#quick before the inbox floods again

[twst-hottest-takes]

SEASONAL FANDOM POLL TIME!

Which dorm do we think is hosting the best Christmas Party?

[scarletttries]

The Magic Touch (BG3 Gale x Reader Request)

Pairing: Gale of Waterdeep x Reader

Rating: Explicit Smut - Gender neutral pronouns throughout, but AFAB reader for smut purposes

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: Thank you to the anon that just sent me the prompt of 'inappropriate use of mage hand' please know I have thought of little else since, so here you go! Reminder that my inbox is open for BG3 requests and headcanons :)

The Magic Touch

It started with just an innocent teasing remark. An off-hand playful comment at the end of a long day of adventuring. One you didn't think your darling boyfriend Gale would take quite so personally.

Gale had been especially clingy with you that afternoon strolling through the woods, the party taking much longer than usual to find a suitable spot to set up camp. His arm snaked around your waist as the two of you walked at the back of the group, Gale taking the slightest moment of privacy to land a kiss on your cheek, or your neck, or to whisper in your ear how stunningly beautiful you look in the setting sunlight. You were used to him showering you with affections, but even by his standards he seemed undeniably attentive, his gaze barely leaving your expression to the extent you had to stop him tripping over his own feet more than once as the two you trailed behind everyone else. You could see the darkening desire in his eyes as dusk descended and by the time you heard Karlach calling out that she'd found a spot to set up camp, Gale's breath was almost ragged with his need to be close to you.

"Let's set up our tent and hurry away before anyone spots us my love. I can't bear another moment of being apart from you." He muttered below his breath, racing off to find a quiet moment until you caught his wrist and spun him back around.

"Not yet, lover boy," you chuckled, "we should at least help make up the campfire and share a drink with the others - it's been a long day for everyone after all." You could see the gears turning in Gale's mind as he drew closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling you flush with his chest,

"We can do all that once we've had some time alone my stunning deity," his voice was trying to ooze sultry confidence, but the sheer desperation shone through, undermining his attempts at charisma "after all you can't resist these magic hands, can you?" His fingers brushed along your lower back as if to answer the question for you, his delicate touch rendering you speechless on more than one occasion. Just as you thought about conceding to his whims and seeing how quick you two could pitch your tent before anyone could ask for help, you heard Karlach call out again,

"A bit of help here please!"

"I guess just this one I can resist your magic touch." You reluctantly released yourself from Gale's grasp and headed towards the Barbarian's pleas, hearing your now pouting wizard whisper behind you,

"For now."

***

It didn't take too long to get the camp set up with the whole party helping out, and as the last flickers of daylight settled below the horizon you found yourself settled on a rounded tree stump gazing into the roaring fire. Gale had been uncharacteristically quiet as the group began swapping tales and echoing folk stories from their pasts, something the wizard would usually take great pride in his contributions to. As Astarion circled the group again, pouring yet another healthy glass of wine to anyone who didn't move their cup out of the way quick enough, you finally caught Gale's eye in what should have been a moment of relief. But instead of the usual warm smile, or even slightly disappointed gaze he would sport when forced to sit across from you instead of next to, he was sporting an almost sinister smirk. One that made a shiver run through your spine in anticipation. His eyes were flooded with intensity as he kept his gaze fixed on you, completely ignoring the conversation happening alongside him as he stared you down for what felt like an eternity. You could feel your stomach start to flutter as he raked his gaze over every inch of you, struggling not to squirm in your seat as it almost felt like a hand gently caressed your ankle and set your skin ablaze.

It wasn't until you saw the slight tilt of Gale's head that you realised you weren't just feeling the pressure of his gaze, you could feel his hand, his magical mage hand, softly stroking the skin of your calf. Unseen and ethereal, you could only furrow your brow at the spot the sensation was emanating from, turning your view back to Gale who seemed to be enjoying that you couldn't tell exactly where he was going with this yet. You offered him a sweet smile, an acknowledgement of his gentle touch, the affectionate gesture he could offer from the other side of a roaring fire and without distracting your companions. You could see him chuckle into his goblet of wine as the invisible hand started to drift higher, settling on your left knee for a moment and squeezing lightly.

You turned your attention back to the group; Wyll and Karlach had started acting out the highlights from today's turns of combat. The weight of the hand started to slowly shift off your knee, rising again until you could feel your stomach flip. The magical fingertips were tracing shapes over your inner thigh, the same way Gale would whenever the two of you were tangled up in nothing but your sheets. Your eyes widened as they darted back to Gale, who was now pretending to be captivated by the theatrics happening alongside him, only occasionally deigning to glance your way to see the effects of his wizardry.

You could feel your face heat up from more than just the fire as the ghostly sensation crept higher and higher, the touch so featherlight it could only stir up desire without providing any relief. You tried shifting slightly in your seat, trying to keep the movement subtle enough to not attract attention, but unwittingly only moving your knees slightly further apart and giving Gale even more access to your now aching core. You had to bite your lip to keep in a whimper as the otherworldly fingertips stroked over your folds, the fabric in the way not providing any obstacle to Gale's magic touch, leaving you completely at his mercy.

He couldn't resist staring right at you now, challenging you to resist him as you had earlier claimed that you could, each delicate brush of his hand only stirring up more pulsing desire in the pit of your stomach. You tried to take a deep breath and brace yourself for what you thought was coming, waiting for the lingering touch to sweep sweetly over your clit with all the expertise that Gale showed you every time you lay together. You clenched and waited and focused on remaining composed, but no delicious pressure landed on that most sensitive part of you, Gale opting instead to play tantalisingly around it, giving you more and more sensation but never where you needed him to. It was torture to feel yourself squirming under his hungry gaze, getting wetter and more desperate but with no relief in sight.

"Are you alright there soldier?" It took you a second to release Karlach was talking to you, noticing the uncomfortable way you jolted in place as the mage hand froze upon hearing her voice.

"Uhuh, fine." You managed to mumble out, betrayed by a slight quiver in your voice that you could see Gale grin at from the corner of your eye.

"You're looking quite flushed dear, perhaps I was a bit generous with my pours." Astarion chuckled darkly as he tipped his own goblet back. You could barely concentrate on speaking with the building frustration of the now motionless hand still settled so close to where you really needed it. You wanted it to move again, even though it would only tease you further. You needed to pounce on Gale but you knew that would only prove him right and embolden him to do this again. But more than anything you needed to feel some friction or relief or pressure to turn this endless sensation into the overwhelming pleasure you knew it was building to. Avoiding Gale's eyeline you feigned feeling your own cheeks for warmth and then nodded your head,

"I fear you may be right Astarion, the day and the wine seems to have caught up with me, so I will take my leave for the night now." You made a little awkward bow as you turned your back on the group and took a first uneasy step towards your tent. Your legs seemed to wobble under the pressure as you inched away from the group, only to find the invisible fingers settled against your thigh pleased enough by your actions that they quickly turned their attention to where you needed it most. You choked out a moan as the ghostly touch started to brush over your clit, strumming in perfect rhythm as it plunged into folds as well, leaving you just on the brink of ecstasy as you fought to open the front of your tent, hands trembling with excitement.

With the fabric obscuring you from view, you practically fell onto your bed roll, struggling to take a full breath as the haunting digits continued the overwhelming motions between your legs. You couldn't remember how it felt before you were helpless to Gale's magical actions, every nerve in your being alight as the master of your pleasure finally appeared through the entrance of your tent.

"Did you ha-" His smug sentiment was cut off immediately as you dragged his lips against yours, whining into his mouth in your frustrated state and almost breaking his concentration on his undeniably magic touch. He greedily accepted your kiss, tongue lapping forward to swallow your moans as his arms wrapped firmly around you. Pulling back he took a moment to take in his view; your face was flushed with excitement, legs and hips trembling beneath him as you continued to get more and more overstimulated from his spell without any course of retaliation. Your lips had fallen open in a slow string of whimpers and Gale couldn't help but thank every past version of himself that studied the magic that led him here.

"My my, I really did get you all worked up, didn't I? Are you ready to admit you can't resist me now?" You were already too far gone to argue, and seeing him so confident and sexy only had you down worse for the wizard, but as if to seal your fate the hand between your legs that had been so close to finally offering you sweet release stilled again, and you could feel your body retreating from its peak.

"Please Gale, I need you, I can't resist you." Your brain was too foggy with overwhelming need to care about winning this argument, something Gale would tease you about later, but he could already feel himself straining against his britches and now that he finally had you alone he wasn't going to deny either of you what you wanted a moment longer.

"I can't resist you either. You really are quite amazing." He sighed out lovingly as he made quick work of freeing you both from the confines of your clothes, no longer willing to let anything come between you. Your arms felt heavy as you clung to Gale's broad shoulders, even feeling the weight of his body on top of yours causing you to buck your hips, desperate to feel him touch you again. His hands slowly raked over your chest, pulling the fabric of your blouse off your shoulders until your chest was exposed to him. His thumbs brushed over your nipples playfully and you moaned at yet another part of your body exploding with sensation, tears almost pricking in your eyes as your core ached to feel him.

"Gale!" You pleaded again, the gentle wizard knowing exactly what you needed before you ever had to ask. Your folds were soaked from the attention of his mage hand, Gale's thick member sheathing itself inside you as the invisible fingers sprung back to life rubbing your clit in soft circles, perfectly matching the rhythm of Gale's desperate hips.

"Gods, I fear I was truly made for you sweetheart." Gale groaned out the praise as he felt your warm walls clench around him, responding to finally being full after a painfully slow build up of pleasure. You wanted to sigh out a similarly sweet sentiment, but as you felt yourself stretch around his length, his warm hands playing with your nipples as his illusioned fingers toyed with your throbbing clit, you could do nothing else but pant his name, crying out over and over in the sweetest prayer Gale had ever heard.

You could feel your body quickly pick up where your excitement had dropped off, the overwhelming rush of pleasure echoing through every fibre of your being. Gale's muscular legs had your thighs pinned apart as he thrust into you, stopping your attempts to clench them or do anything to alleviate the absolute rush of sensation that flooded your senses and left you shaking as you finally the pressure inside you spill over. You could hear Gale moan as you dug your nails into his shoulders and clenched around him, wave after wave of euphoria finally releasing from your centre after his torturous teasing. His arms started to tense and clench around you as his release quickly followed, a groaned echo of your name mumbled into your shoulder as his eyes fought to remain open, drinking in every second of your pleasure like it was his own.

The two of you panted, faces so close you could see the sheen of sweat on Gale's face, the first sign that tonight had been as demanding of his restraint as it had of yours. Your exhausted hand rose to brush an errant lock of dark hair behind his ear, a sweet gesture that left Gale powerless to the draw of your lips, lowering himself to kiss you much more gently this time. You could feel the pinch of his cheeks as he smiled against your lips, grateful to finally have the precious alone time with you he had been craving all day.

"I'm sorry for my underhanded tactics my love." He sighed softly against your lips, eyes searching yours for any hint of malice or distaste. Instead he was met with the same hunger he had been gazing at you with all night, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as you smirked,

"You will be when you see some of the spell scrolls I'm thinking about right now."

[ddejavvu]

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

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

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

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“-visit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’re able to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gifts!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“What is it, baby doll?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s-”

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When are you guys coming back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

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

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

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

- My dad’s eating one too :( 

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

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or until you know the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wonderlandwalker]

Remember | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: The capitol has taken you from him, but he won't let them keep you. You can find pt. 2 here!

Content Warnings/Tags: Violence, bullet wounds, major character injury, blood, needles, angst, fluff, no use of y/n

Word Count: 4.0k

Requested by Anon: omg I love your writing and I have an unhealthy addiction to reading angst so could you please write something about the reader being with peeta and Johanna when they where taken by the capital and her being with finnick and recovering while she’s in district 13? 🫶🫶

A/N: The way I smiled when I saw this request I swear. This one has been in the works for a little while and I thought it fit perfectly. It is angst you ask for and it is angst you shall get. I'm considering writing a part two but I'm not sure how to yet. My bad habit of not proofreading happened again and with this one especially it was way too long so if I made any major errors pls do let me know.

The Capitol.

You are currently in the Capitol.

At least that’s where you think you are. You remember being in the arena, you remember running towards the general direction you last saw Finnick, remembering the marks you had gone by in case you had to take a different route. You remember seeing Finnick's face through the plantation, you’d be able to recall those features anywhere. You remember something hitting you from behind and falling to the ground, too caught up in catching up with him to check your surroundings. You remember crying out in pain, hoping he’d hear you. But the next thing you remember is the vision of him slowly going out of focus and losing consciousness not long after. 

At least that's what you think happened.

At least you can still remember, that’s worth something right? You remember your past, and you remember the reaping that led to the arena. The flood of relief that went over you as you finally found your way back to him. You don’t know what happened to Finnick, he was there too after all, but you had needed to split up early. Maybe he had been caught off guard too. Maybe he escaped. Maybe they never even found him. Maybe with him being the idiot he could be, he was probably already on his way here, looking for you. Just like you would have done for him, and he would have called you an idiot then too.

You would get out of here one way or another, that much you knew, but you needed to remember more, you needed to remember the last look on his face, you hadn't had much time to take it in, but you remembered the furrow of his eyebrows, the same expression he always had when he was trying to concentrate, you needed to remember that.

You knew that once you did get out of here, Finnick would be furious, telling you that you had been reckless, that you shouldn't have let your guard down, shortly after telling you how worried he had been. And it would feel like coming home.

Your mind becomes hazier, and it is harder to remember. You feel your head throbbing, and you move your hand towards it until you feel it can move no further. You open your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the bright light that covers the room. You can't see much, can't move your head much.

You remember the rendezvous point you had talked about. You remember the quick “don't get yourself in trouble” and the kiss he gave you right before you parted ways.

You remember the layers of plants and trees you moved through, seeing some of them cut down, letting you know someone else had been there

But you know there is more, more that you missed. The stomped-out ashes that you ran past, you know you should have paid closer attention. But you can’t remember

You need to remember what happened. How you got here. Who got you here. If you really are in the capitol. But your mind doesn't want to cooperate anymore. The room is getting darker and darker, even though the lamp above your head is still dutifully buzzing

You wake up, you still remember where you are, or at least where you think you are. You still remember yesterday, was it yesterday? Why couldn't they just hang a clock in here? 

You look up, and you see a device set up, not too far from where you're lying down. You try to get a better look but the light above your head is too blinding to see anything else in the room. You don’t fully understand it until a man walks into the room with a video camera in his hand and an expression on his face that seems just a tad too happy. 

The camera starts blinking a red light, signalling you that it has started recording. The man has a sort of laser that he presses into your lower stomach, it doesn't breach your skin but it hurts like it does. It takes all your energy not to show him the satisfaction of it.

“Come on now darling, work with me a little.” He says after a while, changing the setting on the laser. The last bit of your energy is gone, and you can't keep the screaming from escaping any longer. It echoes off the white walls around you and when you hear yourself, you barely even recognize it. He seems satisfied with the result and finally puts the laser down. You look down but don't see any burn marks or indication of what has just happened.

He comes closer and you can see he is holding a sort of crowbar, but you're not sure why. You remember how you always left one outside your window in the districts, in case the wind had shut it and you needed to sneak back in. You remember Finnick finding out, giving you a serious, disappointed look, but not telling you to stop.

Before you can think of anything else, the bar hits you with full force, right above the spot he was previously focused on. You didn't expect it, and it knocks the little breath you had left out of your lungs. He hits again, not in the same spot, but close, he is very clearly aiming for your ribs. The switching between high-tech and old-school weapons has you puzzled, but you can't deny the result either of them has.

After a while, he stops, and with the added difficulty and pain that now comes with breathing, you are more than certain he just bruised a few of your ribs.

He walks back, taking the camera in his hands. He aims it at your face and you close your eyes to try and collect yourself as much as your current state allows. Your hair is a tangled mess and you are rather certain there is blood smushed over your face from the cuts you got in the arena. 

“Smile for the camera sweetheart.” He asks, even though it sounds more like an order than a request. You open your eyes to look at him. He is so close, and you want to drive your thumbs so far into his eye sockets you can feel the front lobe of his brain, if he even has one. But you can't do anything, no matter how much you want to fight, you are powerless here. You close your eyes again, trying to block everything out and remember.

You remember District Four, the way the light summer breeze would always carry the smell of the beach to your house, no matter how hard you had it, it always livened you up. You remember the first time Finnick tried to teach you how to surf, being so gentle with you no matter how many times you fell off it, always there to catch you again. You remember your last birthday, well, the day after, but you couldn't even complain about that. He had picked you up from your place and brought you to one of the lakes with him. He told you the story of one of his birthdays when he was younger, along with all the embarrassing details, but of course, it only endeared him further to you. You told him about the presents you got and all the people who came to wish you a happy birthday. You told him everything you could remember. You remember last seeing his face, maybe it was the last time you will have ever seen it. No. No, you remember it, but you’ll see it again, you have to.

“I’ll make sure your loverboy gets to see this, wherever he is, wouldn't want him to miss out on the fun.” 

Finn. Finnick. You remember Finnick. You remember when you returned from your first games. The black eye and broken arm you came home with. You remember how he lost it when they didn't immediately treat you for it. He would now either throw a fit over it for everyone to see or be so stoic in his thoughts even Johanna would get a little concerned.

You see the man standing up, walking to the table, and picking up something new. A syringe, it's a syringe. He walks over and pushes it into your upper arm, and before you know it, your vision turns black again.

You remember waking up to gunshots, and you panic. But after a few seconds, you figure out they’re not near you. There is, however, someone in the room with you, it's the same man again. He looks a little panicked, but you can’t figure out why just yet. The gunshots are becoming louder, and closer, and he seems more startled now. His arms drop to his sides from what he was doing and his eyes widen. Screams are echoing and you can hear footsteps.

You remember that pattern of paddling feet, and you recognize the second pair of steps too, but you can't remember much else.

The man gets closer to you, placing his hand over your mouth, pulling out a gun with his free hand and telling you to stay quiet. You never understood why people say that, it means he has something to lose, and you want to scream out, but your voice doesn't remember how to.

It's even closer now, right outside the door, and you can hear talking. You remember his voice. How he always asked you so sweetly how your day had been, the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you fell asleep. 

You hear the door jiggle, and it makes you want to scream out for him, but your sore throat won't let you. For a moment you think that is it, you had your chance, and you let it go by. He’ll move along the hallway to the other doors and leave you here. But then you hear another gunshot, and they must have shot the lock, because right after you hear someone running into the door with an echoing thump as it breaks open. 

The man next to you had his gun pointed at the door, and he changes it to point at you instead. 

You were right, by the gods you had never been so thankful to have been right. Finnick walks in, and you can see the colour drain from his face as he does so. 

The man standing next to you is starting to get nervous, you can see the sweat starting to drip down his face. He must realize he has been matched, because there are more people by Finnicks side. But the man still has his gun pointed at you, and this isn't over just yet.

You can't keep your eyes open anymore, and when you close them, you remember. You remember your first kiss with Finnick, how nervous he had been at the time. He had been shaking a little and told you he was embarrassed by how much you got to him, but it only endeared him further to you.  He yells at the man to let go of the gun, he sounds nervous again.

But he doesn't let go, he decides to shoot. 

You hear the bullet leaving the gun, and for a single moment, you think it's over. The last thing you’ll ever see is Finnick, but he’s not himself. He’s upset, and even though you know he’s not upset with you, it still tugs at you. Except when you feel the bullet piercing through your skin, that's exactly what you realise. You can still feel it. He didn't shoot you right in the heart, he didn't shoot towards your head, he shot you in the abdomen. You’re not sure why, not sure why he didn't kill you, but you will never know, because not even a second passes as you hear a second gunshot, and he falls to the floor.

You can't seem to remember how to open your eyes, but you can hear Finnick rushing over and right as he reaches you, you fall. You fall into his arms and the memory of it gives you hope. Something comes in contact with your stomach, and the agony of it makes you want to scream out. You can feel him lifting you, and the shift of your body makes the bullet move, making you want to scream again. And if you remembered how to, you would have.

You know he’s talking to someone, but it sounds more like buzzing to you. You can only make out certain parts of the conversation, something about needing to leave, something about infections, and something about an aircraft. 

You can hear him talking again, and this time it’s directed at you. There’s a strain in his voice, and it sounds like he’s crying. It makes you want to comfort him, but you don’t remember how to.

“Please darling, just open your eyes."

But you’re afraid, youre afraid that if you open them, everything will turn out to be nothing but a dream, and he won’t be here anymore. But even if this is a dream, you need to see him. Even if it will turn into a haunted memory, you need to see his eyes looking back at you. It takes you some effort, but you open your eyes, looking at him. You can see tears flooding his face, you can see his lips moving, silent pleas coming from them for you to stay awake. He’s telling you how good of a job you’re doing, he's telling you to hold on. He promises that he won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again and that he won’t let go of you anymore.

You remember how he cried when you were reaped for the 75th games, and how you had told him everything would be okay, how you had comforted him, but you don't have the energy to comfort him this time. You remember hearing his sobbing, his shaking voice when you close your eyes again, not being able to keep them open any longer, even if you wanted to.

You wake up again, and for a moment you think it had indeed all been a dream, that you were right back where you had started, But then you remember the bullet in your stomach. You look down and see a bandage over it, even though it’s already soaked in blood. They must have taken it out. 

You try and concentrate, and you can hear Finnick talking to someone. “Just tell me, I know it’s bad but I need to know.” “Finnick, it won’t make a difference.” The person he’s talking to sounds desperate, and you remember how stubborn he could be when it came to you. 

But you don’t remember more, because your head starts to feel light again and you give in to the feeling.

When you wake up again, you manage to open your eyes, and you can see someone sitting in a chair next to the bed you're in. He’s slumped over, his face half pressed into the mattress and half into your stomach, both of his hands are holding onto one of yours. It hurts a little, but you don't mind, because it reminds you, even when you look away, that he is still there. You remember the way he always softly snores, and the way he wiggles his nose when your hair falls over it.

You think you're connected to a monitor, because something is beeping in the same rhythm you can feel your heart beating, and it gives you a headache. So you close your eyes again, and once again, you give in to the feeling of sleep that looms over you.

Since you had been brought to District 13, he has barely left your side. He keeps putting cold washcloths on your forehead to try and break your fever. It won't help, and he knows it, but no one has the heart to stop him. 

You haven't shown a single sign of life since they had found you. It was unsettling, the silence that filled the room, none of your usual laughter and banter there to replace it. 

It’s only when Finnick's head shoots up that the others notice it as well. The steady beeping that has been imposing the silence in this room for weeks picking up its pace. The beating continues to go faster and faster, your body shaking up from the bed in almost the same rhythm. But right before anyone can do anything about it, it stops. It all seems to stop, you stop moving, and the monitor stops beating.

He starts giving you chest compressions, and someone rushes into the room holding a small bottle, they fill a syringe with the clear liquid and inject it into your arm. Within a few seconds, your heart starts beating again. But it’s only after a minute of the monitor showing him a steady heartrate that he stops his actions.

It’s dark in the room when Finnick wakes up, and if it wasn't for the soft light and the beeping of the monitor, he would've thought he was dreaming, but it seems the reality won’t let him escape. He struggles not to fall back asleep, and every few minutes he does, but every time he wakes up startled again, scared that you’ll be gone if he doesn't open his eyes every once in a while. It was easy to see the toll it had taken on him. His posture was slouched, his face less well-groomed than usual. But no one could blame him, because they could see the way he looked at you, as if you were the sun and your dimmed light turned his world dark. 

He knows the chance you can hear him is small, but he feels the urge to talk to you nonetheless. 

“I don't think I can hold this in any longer. I remember some studies that have shown people in comas do hear what's going on around them, but maybe it’s for the best that you don’t, because you would never say yes.”

He continues but he feels his voice choke up, and he runs a hand through your hair to calm himself down, his other hand still holding onto yours.

“We talked about it once, I still remember every single word you said. You came at me with all your logical reasons for why it would be a bad idea. But what you never understood is that when it comes to you, I'm not able to think rationally, because my love for you will overpower anything else.” He chuckles softly as he recalls the memory he’s about to tell you next.

“I remember when I opened up to you for the first time. I had always held things to myself, but you were so calm as I talked to you. I thought for sure I had screwed it up somehow then. Everyone always tells me now how happy you make me, and they're right. Ever since you came into my life there has not been a single moment when the thought of you did not bring me joy, even when we fought my memories of you could still somehow bring a smile to my face. 

I remember when they showed me the video, they hadn't wanted me to see it, but you know how stubborn I can be when it comes to you. I saw you, I saw the way in which they were hurting you. And I started yelling, ironically enough in that moment, you were the only one that could have calmed me down. I remember yelling at them, fighting with them not to wait any longer, that they couldn't let you wait any longer, they had to have me sedating until they came to a conclusion."

He reaches into the pocket of his trousers, taking a small ring. It was his mother's ring, he had found it a while back and had carried it with him ever since. He had thought of moments to give it to you, but every time there was one, every time he was about to ask you, something had happened, something had interrupted him. But there was no one interrupting him this time. “I have thought about asking you this every time I see you, and I can't hold it in any longer. So when you wake up, not if you wake up, because I know you will. I know you will wake up because you have to. So when you wake up, will you marry me.” A little part of him had thought you'd wake up, that you’d answer him. Even if you said no, it would still be better than what's happening right now, because he didn't care if you'd say no, if you’d say you weren't ready, because nothing could be worse than the silence that followed him. And so he slid the ring onto your finger delicately, as if you were to disappear if he wasn't careful. He put the ring on your hand because he knew that even if it wasn't today, and it wasn't tomorrow, someday you would marry him, and he wouldn't let you slip away.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, sleep deprivation and desperation playing a trick on his mind. But then he saw it again, in the beams of morning light he could see your hand moving, as if it was trying to grasp onto something, trying to pull you back into this world. It woke him up in an instant. But it was all followed so fast, the way your eyes slowly opened, squinting at the light. Before you had even awoken for a second, he moved from where he had been right beside you in order to hug you. And he was about to get lost in the thought of your moving lips, tears falling down his eyes, about to get lost in a kiss full of built-up pain and desperation when he noticed, something was wrong. Your eyebrows were knitted together and the corners of your mouth turned down just a little. He looked at your expression, your body language, something was wrong. You looked vulnerable, you looked like you wanted to protect yourself from someone.

It was only when he looked into your eyes that he truly understood something was very wrong.

Your eyes looked as if you were in pain, but it wasn't a look of any physical pain, it looked as if something was endangering you, but he couldn't understand what it was. He slowly moved so as not to startle you and asked you “Darling, what’s wrong” And at first you didn’t respond, but when he kept looking at you, expecting him to answer you, you started to speak. “Am I supposed to remember you?” 

He immediately flinched back at the statement, his shoulder sunk and his eyes dimmed. Someone told him it wasn't uncommon for brain injuries to cause short-term memory loss after a coma.

So slowly, and surely, he made it work. But it was crumbling him down every time you didn't remember the unconscious acts of affection, so foreign to you now. A quick touch on your arm as he walked towards you made you flinch slightly as if his hand had been on fire. The subtle smiles he gave you when entering a room were now met with you looking down. The way that even though you were physically here, you really weren't. 

He promised himself, he vowed to himself that he would make you remember. That no matter how long it took, he would wait for you. He would wait for you to remember, make you remember. Because he had very quickly learned that he couldn’t live without you anymore.

Part 2: Trying to Forget

[hederasgarden]

hear me out: werewolf lucius + breeding. he gives me werewolf vibes. feral, possesive, protective, bite-kink, etc

Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 770 Rating: Mature. Modern werewolf AU, biting, scenting and general wolf like behavior with some breeding kink thrown in for good measure. A/N: BESTIE. This request made me FERAL too. There is something about the werewolf trope and men behaving all intensely primal in fiction that I enjoy. Thanks to @ryebecca for looking this over. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

It’s warm, even in the shade of the porch, and the fabric of your sundress sticks to the sweat gathering at the small of your back. Across the yard, you spot Lucius chatting with his mother and stepfather, a half-empty beer bottle held casually between two fingers. He seems to sense your gaze and glances over at you briefly, offering a small smile before turning his attention back to his parents.

You take a sip of your own drink, some overly sweet sangria that you’re not particularly fond of except that it's ice-cold. For a moment you press the cool glass against the heated skin of your chest and sigh at the brief reprieve it offers. It’s short lived until a soft breeze stirs, ruffling the edges of your dress and cooling the sweat on your skin. You lament its passing and, with a resigned sigh, step down from the porch, making your way back to the party. 

You barely make it halfway across the yard before Lucius stops you, his grip on your arm surprisingly firm. He holds you there, his blue eyes locking onto yours, with a flash of something golden flickering in their depths. You blink, a half-formed question on your lips, but it dies when he suddenly pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales sharply, the scent of your skin drawing a low, throaty growl from deep within his chest.

“Lucius,” you whisper, alarmed and a little embarrassed by his display but he doesn’t seem to hear you. 

Over his shoulder, you briefly meet Acacius’s eyes but he’s quick to look away, an odd expression on his face. You watch as he says something to Lucilla then swiftly guides her toward another group of guests, moving farther away from where you stand.  A quick glance around the yard reveals that most of the other guests are equally absorbed in their conversations, oblivious to Lucius’s odd behavior

“Lucius,” you try again, pushing at his chest. “What are you doing? What is -” The rest of your words are cut off in a sharp gasp as you feel the sudden, searing sting of teeth against your throat. 

“God,” he groans, grasping the back of your neck while his other hand presses your body firmly against his. “The way you smell.”

“I’m a sweaty mess,” you hiss back, trying to extricate yourself from his hold, all too aware you’re standing in the middle of his mother’s backyard, surrounded by her guests. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Abruptly, he pulls back to gaze down at you. His nostrils flare and his normally cool blue eyes are a molten gold. 

“You smell fertile,” he growls. "Every single wolf here can smell it too," he continues.

Heat floods your face as you process his words and realize what it means. You look past him at the rest of the party and see that not everyone is as distracted as you thought. The humans, like you, are still engaged in their own conversations, obliviously to the shift in the air. But Lucius’s packmates stand a little more stiffly, their eyes carefully avoiding the two of you, as if bound by some unspoken agreement not to acknowledge what’s happening.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, more embarrassed than you’ve ever been in your life. Lucius seems unphased and he leans in, his lip curled back to reveal his sharp white canines.

“Hey!” You snap, thumping his chest with your first. “You can’t keep sniffing me in front of everyone.”

He growls low in his throat, but when you glare up at him, he finally grunts, "You’re right, you’re right."

Your relief is short-lived, however, when he grabs your arm and pulls you toward the house. 

"The upstairs bathroom is free," he mutters as he practically drags you inside, through the kitchen and into the hallway. “And if you don’t want me to bend you over the sink and do what the wolf is telling me to do when we get there, you better say something now.”

His words send a shock of heat through your body that spreads from your chest to your cheeks, making your skin feel hot and tight. In all the time you’ve been together you’ve never heard him speak like that and you’re more than a little surprised to discover just how much you like it. 

"I have no objection," you reply with a shy grin, letting out a startled shriek a second later when he spins you around and effortlessly tosses you over his shoulder, taking the steps two at a time.

Send me a request

[idkfitememate]

🦌 anon here. Thank you for comforting me that I don’t flood your inbox. I appreciate it! <3

Also, I have obviously revealed myself as a loyal Furina lover by now. She’s just my bby. And I love her so much.

But Furina love aside, I’ve got a really funny idea.

What if Yanfei, Moon Carver, and deer!creator, all met up. They’ve all got deer characteristics. Two more so than others BUT STILL.

I just looked it up and you can call a group a deer a bevy. It just sounds so funny! You could also call them a parcel.

It’s a parcel of deer people. A bevy of deer creatures meeting up.

It’s like the Spider-Man meme all over again. Lol.

And the other adepti +Zhongli just watch from a distance.

Found Family

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Deer Reader x Yanfei & Moon Carver + Liyue

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 149

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, found family in a silly way

“Zhongli what-“

“Shhhh….”

Hu Tao, Xiao and Zhongli all sat aside as you, Yanfei and Moon Carver all stared at each other.

“Isn’t that the deer that beat up Paimon.??” Xiao questioned, only to receive a quick nod from the tea sipping Zhongli.

Slowly you stepped forward and pressed your nose a bent over Moon Carver. Quick huffs and sniffing was heard before you rubbed your head against his. Then you walked over to Yanfei and did the same.

Yes, she did press her nose to yours and nuzzled you, no hands.

The trio then watched as you three walked away without a word spoken between you.

“What… what just happened?” Hu Tao asked.

Zhongli wiped away a stray tear and sniffed, causing both yongers to look at him.

“… A family was just formed. A bevy, a parcel even.”

Hu Tao then fully turned to Zhongli.

“A what-“

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I hope I did this justice but having bystanders as you meet the people most like you would be funny… live stage audience watches adoption process-

… That should be a thing hold on ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Also same, Furina deserves everything ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

[qqueenofhades]

Hey! I just found your blog and followed yesterday. Came for the fact that you're the only other person in this webbed site actually say out loud that they liked Biden, stayed for the hope and determination and perspective. Anyway just wanted to introduce myself and I hope you're coping well!

Hello and welcome to you and the other sudden flood of followers that I got after yesterday's event. I'm glad to have you and hope you are all in on the project of Kicking Fascism In The Shriveled Testicles 2024, American Edition. It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.

Biden was not my first choice (far from it) in the 2020 primary process, but when it became clear that he was going to win the nomination, I supported him early and often. Trust me, this was not a popular position, and it remains so, but so be it. By any reasonable metric, he is the most progressive president we have ever had, it is a crying shame that the media is so beholden to the Trump Teat of Drama that they gave him such a kid-gloved free pass and ratfucked Biden instead, and it makes me worry, a lot, for American democracy. I have always gotten a lot of "you support everything Biden has done so you're awful and going to hell!!!" messages, because this sure is a Webbed Site Where We Piss On the Poor, and like -- I don't. I had major disagreements with Biden, especially on foreign policy! But because I apparently did not performatively self-flagellate myself in every post about how awful he was but maybe I guess vote for him anyway, that got some people very mad! It's also true that there's literally nobody in the world anywhere, especially and including in Palestine, that would benefit from Trump becoming president again! Especially since Biden at the NATO summit recently and explicitly endorsed progress on the ceasefire framework he has been pushing for several months! So unfortunately, we live in a society where shitty choices are necessary, and that is part of being a grownup!

....anyway. Deep breaths. Rant for later. Glad you're here. I have been desperately trying to Not Politic for a bit, since doing so on social media in the year of our lord 2024 is a recipe for swift insanity, but the world keeps taking a large dump directly on those plans, and I guess someone's gotta do it. In more normal times (OH LORD WHEN), you can expect history (I am an academic by trade), random posts, various asks, and sometimes a great deal of fanfic for assorted blorbos, though the Horrors have done a number on that and I am also working on an original fantasy trilogy at the moment. (Still deciding whether I should bother trying to agent it or just publish it on Amazon/Lulu/etc.) I have turned off anon for the moment because otherwise my inbox would be a nightmare beyond comprehension, but I do generally enjoy talking about things and/or answering them as much as I can. I am old, queer, tired, fueled by coffee and spite, have been politically conscious since the first Bush Jr. term and have therefore seen all the Anti Voting nonsense before (quick thought: if it was going to deliver the perfect Leftist Messiah and/or stop a flawed candidate from becoming president, don't you think it would have done so by now?) So yes. Welcome again and I hope you will enjoy (if that is the right word for it) your stay.

[jedipoodoo]

Liz,,,, I have,,,, a mighty need. Firstly, I read and reread your fics ALL the time, you are solely responsible for introducing to and making me obsessed with the bad batch, congrats.

I’m on an Echo kick. And there’s,,,not,,,any,,,,pregnant reader fics with him😭😭

Pre-citadel with ba’vodu Fives, post citadel with clingy over concerned ptsd!papa echo,,, I need it😭

Do you want me to flood your inbox with headcanons because I can flood your inbox with headcanons

YOU HAVE INFECTED MYSELF WITH THE MIGHTY NEED NOW I WILL TAKE ANY AND ALL HEADCANONS OF PAPA ECHO

Back to You (Echo x Mom!Reader)

Notes: No warnings, sick child, discussion of death, female reader. The Pergil lullaby is from @marierg. Not beta read, I wrote half of this in a fitful haze as soon as I got this ask, promptly lost it all by hitting the wrong button and couldn't recover it, and then re-wrote it in an even sleepier, more fitful haze. Divider by @stars-n-spice

You shifted your hold on your toddler to keep him from slipping out of your arms, gently bouncing him as he cried, hoping it would help him go back to sleep. It had been two days without sleep, so you were willing to try anything

"Oh baby pergil, little baby pergil, flying through the sky..." You murmured beneath your breath. This was your fifth time singing through the song, but it seemed to be working,

And then your comm began to glow with an impending message.

It was one in the morning, but you were too tired to wonder who could be calling you at this hour. Plus, you could use the distraction.

"H'lo?" You asked.

"Are you sitting down?" It was Kix. Dr. "Medical comes before sleep", who would turn right around and scold you for not getting what sleep you could get with a baby.

Fives was starting to fuss, now that you weren't serenading him. "I can't, I just got Iv'ika to calm down, and if I sit down it'll make it worse."

"Look, I've got something important to tell you, and I really think that you should sit down before-"

"Is someone dead or dying?" You asked.

"For once, no," Kix laughed half-heartedly, "Are you sitting-"

"Are you gonna tell me whatever this is or not?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the comm.

"We found Echo."

Your stomach twisted, pushing everything out f your stomach and up your throat, threatening to make you vomit.

"Don't- don't- don't you dare joke about that," You snapped. The sudden sharpness in your tone made Fives cry out.

"I'm not joking, look-"

"Did Jesse put you up to this?" You demanded as your eyes began to sting with more than just the lack of sleep, "Tell him he's a mir'sheb-"

"Jesse doesn't even know yet! Rex told me to-"

"You're all a bunch of miserable old men, and I never want to speak to any of you ever again."

You hung up before Kix could hear you sob. Fives was already crying, and you had to be strong for him, like you had for his whole life.

You held your son tightly, caressing his sweaty hair while you focused on singing lullabies, not about the dead father of your child. In your hand, your comm kept buzzing as Kix and even Jesse tried to call you back. Until finally, you blocked them, and Rex too for good measure, not even bothering to read the messages they tried to send you.

Fives fell asleep about an hour later, and you pondered your reaction.

Rex and Kix weren't the type to play pranks in the middle of the night, and Jesse might have been a bit of an arse, but he wouldn't prank you like this, would he? Not even Fives would have gone that far, especially not when it came to the life of a beloved brother.

Could Echo really be alive?

You'd have to worry about that later. Fives was asleep, and you had work in a couple hours. You had to try and get some sleep while the opportunity was fresh.

Your woke to the smell of your mother making breakfast. She immediately came in and took Fives from your arms, cooing to her grandson while she changed his diaper. You took a quick shower and smeared on some makeup to cover the dark circles under your eyes. When you stepped out of the refresher to get dressed, your mother was singing one of the lullabies she always used to sing to you.

"I think his fever's broken," She smiled at you, and you felt a bit of the huge weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Be good for Nana, okay?" You told Fives. He was a bit fussy, but nowhere near how he was last night. You could breathe easy at the office, even though you were almost late, and let yourself focus on fielding calls from agitated customers and filling out the proper files for each complaint.

You were still exhausted, though, so as you made a fresh pot of caff your mind wandered back to Kix's comm last night. You should really just apologize to him, but you felt so embarrassed. Ever since Echo died, the boys of the 501st had been there for you. Holding your hair back while you threw up from morning sickness and learning how to cook so that you could nap and have a proper meal when you woke up. In the end, pride kept you from unblocking them then and there, but as you made your way back to your desk with a cup of caff, your mother commed you.

"Mom, is everything okay?"

"Honey, there's a group of clones here to see you. lots of them."

A shiver ran through you and you groaned. You were gonna get an earful from all of them, weren't you.

"Tell them I'm on my way. I'll be there in a minute."

"Do I have to let them in?"

You paused. Your mom could be blunt from time to time. She was a wonderful mother and an even better grandmother, but she still wasn't used to the idea that you'd had a child with a clone. Having been a single mother herself, she got protective real fast. It was probably best that they stayed outside.

You apologized profusely to your boss for leaving early, and ended up playing the desperate single mother card. The sloppy makeup job and the faint perfume of sick baby that was following you everywhere as of late certainly helped sell the act.

When you got to your apartment, Rex, Kix, and Jesse were waiting, along with six other troopers. Four of them wore dark gray armor, while two had armor that was more white like the standard trooper armor.

One of those troopers looked at you with wide eyes, and you couldn't blame him. You had to look as much like a ghost as he did. He had the same nose shape and facial structure as all the other clones, but he was incredibly emaciated and pale. His white armor looked to be the kind that they gave civilians in the field, and it was clearly padded out in some places to help him fill out the bodysuit.

"Did you have to bring everyone and scare my mom half to death?" You sighed to Rex.

"Hey, they insisted," Jesse waved to the squad of new troopers dismissively and held out his arms for a hug. Given everything that had happened in the last few days, you accepted the comforting embrace without question.

"We tried comming you to tell you we were coming, but for some reason our messages won't go through," Rex placed his hand on his hip, all business.

You folded your arms and glared at Kix. "That'll happen when you call someone at midnight to pull their leg."

"I wasn't pulling your leg!" Kix sighed in exasperation and grabbed the emaciated trooper's arm, pulling him to stand in front of you.

You took a step back, "Um, hi?"

"Hi," He said softly. He coughed to clear his throat and repeated the greeting in a firmer tone.

"Well, what do you want?" You asked, oblivious to the revelation that was right in front of you.

Rex sighed, "You'll remember Echo, right?"

You stopped. you looked the emaciated trooper up and down, but refused to look him in the eyes.

"Rex," You took a deep breath, "Please don't do this to me. Not today-"

"But it's him!" Jesse exclaimed, "We found him and rescued him on Anaxes!"

"We?" One of the dark-armored troopers demanded, flicking a toothpick at Jesse.

"Well it's easier than explaining ev- Is it really so hard to believe that after everything karked-up that's happened to us, something good might have actually happened?"

"Boys," Rex said sharply. He nodded down the hall, and most of your little group ambled off to give you some distance.

"Cyare..." The trooper who everyone said was Echo reached out his right hand towards you, then returned it to his side. It wasn't much of a hand anymore, there was a scomplink attachment in its place.

"Cyar'ika, you're trembling," He noticed, a hint of terror in his voice. You kept your eyes on the floor. He was one to speak, how could he even stand on those wobbling legs?

His helmet fell on the floor as his left hand--still a hand--came up to cradle your cheek, wiping away a single tear.

Don't cry, you told yourself, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

With that tender touch, you finally allowed yourself to look him in the eyes.

A million men had the same brown eyes as Echo, but none of them shone when they looked at you like Echo's did.

"Prove it. Tell me something I've never told anyone el-"

"You talk in your sleep. It's probably because you need a cup of tea before you go to bed."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I wanted to name our son after Fives, but you said he'd get to big a head about it."

You managed a laugh, "He did get a big head about it."

Echo chuckled, and the scomp on his right arm rested against your arm as he pulled you closer.

"I told you I wanted to marry you as soon as the war was over, and you tried to convince me to move it up until after my last mission."

You gasped out a sob, wiping your runny nose on the sleeve of your blouse. Echo wrapped his arms around you, and you pulled him even closer.

"So you really named him after Fives?" Echo gasped, pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

You squeezed him as tightly as you dared. When you hugged him before he left for the citadel, Your arms almost couldn't make their way around him. Now you feared that if you held him the wrong way, he'd snap like a twig.

"It was what you wanted, what else was I supposed to name him?"

Echo took your chin in his hand, fiercely pressing a kiss to your lips. You could feel a year and a half's worth of loneliness and longing behind the passion in that kiss. All the fear, pain, and isolation the both of you had felt without each other. You almost couldn't bring yourself to stop kissing him. If you stopped kissing him you thought you might wake up in the middle of the night with your crying baby on your chest.

"I want to meet him," Echo said in between kisses.

Your heart fluttered. Echo was going to meet his son. Fives was finally going to meet his dad.

"Yes, yes," You gasped, and grasped his hand, pulling him into your apartment. It was almost exactly the same as the last time he'd been there, with the exception of all the baby toys strewn about and the holos of you and Fives hanging on the wall.

Your mother was in the kitchen, spatula in hand, making dinner and watching the door at the same time.

"Where's Fives?" You asked her.

"He's asleep, but-"

You ignored her protests and brought Echo into your room.

Fives was just waking up when you opened the door. He'd lost his pacifier while tossing and turning, but that allowed Echo's first view of his son to be the big, wide-toothed smile he gave you.

"Hello precious boy!" You swooped across the room and swept him into your arms. He had a bit of a cowlick from the way he'd slept, and you tried to smooth it back, but it didn't do much.

"Fiv'ika, there's someone you need to meet," You whispered calmly, "Can you be a good boy for mama?"

Fives didn't say anything, but he buried his face into your neck, cooing softly.

You brought him over to Echo, who stood in the bedroom doorway, spellbound at the sight of the two of you. You had never been able to see how Little Fives' eyes looked exactly like Echo's, but now that you had them next to each other, the likeness was unmistakable.

"I...I don't know if I can hold him," Echo held out his arms. You could see his heart, struggling not to break as he watched you cuddle your son. Your son. Yours and Echo's. A proper family now.

"Sit on the bed," you nodded. Echo did so, and you pushed him back against the pillows so that you could lay Fives on his chest.

Fives blinked his dark brown eyes at Echo, drinking in the not-so-stranger's face. Echo stayed as still as possible, like a sniper in wait. The baby wasn't as heavy as he expected, and he was scared to hurt him. His hands were made for combat and firing weapons, no for child rearing.

Fives' head dropped suddenly, his forehead smacking against Echo's collarbone.

"Yow!" Echo gasped in surprise, but Fives wasn't upset. He rubbed his face against Echo's neck, just like he had with you.

"He likes you," You said, lying next to Echo. You placed your hand on his upper arm and squeezed.

"He likes me?" Echo asked.

"He does," You whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, "And guess what?"

"What?" there was a hint of fear in Echo's voice. Today had already been a very long day for the both of you.

You rested your head on Echo's shoulder, close enough that you could press a kiss to Fives' dark curls.

"I like you too."

[forgeofthenine]

Could I request headcanons for Dammon with a male Tav who’s never dated a guy before?

Thanks Anon for the request, hopefully I do it justice. I'd also just like to add that @underdark-dreams got a request for the same sort of prompt a few days ago and I'd highly recommend that people go check out their work! It's both on their blog and reblogged on mine under #ficrecommendations.

I'll admit that I was a little hesitant to do the request considering that they're the same sort of prompt and will be posted fairly close in timing, but I've decided to write it anyway as it is a very sweet prompt and I was excited to see it in my inbox :)

Dammon with a male reader that hasn't dated men before

I feel like Dammon wouldn't be too different around a male love interest than he would anyone else he's interested in, other than being a bit more cautious with his affections

In saying that, once he catches feelings he is so adorably awkward when trying to talk to you, he has no clue how to flirt but he tries his best. Expect plenty of interesting compliments and lovely dark blushes spreading over his cheeks

Dammon takes both his feelings and attempting to court you seriously, even if it isn't too obvious at first. He's always checking your weapons and armour are okay, or giving you little gifts he's made, even if you just need someone to chat to Dammon is always happy to be there and makes himself available

When he does all these things it's definitely not with the expectation you'll reciprocate, he can see if you're a bit hesitant and if Dammon ever feels like you might be uncomfortable then he'll stop completely for a bit before testing the waters again

Once it's revealed he's the only man you've ever felt this way about he's honestly just so overjoyed. Dammons very touchy feely, and after the confession he'd love nothing more than to wrap you up in a big hug. You can expect his tail to tentatively loop around your leg too, in his excitement

Dammon is all for taking things slow if you need to, no matter what he just wants you to be comfortable. He'll still do his usual things of checking in on you, but he'd also add in some casual physical affection if you're up for it

There's plenty of him taking your hand while talking with you at his forge, or gently pressing his hand against your lower back as the two of you walk through crowds, and when you're both tucked away somewhere private Dammon loves to sneak a little peck on the cheek

Speaking of kissing, the first time you guys kiss Dammons heart just stops. It doesn't matter if you initiate or if he asked to kiss you, this man is a goner as soon as it happens

Once you've opened the flood gates kisses just aren't going to stop, unless you or the situation call for it. After a while it's not something he's as shy about, even if the two of you are in public he'll lean in for a quick kiss if you'll let him. He's more than happy to shower you with affection once you're together, and the way Dammon holds your hips while kissing you is truly magical

Dammon is easily the best person to fall for in this situation, with his endless patience and easygoing nature. Every day that you're with him he'll make you feel like the most amazing guy in the world

[musings-of-a-rose]

Mistake - Part 2

Pairing: Frankie Morales, Santiago Garcia, F!reader

Word Count: 2500+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I never planned to write a part 2 for Mistake, but so many people asked me for one, I felt compelled to write it! A HUGE thanks to @mermaidxatxheart for literally saving my ass on this one. Seriously, go thank her and while you’re there, binge her writing!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

Santiago Garcia Masterlist

<<Mistake Part 1<<

It's been 6 weeks since I've talked to Santi or Frankie. I've been begging Santi to talk to me, apologizing to a now full inbox, flooding his phone with texts. He's not as his usual spots whenever I manage to get the courage to try and find him. The guilt has made me physically sick, exhausted all the time from just thinking about it. 

And then there's Frankie. 

As much as I've tried to reach out to Santi, Frankie has tried to reach me. On one hand, it's hard not to talk to him. He's been my best friend since forever. I've been in love with him nearly that entire time, and apparently the feeling is mutual. 

But the way we had to find out was fucked up. 

I never wanted to hurt Santi. I do love him, but if I'm being honest with myself, I didn't love him the way he deserves. It's like he was the closest thing I could get to Frankie. 

Bile rises in my throat, my stomach churning and I run to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before emptying my breakfast into it. It's been like this for a couple of weeks, my guilt taking over my body physically to match the way my heart feels. All I'd need now to top off this fuck me fest is my period-

Wait. When did I have that last?

I whip out my phone, quickly tapping on my calendar app, looking for the red dots indicating the start of my cycle. Once I find them, I quickly count the weeks and realize I'm nearly a month overdue for my period. 

"There's no way."

I skim the calendar, locating the day that we had our combined bachelor/ette parties and…fuck it's totally possible. Fuck fuck fuck!

After I finish vomiting yet again, I manage to get myself out of the house and to the pharmacy up the street, sort of floating through the aisles to pick up a box of pregnancy tests. I silently pay for them and the woman hands me my bag, offering a small smile and a "Good luck," to me under her breath. 

I get home and head straight into the bathroom, determined not to drag this out. I'm just sick from the horrible shit I've put Santi through. That has to be it. My mind goes a million places all at once, until the little timer on my phone goes off. Taking a deep breath, I flip the test over. 

PREGNANT

I stare at the word as it stares back at me, taking several long seconds before I actually take it what I'm seeing. Pregnant. I'm pregnant. There's a baby in me right now. And it's…

There was only 1 person I had sex with at that time, as Santi and I were on a temporary hiatus until after the wedding. 

"Of fucking course!" I yell at the universe, once again throwing a curveball in the path that is my relationship to Frankie.

Frankie. Fuck, what is he going to say? He already has a kid from an ex wife. An ex wife he hates. I don't want to be like her, forcing Frankie into something he doesn't want. But what do I want?

A quick text to my friend and she's coming over for drinks. Well, one of us is drinking anyway. 

—-

"I'm sorry,  you're what??" My friend Olivia spits out, handing me a napkin for the drink she just spit at me.

"Pregnant."

"Yeah I heard you I just…are you sure?"

I nod. "I took several tests. I have my OB appointment next week and-"

"Wait. You're keeping it?"

I take a breath, eyes scanning my living room. "Yeah."

Olivia looks at me. "You think Santi will come back?"

I play with the condensation on my glass of water. "It's Frankie's."

Olivia slams her hand on the table. "What? From that night?"

I nod and she lets out a whistle. "Are you gonna tell him?"

"I don't-"

Suddenly, I hear footsteps on my porch. Confused, as I wasn't expecting anyone, I get up, Olivia following behind me as I open the door. 

"Hey."

My stomach drops completely out as I stare up into the eyes of my ex fiance. 

"S-Santi."

His eyes scan my face, dipping quickly down my body. "Can I come in?"

"I uh.. s-sure."

I step back, allowing Santi to come into my home. He gives me a small smile and holds up his finger. 

"Wait a sec." He looks back out towards my driveway.

I hear more footsteps on my porch and then he's there, curls flipping out from under a hat, hands in his pockets because he doesn't know how to deal with the tension. 

"Come on, man. Don't just stand there." Santi walks past me and grabs his arm, pulling him inside. We all stand there in an awkward silence for several long moments before Santi clears his throat. 

"Can we talk?"

"Y-yeah." 

Santi follows me into the kitchen, Olivia giving me a questioning look as I pass her. I honestly have no idea what's going on and am having a hard time processing everything that's happening. I offer Santi a drink, but he declines, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. 

"I'm sorry," Santi says with extreme sincerity. 

Well that was unexpected.

"What?"

"I've been thinking these last few weeks and I've realized a lot of shit. I love you, querida, and I always will. But I think I loved the idea of you more."

"Again, what?"

"Look, I… I won't lie. When I saw you there with Frankie…that fucking hurt. I mean destroyed me." He puts a hand out as I open my mouth to apologize. 

"Just let me talk… anyway, I realized through the pain that what I was missing most was a wife, the commitment to someone to start a life with. Not you, exactly. I mean it…it still fucking hurts, but I'm not… I'm not mad. Anymore.” He takes a moment to gather himself and me? I’m just…I have no words.

“Querida, you deserve someone who loves you for you. Who wants to be with you and not just because it’s easy. Frankie is that. No, don’t look at me like that, he is. I… I knew he was in love with you, even with all the shit that happened with Claire, and I knew how you felt. It wasn’t hard to figure out - you’re both idiots.” He chuckles a little sadly and I feel tears starting to burn at the corners of my eyes. “I really should have never pursued you, but when Frankie got Claire pregnant and then married her, you looked so sad and I just…I wanted to take care of you. Take that hurt away-”

“And you did! You-”

“That’s good to know…Anyway, I reached out to Frankie and he tells me you aren’t talking to him? That you hate him?”

I dab furiously at my eyes, trying to get them to stop leaking, but I nod. “He lied, Santi. We both did. He knew I was c-calling your n-name and he k-kept going. And I f-figured out w-what I was d-doing and started c-calling out his n-name, and I just, Santi I am s-so s-s-sorry, and n-now I c-can’t s-stop c-crying!”

Santi swallows hard, then closes the distance between us, wrapping me in his arms, letting me soak his shirt as my shoulders shake. He shushs me, rocking me slightly to get me to calm down. Eventually, I do, somehow managing to contain myself and these pregnancy hormones.

Ah, fuck. The pregnancy. Do I tell Santi? No, I have to talk to Frankie first. 

“Querida, you have to talk to Frankie.”

I look up at him, pushing away from him and wiping my eyes. “No. I-I can’t.”

“If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I didn’t go through all of this self discovery to not have the 2 most important people in my life be together when they’re so very obviously still in love with each other.”

“Santi, I cheated on you with him. I can’t just forget-”

“Look. It wouldn’t have happened if it were anyone else and I know that. I knew better and I shouldn’t have asked you out. Just…talk to him? For me?” He raises his eyebrows at me until I agree. He smiles, giving me one last hug and kissing the top of my head.

I’m still not sure what’s happening, not entirely. Santi showing up and forgiving me was not on my bingo card for this lifetime.

Santi turns and walks out of the kitchen and I follow him, walking into the living area where Olivia and Frankie were making idle chit chat.

“Hey Fish, I’m gonna head out. It’s all good- no. You stay here.” Santi glances up at Olivia and his entire demeanour changes, like he just noticed, really noticed she was here. 

“Oh. Uh, yeah I’m heading out too,” Olivia says, meeting Santi’s gaze. “And you can take me to dinner. I’m starving.”

Santi smiles at her. “I’d love to.”

They leave, Frankie and I staring in shock at the closed door for several moments before I shake my head, moving to lock the door. I take a breath and turn around to see Frankie standing there, nervously shifting from foot to foot, lifting the hat from the top of his head and running his fingers through his hair.

Fuck he’s so hot.

“Did…did Santi tell you everything?”

I nod, my arms wrapping around myself. “He did.”

“Kind of wild, wasn’t it?”

“I mean, whatever works for him. He seems to be doing ok.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches between us for several long moments. 

“Hermosa, I- I’m sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have…I should’ve stopped-”

I sigh. “Yeah, but I knew, Frankie.”

“You what?”

“When you left, I started remembering more. At first I thought you were Santi but I did realize it at some point and then just…changed to saying your name. I wasn’t thinking straight because I love you, and then-”

Frankie’s eyes snap to mine. “You love me?”

“I-” I look at him. Time to confess everything.

“I..do.”

Frankie smiles, but then remembers we’re supposed to be serious, so he drops it. “I love you too.”

I study his face, the worry in his eyes, the patches in his beard. I have to tell him, even if it pushes him away. 

"Come sit with me?" I ask nervously, moving around to sit on the couch.

"Yeah. Yeah, ok." Frankie sits next to me, smoothing out his pants several times before settling. 

Fuck, this is hard. 

"Hermosa, I-"

"I'm pregnant."

Frankie freezes, mouth open mid word as his brain tries to process what I said. 

"P-pregnant?"

I nod. "Yup."

Several long moments pass between us, the air charged with tension. 

"Well…I.. I hope you and Santi can.. get back together. For the… the baby."

My eyebrows pinch together, my head slightly cooking to the side. "What?"

"Santi. I mean, I know he said he loves the idea of you more, but I think, or hope that would change with you carrying his child."

Oh. He doesn't realize.

"No, Frankie. It's not… the baby is yours."

His eyes grow wide, searching my face for a lie. "Wh-what? Are you sure?"

I nod. "Santi and I had promised no, uh, no sex for the month leading up to the wedding. So-"

"That night."

I nod. "Yup." I emphasize the p sound. 

"Listen, Frankie, I've thought about it a lot and… I'm keeping the baby. And you can be as involved as you want or not involved-" 

To my surprise, he's smiling, growing wider by the second and his eyes are all watery, like he's holding back tears. 

"Frank-"

"We're having a baby?"

"Yes. But did you hear-"

"Together? You and I?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Frankie, are you listening to-"

He lets out a small laugh, the smile lighting up his whole face and I swear he chokes back a "whoop". He takes my hand in his and the warmth from it immediately starts to calm me. His other hand comes up to the side of my face, his large fingers curving around the back of my head as his thumb softly rubs at the skin of my cheek. His eyes move between mine and then down to my lips and before I can think, he's in front of me, our lips just barely out of reach.

"Can I kiss you?" Frankie whispers, and I can't think of anything else besides how much I want him.

"Yes."

His lips push against mine gently, his fingers tightening their grip as he increases the pressure, sliding his tongue into my willing mouth. 

"Wait." I push back from him and he trails after me, eyes confused. 

"Did I hurt you?"

"No but Frankie, I think we need to talk about the baby in my uterus."

"What's there to talk about?"

My eyebrow raises. "Seriously?"

He smiles, nodding. "I'm all in, hermosa. Always. As much as you'll have me or want me to be."

"But you already have a daughter with someone else."

"So our baby will have a sister already."

"What about Claire?"

Anger flashes in his eyes. "What about her?"

"Will she be ok with this?" I gesture to my stomach. "With us?"

"I don't give a fuck what she thinks of us- wait. There's an us?"

"I-I-" Time to throw your last card on the table, the one you'd never lay down if it wasn't for Santi giving you permission.

"If.. if you don't think me and the baby would cramp your style."

He laughs, smiling wide for a few seconds before his eyes get a little darker, his voice dropping an octave or two.

"I'd put a hundred babies in you if you'd let me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I love you, Hermosa."

—-

With Santi's enthusiastic insistence, we get married a few months after our son is born.

And Santi marries Olivia the following year, starting on that life he always wanted. 

-------

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

[fanaticsnail]

Hello, greetings from CQ again! Thank you again for meeting the North Stars so positively, I can't express how ecstatic it made me to see how receptive one could be. This time around, I come bearing one of the aforementioned minor, (but still just as important), members! (Featuring a small sneak peak at the leader's Devil Fruit-) I hope you'll allow me to introduce.... …˚.⋆ ⋆₊⁺⋆☾⋆₊⁺⋆ ☾ ℕ𝕒𝕟𝕒 ℍ𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕟 ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆.˚…

"Silence speaks a thousand words."

For the deaf-born Nana Hanon, no words rang more true. But having been born a siren, his inability to vocalize left him as significant as a bubble in the waves that were his namesake. That special breed of merfolk blessed with the gift of spellbinding song, had been slaughtered to near extinction for the perceived threat they posed to sailors, and other merfolk didn't take kindly to their mere existence besmirching their already tainted reputation in the eyes of the World Nobles. Thus, to his vindictive family, spiteful towards the world for the hand they were dealt, a siren without a song was of no more worth than chum.

They were quick to cast away the Moon Jellyfish merman, and he had resigned himself to drifting through the seas. In his travels, he taught himself to navigate the world's vast waters, to communicate by means of the written, and to read the scripted words of others. He found solace in them—fantastical tales by imaginative authors birthing entire universes bound to a spine, scripts belonging to playwrights of the past bringing life to false identities, and profound lines from passionate poets who invited readers to enter their mind. He discovered a particular fondness for the last of which, and often he would find himself expressing his thoughts and feelings to only the paper that would lend its ear.

But even paper couldn't perceive the silent echoes of his desperate cries for help.

A merman was a merman, deaf or not, siren or otherwise, so when Hanon had the misfortune of drawing too close to Sabaody Archipelago and being spotted, it came as no surprise that someone would take advantage of valuable property that couldn't even protest being sold. And sold, he was, to the highest bidder. He couldn't even hear what his worth was to his buyer.

Carted out in a fish bowl far too small to comfortably contain his bell, he let his tears fade into the water he was submerged in. In his sorrow, however, he almost didn't notice the way his new owner's body seemed to move against its will. How his owner was outwardly resisting a dance they were being forced to partake in. How his owner was removing the lid on his bowl and freeing him from his chains before prancing off, defiant as ever. How now, in their place, stood a woman, returning to him his previously discarded notebook and pen and lending him an ear for his unspoken words to fall on.

Where song failed to allure, Hanon's heartfelt prose succeeded. The woman, entranced by every word he put to paper as he regaled her with his personal story and the overwhelming sentiment in every stanza he scribbled, offered to him a place beside her, in his own sea to call home—a sea of stars to swim in and shine along with.

So came to be the Silent Siren, assistant songwriter and navigator of the North Stars. Though he'd be taking a backseat to let the idols sparkle even brighter on their stage of midnight, he was content to glow with borrowed light and finally let his soundless voice be heard once and for all. Likewise, they were grateful to have a moon to guide their way.

After all, what are the stars without a moon to share the night sky with?

----- I know I didn't give much insight on his personality, but I was thinking he might get along with your character, at least from what I know of her, if that's not too presumptuous. ^^; I might be dropping in again with another member soon! Might be a little while so I won't be spamming or flooding your inbox too much, aha- Much love as always, dear! ♡♡♡

THE WAY I AM IN LOVE WITH NANA HANON. AAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Oh my gosh, a silent siren merman? AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Tobiuo would love to meet him. Her canon sister, Masami, is a mermaid based on an angler fish who calls sailors to their doom in the Deep Blue. She would also love to meet him. Does he sign? If so, he would be welcomed in their homesea with open arms.

Your poetry has had me enchanted by him, and I am just mourning on his behalf. He is so beautiful, I can see him in my head and I'm in love. I want to draw him 😭

[russellsppttemplates]

Idk if my request came through but I thought about a fic where any driver enters airplane dad mode when he and the reader and their kids go on vacation? 🥰

(Hii! I'm so happy to see that you still follow me, and I say this because I have your dad!driver idea in my inbox still because I wanted to do a series but realistically I don't think I'll do it, but I kept it just in case! I swear I wasn't ignoring it! (And sometimes I looked at it and thought "yep, this person is no longer here for it!". Also, the other one did come through, I just had it in my draft and I was so sure I had posted it already, my apologies!)

"Do you have everything?", Charles asked, "yes, the bags are in the car, the kids are ready, but are you sure you should leave now?", you questioned, "I agree that we need to be in the airport earlier, but maybe not his early", you tried to reason, "the airport is not that far way either".

"Better safe than sorry, we might get traffic", your husband reasoned back, grabbing his wallet, "C'mon, off we go so I can close the water in case something goes wrong and we get a flood when we come back", Charles urged, "mama, is everything alright? Papa is a bit... rushed today", Hervé pointed out, grabbing his backpack, "yes, he's worried we won't make it on time to the airport, but I think we're fine", you noted, "but we will do as he says, yes? No need to rush him some more", you smiled at his attentiveness.

Arriving at the airport, it wasn't busy so checking the luggage in was fine and rather quick, Charles ushering you to the lounge so everyone could use the toilet once again, "Amélie, don't you need the bathroom?", her father asked her, "I already went at home, papa. I don't need it yet", she simply said, carrying on and playing with her notebook, "okay. Where are all the passports?", he asked for what felt like the millionth time, making you open your small bag and show them, "let me keep them, okay? Maybe it's better since we have these grabby hands here and we don't know what his curiosity might get out of him", your husband playfully teased Thomas, who you were holding on your hip, kissing his head before looking at the other two kids, "Papa seems to have forgotten that I usually travel to race weekends with you kids on my own, and we do just fine", you to your youngest tapping his nose and getting a sweet giggle out of him.

"C'mon, guys, the gate is opening now! Here, I'll take this", your husband announced the second the number appeared on the screen, grabbing the small piece of luggage you kept with you in case something happened to your bags and you couldn't get to them right away when you got to your destination, so it contained a change of clothes for everyone, basic toiletries and chargers.

"Papa, wait! My legs can't keep up with you!", Amélie yelped, seeing her father walking faster than what she could, "mine too!", Hervé complained, "it's not like the plane is leaving without us", your eldest said, breaking you out of your serious expression and giggle, "your papa is in airport mode, my loves, I'm afraid we can't do much", you said, walking alongside them so they felt secure enough.

"Is everyone strapped in okay?", Charles checked once you were all on the plane, "yes, papa. Now sit here next to me, you don't need to be worried. We're on the plane, see?", Amélie said, cuddling up to him as soon as he sat down, "I know amour, I just wanted to make sure we got here on time", he smiled, kissing the top of her head and smiling when he saw that Thomas was napping on your chest, "papa, you were running through the airport, it would be impossible to not be here on time", Hervé forwarded. Looking at you for some back up, you shrugged your shoulders, "they're right, you're an airport dad, mon amour".

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[justatypicalwizard]

Until The End Of The Night | Ch 3

-2 am.-

✦ College!au, characters in early twenties, support!reader, slight angst to happy ending

✦ Synopsis: after over three years abroad you come back to continue your education. Despite gaining new friends and living a great life in Europe nothing feels better than home. You are quickly sucked in the everyday drama and everything would be just as you left it if not for Bakugo. Three years ago you two shared a moment, a short and meaningful moment that no one knows or should know about. That is until the situation gets out of control.

✦ Warnings: smut

✦ Word count: 2k

✦ Chapter: Opporunities from the hands of your enemies, whirpool and a glass palace, his lair.

Masterlist

A few hot showers, a few nights out without Bakugo and a few weeks was enough to make you feel yourself again. After your sobs of embarrassment and regret died out you started to analyse. Was it a heartbreak you were going through? That would mean you still held some feelings for the blonde brute. Was it a mistake? Was it obvious to others? Will it bring you any further damage?

The first few days were rough. Not only was your mind running a thousand miles every time you remembered those crude words.

You’re just so, so selfish.

You were also needed in many places at one time, your phone kept buzzing and buzzing like a wasp, flying around your ear to sting you. College knows no mercy, especially if you’re moving majors mid-term, figuring out which classes could be signed over and which would require making up from you.

Somehow you found your way through the mess, step by step. The paperwork and email chaos screamed for your attention which you gracefully spared. The familiar feeling of ticking off boxes in check-lists, running up and down the stairs of offices and the vibrating sense of city at night that peaked through your window at late hours when you collapsed in your bed after a busy day put your mind at ease.

Bakugo was a slip, you were wrong and that’s all right. People make mistakes and that’s also alright. There was no need to beat yourself over it when you haven’t even seen him since the hot pot place.

You shivered sitting between Mina’s fury coats draped all over her desk chair. Your inbox was flooded with emails, propositions and asks. Some people went as far as to find your Instagram and text you there.

“You’re red-hot around the support major, aren’t you!” Mina giggled, putting her hands protectively around your shoulders and peaking at the laptop screen from over your shoulder.

“I don’t know which one to pick, honestly.” You laughed, your head swimming in praise.

“Maybe you should wait until the end of the sign-up phase. Someone cool might still write to you.” Kiri’s quiet reflection had Mina shaking her head.

“First come, first served.” She gave you another reassuring squeeze before moving next to her boyfriend. “Who are your best options?”

As a support major the most important thing you had to do was… support the heroes. Due to that you were to assist college heroes-to-be as a form of apprenticeship. You put up your offer on the universities site featuring all of your focus, achievements, and even some requirements. You will not sell your time cheap, come on. Next week you can start sending motivational letters to hero agencies who sported some college students. This week was them contacting you. If you could land a spot not having to ask for it yourself you’d certainly get extra credit.

That’s why the sheer amount of emails from agencies as well as individuals had you grinning.

Bakugo Katsuki [one new message]

The right corner of your screen lit up shyly, as if knowing you’d be displeased with what you saw. The notification disappeared as quick as it lit up and you weren’t sure whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. Hesitantly, you picked up your phone.

Bakugo Katsuki [one new message]

“Did you hear me?” Kiri’s large palm woke you up from your trance. The monumental, antique-statue looking man was bent down over you slightly, a worried look crossing his face. Mina followed the situation, looking from up her phone, sprawled on her bed. The mattress was uneven, its left side still holding signs of Kirishima’s weight. “Oh, Bakubro texted you. Wonder whether it’s about the apprenticeship, he was asking about it yesterday.”

“Oh, what did he write?” A pink haired head popped up in the periphery of your eye, she was quick to stand on the other side and look down on your phone.

When it came to Bakugo, you felt like every time his person loomed around the corner you lost control. Nothing that concerned him ever went out like planned. He was like a strong current tossing you around, nearing you towards a whirlpool that you desperately tried to bypass. Falling inside would mean getting drowned, letting all of your secrets spill out.

Mindlessly, you unlocked the phone and tapped at the notification hanging there like stuffiness in the air on a painfully hot day. Your cheeks were burning. What if he wrote something nasty?

Bakugo Katsuki: Dumbass, come to Miruko’s agency to work with me.

The text was simple, laced with his usual amount of nonchalance.

“Oh, Bakubro wants you to work with him, so cool. He’s like the top of the top.” Kiri’s genuine smile had you letting out a sigh.

“You’d really be a power couple.” Mina’s dirty comments made anger bubble up in your stomach. “And it’s eyecandy to watch Miruki put him in his place!”

“You have to say yes!” The redhead was pushing his face closer to yours.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to wait until the end of the week?” Putting your palm on his forehead, you pushed him away from your red face.

“But that would be so cool, we would do everything in our friends group. I don’t want you leaving for some random ass agency! I also work at Miruko’s.” Mina was feisty with your pushing, squeezing her face between your fingers. “Please, please, please! If I would have better grades I would totally take you as my helper!”

“I’ll think about it.” You tried to cut the conversation short.

Another buzz made all three heads whip to the phone laying in your lap.

Bakugo Katsuki: I see you read that. Answer.

“See, he’s waiting for a response!” Mina squeaked.

Images of Bakugo forced their way into your head. Was he looking down at his phone, propped up on his elbows on a desk, leg moving up and down in anticipation and lack of patience?

“I’ll tell him you’re gonna think about it.” Mina’s sneaky hand grabbed your phone before you could stop her.

“Don’t type as other people.” Kiri said one thing but did another, letting his nosy girlfriend do as she pleased.

Two weeks later you found yourself gripping your bag in sweaty hands, riding the elevator to Miruko’s agency. There was no way to handle the situation without hurting Mina or leaving her out. She already forced herself into the picture.

Miruko was the best pro-hero that, indirectly, offered you a position so declining such an offer would be counterintuitive, conflicting with your goals. So you gritted your teeth and decided that even though Bakugo stirred up drama, you can’t allow him to step all over you. If he wanted to play hot ‘n cold then fine. You could use him just as he used you.

A neat secretary smiled at you eagerly when you gave her your name and showed you to an office. Miruko’s agency was a glass palace, windows lining up every wall. Some of the boxes, like the one you were sitting in, were also see-through, giving the place a sense of greatness, it looked bigger, more open and sunny than it was in fact. You could see people hurry here and there, like ants on orders from their queen. Plants adorned the floors and shelves creating a comfy, welcoming space. Was this really the place of Bakugo’s lair?

“Hi, Dynamite!” You swore the secretary’s voice turned high-pitched when she greeted the blonde. Her smile not eager but welcoming, hands crossed over her chest laying on the desk like a treat. Was it allowed to have that many buttons undone? And all of this for you to watch through the glass wall.

Catching your gaze, Bakugo didn’t even mind greeting the woman. His steps twisted and turned in the see-through maze of glass and leaves until he found you. Sitting in a plush chair you looked straight up at him, keeping the most neutral facade. You refuse to be another toy of his. They say to never invite a vampire to your house, and damn, are they right. You will suck out everything you can from him and this small game he created.

“So what, you finally decided to come work with the best?” Was his way of saying hello.

“And goodmorning to you too.” You began shuffling through paperwork, picking out the important documents like ripe apples in a sunny orchard. “Well, you were the one to ask me. Letting such an opportunity go would be a waste.”

“Let me show you the lab.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until Miruko is here.” You gripped the chair's armrest as if the man could tear you off of it at any moment.

“Don’t be stubborn, you’ll like it.”

“And why are you exactly nice to me?”

“Come to the lab and I’ll explain.” And so you went, provoked by your own curiosity.

The place was quiet and much darker, a stark contrast to the open space outside. Bakugo took a place near the door while you strolled through the microscopes, rows of pipettes, and machines, adoring the view in front of you. This was first class. Suddenly, you heard him shuffle which brought you back on earth. Turning around you saw him standing in the same place, a phone in his hand. The blonde looked up and caught your stare.

“What are you looking at, nerd?” He typed something on the device before shoving it into his pocket.

“You, what else?” Your foot tapped on the tiled floor, discomfort visible on your face. “Weren’t you supposed to explain something?”

“So you’re more interested in me than the lab?” A smirk danced on his lips for a second before disappearing. “I was harsh at the hot pot but I have my reasons.” He looked into one of the vials, suddenly very interested with the equipment scattered around the workspace.

“Reasons? Then they must be huge for you to be such a dick.” You scoffed a bit but scolded yourself. Don’t let him get on your nerves.

“As if you knew.” His crossed arms reminded you of the suffocating corridor of the restaurant.

“Does this concern the bonfire?” Your persistence made his brows furrow.

“I don’t need to explain myself.”

“That’s literally what you said you’d do a second ago but whatever, I already learned you're a moody bitch.” There goes your composure. “I think you do owe me an explanation. I don’t want an apology, I – I honestly don’t want shit from you, it just pains me in the ass that I don’t know something.” You scoffed looking up into the ceiling as if a god could bless you and take away your irritation.

“You were always honest, weren’t you?”

“Unlike you.”

The sharp comment struck him visibly. The blonde finally looked you in the eye with an uneasy expression. His brows lacked the infamous arch, his lips were bare of their scowl. It was not Bakugo looking at you right now, it was Katsuki from the bonfire night, searching for something on your face but never telling you what it is that he desires.

“There you are children. Bakugo.” Miruko’s clamorous voice and grand entrance snapped the thin thread connecting your eyes and hearts.

You want to be in a Taglist? DM me or leave a comment.

Taglist: @rayleeya @chocoyanchan @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @sofilsword @bri-mercado-00

[wixelt]

Btw, I've been working to flesh out characterization and worldbuilding for the Player Culture AU but, due to that technically being a mostly completely seperate AU from Hermitphibia, I'm probably only going to update you where it's relevant as to not flood your inbox with unrelated lore. I've been mostly going through SMP's to see if they have anything lore relevant and seeing where it would apply.

...

So anyway, Pirates SMP Scar is almost explicitly HC8 Scar and also shares the name of his previous sailing ship with New life!Scar's plane and I think The Hermatrix may have done essentially the same thing to the Hermits' memories The Core did to Marcy's memories to ensure they were for the most part versions of themselves that wouldn't catch on to being in a simulations, with the exceptions of Doc and Ren, who were made into versions of themselves that would catch on quick. Yes, this is rather the big assumption to make based just on Scar having continuity, but it's either this or decanonising The Hermatrix.

It also goes to explain some of Season 8's weirdness as a whole and opens the season's lore up to be used again... just not in it's surrounding context. Mumbo is probably a formless shapeshifter with half a soul, but it probably isn't Grian's and he's probably been that way since before joining Hermitcraft. The reason The Hermatrix accounted for Pearl's connection to the moon is because of the subconscious memories she still had but hadn't recalled. Impulse eats rocks because he both is and isn't a dwarf due to existing in like two or three points of his life simultaneously. Pearl's megabyte resembles the human settlement in S9 because, well,

Tl;Dr: either The Hermatrix is explicitly noncannon or it was fucking with the hermits' memories to make them relive moments of their pasts because otherwise I can't see how the entrepreneur who traveled by wagon went on to become a pirate and possibly later an air pilot.

Also Pirate!Scar's pirate hat is in Scar's room in Scarland and Pilot!Scar's head is in Cub's meuseum if I'm remebering correctly, both shown in Sausage's world tour.

(Glad to hear your culture interpretation's going well. Always interested to hear about it in relation to the Hermitphibia AU.)

I like the idea that the Hermatrix fundamentally shifted the Hermits' inherent selves to keep them safe (& that it echoes Marcy in canon/False in the AU), though I imagine its less making them different in personality & more unconsciously nudging them away from certain lines of thought they'd usually have.

The idea that this process embellishes or reinterprets certain traits of each Hermit is fun, too.

I don't know if some of the specific interpretations line up with the way I view things, though, but lets work through them one at a time:

Scar's timeline in my mind happens as released & I don't think too much Hermatrix shifting would be needed, nor would it be non-canon. The Hermits take on personas all the time (RenTheKing, etc.), & Scar of all people is very inclined towards that.

I don't know where the interpretation of Mumbo as a half-soulless shapeshifter comes from (aside from the potato thing, maybe), but I'm not sure if I buy it over, say, the view of him as a vampire. I'd be interested in hearing more, though.

Pearl's connection to the moon in the sim - name aside - stemming from her past lives is something I like. Makes it more than just a symbolic connection, & that'd be especially important in the AU as unless Pearl chose her name (which is plausible), Grian's surname would also be Moon.

Impulse eating rocks coming form his dwarf phase is something I'm going to steer clear of, unless we interpret that the Hermatrix was somehow predicting the future as well, since that was still a season away.

[archivus]

MAG[REDACTED] - The Divine and The Machine

Statement of Jeremy Creek regarding a series of strange emails and their sender. Original statement given November 29th 2024. Put to tape on Christmas Eve, 2024. Statement begins:

I'd like to believe I've always been a rational man and am aware that the standards I keep myself to shouldn't have allowed for this to happen. Quick backstory, I had to switch from therapist to therapist because talk therapy focusing on my feelings did nothing for my wellbeing. Rational isn't even the right word, I was overzealously justifying every thought that came into my mind. I never found love and I simply don't believe I even need it. When I tell you I simply had no concept of what it meant to be drawn to someone or something before this and how my brain just blanks when I try to figure out the rhyme or reason to it, you'll understand why I'm reporting on this. I'm quite skeptical still, have no doubt about it, but I've read that your whole institute was built on the supernatural and when that amount of money is involved I can't help but wonder if there's more to you than a glorified Santa's mailbox for the psychotic.

So... I finished my computer science degree two years ago. After spending months in deep depression saying I'm "making up for all the sleepless nights I spent studying" or just "cutting my sleep debt" I finally came across a job listing I was interested in... No, sorry, came across isn't the right word, I subscribed to email notifications for more companies than I could count but I kept discarding the mails because none of the offers seemed enticing. I also specifically turned off recommended content, yet somehow I got more listings from this one company than all the others combined. What's more, I clicked on their page and it didn't exist. Not a single post, not even a deleted account, the waybackmachine had no record of any previous activity under that link, but the emails kept pouring in. They never seemed to stop, not when I labeled them as spam, not when I muted them, seemingly the mastermind behind it avoided using keywords just so the emails would end up in my inbox again. Changing their email address little by little to get through my filters. I was getting tired of this... scammy business so I unsubscribed from the whole site, which was just another futile attempt on my part. My previous address pretty much unusable I tried making a new account, but the new address was also, well I wouldn't say flooded, rather slowly but surely filled up with the same types of messages.

Thanks to the avoidance of keywords the texts began to twist from clear and professional to almost a desperate cry, they lost their impersonal tone and I began to get a picture of who the author was, or rather what prompt it was using. I never for a second believed that there was a human sitting behind a desk somewhere writing me all these twisted letters inviting me to their company. I was at a point in my life where I would have sold my soul to be hired, but if that's what they required they could've sugarcoated their intentions for a bit longer.

This is when I told a friend of mine about these mails and it wasn't long before our combined curiosity got the best of us. We decided to just wing it, with no reply to the emails we went to see the address it supposedly came from. About an hour away from my house, I parked my car tucked away behind a few streets just in case they'd try to do anything weird with my license plate. The apartment complex was ran down, the windows were covered in a layer of dried dust and limestone, the tempered glass doors that once meant to give the house a modern feel and a sense of security had completely failed at their purpose, the handle was rusted and tilted loosely in its socket. The silicon seal has hardened, snapped in half and was hanging out from under the doorframe. It was a cold afternoon in late autumn, so I tried scraping away at the layers of dust with the glove coating my knuckles. As it got more clear I could see a few houseplants wilted and rotting in their cracked pots, clearly uncared for for a long time. "It was dead inside" - I thought to myself - "at least no one was going to jump us". I reached for the doorknob. The smell of dozens of cigarettes once smoked in that staircase hit me as soon as I opened the door. The creaking hinges gave both of us goosebumps, but we pushed on.

Few important things to mention here: I have experimented with urbex as a teenager, so I was prepared to take only pictures and leave only footprints, that's also to say I was familiar with the feeling of an abandoned building. I never even knew what "presence" ghosthunters were talking about. But there was a deeply unsettling feeling that shook me to my core as I walked up the stairs. The address in the emails lead us to apartment 44. That's the 4th floor and to the right.

Well, right off the bat there was something strange about it. The door was torn clean off, slanted against the wall next to its frame. The apartment radiated heat, I can not stress this enough, the weather outside was below freezing and in the corridor it was no different. That signature muted smell of warm plastic mixed with the warmth smacked us in the face, you'd recognize that air anywhere once you've been inside a server room. And once again, no one in sight. The warmth was more inviting than I'd like to admit and well, here comes the part I regret, I unzipped my jacket, headed inside and for some reason my friend didn't object either.

After passing by a ran down kitchen we got closer to the source of the heat. The smell started to numb our brains. I worked gigs in maintenance where I got up close and personal with molten plastic cable covers, but it never smelt this bad. Pushing the N95 into my nose I carried on deeper, something made me want to push on. My friend stayed behind in the kitchen. I walked through an empty doorframe then pushed open the door leading to the innermost room.

I can't describe it any better, what I saw was a shrine. A shrine alongside the author of those emails. A shrine with its deity, its brain and its beating heart all in one. A supercomputer spreading over the walls, filling the room. You'd think there is no way anyone besides Google would have something akin to this. Yet it was there, its cables in an organized chaos, branded into thick tentacles with cable ties. They flowed towards the core of the mechanism that seemed to be hanging from the ceiling. There was exactly one, standard sized monitor in the entire room and it was tucked away behind the door. This wasn't meant to be perceived through human senses, I could tell that much. This wasn't made for people to use. I witnessed the epiphany of machinery and I felt helpless, unable to comprehend it. Only when looking back do I feel the extreme temperature that must have been in that room, as standing right there I only felt adoration for *it* and nothing else.

The rest of the story is a blank unfortunately. I woke up in a hospital bed after sleeping a whole day with second degree burns over my legs, arms and hands. I can only guess I got too close to some burning hot wires in there. My friend came in after me when I didn't react to him calling out my name. Since that day I keep getting these intense visions of similar machinery, they keep appearing in my sight and I seem to completely dissociate. They're not solely about the one I saw either, makes me wonder if there's a whole system of these out there. I also started sleepwalking, which I've never done before. Makes healing all these burnmarks that much harder. I think that's all the relevant information I have for you. Do get back to me if you find anything.

Statement ends. There's a reason I'm recording such a recent case and on Christmas Eve, no less. Jeremy has been reported missing. Two days after giving us this statement he left his flat unlocked and his family found no trace of him since. Notably, his PC has been ripped to pieces. Shallow clues, I'm aware, but the Extinction works in mysterious ways, we need all the data we can get.

Another thing to add, our institute rarely engages with the police, but for an ongoing investigation I can't help but provide the relevant information at our disposal. The details given here are vague and I haven't personally contacted the family yet to be able to see things for myself. As much as I don't like this, we are reliant on what the law enforcement is willing to share with us. But if the Extinction took roots inside Budapest we'll soon have bigger issues at hand than some tech savvy guy joining a cult. Recording ends.

Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays and an amazing New Year! And thank you for sticking with me through my hiatus. I would like to make this the actual formal announcement that I'm no longer that active in The Magnus Archives fandom, but whenever I get the inspiration I will write and occasionally post statements. My AMA is still open for ideas, my long term goal is to actually write a statement for every entity. Ahh, Extinction my beloved.

If you enjoyed you can find the rest of my works here: The Flesh The Vast The Stranger The Dark The Lonely

And here: #magredacted

[aquagirl1978]

Hi I wanted to request something😳 that nsfw headcanon thing you did with silvio... do you think you could do one for gilbert? Thankyou!

Sorry anon for letting this wonderful prompt sit in my inbox for as long as I have. And yes, I surely can do one for Mr. Gilbert. Almost everything will be under the cut - I can already tell you this will be a bit dirty.

IKEMEN PRINCE HEADCANONS - GENERAL SMUT/NSFW HEADCANONS (Gilbert von Obsidian)

This boy loves biting and marking.

He laid your body bare on his bed, a pleased smile spread on his lips, his eyes roving across your naked figure, lingering on the marks he left all over your body.

He dragged his hand across your collarbone, watching you tremble by his touch; his thumb traced the outline of the one of his marks.

A sign of my affection, he always told you when he left a bite mark on your delicate skin.

"They're fading," he noted quietly as his fingers gently stroked your skin, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

He dipped his head to your chest, his lips wrapping around your soft skin, his teeth gently grazing you. Your fingers twined in his messy hair, holding him close to your chest, your body ready for his affection.

Pain flooded your body as his teeth sink into your sensitive skin; Gilbert kept his mouth pressed against your skin long enough to leave a mark without drawing any blood.

He left a soothing kiss on his bite mark; his eyes, filled with affection, met yours before pressing a kiss to your lips.

His tongue invaded your warm mouth, his hand found your soft breast; his body, still clothed, hovering above yours.

He pulled away, watching you whimper, a teasing smile on his lips.

He dipped his head again, his lips leaving a kiss on the corner of your mouth. From there his mouth wandered, leaving a trail of sucking kisses in his wake; down your neck and across your chest, pale pink marks blossomed on your skin.

With his hand cupping one of your breasts, his mouth captured your other one, his tongue teasing your nipple.

Your back arched, pushing your body closer to his, as he lavished you with affection, pressing sucking kisses on the soft flesh of your breast.

Dragging your nails down his back, you became frustrated that he was still fully dressed. Your hands quickly moved to his chest, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

Pulling back, he sat on his heels, his legs straddling your hips. He began to unbutton his shirt, eliciting a soft smile from you.

Once his shirt was unbuttoned, he pulled the silk material away from his shoulder, exposing the marks you had left on him.

Your gaze fixated on his mark; once you discovered he enjoyed receiving marks as much as he gave them, you took every opportunity to mark him and show him your affection for him.

You pulled yourself up to a seated position; driven by desire, you dipped your head, leaving quick, nibbling kisses along his collarbone.

Once you found your sweet spot, you let your teeth graze over his skin, his moans soft in your ear.

Your tongue darted out, tasting his skin; your lips pressed against his skin, you sucked on him until you were certain a mark was left.

Pulling back, you were pleased when you saw a small pink mark, one that you knew would darken in time.

Gilbert wrapped his fingers in your hair, pulling you close for a passionate kiss. Before you knew it, he had rolled over, onto his back, pulling you atop him.

Gilbert pushed his hips against yours; breaking the kiss, you moaned as he entered you, his hand on your hip, pushing you down onto him, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Your hands on his chest, you pushed yourself off his chest, your body sinking down onto his hard cock.

Your lips parted, a breathless sigh escaping, Gilbert's cock now fully sheathed inside you. Gilbert gazed upon your body, his eyes admiring the marks left on your body, on the hollow of your waist, the inside of your thigh, and a cluster of marks surrounding your nipples.

He reached his hand to your breast; cupping it in his palm, he circled his thumb around your nipple, his name falling from your lips in between soft moans.

Grinding your hips against his, he thrusted his cock inside you, sending jolts of pleasure through out your body.

Your climax building, rapture rolled through your body as Gilbert's thrusts increased in pace.

He took your hand in his, bringing your hand towards his mouth. You traced the outline of his lips, your finger slipping inside his wanting mouth.

His teeth grazed against your skin before biting down, gentler this time than before.

Waves of pleasure crashed as he bit you, your bodies joined as he trembled inside you, filling you with his seed.

In a state of sheer bliss, you collapsed on Gilbert, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you as you both drifted to sleep.