfect. You always look good in black.”

His tone is casual, friendly, but there’s something in the pause afterward that makes me glance at him more closely. He meets my eyes for a second, then looks away.

“Would you mind?” I ask, motioning toward the door.

“Oh-yeah. Sorry.” He steps back quickly, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.

Once alone, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting out a long breath.

It’s weird, having him here again. In my space. It used to be normal, before everything changed. Before Yoongi and I became official. Before Jungkook left for the military and things between us… shifted into something quieter.

I shake the thought away and start getting dressed.

Outside, I hear him clear his throat, then say, almost too casually, “So… are you still nervous about seeing everyone next week? When Yoongi’s officially discharged?”

I pause, pulling the shirt over my head.

“I don’t know,” I call back. “Part of me’s relieved. Part of me’s worried. Everything’s moving so fast again.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds. “You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

And somehow, that comforts me more than it probably should. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “If it isn’t the woman of the hour,” Namjoon announces as soon as Jungkook and I walk into the private dining room tucked away in the back of the restaurant.

He rises from his seat with the grace of someone who’s had just enough to drink to feel both charming and unstoppable.

I laugh, stepping into his open arms for a quick hug. “I missed your dramatic entrances, Joon.”

“They missed you too,” he says, smiling down at me before letting me go.

I make my way around the table, greeting everyone one by one, familiar faces, warm smiles, casual teasing. This group has always had a way of making you feel like you’ve been gone a day, even when it's been months.

I take the empty seat next to Jimin, who scoots over to make room for me. Jungkook settles in beside me, at the very end of the table. His presence is quiet, but his shoulder brushes mine briefly as he sits, and for some reason, I feel my breath catch for just a second.

“So, Y/n,” Jimin says, nudging my shoulder with his, “scale of one to ten—how much did you miss hanging out with us?”

“Easy,” I say, leaning into the nudge, “a hundred.”

“That’s not a scale, that’s cheating,” he grins.

“But it’s true,” I say, glancing around at all of them. “You guys have been weirdly hard to replace.”

“I bet you’re counting down the days until Yoongi comes back and saves you from us,” Taehyung calls out from across the table, smirking.

Everyone laughs, and I shake my head with a smile. “You have no idea. He’s the only one who doesn’t try to force me into drinking games.”

“That’s because he’d lose,” Jin says casually. “Yoongi plays the long game. Strategic retreat.”

“Or he just pretends to sleep when he’s had enough of our nonsense,” Hobi adds, already halfway into a glass of something amber.

Conversations start branching off again, Jin and Namjoon are comparing notes about the menu, Taehyung is busy showing something ridiculous on his phone to the guys on his end. It feels… easy. Familiar. But the seat beside me grows suddenly lighter as Jungkook gets up.

“I’m gonna go grab Minjeong. She’s here,” he says, not really to anyone in particular.

I glance up just in time to see him walking out, already scanning the hallway beyond the private room.

Jimin shifts beside me, then leans in slightly. His voice is quieter now. “Hey… you wanna switch seats?”

I blink. “What?”

“I figured it might be a little awkward,” he says carefully. “Being right next to them. Especially if you don’t know her.”

I hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great actually.”

We do the subtle shuffle, me sliding out, him slipping into my old seat, and now I’m between Jimin and Hoseok, while Namjoon sits directly across from me. The air feels lighter already.

“You good?” Hoseok asks under his breath, his elbow brushing mine gently.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I reply. “This is safer territory.”

“Safe zone unlocked,” he says, mock-serious, and gives me a tiny toast with his glass of water.

A few moments later, the door creaks open again, and we all instinctively glance toward it.

“Hello, everyone,” a soft, polite voice says.

There she is, Minjeong. She’s standing in the doorway, smiling a little uncertainly, and behind her is Jungkook, his hand hovering at the small of her back like he’s not sure whether to guide her or just let her take the lead.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Winter,” Namjoon says with a half-grin, raising his glass with exaggerated formality.

Minjeong laughs lightly, a little surprised but clearly amused. “Nice to see you too, Namjoon-ssi.”

Hobi leans toward me and whispers, “He’s definitely already tipsy.”

I stifle a laugh. “That explains the sudden British accent.”

Minjeong and Jungkook walk over to the table, and she takes the seat Jungkook had been sitting in earlier, close to my old seat.

I catch it, the tiny flicker in Jungkook’s eyes as he realises I’m no longer beside him. He glances toward where Jimin now sits, then to me across the table, brows furrowing ever so slightly in a way that says, Wait, when did that happen?

He doesn’t say anything, though. Just slides into the chair next to her, carefully casual. But I know him well enough to recognise that micro-expression. Confused? Maybe. Disappointed? I can't tell. Not yet.

Across from me, Namjoon has resumed his storytelling mode, but I can’t focus. I catch glimpses of Minjeong as she starts talking with the others, her voice light and clear, her laugh practised but genuine. She’s beautiful. Composed. Polished in that way people who are used to being looked at tend to be.

And Jungkook? He listens to her, nods at the right times, and even smiles when she touches his arm during a story. But once, just once, his eyes flick to me again.

And I look away. “Okay, so,” Jin starts from the opposite end of the table, raising his glass slightly like he's about to make a presidential announcement. “Should we just say screw it and get absolutely wasted tonight?”

A chorus of groans and laughter follows, and Jimin, sitting beside me with one arm casually slung over the back of my chair, raises a brow. “Only if you’re paying, hyung.”

Everyone else at the table nods in enthusiastic agreement.

Jin grins like he’s been waiting for that. “Consider it done.” He whips out his card with unnecessary flair and hands it to the amused waiter, who chuckles as he walks away.

“You didn’t drive here, did you?” I ask Jimin, eyeing the way he’s already halfway through his third drink.

“Nah,” he says, sipping again without pause. “But we’ll probably call the drivers to bring the vans once we’re done. I can drop you off, don’t worry about it.” He flashes me that familiar, easy smile, the one he gives when he’s just trying to be thoughtful. But something about it feels a little too light, too casual.

Across the table, I catch Jungkook looking at me. His gaze is heavier than usual, unreadable, and lingers too long. The buzz of conversation around us seems to dull slightly in the background.

Jimin must sense it too, because a moment later he leans in, shielding his mouth with his hand like he’s whispering state secrets. “The hell is up with him?”

I intend to focus on my cocktail. “Definitely not enough alcohol.”

Jimin snorts into his glass.

As the night wears on, our table slowly descends into that comfortable kind of chaos only old friends can pull off. Plates are stacked high with whatever fried food survived our attack, and drinks keep appearing as if summoned by some tipsy magician. Laughter gets louder. Stories get longer. Voices overlap.

At some point, Namjoon pushes his chair back with a low groan. “I should go before I forget how doors work.”

He gets up, clapping Jungkook on the back and giving me a warm smile. “It was great seeing you, Minjeong. And you too, Y/n. Glad you came out tonight.”

“Drive safe!” Hoseok calls out as Namjoon disappears out of the room with a little stumble that earns a round of snickers.

By the time the clock hits 1 a.m., most of us are winding down.

“Should we call the vans?” Hoseok asks, checking his phone. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m going to drop Y/n off,” Jimin says, already typing on his phone. “Anyone else want to ride in the same van?”

Before anyone answers, Jungkook suddenly speaks. “Us.”

His voice is calm but firm, and it draws all attention to him.

There’s a pause, just a beat too long.

Hoseok blinks. “But Kook, wouldn’t it be faster if you came with us? Your place is, like, ten minutes from mine.”

Jin points at him with the last of his drink. “Yeah, Jimin and Y/n live on the other side of the city. That’s a detour and a half.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, eyes not leaving the table. “But Minjeong lives in that part of town too.”

Minjeong, who’s been quiet most of the evening, perks up slightly. “Wait, I thought you were staying over at mine?”

The air shifts. Not dramatically, but enough for me to feel it. Something twists in my stomach, subtle but undeniable.

“Right,” Jungkook says, hesitating for half a second. “I just figured it’d be easier to head over together.”

Jin hums into his glass, raising his eyebrows slightly but saying nothing more. Hoseok glances at me, then at Jimin, but stays quiet.

Jimin doesn’t look at Jungkook, not directly. Instead, he nudges me gently with his elbow. “You good to ride with me?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

But my eyes meet Jungkook’s for a split second across the table.

And in that moment, just that breath of silence, I see something I don’t expect. Regret. Or guilt. Or maybe both.

Then it’s gone.

He looks away, and the conversation moves on. Plans are confirmed, checks are signed, and people start standing up and stretching after hours of sitting and drinking. But the knot in my stomach stays. And I can’t help but wonder what exactly it is that Jungkook regrets.

[olympeline]

(Third part of what I’ve decided to call my Catch the Queen omegaverse/cardverse USUK AU. Enjoy!)

Okay! Arthur is very knocked out so we are switching to Alfred’s POV for a bit. Our mysterious sunshine knight won his challenge with little effort thanks to his super strength and Arthur’s magic refusing to harm Alfred once he revealed himself to him. And - while Alfred was hugely disappointed that Arthur didn’t seem to remember him - that strange, magical reaction gave him hope. You see while Arthur had seemingly forgotten him, it’s not a mutual thing: Arthur is the one person Alfred could never forget.

Alfred was born into House Jones: a minor noble family of the Kingdom of Spades. His father died in battle, his mother in childbirth, and growing up Alfred only had his servants, tutors, and twin brother Matthew for company. While Mattie wanted to be a mage, Alfred always knew he was going to be a knight like his dad. Strong, athletic, and a natural leader: Alfred showed much early promise and his tutors were preparing him to become a squire when he was old enough. Life was good for Alfred despite not having parents. He had his twin, he had plenty of friends at school, and he was going to be the best Knight of Spades in the whole kingdom! A knight was a hero who defended the weak and saved them from bad things. Once Alfred learnt this, he never wanted to be anything else. At age seven he was a sunny, cheerful boy full of promise. Then disaster struck: Alfred became ill. A wasting, breathing sickness that soon left the formally strong, hearty boy white, wheezing and confined to bed. Whether it was always in him or he caught something, no one knew. Nobody could cure it - the healers and doctors left baffled - and Alfred’s life was officially ruined. Left bedbound to waste away while Matthew was sent away to mage school. His twin cried and begged to be allowed to stay, but the arrangements had already been made before Alfred got sick. Plus they wanted the Spare quickly sent away to safety now the Heir had a potentially infectious illness. Alfred was left alone too weak to do even the boring grammar and history lessons he used to hate.

Alfred spent months this way with no improvement and grew to despair. Putting on a brave face during the day but crying himself to sleep at night until his useless lungs choked. There seemed to be no hope left for Alfred of House Jones. Then, one day, a second bolt from the blue. Only this one was much more welcome than a mystery sickness: a thief broke into Alfred’s house. Specifically into Alfred’s bedroom. It was the middle of the day and Alfred was dozing after failing to eat his lunch. His newest pills made him feel too sick to eat, so the maid left a tray by his bedside in case he wanted it later. Alfred awoke to a sound and was stupified to see a stranger - frozen like a deer in headlights at being caught red handed - in the middle of stuffing bread, cheese, and meat into the ragged cloak he wore. The stranger was a boy about Alfred’s age or a little older. Blonde, green-eyed, filthy and thin, and smelling like he hadn’t bathed in a week. Alfred had no idea at the time but the runaway Spade Queen-in-Waiting had just tried to steal his lunch. Arthur was nine and had fled the palace after finding out what the future had in store for him as Queen. Yeah, the Royal Talk didn’t go well, lol. Arthur was terrified and determined not to let it happen. So he stole a set of servants’ clothes and ran away. Leaving the palace in chaos in his wake as the court officials tried to simultaneously mount a search whilst keeping Arthur’s flight a secret and avert a kingdom-wide panic. But life on the road was hard, particularly for a pampered royal, and it wasn’t long before Arthur was desperate enough for food to scramble up some vines to a second storey window, chasing the scent of fresh cooked meat.

Alfred would have yelled, pounced on the thief, and tried to wrestle him to the ground in the past. As he was post-illness, it was all he could do to try and yell at him to put his lunch down. Even that left him doubled over and wheezing till tears ran down his face. The sound summoned the maids and Alfred’s live in nurse and by the time Alfred could see again, the thief had vanished. The nurse got him settled and the maids shut and locked the window, promising to call the constable. Alfred was left alone to ponder all that happened. He found himself strangely disappointed after the adrenaline faded. Excitement was hard to come by and he wished the encounter hadn’t ended so fast. Even if he couldn’t duel a wicked thief and catch him like a good, heroic knight. Just something that wasn’t his endless, normal routine was enough. Then Alfred’s nose caught that unwashed scent again and his heart skipped a beat. He called out as best he could for the thief to come out and show himself, or else! And the bed juddered as someone jumped and banged their head underneath, swore a word Alfred had once been switched for using, and then scrambled out gracelessly. The lunch thief stood before him and he and Alfred stared at each other for a long moment. Then the thief’s gaze drifted to the fresh plate of food the maid brought and Alfred heard his stomach rumble. The thief blushed scarlet under the dirt and glowered at Alfred as if daring him to comment. Alfred said he could have the food if he wanted. The thief stared at him and Alfred promised he wouldn’t tell. The boy looked hungry. The way he fell on the food told Alfred he was wrong: the thief wasn’t hungry, he was starving.

Afterwards, Alfred told the boy his name and then asked him his. When the boy answered it was in a funny accent that Alfred could tell he was trying to conceal without success. He said his name was “Oliver” but stumbled over the three syllables in such a weird way that Alfred was immediately sure he was lying. He told the boy so and the boy snapped back that Alfred was wrong. Alfred called him a liar-liar-pants-on-fire. The boy called him stupid and a little kid. They devolved into arguing until the maid came back to scold Alfred for getting worked up, and the boy had to dive under the bed again. Once she left, the boy emerged and asked Alfred why he hadn’t told. Alfred shrugged and said he didn’t care about the food so it would be unfair if the boy was hanged for taking it. He asked the boy where he was from but the boy wouldn’t answer. He changed the subject by asking Alfred what was wrong with him. Alfred shrugged and muttered something noncommittal. He didn’t like talking about his sickness and a real life thief (even just a lunch one) was much more interesting. He said so and the boy blushed again and retorted haughtily that he wasn’t a thief. Alfred pointed out he was just caught stealing and the boy went even redder. It was cute so Alfred showed mercy and agreed when the boy (gazing at the floor) mumbled something about paying Alfred back one day when he could. Then the boy thanked him awkwardly for the food and said he had to go. Alfred told him - a little desperately - that he could have more food later if he came back again. Being sick was boring as hell on top of everything else with no Mattie to play with and his school friends’ parents too afraid Alfred was contagious to let them visit. The boy said sorry but he was on an important journey and had to go right away. Then he left through the window. Alfred tried to write Mattie a secret letter telling him all about the exciting thing that happened. But he was too weak to sit up and hold the pen for more than a couple of sentences. Alfred cried again that night. Buried deep under the covers where even his sharp eared maid couldn’t hear him. He wished the strange boy hadn’t left even if he was a smelly thief who called Alfred stupid in his weird accent. All those things were still better than being alone.

But it wasn’t to be when the boy thankfully proved himself a liar a second time and returned the very next day.

Alfred thought about all of this as he sat in the anteroom to the Queen’s chambers. Staring into space as awestruck servants scuttled around and bowed low to their soon-to-be King. Alfred, out of his armour and wearing his first ever set of royal clothes, didn’t notice them. Too busy remembering Arthur as he was as a child, and wondering what in the all-loving name of Spades he was going to say to him once Arthur woke up.

(End of part 3! Maaaan, this just keeps getting longer, huh? I can’t help it. I like this AU too much. I just want to flesh it out 😆)

[deadratdonoteat]

Eustass Kid x Reader

Hello Rats! I’m hopefully going to lock in and create a short story, and finish it. Kid has been on my mind for so long and I’ve been letting my mind wander with a story for him. So I hope you enjoy this!

Ancient China themes (mostly outfits). But it all takes place in the One piece universe.

Part 1 out of ???

The lanterns crowding the streets finally lit up. People anticipating whispers quieted down. The once bustling Street, now vacant. The villagers waited on the sidewalks. The drums started.

The town erupted with cheers. Marching guards made their way down the road. Two lurking men pushed people out of the side to get a better view of whatever was going on. There figures standing out amongst the crowd. One wore a fluffy looking red coat, while the other wore a blue and white striped mask.

They seemed confused about what was happening. Normally people would hide in fear upon seeing them but the people of this island were far too focused on what was coming down the street. With both their hulking heights they could see above many heads.

Kid’s POV

It looked as if people were just merely walking down the road. Nothing to get this excited about. Based on how the people were dressed, maybe they were royalty.

The guards were surrounding the two fancily dressed people, a young woman and older man. The man waved at his adoring fans, the girl kept her head down. Most likely the king and princess of this shity island. ‘What stuck up nobles to parade their wealth around’ the man with the red cape thought. He was about to spit on the ground when they passed. But his eyes met the princesses.

The world stopped. She looked too innocent for this cruel world. He wanted to keep her safe and protect her from anything. It was the only time the girl raised her head. Their eyes locked as she walked past. She blinked those beautiful long eyelashes at him, he felt his heart skip a beat. He had heard the princesses were to be beautiful but he didn’t believe it. Now he was greatly mistaken.

He had traveled the seas, watched several sunsets, and tossed the shiniest pearls away. After meeting your gaze he felt as though he finally understood what the word “beauty” meant. The red dress you were wearing was so pretty. You looked gorgeous in red.

The stare broke as you continued walking with presumably your father. Kid sucked in a harsh breath. The cold air rushed past him as you left.

“Captain!” A low voice called out. Kid blinked and shook his head before turning to his first mate. His eyebrows furrowed, “I’ve been calling out to you, we need to head somewhere less crowded,” Kid nodded at the words but didn’t fully grasp them. He just followed as Killer pushed their way through the crowd. The red head looked back once to catch a glimpse of you.

Your POV

My head hung low just as my father had requested. He claimed I was too good to show my beautiful face to the peasants. It broke my heart to hear him talk about our people like that. But if I disobeyed him, I’d get punished.

The guard on my left kept stepping on my dress that trailed behind me. We don’t usually have this many guards but there’s word that a group of infamous pirates have docked at our village. The idea of seeing said pirates was terrifying. The maids had told me numerous stories of the disaster pirates caused.

As I continued walking as gracefully as I could in these shoes, I started to feel weird. Like someone with a bad presence was staring at me. The feeling was getting stronger. I glanced up to my left and made eye contact. With a tall boy, no, a tall man. His red hair reminded me of roses, as well as the lipstick he wore. I should thank the maids for picking out this dress. It matched him perfectly.

Something about him seemed so natural. Like I could fall into his arms and he’d never let me touch the floor. He didn’t look from around here. A handsome foreigner made my heart skip. I fluttered my eyelashes at the man. He seemed so dangerous, but I somehow knew that it would be a fun kind of danger.

Much to my dismay I had to keep walking. Our eyes broke apart. My cheeks felt warm with yearning. As I took careful steps, my brain was elsewhere.

No one POV

The sun rested on the horizon, creating a gentle orange glow that covered the quiet village. The orange that was casted on the palace’s garden was breathtaking. Stars slowly began to shine in the dark blanket of darkness. The air became crisp, bitting at her skin.

After the festival, that was just for the village people to see how rich their king was. (And to gawk at the princess) Everyone returned home. Being pushed away by her father and shut in her room, as always. The maids came in and got the princess ready for bed. When they tucked her into bed and shut the door, locking it, the young lady crept out of bed.

The marble floor was cold on her bare feet but the rush of sneaking out kept her warm. Opening her balcony door and carefully climbing down the large stone bricks. She leaped to the ground of the garden. She didn’t have a plan on what to do but she wanted to be out of the palace.

Your POV

The layers of my nightgown tried to keep my body warm. A night walk through the garden always helped clear my mind. The fairy lights reminded me of the stars that now fully shined in the night sky. The ambience was so calming, crickets, flowing water of the fountain, and a thud. Thud? My body froze.

‘Must be the guards patrolling the palace’ I tried to calm myself. I had a strange feeling. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or curiosity. Hugging myself, I decided to go against my judgement and explore.

Going deeper into the garden, my mind yelled at me to run. I knew I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without someone, especially a guard. Looking around at where the noise was heard, I saw nothing. But there was that feeling again. Someone was staring at me.

“Hello?” I called out with the most courage I could manage. Silence. I’m not sure why I said anything. My heart rate calmed down when no reply came. Letting out a sigh of relief and heading back to the center of the garden. I could hear a twig snap. My body tensed. Fear drowned my mind.

Slowly turning around, my heartbeat racing. The back garden remained empty. I blinked away the fear. As I was going to turn around, a large hand covered my mouth. I screamed out. Muffed when the hand pressed harder.

“Scream again and I’ll kill you…” a rough voice whispered into my ear. The person, who I could assume was a man based on their voice and size, started walking backwards. Forcing me to follow. Going off the sound of leaves, the man was hiding against the hedge, hiding from the view of whoever looked at the garden from the palace.

Tears started to stream down my face and onto the hand covering most of my face. ‘I’m going to die,’ that thought echoed through my head. My body shook with fear….

Kid’s POV

The plan was so simple. Rob the king blind. After the festival and a good look at the palaces guards, the Kid Pirates knew that it was going to be easy.

The plan was to just knock out the few guards that roam around the back of the palace, jump the garden hedges, sneak in, blow things up, steal shit, and leave. Easy peasy.

Kid had the urge to show his crew he could do everything himself. So just him and Killer go to the garden, the rest of the crew go cause some chaos at a local bar.

The hedge was an easy jump over. The royal guards were so lame to take down. Just sneak behind and an easy knock out. After instructing Killer to stay on the other side until he makes sure the coast is clear. Landing on the grass was louder than he cared for. He was a big guy of course he was gonna be loud.

“Hello?” He froze. The voice sounded so scared. It definitely wasn’t some guard or anything, maybe a maid. Listening to the soft footsteps, he hid. Without even looking he walked around her, twig snapping under his weight, and covered the woman’s mouth. She was so small compared to him. His hand nearly covered her whole face.

As soon as his hand touched her skin, he muffled her scream. Leaning down to her ear, “Scream again and I’ll kill you…” The captain could feel the warmth of her tears as they fell. He could also feel her body begin to shake.

<3

[kalirarecs]

The Crack at the Heart of Everything - Fiona Fenn (novel)

(I got this ebook as a free ARC; it releases on November 12th 2024.)

This one will be as spoiler free as I can manage because this book was amazing and I don’t want to, well, spoil it.

(I treaded some of the same ground in a slightly more *gestures* form in a review you can read on Storygraph or LibraryThing.)

This is a dark-tinged fantasy, with an edge of (minor spoiler) post-apocalypse, with a queer romance which takes up space beautifully alongside a dramatic plot, and a very close focus - the entire book very much focuses on Orpheus, not because he’s a hero or a major player or a key figure (though he is) but because he’s him and we’re seeing the world through his eyes.

Y’all. Y’all, I don’t think I have read a better book handling trauma? Like. A lot of kinds of trauma, especially floating into the main line with other characters, but especially that dealing with deep childhood scars, also toxic friendships.

The story hurts, in many places, like weight on an old injury - something healed over but never forgotten. But also learning to take that ache and let it go.

(But it isn’t all that hard, achy examination - there’s lighthearted moments, laughter, teasing and breathless steps towards friendship, or romance, and the confusion they bring. There’s softer sorrows and wrenching grief, there’s, always, hope and moving forwards because what else are you going to do? What can you?)

It shows us a lot of hope even in dark, terrifying, seemingly-doomed spaces, and y’all that is so my jam.

Oh, and those other characters? Pretty much all the side characters felt like the main character of another story, who just happened to be intersecting Orpheus’ here. That is such a challenge to pull off, and it was great! (I’d really like to see Red’s background - and her friendship with Fenrir, and how it grew and their adventures together - and her future.)

So was the worldbuilding, which the author gave as the pieces showed on-page, giving us more that built on what we knew as more things happened and Orpheus learned more - as well as showing us things he already knows as they became relevant - allowing the reader to slowly weave together more of the history as well as the present of the world. It never felt out of place with amounts of detail or reveal or confusingly lacking.

The magic and the technology hit a nice balance of ‘yes that’s how that works, I see’ without tipping into ‘okay we did not need a treatise on it, I’ve lost what was going on before’. Orpheus’ Netherflame is fascinating, a little terrifying (even aside from the Hellbeasts!), and a very naturally-handled part of him in his actions, reactions, and senses.

We begin after a number of Major Happenings have, ah, happened, and past, because we aren’t following the drama of the world - we’re following when Orpheus’ world takes a sudden turn.

Orpheus who has in some ways been through a hell of a lot (no pun intended >.>) and in some ways has been very sheltered . . . and is now kicked away from that ‘shelter’ (for good or ill) and facing a lot more hell, and- Also a sunshiney tagalong of a hero trying to look after him, probably just to taunt him and kick him while he’s down, he’s sure, obnoxious handsome-

(Yes, it’s a grumpy x sunshine romance. Yes, Orpheus has no idea how feelings work.)

Orpheus’ view of the world gets a lot broader, very fast, and it hurts - it hurts him, shock and guilt and responsibility, and it hurts us, because there’s some very grim shit out there. (But it never feels grimdark or cruel for the sake of it, or ‘gritty’; there’s a lot of hope, and welcome from character who have their own struggles and triumphs going on, widening Orpheus’ experiences and his feelings.)

We begin very closely with Orpheus’ personal disaster, and as his understanding grows, it widens to the disaster facing the entire world - both that which has already happened, and the ways in which it could get so much worse - while keeping close in on Orpheus himself.

Every few chapters there’s one that’s an interlude to Orpheus’ past, (in chronological order) mainly his childhood with (now-Empress) Lore . . . and places where the reader can see the source of wounds Orpheus carries now, and even some he hasn’t . . . quite realised himself, yet, in the now.

There’s some twists and surprises, some of which are neatly foreshadowed and some of which really did take me by surprise - and those always came with an oh, ohhhh that fits realisation of settling into place when they did. Not once did something feel like an addition for shock value or similar.

Orpheus has to face a lot of rough realisations and decisions, and he struggles with them! He isn’t a hero, never thought of himself as such; but even when he struggles, even when he’s not sure what he’ll do, the reader can see the path he’ll choose and it hurts how hard he’s trying and what it costs him.

Fenrir, our sunshine, carries his own share of trauma (I think everyone does here, even our biggest villain; which is shown, as is how it led to said villainy . . . but not as an excuse or softening of the atrocities caused), but is that hero Orpheus knew he’d never be and maybe resents a little. There’s a hell of a lot more to him, we find along with Orpheus, and . . . more yet that there isn’t time or space or perspective for (locked in Orpheus’, of course) in the novel.

The romance builds slowly due largely to Orpheus having no idea how feelings work, his own or anyone else’s, really, and some very understandable hitches between that and the major dramatic plot elements. (My few agh points, shall we say, were very much people are agh, and didn’t stretch on too long.)

Also, the title? Super well chosen, weaves very well into the happenings, more and more so as we learn more.

I will not spoil it, but I was on the verge of tears for almost the last quarter of the book, anticipating the climax along with Orpheus, and the author surprised me pleasantly! (I did cry once during the book; it was not at the end, and it was a very well done moment of grief and loss as much as it hurt, and Orpheus’ raging reaction to it was . . . cathartic and painful and soothing at once.) I was surprised at how the main villain was handled, but it was not a disappointment (and at least/especially for Orpheus, may have been the best way it could have gone).

While the book stands alone well, it does say it’s book one of a series; I’m quite curious to see how Fiona Fenn continues to explore the world, and, hopefully, at least some of the characters I got so attached to or fascinated by here.

[redbullcateringfiction]

Chapter 8 -

Cantata

Arabella is the executive assistant for Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff. 10 years into her career, it looks like the tide is changing, and she's beginning to question her relationship with him. Is it something more, or nothing but an idea lingering in her head?

F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn

Eight chapter below the cut or click here for AO3

Click here for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and click here for a list of all chapters

(Total: 34872 words thus far)

Where I wander: An opinion by the ‘bitch’

Thursday, March 12th, 2021 6:20 GMT

Author: Arabella Lazaar

Edited by: Jeffrey Martens and Shane Coughlan 

Editor’s note, March 12th, 2021: Arabella Lazaar is the former partner of Irish rock band Four Odd Bottles singer Cathal Lynch. Their 3 year relationship was not public knowledge until October 13th, 2019. 

If I were to recall every moment during our relationship, I would not question where I went wrong. 

Formula 1 is filled with huge personalities and names. There’s no doubt many fans could tell you how they imagine their favorite drivers’ to be, and I can assure you they would be 90% correct. Being in Formula 1 requires being surrounded by glass walls at all times. Your most intimate self is constantly on display. This was something I never enjoyed. Afterall, I suffer from agoraphobia. Seeing into the distance, and seeing the crowds of people is terrifying. I have forced myself to be in these situations. In God’s name, why?

I’ve always loved formula racing, but I never thought I could be an integral part of it. I never had the skills nor talent to be a driver or engineer. I, however, think I have quite the head on my shoulders. Micromanaging people and information became second nature to me. It’s a natural skill that one develops when their anxiety tells them to avoid everyone and everything. So, I saw an opportunity in Formula 1, and put my effort into joining a team. I set aside every fear I have to put my brilliance on the table instead. 

During that process, I learned that if I am constantly moving (as it is a job requirement), and hiding behind those big personalities, those glass walls become a comfort. I could be entirely isolated while surrounded by people, because no one cared about me, really. I could also be socializing with some of my favorite people. Above all else, I serve as an important cog in the well-oiled machine that is Mercedes-AMG. It was the dream I sought out. 

In 2016, I came upon Cathal Lynch, and our romance began to bud. Nothing new. Just another person to hide behind so I could continue to value my loneliness. This is the moment where I went wrong. Cathal had been correct from the beginning: There was no way to keep our relationship secret forever. We had two incredibly different opinions on this. I believed it could be managed for a long time. Until a wedding, at least. Cathal waited just days before asking if he could reveal me to the public. This became a constant item of discussion. In the meantime, every song Cathal released was a reflection of our relationship. The trips to Morocco to visit my extended family, our house in Brackley covered with his white cat’s hair, and of course, my career. Every time a song was written, and released, I would panic. It was all pieces of information that would lead people to me. The glass walls started to show their cracks. 

Then, in 2019, they finally crumbled. I was now a microcelebrity. Yes, I had spoken to a few Formula 1 magazines, but my Instagram had never been on television. This was an entirely new world for me. Cathal did not help me navigate this new world. The strain on our relationship was too large, and Cathal moved out of my home in Brackley just a week before the COVID-19 pandemic hit. This was 2 years ago now. With the collapse of the life I knew, I tried to embrace the disaster. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but when I looked around, all I saw was the shambles. 

Wherever I turned though, Cathal was there. 

And so I wonder, where can I wander? Cathal follows me everywhere. My job is micromanagement, and Cathal’s seems to be micromanaging me. Every song seems to center around some sort of belief I was using him. I will not apologize for something I did not do though. 1 break up album is understandable. 2 break up albums is uncomfortable. 2 albums and 5 singles is a deliberate assault on a person’s life. I don’t know how he walked away from this so hurt, and I would like to apologize. I would also like to never see him again. 

Perhaps, that is what makes me a bitch to him. I am a bitch (as it is a job requirement). I will accept that. I have developed a hardened exterior in no small part due to the previously described situations. I will not accept the assertion that I was nothing more than a woman seeking out fame. I easily could’ve found it in my own job. I chose not to. 

I cannot continue to maintain my isolation though, that much is clear. Cathal hasn’t left me alone for 2 years. An essay won’t stop gossip and an army of fans to spread it. This latest incident is proof by itself. Even had the song not been clearly targeted at me, enough speculation would have led people to believe it was. So, I believe I should address at least one other item:

I choose to own the label of bitch, but no woman should have to make that decision because a man decided to label her as one. In the interest of fairness however, I believe Cathal Lynch should accept the label of ‘misogynist.’ 

As written through correspondence with Arabella Lazaar and Jeffrey Martens. Arabella Lazaar is currently the personal assistant to Mercedes-AMG team principal Torger “Toto” Wolff. Jeffrey Martens is her legal counsel and acquaintance. 

Comments on this piece are unavailable.

~

“Black screens are going up,” I heard over the headset, and immediately took it off. Nothing was going to be happening for a moment.

“Fucking hell,” Toto sighed. “Gearbox issue, we’re not even on the road.” He looked over at me, and I saw a smile creep over his face.

“Let me show you what Bono sent me,” He smirked, raising his eyebrows. He handed over his phone and I saw a tweet.

PopCrave 

Cathal Lynch temporarily banned from Formula 1 races after releasing “Bitch,” and showing up to his ex-girlfriend’s job. Video below.

I looked at the video thumbnail. There he was in his stupid Red Bull shirt, but his hair looked different. He had clearly cut it, and his eyes looked tired. He no longer had the shaggy, boyish look he had when we broke up. Instead, he looked like a real celebrity. I clicked on the video and listened closely.

Cathal was leaving the paddock, and a bunch of media had already surrounded him. “Cathal, Cathal. Why are you leaving the paddock today?” One called out. He stopped and spoke into the camera, as I knew he couldn’t resist. 

“I was apparently ‘banned’ due to some violation. I don’t know what. My team is on it. It’s absurd. I bought my ticket. The song was planned to be released months ago. I apologize though to all the fans who might’ve expected to see me here,” He groaned out an obviously prepared reply. He knew why he had been banned. No way he couldn’t. 

“Cathal, did you see Ariana Lazaar’s response?” Another reporter called out.

“Huh?” He asked walking towards them.

“Did you see Ariana Lazaar’s response?” 

“Arabella? You mean Arabella? And no, what response? She hasn’t said anything,” Cathal answered.

“10 minutes ago on the Guardian,” The reporter explained.

“What? What’d she say?” Cathal asked.

“She called you a misogynist,” He responded. I could see the gears in Cathal’s head turn. “Mr. Lynch, do you have a response? Cathal, do you have a response?”

“That bitch.”

I could hear a collective ‘whoa’ come from the crowd of reporters as Cathal flipped his sunglasses down. The reporters chased him down as he climbed into his car and drove off. I looked up at Toto, and immediately laughed when I saw his huge smirk on his face. 

“Nice response, by the way. PR is absolutely in love,” Toto explained. 

“I…I appreciate that,” I smiled.

“I’m so very serious. I think he just ruined his own career, and you get to keep that pretty smile on your face,” Toto said, before suddenly looking around. “Where’s Netflix?”

“Not here,” I shrugged. 

“They’re not going to put this in, right? No point, right?” He asked. “It’d be weird.”

“If they do, they’re not interviewing me,” I nodded. 

“Where’s Susie? Do you know?” 

“Uh…not sure actually.”

“Let me text her. Keep your ears open on the headset, will you?” Toto asked, stepping away from the computers.

“Will do,” I nodded, putting the headset back on. It was a series of chaotic conversations between engineers as everyone desperately tried to understand the electrical failure occurring in one of the cars. Less time on the road is less time to practice, and suddenly everyone was moving, calling, chatting, arguing, and complaining. If I took the headset off though, I would find it to be entirely silent. Maybe a door would creak open every now and then followed by pounding footsteps, but otherwise, it could be eerie during a time like this. The only time you’d find this room silent otherwise would be the delayed breaths as we all sat waiting to hear a driver was okay after a crash. 

This was not silent out of fear though, it was silent because a good chunk of the engineers had run off to settle things on the car directly. The others were too busy staring at analytics on their computers. I recall one time when an assistant from Red Bull learned that I sit in the paddock and listen to things on the headset. I told him quite simply that when Toto isn’t here, I’m his boots on the ground for all things administrative. When Toto is here, I’m still his boots on the ground as he literally flies around taking care of everything else. He should have to worry the least about resource management and being sure he’s kept up on everything. I can handle the rest.

Suddenly, I felt a tiny tap on my leg, and looked over to my left and saw Jack.

“Oh, hey, Jack!” I smiled. I saw Susie was standing right behind me, as Toto ran off to handle something. “And Susie.”

“He saw you from across the room and went straight to practically begging to see you,” Susie grinned.

“Yeah? You missed me?” I asked, picking him up and putting him on my lap. “Here, let’s get you a headset. You might be able to hear your dad.”

I grabbed a pair that was too big and nearly falling off his ears. I held it with my hand as he grabbed on to either ear so he could hear.

“Y’know, Toto’s pissed about the car. I think he needed to see Jack to remind himself he can’t break any necks,” Susie nearly whispered. 

“An electrical failure this soon is not exactly a ringing endorsement for the season,” I complained. 

“Yeah and Red Bull is on our ass.”

“Gotta focus on our car first,” I shrugged.

“Hey, I was thinking. It’s been so long since we caught up. Did you want to grab a tea or something when you get a break from the action?” Susie offered. 

“Uh…yeah, yeah. Of course,” I smiled. In a bit of a sad way, one of my only female friends is my boss’s ex-wife. At least they’re best friends, and at least she is just lovely. To be clear, I would choose to have more female friends. It just happens that I work in a female dominated field in a boys’ club. All of my colleagues who I find myself trying to impress and work against, are women. All of my colleagues who I have to work with and build a strong relationship with happen to be men. Except, really, Susie. Maybe a few others here and there, but our relationships just don’t mesh. 

“Too busy?” She asked.

“No, no. I’ll make time. I’ll text you,” I explained. Jack gently pulled the headset off his ears. 

“Bored,” He shrugged.

“That was quick,” I smiled at him. “Well what do you want to do?” 

He shrugged again. 

“Do you wanna watch me mess with…my calendar?” I asked. He nodded, much to my surprise.

“Oh! Alright then,” I responded, and went to my calendar on the computer in front of me. Susie chuckled and sat in the chair next to us. I kept one ear on the headset, the other on Jack and Susie, my eyes on the calendar, one arm around Jack’s back with my cellphone in my hand as I shot off text messages, and the other hand on the computer mouse. This type of multitasking is something they try to train into you during your training. I had been lucky enough to become particularly well versed in it at a young age, helping my parents manage the hotel. Little things here and there. Grabbing the phone while they showed someone around, or playing concierge for the guests. Then, when I came back while getting my training, I actually got the title. The idea of a tiny hotel in Ameland having a concierge was cute enough to bring guests. I mean, the island doesn’t have much, so all I really did was help them manage a little bit of travel to and fro, and tell them where to catch the best views. People still appreciated it…I think.

~

“Isn’t it nice to have the family back together?” My father asked. 

“Yeah, pay no mind to the fact that Chadi has ran off to the nearest bar,” Nour laughed.

“Why is Chadi even here?” Farah asked. “He never shows up. Of course, Arabella offers a ticket to Formula 1 and he decides to show up.”

“I mean, at least he’s here,” I groaned.

“Thank you, Arabella,” My mother nodded.

“Besides, I give you guys tickets all the time. It’s not like this was the only time and Chadi used me or something.”

“Yeah, because Chadi would never do that,” Farah laughed.

“What are you talking about, Farah? Do you suddenly know him better than the rest of us?” Nour asked, leaning in. 

“No, but I know our parents better than the rest of you.”

“Oh, listen to the favorite babble on,” Chadi slurred, suddenly appearing at the table. He pulled out the chair directly next to Farah, and smirked.

“Sorry, I tried to tell him to go back to his hotel since he’s drunk but he wouldn’t have it,” Mehdi spoke from the doorway. As the newest addition to the family, why did anyone allow him to play bouncer? 

“Why are you still here?” Chadi asked. 

“Well, I am married to Nour. I know you missed the wedding, but what? Are you such a drunk you can’t remember that?”

“Shut the fuck up, with all due respect, Mehdi,” Nour groaned. “It’s not your job to keep anyone in or out of the family despite what Farah may have told you.”

“Everyone, shut up!” My father shouted. “Chadi, we love you. but you can’t show up drunk and argue with your sister.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did everyone miss what she said about me?”

“No we heard it,” I complained, rubbing my temple. 

“Then you should say to your favorite daughter to keep her mouth shut sometimes!” Chadi shouted at our parents.

“Favorites? We don’t play favorites,” Our mom spoke, softly. 

“Raise your hand if you went to boarding school,” Chadi smirked. Nour and I raised our hands with Chadi.

“The favorite child gets the stellar education of Burgemeester Waldaschool? Meanwhile, the only one of us who is rich went to Saint-Denis and played squash because she was anxious.”

“Only one of us? I’m sorry, are you in my pocketbook, Farah?” Nour asked. “Your husband is a brain surgeon, fuckhead.”

“Watch your mouth,” My father warned.

“Stop fucking critiquing us and get on this one,” Nour answered, pointing at Farah.

“Farah, be nice,” My mother sighed.

“Be nice? That’s it?” Nour asked. “C’mon, you’ve got something better than that in there/”

“Leave mom alone, Nour,” Farah argued. “She hasn’t done anything.”

“Actually, our parents have done everything,” Chadi slurred. “When you think about it.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about, you fucking drunk?” Farah interrogated.

“I think what Chadi is saying-” Nour began.

“I can speak for myself, fuckhead,” Chadi interrupted. “They chose you to be the favorite, me to be the prodigal son that has yet to return, and Nour to be the envious older brother. And Arabella to be the anxious one who sits there twisting her fucking hair and not saying shit.”

I slowly took my hands out of my hair. I mean, yeah, he was right.

“Why are you mad at Arabella? She is literally just sitting there,” Nour asked.

“Because she’s literally just sitting there. She’s not saying anything of value and just watching this thing go down,” Farah groaned. Farah turned to me, eyebrow raised, and hair falling out of her bun. Chadi turned to me, with his body clearly wanting to slump over. Then Nour, the most cleancut one at the table, turned to me with a slightly crazed look in his eyes, like he smelled blood and was ready to go after it. Then my parents. My mother and father both turned to me, instead of speaking up and trying to solve this problem. 

“Listen, everyone needs to shut up. I brought you all here. You didn’t have to come, any of you. You chose to. Farah, just accept the fact that you’re the favorite. Our parents can barely admit it because it’s true. I’m sure you went through shit too though, I guess. Chadi, you’re drunk. Go back to the hotel, and just fucking sleep it off. And Nour, stop just fueling drama because you want to see the family blow up. And mom, and dad. At least realize that Farah is your favorite. Maybe if you admitted it, all of us would calm down or something. And I will keep playing negotiator since that’s all you guys want from me. But everyone, otherwise, shut the fuck up. Actually, y’know what. I don’t care. I’m leaving,” I complained. I stood up and left the table. No one came after me. Why would they? They were probably too self-absorbed to have even heard what I said.

~

“We’ve had Bottas on the road for 5 or so laps right now. We don’t have a lot of time left in the morning session,” Someone called from the radio. 

“How many laps can we get in?” Toto asked.

“Maybe 10? 15 total?” A response rang out.

“We’ll take it. It’s day one, he needs to be on the road,” Toto groaned. Toto turned to me and rolled his eyes. “Well, at least he’ll have those. He’s going to absolutely have my ass later.”

“He’ll learn to live with it,” I shrugged. 

“It would be better for him to learn to live with Max and Charles.”

“Speaking of Charles,” I gestured towards the screens. “Car’s down.”

“Well…and there it goes. Red flag. Alright…6 laps from Bottas?” Toto shrugged. “Pfft. This is just uber good, yeah?”

“I’m going for lunch in a few,” I sighed, taking off the headset.

“You’re going to be in the garage for the afternoon session then?” Toto asked, tapping my shoulder so I could turn around to face him. 

“Nope, my weekend is in the motorhome.”

Toto raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I’ll be back, but I’m talking shit with Bono when I get back,” I sighed. Bono looked up from his place to the left of Toto and raised an eyebrow.

“Who are we talking shit about?” He asked, putting down his papers. 

“Toto,” I whispered.

“Alright, you two,” Toto chuckled. “But before you go, Arabella. Give me something to distract myself for a moment. What do you want for your anniversary?”

“A pen would actually be nice,” I sighed, taking out my phone and scrolling. 

“Still on about a pen. Anything else?” Toto groaned.

“There are good pens, Toto,” Bono nodded. I suddenly realized I had way too many notifications for me to continue comfortably looking at my phone. Even if just to make myself look busy.

“A fountain pen?” Toto asked.

“Oh, I would never use a fountain pen,” I sighed.

Toto threw his hands up. “Then what good of a gift is it?”

“I mean, she writes a lot,” Bono shrugged.

“She writes a lot. No worries, Arabella. I’ll make sure you get a pen. It will be the best gift you’ve ever gotten," he winked. For a moment, for that moment, everything was about what he had just said. Of course, our relationship is professional. At best, friendly. However, it would be irresponsible for me not to admit though that a part of my cold exterior could be melted away by the simple gesture of someone wanting to do something nice for me. Was that just part of my seemingly growing crush on him? I don’t think it matters. What it really says though is how desperate I am for someone to care about me. 

“You see how her eyes just lit up? I think she really does want a pen,” Bono laughed. 

“Maybe,” I cringed at myself. I could just imagine my doe eyed look for a few seconds. Toto just smirked though, implying that at the least, he didn’t notice the ‘desperate’ part of my expression. 

~

“Yeah, uh…do you have a recommendation?” The security guard sighed, looking me up and down. 

“Yeah, uh…Lewis Hamilton?” I mocked.

“The attitude is not cute on you,” He responded, looking through the list. “Well, just because you’re on the list, doesn’t mean you get to come in.”

“Then what’s the point of your list?” I groaned. 

“Do you think you’re Grace Kelly?”

“Do you think you’re the secret service?”

“I am,” He sighed, quickly flashing his ID. Oh…

“Alright, Schatzi,” I heard from behind me, as an arm wrapped around my shoulders. “I thought you’d already be on this boat, huh?”

“Yeah, I did too, Toto,” I sighed, looking at him. First kiss, second kiss. Just a brief touch on each cheek. The security guard looked at me in the eyes, and then back at Toto, before stepping aside to let us in. Toto let go of me, slipping into the crowd, as I began to follow him. Right before I did though, the security guard grabbed my arm.

“Now I have to know…who are you?” He asked.

“His assistant,” I shrugged. The security guard watched as I slipped into the crowd, but not quite disappearing before I blew a raspberry at him. I’m childish…but who cares at this particular moment. I’m on a billionaire’s super yacht, at the request of the best F1 driver in the world and another billionaire, and within my sight right now is Prince Albert. I took my fingers through my hair. I straightened it for the first time in a very long time. I stepped further into the party. It's hard to feel comfortable when surrounded by people like this, but nevertheless, I couldn’t help but savor the moment a little bit.

My anxiety was creeping up though. I could feel it. I quickly moved towards one of the servers and grabbed a glass of champagne, and chugged it. I grabbed another before they even moved away. I refuse to not enjoy myself, no matter how much alcohol it takes. The good thing about being unrecognizable is that no one is really desperate to talk to me. So, I can float through the party like a ghost…wait…why did I come then?

“Hey, Arabella!” I heard from deep in the crowd in front of me. The British accent and ability to remain soft spoken while yelling was impossible not to recognize. I pushed through the crowd, following the hand waving to me.

“Oh, hey!” I smiled. Lewis gave me a nod, and smiled. 

“I swore to God, I saw your boyfriend floating around here,” Lewis said, looking around.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Lewis Capaldi?” I asked.

“Oh, you know…it might’ve been. They do look alike, don’t they?” He sighed. “Is Cathal here?”

“In Monaco? Yeah. Here at the party? Likely not. We try to split up our engagements. Avoiding speculation and all that.”

“Ah, yeah. Not fun dating celebrities, is it?”.

“I mean…it’s great,” I smiled.

“You don’t have to lie,” Lewis laughed. “But, I’m glad you could come. Sometimes these parties feel a little…weird. It’s like 20 year olds and 50 year olds. Nothing in between. Except us, I guess.”

“Yeah, it's definitely interesting. But this isn’t my first party in Monaco…maybe the most elite one I’ve been to though,” I cringed, looking around.

“Oh, one thing I did want to mention. I am having a less elitist party tomorrow. Less princes, more fun. Bring your swimsuit, bring Cathal, it’ll be great. Less intense at least. I’ll text you the details.”

“Cathal? I don’t know…I…”

“Don’t worry. We know discretion. Despite what it may seem like, there are ways to keep things quiet. Promise,” Lewis winked.

“Thanks,” I smiled. I took a deep breath and looked around the party from my position. “I’m…going to go mingle. I’ll catch up with you when I see you.”

“Got it. See you tomorrow,” Lewis smiled.

I stepped in the direction of the exit. I appreciated Lewis’s offer, and maybe I would go tomorrow. Today though, I just am not sure if this is the environment for me. I can’t say I find this to be particularly comfortable. I’m not famous, and I don’t want to be. I barely got let in the door. I shouldn’t be here. I just shouldn’t-

“Are you leaving already, Arabella?” I heard Toto behind me. 

“Oh…yeah,” I answered, turning around.

“Well, before you go, at least let me introduce you to some people. I was just telling everyone about my amazing assistant, and they were just saying how they have to put a face to the name.”

I walked directly to the right of Toto, and waved to the group of men he was talking to. 2 hours later, I was still on the boat. Sure, I didn’t belong with the celebrities, but maybe that’s not my niche in places like this. But I can definitely play assistant in places like this. And I kind of love it. Sharing stories of messy conversations and quadruple bookings, all while showcasing how damn good I am at managing it? It gets no better.

Tag list: @daddyslittlevillain, @littleheaven

[httpsoftbunni]

Genesis 1 & Imagery in Jeremiah 4

Continuation of Bible Study

Welcome back to another session of Bible Study!

Last time, we dove headfirst into the chaos—specifically, the relationship between Genesis 1:1 and Genesis 1:2. There’s a fork in the road here, and depending on how one interprets these verses, entire theological traditions and interpretive camps have been built.

I’ve personally staked out a path that I find the most compelling. Of course, you don’t have to agree, but whatever view you choose, I believe it’s crucial to truly think through the weight of the ideas involved.

For me, the most compelling case is that the “wild and waste” (tohu va-vohu), the darkness, and the deep abyss are not random or vague. They're deeply rooted images from the ancient Near East and Israelite thought, symbolizing nothingness. I tend to use the word pre-creation as a more neutral term. Even the word nothing carries modern baggage we might unintentionally project onto the text. What Genesis is showing us isn't nothing in the way we think of it—it’s the formless, unordered state before creation. And that’s a key distinction.

In the cultures surrounding ancient Israel—like Egypt and Babylon—this “pre-creation” state was often described with images of darkness, chaotic waters, and lack of order. These were the common metaphors for what existed before the world was set in motion.

We ended last time by focusing on the three phrases in Genesis 1:2:

Tohu va-vohu Darkness The deep waters

Each of the first three days of creation addresses one of these in turn:

Day One contains the darkness. Day Two separates and orders the waters. Day Three sees dry land emerge, bringing food and life.

Now, I bring all of that up again because it helps us keep an eye out for when later biblical authors reuse this same imagery. Recognizing those connections helps us understand how these authors viewed creation and existence.

I'm citing from Jeremiah 4. This chapter acts almost like a retrospective commentary, casting the imagery of Genesis 1 in a haunting, inverted way.

Beginning at Jeremiah 4:5, we enter a time of looming disaster. Jeremiah lived during the years leading up to and through the siege and destruction of Jerusalem by Babylon. He warned people it was coming—but most ignored him. This passage comes from one of his earliest warnings:

“Declare in Judah, and show forth in Jerusalem, and say, Blow the trumpet in the land: cry, and gather together, and say, Assemble yourselves, and let us go into the strong cities…” (Jeremiah 4:5–9)

This is a call to run to the walled cities for protection. The invader from the north is coming. Historically, enemies entering Israel (from modern-day Turkey or Syria) funneled in from the north because of natural barriers like the desert and mountains.

“The lion is come up from his den, and the destroyer of the Gentiles is departed… to lay thy land waste…”

Jeremiah is beginning to describe the unraveling of everything they know. This is more than just political conquest—he’s evoking cosmic language, deeply poetic, and terrifying.

🏚 The Collapse of Cosmos

Skipping down to verses 16 and 20:

“Destruction upon destruction is cried, for the whole land is wasted: suddenly are my tents destroyed, and my curtains in a moment.”

Here’s where we should pause. Most of us have never lived in a walled city under siege. But think of all the people today who’ve fled their homes due to war, occupation, or invasion. Picture that pain...abandoning your childhood home, watching cities collapse into rubble.

Now, look at verse 23:

“I beheld the earth, and lo, it was without form and void (tohu va-vohu); and the heavens, and they had no light.”

This should catch your eye immediately.

Jeremiah is activating the imagery of Genesis 1—but in reverse.

He goes on:

“I beheld, and lo, there was no man, and all the birds of the heavens were fled. I beheld, and lo, the fruitful place was a wilderness, and all the cities thereof were broken down at the presence of the Lord, and by his fierce anger.” (Jeremiah 4:23–26)

God is letting Israel face the consequences of breaking the covenant, handing them over to the chaos they’ve welcomed in.

“The whole land shall be desolate: yet will I not make a full end.” (Jeremiah 4:27)

There’s a flicker of hope, a remnant will survive. But the rest? A complete undoing of what was once flourishing.

So how does this tie into Genesis?

Jeremiah is using the language of Day One of creation—but flipping it. The fruitful land that was once vibrant and full of life becomes “without form and void.” There is no light, no people, no birds, just rubble and ruin.

It’s not a cosmic collapse, it’s the collapse of their world, their cosmos, their ordered way of life. Their creation–the city, the families, the covenant culture–is being de-created.

Remember from our last session: what does it mean to “exist” in the biblical worldview?

It’s when life is ordered in a way that reflects the image of God and allows humans to flourish. So to undo that order—to let it fall apart—is to return to the chaos of Genesis 1:2.

The trembling hills aren’t necessarily literal earthquakes. But can you build a home, plant a garden, or raise a family on unstable ground? No. That instability is part of the tohu va-vohu chaos—a life that cannot support flourishing.

In Genesis 1:

Darkness isn’t eliminated—it’s contained. Waters aren’t destroyed—they’re separated, given boundaries. Dry land emerges from the chaos—not instead of it.

And that still applies.

There will be darkness. The waters do remain. But God brings order out of them. Likewise, chaos is always a threat, especially when humans become its agents.

Throughout the Psalms, evil people are often compared to floods, a poetic way of saying that sin, violence, and oppression threaten to undo the world God ordered for life.

So what’s happening in Jeremiah?

Babylon becomes the agent of de-creation. The world is returning to tohu va-vohu, not because God is absent, but because He’s allowing Israel to see the fruit of rejecting His order.

Jeremiah watches as his beloved city, his home, is unmade.

This is why Jeremiah 4 is so rich to me. It reveals how the biblical authors saw creation as more than a one-time event. Creation is something we can build into the world, or undo by our actions.

Order, life, and stability are sacred gifts, and fragile ones.

Next session, we’ll start exploring the six days of creation, seeing how each one builds on the last, not just in terms of structure, but meaning.

Until then, may your days be ordered, your land fruitful, and your soul at peace. 🤍🕊🐰

[horrormoviemonstermakeout]

MONSTER RATING: Godzilla (Shin Godzilla)

Shin Godzilla is a new spin on Godzilla from Japanese directors Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi, and it fucking rules. Look, I love most of the Godzilla movies, even though it went from a metaphor to the horrors of war and the nuclear bomb to basically just kaiju WWE, Godzilla was meant to be a terrifying monster. Shin Godzilla seeks to rectify it with this new incarnation - a mutilated, radiation-scarred amalgamation of tumorous, charred flesh.

Shin Godzilla follows the members of the Japanese government as they attempt to weave their way through the bureaucratic and social nightmare of a 400 foot tall irradiated monster seeking to destroy one of the most densely populated cities in the world. It’s a fairly interesting concept - it’s less a typical kaiju story and more of someone going “Okay, seriously, what if Godzilla actually existed in real life, what would happen?” I’ve been known to enjoy ridiculous hypotheticals and I, for one, am glad that Shin Godzilla follows through with it and still manages to make it interesting. The wonderful performances really sell that these people are responsible for the lives of several million citizens and that they are utterly aware of how limited their powers are. These are people trying to do the best they can to not let this be the worst humanitarian disaster on the face of the planet.

The movie’s cast is huge, I could swear they have enough actors to replicate the Japanese government one-to-one, which makes it a little difficult to pick out who our main protagonists are. The one we focus on the most is Rando Yaguchi (Hiroki Hasegawa), Deputy Chief Cabinet Secretary, our main protagonist with his friend Hideki Akasaka (Yutaka Takenouchi), the Prime Minister's aide, and Kayoco Anne Patterson (Satomi Ishihara), the US President’s envoy. As Godzilla grows more and more dangerous - with mutations that threaten to obliterate Tokyo, if not all of Japan - they must organize as many people as they can muster in order to devise a plan to stop Godzilla in its tracks. All the while attempting to placate the US, who is more than eager to destroy Godzilla, along with all of Tokyo, with nuclear force.

I know political commentary is not usually what people come to Godzilla for, but the “what if”-esque nature of this movie lends itself to it surprisingly well. Godzilla is treated both as a force of nature, much like an earthquake or hurricane, that appears randomly to cause arbitrary death and destruction, and a hostile entity that has to be combatted. It’s shockingly realistic for a disaster movie, we see how the government is stretched thin trying to handle evacuation, military deployment, trying to seek reason in a country with an itchy trigger finger resting on the nuke button - it gets tense watching them despair and panic, doing everything they can to minimize the loss of human life.

No punches are pulled at the expense of America, of course. Our response is immediate military deployment, with little to no regard for collateral damage or civilian casualties. Props to the movie for accuracy, even if attempts to fight Godzilla with raw military power are futile. Gunfire, cannonfire, missiles, everything seems to bounce off its burnt exterior without so much as a scratch. The only thing that manages to pierce its skin are the missiles dropped from American B-52 bombers. In response, Godzilla discharges dozens of laser beams from his back, destroying the bombers and reducing the metropolitan area to a burning, irradiated wasteland. Even if the missiles did succeed, the movie is quick to point out that the carpet bombing would’ve annihilated Tokyo anyways. When conventional weaponry doesn’t work, the US immediately plans to destroy both Godzilla and Tokyo through use of a nuclear bomb. Every character is justifiably horrified at this.

Godzilla in this movie is a being of ultimate violence, absolutely nothing can trump it. When there’s a weapon it can’t shrug off, it evolves to surpass it. More importantly though, he’s basically a wild animal trapped in a corner. Of course it’s going to lash out, you’re provoking the god of violence and he’s scared shitless. He is the ultimate hubris punisher, a being that exists to humble humanity and say “Your violence will only be met with destruction.” The calls for violence against it are noticeable once you pick it up, even in the beginning when it’s a large, unknown, whale-like creature in the Tokyo bay, the government officials are already calling for its extermination. The only way he is defeated is through scientific research and understanding, a blood coagulant that is developed only through study of its molecular structure and behavior. The movie’s big message is “Violence will only ever beget greater violence, it’s only through cooperation and understanding that humanity can survive,” and it’s using the American proclivity towards violence as the cudgel for this metaphor, which is great.

We talked a lot about what he represents, but let's get literal for a moment. Let's talk about the big man himself.

- MONSTER RATING - GODZILLA -

CREEPINESS: 7/10 - Classically, Godzilla is just one big dinosaur, and like, conceptually it’s pretty terrifying. He’s a giant monster that’s almost impossible to fight and can kill thousands of people pretty easily, though a lot of the older movies have added a bit of narm to him. For a lot of people, Godzilla is more a goofy rubber monster than something horrifying.

Shin Godzilla is horrifying. His design makes it look like he’s one-half dead, useless flesh and the other half painful, tumorous overgrowth, with the exterior of thick, folded over, burnt skin and dull red light faintly glowing from where it’s thinnest. Raw, exposed flesh that’s visible from the parts that aren’t covered in charred skin. The shriveled, contorted arms that seemed to have lost functionality. The several overlapping teeth that seem to just grow randomly from in and around its mouth. This beast is a product of radiation and every single part of it seems to yearn for a swift release. Existence for Shin Godzilla seems to be one of endless pain, as its tumor-ridden body continues to survive despite it threatening to fall apart.

Though what makes him even scarier than his design is that the movie portrays him like the personification of natural disaster. It cannot be reasoned with, it cannot be stopped, and the more you try to stop him, the more death and destruction he will cause. Even then, nothing humanity can do can actually stop it, it’s more powerful than any weapon on Earth, and its existence only signifies inevitable annihilation. Humans are no longer on top, and they’re no longer safe either. 

The ONLY thing that stops Godzilla from being truly terrifying is - and I’m sorry to say this - the eyes. Big, googly-eyed peepers that don’t suggest any form of brain activity in that skull. A lot of people seem to think it’s first appearance in the film, when it’s younger and less developed, is actually pretty cute in an ugly pug sort of way. The googly eyes carry on even to hid final form, which makes him look unfortunately goofy with his beady little eyes. I understand the movie is trying to go with the glassy, dead-eyed fish appearance to make it look even more like a walking corpse, but it doesn’t really stick. Otherwise, the design is phenomenal.

WETNESS: 6/10 - Surprisingly not as wet as you'D think for a giant fish. His final form makes him look like he survived an hour in the incinerator. The dry, black, cracked skin with a faint red glowing underneath conveying the unbridled nuclear heat stored inside. Though he loses his wetness as he evolves, his first appearance is wet as HELL.

Godzilla is a fish that’s become irradiated, and you can certainly tell that when he first appears. His skin is still green and not yet covered in burnt flesh, though with some parts that are just exposed musculature, as if its rapid growth is literally ripping him apart. As he crawls through the streets of Tokyo, blood spills out of his gills with every breath. This is the midpoint between what it once was and what it will become and it looks utterly painful. If his final form is nuclear incineration, his first form is nuclear disintegration. His cells are just barely holding together as he’s forcefully evolved into a being of destruction.

DATEABILITY: 8/10 - Let me give you a quote from the director of the 1954 Godzilla film, Ishir⁠ō Honda:

“Monsters are tragic beings. They are born too tall, too strong, too heavy. They are not evil by choice. That is their tragedy. They do not attack people because they want to, but because of their size and strength, mankind has no other choice but to defend himself.”

You’re a fish in the ocean, and by happenstance you accidentally find yourself in a nuclear waste dumping ground. The radiation mutates you. Slowly, painfully, you grow larger. Your fins are replaced with distortions of limbs, blood spills out of your gills, and you have no idea what is causing the pain you feel. Soon enough, you start surpassing buildings in size, and in a blind, pained stupor you find yourself in a city. Your body is too huge and unwieldy, as you move the infrastructure around you turns to rubble, and hundreds die in your wake. In response, humans have no choice but to try and kill you. You never chose this, you never even realized what was happening, but now you’ve become a god of death, the only thing you will ever cause is misery and disaster. You are utterly alone, because you’ve become built for violence, and violence will be the only thing you’ll know for the rest of your life.

Godzilla is all alone in this world, and no one can possibly understand them. He might be a terrifying destructive god on the outside but on the inside they’re angry and terrified. Can you imagine suddenly mutating into a gigantic monster, whose existence can only destroy? How alienating it must be that you cannot coexist with the life around you, that the only thing that can follow you is unmitigated death. No one will try to understand you, let alone sympathize with you, because you will only ever be a threat and nothing more. It’s fascinating that the song that plays when Godzilla unleashes his nuclear beams, “Who Will Know,” is one that’s sympathetic to him.

“If I die in this world / Who will know something of me? / I am lost, no one knows / There’s no trace of my yearning.”

Godzilla in this movie, despite his city-destroying size and power, is still the scared little guppy he once was. He doesn’t know any better, he doesn’t even know why this is happening to him in the first place. What he needs most of all is someone next to him, to see him for what he is, and to love and care for him despite his irradiated and monstrous appearance. Someone to quell the fiery radioactive fear in his heart, and show him the love he needs in a world that only seeks his death.

FINAL RATING: A GIANT TUMOR WORTH LOVING / 10

[akuaya-eng]

(Main story) Chapter 2 - Episode 8

- TO THE TOWER -

Dia

... The tower is up ahead.

Espada

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here... It’s changed quite a bit. This place has always been prone to gathering cursed energy, but now...

Fiori

The air isn't just heavy; it's like mud... It’s hard just to stand here... As expected from the place that caused the "Scarlet Wall" to go berserk.

Dia

..........

Espada

Lord Dia...

Dia

Espada, Fiori. You’ve memorized the plan and the map, right?

Espada

Of course.

Fiori

Naturally.

Dia

Good. Let’s move. Stay on your guard.

(time passes)

Espada

--Haa! (purifies)

Fiori

There! (purifies)

Dia

Haa! (purifies)

Espada

Hurry while you can!

Fiori

No, stop. They've gathered again.

Dia

It can’t be helped. We’ll focus on purification here for now. Don’t break formation, you two.

Espada

Understood, Lord Dia.

Fiori

Okay! (purifies)

Servant's Ghost

.......

Fiori

(thinking) Voices again, coming from beyond the cursed energy...

Servant's Ghost

What happened to my eyes... I... can’t see anything... I hear a voice telling me to run. But, where... What’s happening? I’m scared... terrified... Please, don’t leave me behind...

Dia

........... (purifies)

Servant's Ghost

A magical disaster? Are you kidding? This is just a small fire, right? Isn’t it? As long as we get out of the castle, we’ll be safe, right? The town is safe, right...? Tell me it’s a lie. Come on. I just had a baby...

Dia

..........

Espada

...Lord Dia... (purifies)

Child's Ghost

Did you see my mommy and big brother?

Fiori

...I’m sorry. I haven’t seen them.

Child's Ghost

The whole town is in trouble. There’s a fire. My mommy and big brother are working in the castle, so I came to find them!

Fiori

You came all by yourself... That’s brave.

Child's Ghost

The castle is burning too... Where’s mommy? Where’s my brother...? It’s hot... I’m scared... Can you hug me...?

Fiori

... (purifies) --Maybe you can meet them now. I hope... you do.

Dia

...The way is clear. Let’s move on.

----------

Espada

This is the garden you mentioned, Lord Dia. It’s my first time stepping in here.

Dia

Yes. After the magical disaster, it was left untouched.

Espada

It’s more of a forest than a garden now. It’s disorienting.

Fiori

It must have been a beautiful place once. Now, it’s unrecognizable. How many people lost their lives here...

Dia

..........

Espada

According to the plan, I will focus on the purification. Lord Dia, please search for the path to the tower.

Dia

Understood.

Fiori

I’ll handle support.

Espada

...Thank you.

Fiori

Here they come, Espada!

Espada

I know. (purifies) ...Ugh!I won’t let them reach Lord Dia!

Fiori

Over here too...! (purifies) ...You don’t have to stay here anymore.

Espada

(purifies) ..........

Fiori

Even a devil makes a face like that. Hearing such realistic voices must hurt your conscience.

Espada

...How I feel doesn’t matter. But Lord Dia... He's suffering. That’s for sure.

Fiori

...Well, he deserves it. He’s responsible for the deaths of countless innocent people. It’s about time he suffered.

Espada

...You’re wrong, Fiori. Lord Dia... He has been suffering all along.

----------

Dia

I think there’s a shortcut this way...

Vassal's Ghost

The Prince... Because of the Prince...

Dia

...Excuse me... Please let me through. (purifies)

----------

Maid's Ghost

Someone said... The "Scarlet Wall" went berserk-- I'm scared, scared... What did I do? If only that day hadn’t come. If only that hadn’t... happened... It’s because he moved the "Scarlet Wall." If he... if Dia weren’t here... I...

----------

Dia

(thinking)That’s right. If only I...

Servant's Ghost

The prince did something so horrible!? The king and queen are dead...? That’s a lie, right...? Killing his own parents... Has the prince turned into a devil!?

Dia

(thinking) If it weren't for me... (purifies)

...There it is. If I recall, this path leads to... this place...! The cursed energy is especially dense here... Where is it coming from? That is--

Gardenkeeper Christop

Did Lord Dia really cause the "Scarlet Wall" to go berserk? ...Christoph...

Dia

...Christoph...

Gardenkeeper Cristoph

Lord Dia wouldn’t do something like that. If we don’t believe in him, who will? Even though he’s a prince, he’s still just a boy. He loved watching birds bathe here. He must be scared. He must feel lonely. Where is he now... Is he safe...

Dia

I am...

Knight Ralph

We must protect Lord Dia. Has anyone seen Lord Dia!?

Dia

Ralph...

Knight Ralph

Damn it, the fire is spreading...! I’ll protect him even if it costs me my life!

Head Maid Alma

The Prince is the cause? What a stupid thing to say.

Dia

That voice... Alma...

Head Maid Alma

Lord Dia remembers each and every servant’s name and smiles at us. He wouldn’t do something so terrible. Oh, Lord Dia. You must be in so much pain right now. Please don’t blame yourself. We are here for you...

Dia

...Everyone... they... they care about me... Ugh...! I’ll release you from this pain now.