#I used to bake when I was at the hospital. I loved doing it it was always so much fun

[adriennebarnes]

First Date

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina Single Mom! Reader

Summary: Charles decides to take Y/N and Vidia out for dinner to celebrate his podium in the Canadian Grand Prix

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: so @barcelonaloverf1life commented say that they wanted more parts to “meet and greet” so I was thinking of writing a collection of one-shots that fit in the fanfic universe of Charles dating a single mom if you’re interested

Vidia and Y/N we’re in the hospitality waiting for Charles outside his driver’s room. He came out wearing jeans and a button down shirt.

“Oh, do I look okay for wherever you’re taking us?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, you look great. And so do you Vidia, can’t forget about the little princess. We could just go to a diner.” Charles suggested

“Don’t you have a diet to stick to?” Y/N asked

“They have salads there.” Charles said.

“But you NEED to try a milkshake.” Vidia said, tugging on Charles pants.

“I most certainly will try a vanilla milkshake.” Charles told vidia. They walked to the car that Charles rented. “Now I’m glad I rented a 4 person car.”

“Quick question, are you sure your team principal will be okay with you going out tonight?” Y/N asked.

“As long I make it on time for practice 3 and qualifying tomorrow, I’m sure everything will be fine.” Charles said. He unlocked the door, opening the back door to help Vidia get in, closed it, and opening the passenger door for Y/N to get it.

“Always the gentleman.” Y/N commented and Charles smiled, closing the passenger door and walking around to get to the driver’s side. “Where are we going?”

“NDG Lucheonette, been a few times before, I like the food.” Charles commented. Y/N texted her dad saying that her and vidia were going out to eat, Vidia took a nap on the car, 45 minutes later, they made it to the diner. Charles opened the door for Y/N and she went to wake up Vidia.

“Princesa, we’re here, let’s go.” Y/N said and Vidia nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. Y/N held her hand as they entered the diner.

“Hello, table for three please.” Charles said and the hostess led them to their table. “So, Y/N, what do you do?”

“Oh I’m a baker.” Y/N said.

“Mami owns a bakery.” Vidia said.

“Really? How’s it like?” Charles asks

“You have to wake up early in order to bake, we provide pan dulce too, you know, like bread to eat with your coffee or hot chocolate.” Y/N explains.

“Conchas with hot chocolate is the best.” Vidia said “Mami has a lot of customers, she makes birthday cakes too.”

“Oh wow, you are a very accomplished baker indeed.” Charles said.

“I’m the best in my city.” Y/N said,

“I should stop by your bakery whenever I’m in New York.” Charles said.

“That would be great.” Y/N said, the waitress came and took their orders.

“And you vidia, what do you do?” Charles asked. Y/N loves that Charles is also engaging with her daughter.

“I’m in school, I watch tv, color, play with friends.” Vidia started.

“And when we get back to New York, you have to start the reading list the school gave you.” Y/N said.

“I Don’t like school.” Vidia grumbled and Charles laughed lightly.

“I didn’t like school either, but reading makes you smart like Matilda.” Charles said.

“Who’s Matilda?” Vidia asked and Charles looked at Y/N shocked,

“Yeah, she hasn’t seen the movie yet.” Y/N commented.

“Matilda is a little girl who reads a lot of books, is very smart, and gains the power to move things with her mind.” Charles explained and Vidia’s eyes widened.

“I want to move things with my mind!” Vidia exclaimed.

“Then I guess you need to read when we’re back home.” Y/N said. The milkshakes came first and then the food. The date went well, they were talking, Charles paid, but unbeknownst to everyone, there were F1 fans at the diner who recorded them together. They got into the car.

“I had a great time.” Charles said.

“Me too. By the way, congratulations on Monaco, can’t believe I haven’t said anything about it.” Y/N said.

“Thank you, you saw the race?” Charles asked.

“Of course.” Y/N said.

“Mami was crying.” Vidia commented.

“Did you really?” Charles asked.

“It was your first home race win, of course I was going to cry, all of Ferrari cried.” Y/N said.

“Well thank you, where’s your hotel?” Charles asked.

“I’ll just type it in,” Y/N said and she did just that. The drive was kinda quiet, just Charles’s playlist in the background until he made it to the front of her hotel.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me to ask for your number.” Charles said.

“Well you met my daughter and took us out on a date, asking for my number is definitely not too forward.” Y/N said, Charles unlocked his phone so Y/N could type in her number.

“Thank you, I’ll see you two tomorrow, call me in the morning so I can give you paddock passes.” Charles said.

“I will hold you to it. Vidia, mi amor, let’s go, we’re here.” Y/N said, getting out of the car while Vidia stirs awake. Y/N carried Vidia out of the car. “Text me, Charles, don’t make me regret giving you my number,”

“You won’t regret it, I swear.” Charles said, Y/N carries Vidia to the hotel room and her dad is awake watching TV.

“Como les fue?” Y/N’s dad asked. How’d it go

“Nos fue bien, Vidia está muy cansada la pobre.” Y/N said, laying vidia down in the bed. It went well, vidia is really tired, poor thing

“Me trajeron algo?” Did you bring me anything?

“No papi, lo siento.” Y/N said. She felt her phone vibrate and it was a text. Sorry

Unknown number: Hello Y/N, it’s Charles, hope you and Vidia have a good night.

Y/N smiles at her phone and replied back to him.

Y/N: Hello Charles, we hope you have a good night too. You need to be well rested if you’re going to be in pole again

Both Charles and Y/N went to sleep knowing that there might be a new relationship brewing.

The End

Hope y’all liked it, I’m sorry if it seems a little rushed

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic

[yourboopyboop]

Bake me a Bun

Soap/Retired!Soap x f!reader Fluff with a slight suggestive line, daydreaming, get this man a baby. Mild stalking(?) I do not know if I should be continuing this ^^ (There will be eventual smut if I keep writing this, also might end up adding some TW because we all know what happens when you tell stories about wounded soldiers) Divider credits go to @vibeswithrenai , lovely work, I recommend checking them out ^^

Johnny is at his roots, a family man. Scottish mead flows through his veins, so does the sweet pie his grandma used to bake.

Before retiring, Soap liked to spend some of his 'vacations' with the whole MacTavish family. Lunch here, brunch there, and kids that flap their pa's kilt just before dinner. He would play chase with the wee lads, loved by his nephews and known as 'Big Uncle'. Often carrying two rascals at a time, or letting losing against them on a hand to hand battle, he was a truly warm and homecoming man.

"John, when ya givin' me sum' wee bairns?" His nan would often ask.

To what his answer would be, between gritted teeth "No bon, no bun, nan. Army giv' no time f'tha"

And so then, he was shot.

Retirement didn't treat him that badly, just gave him a rather permanent headache and a scar on his temple.

Doctors told him to stay put, to enjoy his free time on the hospital' open gardens, the oxygen would do him good they said. But Soap was not a man that would be sitting there, staying still after years of battlefield, movement and stress.

Yet, after trying to get away a couple of times and finally sat down by Price, he took the orders and stayed put like a good kid.

He owed Simon one. The man had managed to push him a fraction away from the bullet trajectory, earning himself a sprained ankle. He would often visit Johnny when free, although for a brief time, dropping telltales of what the squad had been up to. Gaz was the one to stick around most, nagging him about finally being out of the hellhole that being a SAS operator was. They would watch their football together, until nurses told him that they needed to do a check-up.

On a rare sunny day, the whole squad visited him. Price had brought a letter from Alejandro, wishing him the best recovery, and to visit whenever he felt like. The wind almost blew the paper away, sitting in a bench under a tree.

"Bet ya miss us son" John muttered, a tired smile on his face. Soap groaned, rolling his eyes, "honestly, I think I prefer t'share some sweat with yall, rather than this hell of a cell" Even Simon laughed at that.

" 's no sunshine 'round. Bloody white walls fucking strain my eyes every single damn day" He would keep complaining. "I don't miss ya nagging tho" Ghost quipped teasingly.

And so they laughed, walking around looking like a group of old childhood friends that threw shit at each other, being Gaz the one with the most pointy comments "I can't fathom sleep without ya snoring Soap"

Something bumped against Price, earning their stop and a tiny, quiet "sorry" from a tiny, young voice. It was a young lad, no more than six summers at his back. He looked rather scared; faced by an old man, a wounded soldier, a guy with only his eyes visible and a piercing gaze under a cap.

Price squatted "No need to be, lad. Where's ya mum?" The kid shook his head and pointed to a woman, not far away from their position, that was surrounded by kids. She seemed stressed, looking around with wide eyes until she spotted the young boy.

"Oh Matt! Don't go running away like that you little rascal!" She rushed to the kid, and made eye contact with the Captain. "I'm so sorry sir, can't really keep all the kids still sometimes"

"Visit trip?" Price tilted his head slightly, to what she nodded. "We like to show the young ones to respect the injured" Her smile was almost as warm as the sun that day. "They gotta learn more than numbers and letters in school after all"

She took the kid away after apologizing once again, urging the little one to go back with the whole group, that she graciously guided around the hospital garden.

A second pair of blues followed her around as she went by, earning a chuckle from Kyle "Looks like he has a reason to stay here now"

"Hells Bells" The only thing he could say.

For what he could see from his room's window, it was a whole week of field trips for different classes.

To his eyes, she paraded around with the kids, with a sweet smile and warm eyes, showing the little humans things around, be it the entrances, the pond, or making small talk with some old lady that was condemned to stay her last days in that white prison. Like he felt, incarcerated for his health, until the doctors decided his wound and other past poorly healed injuries would not hinder him from having a "normal" life from now on.

For you, you were trying to show the kids some hospitality, to be respectful and appreciate the healthcare and what it could do for the people. For them to listen to the old tales of those veterans in life, or to enjoy the breeze and the grass after walking around for a long time.

Johnny was mesmerized. Completely lost in those warm expressions you always had dancing on your face, or in how you guided the children with caressing palms. Maybe it was the ring of your voice, that now rose above the constant tingle of his newly acquired wound, or the manners that you carried around. He felt strangely isolated in the room, a constant need to go outside and enjoy the grass, of course he wasn't trying to get a chance to talk with you.

Right?

So there he was, again in a bench. And that day he decided to hang his dog tags around his neck. "What a show-off" Simon groaned before saying goodbye couple of hours ago. "Don't come sulking if you scare her away you mutt", and a pat on the back.

It was the same boy as the other day, the one that approached him mesmerized by the shining plates on his neck. Matt sat on the floor, inquiring about what did Johnny do for a living. 'What is that? What do you do? Oh that's so cool!' he would chirp here and there.

Johnny couldn't really say no to the wee thing in front of him, puffing his chest and sharing some of his less-bloodied trips. The puff was taken down by a sudden nervousness when he saw you approaching again.

"Matt how many times do I have to tell you not to go astray from the group" She came already scolding the boy. "Oh, you are from the other day, right sir?"

Ah, she remembered him.

"Just doin' me time in here for a bit" Johnny answered with a boyish smile. "Can't blame the wean, he was all giddy 'n' interested"

"And what might that interest be?" You squatted a bit, poking Matt's cheek. "Miss. L/n this is Soap!" Oh, he got your last name now, maybe Laswell was willing to do some digging as a reward for his honorary actions right? Did he just call you Miss? That in his mind was a Jackpot. "And what does...Mr. Soap do?" She looked at him from bellow, her eyes flickering to his dog tags for a second. "I just tell old tales of sweaty men trying to save the world"

You weren't able to peel Matt from his spot, resigned, decided to indulge in some old stories, bringing the whole group so they could all listen to a veteran's yapping.

"So my mate, you see, big scary man with a mask" He would say, "took'em all down real fast i'm telling ya"

His eyes would often flick from kid to kid, landing on your face. To his delight, you were also caught in his stories, attentive eyes and full focused on how his mouth moved.

"And I was all alone! Havin' to scramble what I could! Bad men trynna catch me but I'm telling yall, nobody cannae stop the Soap" The boasting was impressive. How proud Johnny was of his doings, how he managed to tell his story in Las Almas without mentioning the cartel, or the corruption. "Even took a bloody bullet!" He pointed to his fresh scar, still healing. And that's when he saw your eyes turn somber, rather cold. "Alright kids, Mr. Soap here has lot's of stories, but surely that means he's very tired right? Let's go visit more places around!" After insisting a bit, you peeled the children away from his circle and quickly whispered to him with a disappointed gaze "I do have no doubt on what you did to protect people, but please, showing wounds and violence to children is not appropriate"

When you turned away, he sulked. He had fucked up. Ghost was right, he showed off too much and fucked up big time. He wanted to chase after you, to grab your wrist and apologize. To promise not to use those marks again if it meant seeing your bonnie face.

Yet knowing it would only make it worse, he silently went away, locking himself in the white room and not letting the nurses come in.

"Fucked up" He told Price. "Bonnie thing didn't like when I told the bairns about the bullet"

He earned a sigh, and a folder on his lap. "Didn't Simon tell you to slow down? I'm glad you still got some energy in you, son." Soap cursed under his breath, taking the folder and giving it a quick read. "You know me Sir"

Your whole legal name was there. Education, birthplace, family. Everything. Just a normal civilian, with a normal job. A teacher, the daughter of a warm family.

The folder didn't explain your charming eyes, or the small smiles you would make when a child showed you something. The information didn't do you any beauty, and he was pissed.

He had to hear it from you. Your own name, then his. Then again his name between some whispers or whimpers even. Not long after, Price took him for a walk, trying to pull him away from the constant frown that adorned his forehead.

It was Friday, he could tell you were a bit more energetic than the past day. Guessed it was the last visit you had to bring to the hospital, the last time he would probably see you if he was the one to respect boundaries. But what boundaries if he already had your address and identification number.

"You thinkin' about her still?" Price inquired, sipping on some cheap tea from the cafeteria. "Can't shake it cap. I just cannae. I gotta go tell her I'm sorry or sumthin'" He crossed his arms on his chest, right leg nervously bouncing under the table. "You seen how she look' with the bairns?" That earned a chuckle from the older man.

And bless the heavens he thought, when you entered the room with the group of children, dividing them in groups around multiple tables and asking the barista to make around thirteen milkshakes. You stayed on the counter, counting each quid to later report it to the school.

Price stood up, gave Johnny a pat on the shoulder. "Second try won't hurt you more than the first" He walked away, leaving Soap to shed his personal coat, turning into the homeboy Johnny once more.

"Hey"

You sighed, looking at him. "Sorry 'bout the other day. Got carried away" he mumbled "thought wee things would like something more...thrilling"

"Still not the best thing to say"

"I ken"

"They kept repeating your stories after that." His eyes flickered "Even started calling the other patients by 'sir' or 'ma'am'" Finally you met his eyes, hiding a shudder under your skin feeling like he was seeing right past your soul with those blue gems. This of course didn't pass by him.

"Ya enjoyed 'em?"

"Perhaps"

He leaned in a bit, not yet getting into your space, but enough to give you a tiny whiff of his soft scent. Was it citrusy? Warmth was on it, a little bit fruity but not overwhelming. You could swear there was a tinge of all-in-one shampoo too.

"Okay, yes. I liked your stories." Finally surrendering to his observing gaze, you relaxed on the counter a bit, the barista slowly pulling out the milkshakes. "Still, too bloody for some group of children"

"Hm. You know, even me ol' boss scolded me" The most heavenly chuckle swarmed his ears. "The man with the hat?" Johnny flashed a smirk, eyebrows gathering in the middle giving you an apologizing look and offering you his hand "Johnny's the name"

Johnny helped you bring the milkshakes to the tables, and again started telling his stories. This time with your consenting look, avoiding violence or blood on them.

There was a tiny difference now. His eyes weren't the only ones fluttering between the children and you. Lost in him, in his pearls, sometimes having to scramble your brains to understand his accent and phrasing. Unable to keep eye contact for long, covering your flush by turning your attention to the kids.

You couldn't really lie, he was charming. A warm smile and soft, piercing eyes. A voice that was like silk, but sometimes rugged, unable to ignore how his hands, rather calloused, accompanied the movements of his voice. The dog tags that he still wore, now tucked under his shirt, chain making waves over his collarbone, adorned by a thick and strong neck.

He seemed less proud, and more invested into the stories now. It wasn't about boasting anymore, but a constant fight to keep the kids hooked, and subsequently you too. He bathed proudly on how your cheeks would rose up a bit, or how you fidgeted with the soft fabric sometimes tracing the figures of the funny and childish patterns you wore. He wanted to up the tone, to impress you more like a bird trying to court his counterpart.

But he was a trained man that rarely made mistakes, a quick learner on top of that, not hitting the same rock twice.

Time passed, milkshakes were empty and some kids couldn't keep their eyes fully open. With a rather tired voice, a little raspy from the constant storytelling he chuckled at the wobbly tiny heads in front of him.

"Tired them all" You softly smiled, exhaustion also apparent on your face.

"Do I pass the test, Miss. L/n? Stories good enough?" He leaned slightly against you, a friendly shoulder bump earning another holy chuckle from your lips. "I give you an 8, missed some staging".

"Oh lass, I cannae be doin' backflips and shi- stuff" He corrected himself and tapped to his temple, the scar now healing better "Quite rude to be askin' tha' from a poor wounded soldier"

With a smile, you dismissed him and woke up some of the kids, telling them it was already time to go back home. Some of them whined, wanting to listen to more stories, trying to make you promise for it, something that Johnny eagerly supported, teasing you a bit. Others were completely fried, yawning and rubbing their eyes.

Before leaving the cafeteria, you turned around and thanked him. "Johnny, right? Mine is Y/n" Oh but that he already knew, although it didn't bother him hearing it from your mouth.

What he didn't know was that you would visit him next Monday, taking with you some homemade buns you had made, showing gratitude for his help the past week.

Maybe he didn't fuck up that much, and maybe he could win you over by winning over the kids.

And he was good with children.

#cod x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod soap

[cerise-on-top]

hey! its been a while since i last requested (ive been busy), and i loved what you wrote for skittles with the anxious s/o! you wrote it really well imo. is it alright if you write something for skittles with an s/o who really likes to bake?

- 💾

Hey there! Welcome back! It's more than alright! Baking is a good and lovely hobby, and I think Skittles would love nothing more than to join you on your endeavours!

Skittles with an S/O who Likes to Bake

I could honestly see Skittles loving to bake himself. Sure, he might not always have the ingredients for that sort of thing, but when he does, he loves to bake a cake, some cookies, some cupcakes. You name it, he’ll likely make it for you. It’s among his favourite pastime activities since no one ever expects some baked goods from anyone. Loves handing those sweets goods out to anyone willing to eat them, or to anyone who seems like they might need some good cheering up. Ergo he loves you loving to bake. Will always join you when he’s not out and about. And even if he’s not home, he’ll call you and ask you if you could kindly wait for him so that you both can indulge in your hobby together. Despite being such a kind grunt, he’s still fairly strong, so if you can’t stir the dough by yourself then he’ll gladly do it. Since he’s a very chatty grunt you can count on him to make some small talk the entire time. Maybe your conversation will derail into something more proper as well, though. Like the time Hank tried his cupcakes and said they were good! He just loves talking to you and will do so any chance he can get. If you’re not low on flour then he might play around and put some on your face just to mess around with you. Although he loves baking, it should be fun as well, in his eyes. Has probably tried to drink a drop or two of vanilla extract before and wasn’t a big fan. However, when you put your creation in the oven and wait for it to finish, he might ask you for a dance in the kitchen. Skittles thinks it’s very romantic to dance in the kitchen together. Besides, it passes the time and you won’t be leaving the oven out of sight either. He’s not a bad dancer either, he knows a few moves. But it’s really all to just grow closer to you. Once your baked goods are done, he’ll take them out of the oven and let them cool. You will always be the first one to get a bit from them, though. You should be the first one to enjoy what you made together. Afterwards he’ll take a bite as well, but he just really wants to see you light up first before he does. Whether what you made will be handed out or not depends on whether or not you want to keep it for yourself or not. If you’re alright with sharing it, then Skittles would be more than happy to give his siblings a slice of your cake as well. Something this good should be shared with the world.

#madness combat #madness combat x reader #madness combat skittles #skittles x reader #I used to bake when I was at the hospital. I loved doing it it was always so much fun #plus the people there also really liked the marble cakes and cookies I made! so it was a win-win for everyone involved #one day I'm gonna bake another cake because I do miss baking. even if I can't eat my own cakes anymore #but I'm gonna take my cakes to work so the people can eat them there! #I can see Skittles getting into just about any hobby his beloved one might have though #as long as it's not needlessly and obviously violent he'd be down for just about anything #and baking is good and nice so naturally he'd bake with you and have fun doing it as well #if there was ice in Nevada I feel as though he'd love figure skating as well #he'd be pretty good at it too in my opinion #this grunt has lots of hobbies to indulge in. doesn't have time for all of them though #he's just always out and about and needs to do something fun and nice for other people #I know I say it every time but he's such a sweetheart #they should nickname him Nevada's Sweetheart

[doromoni]

Lunch Preferences | LN4

Ships: Lando Norris x Personal Chef! Reader , Platonic! Oscar Piastri x Personal Chef! Reader

Warnings : None

Genre: fluff

Summary : Oscar’s food always tasted better and Lando finds out why.

Part 2

Lando was never adventurous when it came to certain things , most importantly when it came to the food that he consumed — His best friend Max could vouch on that , heck the entire grid and the whole McLaren hospitality can say it.

When it came down to it , when Lando didn’t like the ingredient used in the meal served in the Motorhome cafeteria, a special meal is always prepared for the Golden Boy of Mclaren. Most find it funny but the kitchen staff found it extremely annoying; to them Lando was a diva.

Kitchen personnel and caterers are shuffled within motorhomes and during races in different countries and it became problematic for Mclaren due to the new personnel’s lack of knowledge of their driver’s preferences. Funnily enough, this has become an issue much so that a protocol has been made stating that when a new driver is signed they are given their own personal chef that tours around with them during the races.

Cut to Oscar Piastri joining the Papaya Family , and Y/n L/n had been added to the roster. The Australian driver and Y/n had met during Oscar’s F2 season and had quickly formed a bond , by bond meaning Y/N fuels Oscar’s obsession with sweets. The aussie became obsessed so much that when the “personal chef” clause came up in his contract, his immediate answer was “ Y/N L/N”.

“Osc what the hell, What do you mean you got me a job at Mclaren? Are you high on sugar again?” You asked in disbelief as you stared at the Australian , an eyebrow raised.

You and Oscar are currently in his kitchen in his apartment in the UK, you trying to bake your f2 paddock famous cookies while Oscar tries to help , emphasis on tries.

“Oh come on Y/N! You’re perfect for this. You know my likes and dislikes . Plus you know how to trick me into eating my veggies” Oscar said exasperatingly.

“ Oscar as much as I love to feed you , you know that I cant travel with you, I have a job remember? Plus Im not a professional chef , you dummy! I just cook as a passion” You muttered softly trying to get your point across.

“Then quit! I know you hate your job y/n. This is your chance! I made sure that they’ll pay you handsomely ~ more than your current pay . I swear! PLUS you get to travel with me and you get to explore food all over the world” The boy did made a whole lot of sense…

“Fine , let me see the contract” Then an enormous grin plasters itself on his face.

***

* Brownies

“Holy Crap , Mate! These brownies are killer! Where did you get these?” Logan exclaimed as he continued to stuff his face with Oscar’s snacks prepared by Y/N of course.

“My chef made them for ME , Logan. Hands off “ Oscar swatted the American’s hand as he tried to get another piece.

“What are you two idiots up-to now? “ Alex spoke as he came near the duo, Lando right on his tail.

“Oscar brought these amazing brownies and He wont share ! Come on , mate just one more” Logan once again tried to reach for the bag only to be denied once again.

“Ohhh, let me try some of that!” Alex laid out his hand , and Logan complaining in the background saying “unfair “ as Oscar gave Alex one.

“You weren’t kidding! these are good. Lando try one” Alex gestured towards Lando.

Lando looking a bit apprehensive, took the offered treat and took a bite. As the Brit chewed , he couldn’t stop eating till there was no more. Screw belgian chocolate, that brownie was his favorite food now.

“Osc , give me another.” Lando requested to his now younger teammate.

“Nope~ these are mine” Oscar grinned teasingly as he stood up , away from the reach of his fellow drivers

“Oscarrrr , give em up you muppet!” Lando whined and pouted .

“No! Ask your chef to make you one. “ oscar implored.

“But the ones they make aren’t as good as thoseee” Lando continued to whine

“I know, these is Y/N’s special recipe. “ Oscar replied mockingly, a playful grin on his face as we waved them goodbye.

“Damn, Y/N made those? No wonder they tasted amazing” Logan muttered catching the attention of Lando.

“Y/N? Who?” Lando asked , now curious .

“Oh, Y/N is our friend , well now Oscar personal chef also. We met when Oscar and I were racing in F2. She used to bring us her cooking after the race.”

“Damn, did she put cocaine on those brownies or something?” Alex said wanting another bite.

“Did you say that she’s Oscar’s chef? That would mean that she’s in Mclaren right now?” Lando asked yet again to the now bemused American.

“Yes?” And with that Lando Norris is on a mission. Find the lady who makes extremely delicious brownies.

“Y/N” Lando muttered your name under his breath as he traversed towards his own motorhome with a purpose.

Finally reaching his destination only to be bombarded by his Pr manager pulling him along towards his media duties

Lando’s brownie mission was a fail

“Hey, do you know who’s Y/N?”

* Wok fried noodles

“ Ok so , Oscar will be done in a few minutes then it will be your turn” Lando’s manager , Valerie, explained as He was getting ready for the interview set up by Mclaren for a special edition for a motorsport magazine of some sorts.

“You should take a bite of your lunch , Lan. I don’t think you’ll be getting time to do so later” valerie explained, as she nudged the now cold , barely touched container of food towards the British driver.

“But there fish in it ,Val” The brit frowned as he glanced on his supposed to be lunch. How many times did he have to say NO FISH.

“It’s not even touching th-“ valerie tried to explain but was cut of by Lando as he exclaimed

“But it’s near a fish!” To which Valerie could only sigh and nod.

Then a knock and an opening of a door happened along with Oscar popping his head in — who appears to be carrying chopsticks and a container of sorts.

“ Hey, mate! They said it’ll be your turn in 15 mins or so” Oscar said as he scoops his lunch into his mouth.

“What ya eating there bud?” Lando couldn’t help ask as the savory aroma filled his room and a rumble came to his stomach.

“Some low carb noodle dish Y/N made , not really sure what’s it called . Tasted great tho.” The Australian said .

“Lemme have a bite” Lando waved his hands towards Oscar . With a shrug , oscar did.

As He took a bite , Lando could only think of one thing.

“Where could I get myself a Y/N”

* Spring Rolls

Practice 1 had just finished and the drivers have an hour or 2 to rest and kill time . And for our youngest Aussie driver on the grid it is time to annoy his lovely friend Y/N.

“ Hey, Y/N… could you please make extra servings of what ever you’re making for my lunch?” Oscar asked sheepishly

“Osc, No! You have to follow a strict calorie count and your trainer will kill me!” You said as you stoped what you were doing .

“It’s not for me, Its for Lando! He always eats my food “ Oscar explains and you understood clearly. Nodding with a smile , you shooed Oscar away.

“Thanks , Angel! “ Oscar left but not before leaving a kiss on your head.

You then set out to make lunch for 2 drivers, and finishing by packing them separately . You never forgot to leave a message on Oscar’s meals as encouragements to your closest friend

Your eyes go towards the food intended for Lando. You were contemplating whether you should write something or not. Biting your lip you took another piece of post it and started writing.

Maybe this is your chance to get the driver’s attention and shoot your shot. You have been crushing on the British driver for who knows how long. Tutting yourself you shake your head from your thoughts and delusions.

In the post it wrote ,

Dear, Lando

A little birdie told me that you liked my cooking , ey? Oh! I heard that you liked spring rolls so I made you a few. No fish , I promise. Hope you enjoy! And good luck on the race! I’ll be cheering on the sidelines 🧡

P.S. thank Osc , he begged me to tag you along :P

— Y/N

***

Butterflies filled Lando’s stomach as he opened the lunch box you made for him. You cooking for him and writing a note felt so domestic , like a wife and husband.Lando became a giggly mess as he re-read your note again and again.

He remembered the time when he first saw you. You were with Oscar in the Mclaren motorhome , sitting on the lounge when your eyes met his and you gave Lando a smile — it was only passing but to Lando it was enough. To him you were so angelic .He imagined coming home to you and you would cook for him and all seemed fine in the world.

“ you know , you should just ask her out on a date” and suddenly Lando was startled out of his daydreaming

“Huh , what? Dreaming? Who was? “ Lando tried to act cool in front of Oscar who was now sniggering as he leaned on the doorframe.

“ I know that you like Y/N, Lando! Just ask the girl already “

“Who’s Y/N?” Oscar rolled his eyes at his teammate

“You’re both idiots .y’know? You both have goggly eyes for each other — it honestly hurts to see. Here’s her number . Please just go out. Or I swear I’ll lock the two of you in a room or something. “ Lando was flabbergasted by his teammate who was now exiting the room.

“Uhh… Thanks Osc!” The Brit broke out into a huge smile as he shouted towards the australian

“Yeah yeah , just don’t hurt her or I promise to crash into you in every race”

***

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #f1 imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris imagine #lando noriss one shot #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 fluff #ln4 x you #ln4 one shot #ln4 x y/n #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #op81 fluff #op81 imagine

[morgy-doo]

school bus graveyard realtionship headcannons

^ such cuties

Ashlyn Banner~

insanely protective

when you are in the phantom dimension this girl is mostly focused on making sure you don't get hurt/die

keeps you away from Aiden in that dimension so you don't end up getting roped into something stupid

Altho she isn't the most affectionate person, she will grab your hand and squeeze it tightly when she is nervous

she begrudgingly...after ALOT of begging, allowed you to play with her hair, when it is undone it is super wavy from being in those plaits all day

if you every get seriously hurt/die in the demon dimension, she will act calm and collected at first, but then totally lose it

she wont cry until she is alone of course

refuses to leave you alone until she knows you are better

after that she doesn't let you leave her sight

she just wants to keep you safe and close to her

Aiden Clark~

your more of a mother/father than a girlfriend/boyfriend-

CONSTANTLY bouncing off the walls

literally-

at one point in your relationship he would tell you he had a cute date planned....you had no idea that it was skydiving

he loved it

you not so much

in the phantom dimension he is using you to back him up in arguments

and he definatley tries to show off for you at one point

when they get locked in the mental assylum, he paints his face as you instead of the clown because why not

he found it endearing, you found it absolutely terrifiying

if you die then he will go silent, not as energetic or bouncy until he knows you are okay again, he constantly brings you things to entertain you with while in the hospital

he just wants you to never get bored of him

Ben Clark~

the most sweetest boyfriend ever

he will buy you flowers out of nowhere just to see you smile

sometimes he feels bad that he cannot say how much he loves you verbally

constantly has hand cramps from writing huge paragraphs about his love for you

the type of boyfriend to just pick you up and hug you when you are mad

you help him calm down when his temper starts to flare up

he really enjoys doing soothing activities with you such as pottery, painting, and baking

he is AMAZING at baking

he loves making you food

in the phantom dimension he likes to have you on his back

to reassure him that you are still there and safe, and also as a way to have quick access to you when you are in danger

if you die in the phantom dimension he will have this deeply disturbed look on his face

he honestly looked after you better than the doctor did

he brought you home cooked meals, your clothes, some things to cheer you up

he wants you to feel loved and to know that he will always be there for you even though you cannot hear him say it

Taylor Hernandez~

such a sweetie

she is so good at reading your feelings and can tell when you are upset/ when something is bothering you

she has pictures of you two together all over her wall so she always has something of you with her

she loves matching outfits with you

she 100% owns a shirt that says "i love my boyfriend/girlfriend" and has no shame in wearing it

she has this ritual where she kisses each picture of you before bed each night and saying "i love you y/n" over an over until she has kissed each picture

Tyler was just stood in the doorway of the room terrified-

in the phantom dimension you both make a vow to protect each other

and she will protect you with her LIFE is she has too

if you die in the phantom dimension she would never forgive herself

she would think its her fault as she didn't stick to her side of the vow

she let you get hurt

will sob infront of everyone

honestly needs more comfort then you do

when you are on the road to recovery tells you all these silly stories about her and Tyler to see you smile

she wants you to never leave her

Tyler Hernandez~

this one is a mixed bag

lets just say you will be very aware when he has entered the room

you slowly help him start to enjoy baseball again

he invites you to practice to show you off to his team

you are now lumped into his protection pile

congratulations, you are now one of his top priorities

he wont say it very often, but he adores you

and he misses you very much when you aren't around

he plays guitar for you when he is feeling especially loving, he teaches you the songs his dad taught him

when you are in the phantom dimension he gets very angry very easily

he is just so overwhelmed and worried about keeping you AND Taylor safe.

he is terrified he would of failed in his job of protecting you

if you die in the other dimension he would be angry at everyone but mostly at himself

he would close off, he wouldn't speak to anyone and he ends up flunking some of his classes to see you at the hospital

he is very aggressive to everyone else but when you are getting better at the hospital he is all gentle smiles and sweet tones

he owes it to you for letting you down

he wants to be able to feel that he can provide and protect you

Logan Fields~

he thinks he doesn't deserve you

why would you pick someone small and pathetic when you can have the full package like Tyler

despite his self doubts he treats you as best as he can

he is the most cliche person ever

has definately watched the sun set with you

study dates are a must

you both defo have this little potted flower that you have "raised" together

he tells you ALL about flowers as he has alot of knowledge about them

when you are in the phantom dimension he always has this dreaded feeling sitting in his stomach

as if he knows something is gonna happen to you and he wont be able to stop it

the feeling would eat him up inside

if you die in the phantom dimension, he would be determined to be the reason you got better, that it wouldn't happen again

he wants you to view him as worthy of your love, and he would do almost anything to earn that

#SBG #school bus graveyard #sbg #Ashlyn banner #ashlyn banner x reader #ashlyn school bus graveyard #aiden clark #aiden clark x reader #aiden school bus graveyard #ben clark #ben clark x reader #ben school bus graveyard #taylor hernandez #taylor hernandez x reader #taylor hernandez school bus graveyard #tyler hernandez #tyler hernandez x reader #tyler schoolbus graveyard #logan fields x reader #logan fields #logan schoolbus graveyard

[gaysindistress]

No one asked for this butttt here's a little fake dating drabble I wrote for @bucks-and-noble's Valentrope fest.

Part two

bucky's masterlist | main masterlist

“I hate you.”

“It’ll pass.”

“No I actually hate you.”

Bucky sighs as he slumps into the hard chair he keeps saying he’s going to get rid of. A glass of whiskey dangles from his hand that is draped over the chair’s arm.

“You don’t hate me, doll. I don’t think you even have it in you to hate me or anyone for that matter.”

From my spot curled up in the chair opposite of him, I glower at him. I’m trying to get him to agree to the half baked plan I came up with trying to sleep last night but he’s not budging. All I need him to do is pretend to be my boyfriend for a wedding this weekend. I already have the backstory for us figured out and I even came up with a few ways for us to break up. All he needs to do is sit pretty, remember our story, and pretend to be in love with me.

“Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I could not hate you more than I do right now.” I try to sound serious but it’s like a toddler trying to say hospital; it doesn’t sound right no matter how many times I try.

He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing me as the nasty liquid slips past his lips and down his throat. I’ve never understood how he can drink something that tastes so awful and burns going down.

“What about Sam? I can pay him to do it.”

Groaning, I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut.

“No Bucky. It has to be you. Sam’s great but I-kind-of-already-told-everyone-about-you.” The last part is incredibly rushed and I really hope that he didn’t hear it.

My hopes are crushed though. He coughs and chocks on his whiskey.

“I’m sorry. You did what now?” He rasps out in a scratchy voice.

“Dont make me say it again.”

I hear him get up and softly approach me. His shoes make almost no sound as he walks across the Persian rug he let me pick out last year. He told me his office needed updating and handed me his black card. Obviously I had to buy everything that I wanted so that when he wanted to update again, I could take it all home.

Bucky crouches in front of me and puts his hands on my knees. My head lolls forward and I stare down at him with puppy dog eyes. It’s not going to work but it’s worth a shot.

“No, no doll put those away.” He whispers to me with a light squeeze to my knees, “now tell me what you did again.”

“I already told everyone about you.”

“And who is everyone?”

“Buckyyyy,” I whine and try to pull my legs away but he holds them in place. “Please don’t be mean right now.”

He chuckles at my manipulation. Shaking his head, he stands up and leans over me, placing a hand on either side of my chair. His cologne is faint after his long day but I can still smell hints of its vanilla and tobacco notes.

“If you want me to play your boyfriend then you’ll have to toughen up. I can’t have my girl,” he murmurs as he brushes those plump lips against my cheekbone, “crying the second I tell her no.”

My heart stutters when he starts to trail light kisses from my cheek to the corner of my lips. Like a true tease, he skips over to the other corner and then kisses the tip of my nose.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Are you going to come with me?” I shoot back.

Bucky smirks against my lips. “Of course I am, doll.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #mob au #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!au #marvel fanfiction #mob!bucky #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky au #fake dating au

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere Dabi accidentally made reader blind

*sighs* it's time for another fic idea:

Imagine Dabi terrorising the city and doing evil shenanigans, the usual stuff, and while he's welding his fire quirk, you- an innocent civilian gets hurt in the process. Now look, a lot of other civilians got hurt too, but what made you stand out was the fact that you locked eyes with him, saw his face right before your retinas were burned by the blast of fire aimed at a hero past you.

You were taken to the hospital, where you got the news that you'd be blind for the rest of your life now and Dabi had begun stalking you from the moment you woke up from surgery, only because he thought you'd spill his identity to the police or whatever. But you didn't, probably because you forgot his face, but "probably" isn't good enough for him. He needs to be sure you won't rat him out to the authorities, so he continues to stalk you and eventually develops yandere tendencies for you.

Of course, as he falls in love, he also begins to feel guilty as he sees you struggling with your daily chores because of your new disability. I mean, you worked at a school, volunteered at orphanages and nursing homes, fed strays, the perfect daughter, friend, employee.

You are the nicest human ever and Dabi made you blind😭

He sees that you can't continue working at the school, and he sees its harder to volunteer when you haven't learned how to deal with life without the ability to see. And his chest hurts when he sees you break down at nights, in your apartment alone because you don't know how you'll be able to take care of your aging parents as their only child, when you can't even walk in traffic without help.

That's when Dabi decides to step in. Sure, you may have seen his face, but you haven't heard his voice, right?

He makes the first meeting seem like a chance encounter, bumping into you and catching you before you fell. Faking concern when you apologise for being blind, he takes you to a nearby cafe and offers to buy you a coffee for the one he made you spill.

And eventually, he asks you out and now you're two dating. You think he's the sweetest guy, always helping you but never patronising. And sure, deep down Dabi's heart jumps whenever he catches you in a danger, but he knows he shouldn't be coddling you. How else will you navigate?

Then again, the deeper Dabi falls in love with you and the more yandere he becomes, the more he wants you to become dependent on him for everything. But he has to be smart; he doesn't want to drive you away just because he wants to wrap you up in bubble wrap.

He helps you use you walking stick, gets you Braille, and with your permission, he babyproofs the house a bit (mainly because he saw the bruises on your leg from the sharp corners you bumped into).

And since you two are not living together just yet, he worries what would happen to you if he's not there. So he stays a while longer, hiding in the background just until you fall asleep, making sure you have your mobile (with his number on speed dial) near you.

But Dabi can't always be there to watch you. He's still pursuing his successful career as a villain, so without your knowledge, he installs cameras in your house, purely out of concern and not because he's a creep. Yes, even the ones in your bathroom are just in case you slipped and hit your head.

After some time, you two do end up moving in together. He of course modifies his house so that its more safe for you, like rounding off sharp edges, installing devices that let you know when youre near stairs, etc. And Dabi just absolutely adores spending time with you. Be it cooking, he's right there with you as you tell him all the steps to your favourite recipes and taste test food (he blows on your hot food), dance slowly in the kitchen while the pizza bakes in the oven, straddle you and tickle you until youre near tears, or cuddling on the couch as you enjoy each others silence. You're so nice, so kind to him. He won't ever say it outloud but you being blind is a huge positive for him because he doesn't get insecure with the way he looks. Plus, he can smile as much as he wants without feeling like its tarnishing his "villain image" (he has absolutely melted when you said you adored the way he laughed. Stfu bitch, hes never laughing again😭💖🫶) And you're great at matching his vibe too. He can see the way he's rubbed off on you, how you joke about your disability, the two of you surprising people with your dark sense of humor.

He can be intimate with you, because you feel perfect against his charred skin. When you touched his staples and his burned skin, his breath hitching when you pulled your hand away, your brows frowning. Did you find him ugly now that you knew he didnt have smooth, pristine skin?

When you didn't say anything for a few seconds, he asked if you'd like to know what happened to him.

You shrugged. "Only if you want to tell me. I just want to know if it hurts when I touch your skin." Hes so glad you can't see because my man had tears falling down his face. Why are you so concerned for his well being??? Why are you so sweet? Why Why Why Why-

Not to mention the way your parents absolutely ADORE him???? Like, the first time he met them, they immediately welcomed him into their homes and into their hearts. Dabi is like so overwhelmed because he's never felt so accepted and loved. Your parents never once looked at him differently because of his scars, and Dabi knows he looks like a criminal for sure, but your parents???? They don't care. Hell, they've already begun telling him all your embarrassing childhood stories and are inviting him to family gatherings and have already decided what clothes he's gonna wear for the family Christmas picture. And Dabi has realised that both you and your parents are way too naive and trusting and so so so so precious, he's adopting all of yall😭😭😭 (like fr, your parents just saved themselves from being killed and/or thrown into a nursing home).

Anyways, years pass by, Dabi had left the crime life the day you got hurt in his house and he wasnt around to help you. Now he works from his home office and you work at the school for visually impaired. Your relationship has reached it peak and Dabi pops the marriage question and you say yes. But before you guys can get married, someone (maybe an ex, or a cousin or friend) reveals to you who he really is and how he's the reason you're blind, and Dabi is eavesdropping because he needs the prefect opportunity to both kill the guy who spilled his secret and catch you before you run off.

"I know."

"You know?"

"I know. Always have. And I'd appreciate it if you don't bring it up ever again. Also, you're not invited to the wedding." You said before having the guy leave the room.

"You can come out now, Dabi." You called him inside.

"How did you know I was here?" He asked standing in front of you.

"I'm smart like that." You chuckled.

"Y/n- you knew?" He asked quietly, wanting to confirm what he'd just heard. You nodded. "How? Why didn't you say anything?"

You sighed. "You're not the only one keeping secrets, Dabi." You sat down, patting the seat next to you for him. "I have a quirk like you do. I have a heightened sense of smell. So, I pretty much recognised you from the moment you bumped into me."

"Huh? How could you recognise me? We never met before that." You shook your head. "We didn't meet before, but I noticed you the day of my accident." Dabi's mind couldn't stop at how you chose to refer his attack as an "accident", which is exactly what it was. You were never his target. Honestly, you're the best human being, an actual angel-

"I only noticed you because you smelled like charred barbecue."

.

.

.

"WHAT?!"

"Hey, no yelling!" You scolded. "That day, I was walking home when I was suddenly hit with this intense smell of grilled barbecue and I was superrrr hungry that day, so I was like I gotta get me some of that and then I looked up and I saw you."

Dabi listened to your explanation, and he honestly wouldn't have believed you if he hadn't spent so much time with you to know how your brain works. "If you knew who I was, then you knew you lost your eyes because of me. So, why did you..." He couldn't complete his question, afraid of you admitting to leading him on just so that you could take revenge and hurt him by pretending to be in love.

You cupped cheek. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't aiming for me. Besides, you and I both know that I would've been dead that same day if you wanted me to."

"Still... I am a bad person-"

"No, Dabi. You're not." You cut him off, not wanting him to taint himsslf with such foul thoughts. "No one is born good or bad. People just do good things or bad things, as circumstances force them to. The world isn't so black and white, Dabi. Everyone's got a grey area."

A tear fell down his cheek, and Dabi pulled you in for a deep kiss. "God- You're just- perfect." He whispered against your lips. You smiled and pecked him once more before settling on the couch, your head on chest.

"So... I smell like charred barbecue?" Dabi asked, playing with your hair. You hummed. "And it doesn't bother you?"

"Nope!"

"Why not?"

"I love charred barbecue. They're the best pieces!"

Ah, if you keep saying things like that, Dabi will need to buy you bigger diamonds.

Fuck it, he thought pulling out his phone.

He's already ordering one online.

Now imagine someone hurts Dabi's baby, and she dies. That'd suck, huh?

#yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #dabi imagine #dabi todoroki #dabi bnha #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #dabi

[corpsebasil]

Karma Part 2

ghostface is your friend, and he loves playing games with you

A gloved hand grabbed your mouth at the same time an arm looped around your waist, yanking you up off the floor and backwards.

You shrieked into the attacker’s palm, your voice muffled; you’d just been shot at—shot at—barely thirty seconds before. Sam and Tara were crouched in a different isle of the small convenience store, and Ghostface…he was carrying a gun, and had barely missed you by an inch.

“Shut up.” A voice growled low into your ear, as you were tugged, helplessly, through the employees only door until it slammed shut. He dragged you for several more seconds before dropping you, watching as you jumped to your feet and stared, wide eyed, at a second Ghostface.

“I know Karate!” You lied, holding your hands up. “I will defend myself!”

“I just saved your ass.” The killer hissed, voice almost a whisper, and raised a finger to his mask, as if telling you to be quiet. Then he pointed to the back door of the room—an emergency exit.

“What?” You whispered back, nearly jumping out of your skin when you heard another gunshot. “I cant just leave the others they—”

Ghostface moved towards you so fast you almost fell over in your haste to get away, but it was no use. He took your arm and dragged you towards the exit, grip bruising as he shoved it open. The alarm practically split your teeth open and you cringed, watching as he jabbed his finger over and over at the outside ally.

“I cant.” You insisted, eyes still wide, heart hammering as you looked at the killer. You knew—obviously you knew—that this was the one that had spared you. Had taken you to the hospital. You still weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“They left you.” The killer snarled, and shoved you out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

You just stood there, breathing heavily in the night air outside, and made up your mind. You turned and ran, eager to get to your apartment as fast as you could.

Tara called you an hour later, after you’d showered and attempted to calm yourself, sitting alone on the couch in your living-room. You picked up the phone and, with shaking fingers, answered.

“Y/N, where the fuck are you?” Her tone was both accusatory and worried, and guilt you didn’t want to feel slammed through you.

“I found an emergency exit,” you said, gritting your teeth against the lie. “he almost shot me. I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“No that’s—that’s fine. Sam and I are both fine, by the way.”

“Okay. Good.” You ran a hand over your face and sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “Hey Tara?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think there might be…more than one?”

The line went silent for a moment. Then she spoke.

“There always is.” She told you, and then you heard the clicking noise that said she’d hung up.

You stared down at your phone for a moment, feeling a bit sick. Your apartment felt creepy when you were alone, the darkness creeping around every corner. So you stood, moving to your kitchen, and did what you always did when you were stressed: you baked.

You’d bring the cookies to school tomorrow and hopefully everything could feel normal for at least an hour or so.

So you began, googling a recipe and mixing your ingredients, your oven a warm presence behind you. Just as you’d gotten the first batch in the oven, the rest of the dough still in the mixing bowl, your phone rang again. You answered on autopilot, licking a bit of chocolate off the tip of your finger.

“Yeah?” You asked, propping the phone against your shoulder and holding it there as you rinsed your hands free of sugar, then toweled them off.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You dropped your phone, yelping when it landed on your bare toes, and then quickly snatched it up. Heart racing, giving your apartment a quick glance for any signs of another presence, you slowly lifted to phone back to your ear.

“Is this the gun one or the other one?” You asked, voice quavering a bit as you searched around for a possible weapon.

“I’m offended, Y/N.” Ghostface sighed, just as you found a knife. “I thought we were friends by now.”

“We aren’t friends.” You scoffed, stepping around your kitchen island to do a sweep around your livingroom, then ducking your head into your bathroom. You flipped all the lights on you could, still looking, heart hammering against your ribcage. “And you’re confusing. Stop playing with my head and just kill me if you’re gonna kill me.”

“For someone who doesn’t want to die you sure ask for it a lot.”

“I know my odds.” Your voice felt small as you approached your closet, knife outstretched in front of you as you moved towards it. “I’d rather be realistic.”

“A nihilist. I like it.” He chuckled, and that dark laugh shot goosebumps across your skin. “But I don’t break my promises, Y/N. I’m not going to hurt you. Not too much.”

“Bastard.” You grumbled, flinging open your closet doors. There was no one. “Are you even—”

“You shouldn’t talk to your friends that way.” Ghostface said, but it wasn’t through the phone.

You screamed when an arm crushed around you, forcing you to drop the knife in your hand. He pulled you away from the closet, towards the living-room, even as you thrashed in his grip. But then he was letting you go, pointing a threatening finger in your direction.

“No knives.” He said, shaking his head as if in disappointment. “You’re smarter than that.”

“Get out of my apartment.” You spat, backing away towards the kitchen. “Get out or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Kill me?” He tilted his head, walking around the opposite side of the island and towards you. You stilled as he neared, your hands itching with the urge to go for the nearest weapon, but then stiffened when he pointed to the oven. “Gonna get those?”

You nearly screamed when your kitchen alarm went off, slamming a hand against your chest as you jolted. Ghostface shrugged, as if in nonchalance, as he reached for an oven mitt.

“What the hell are you—give me that.” You scoffed, moving towards him to yank the glove out of his grip. You shooed him away, giving him a lethal stare, before removing the cookies from the oven. There was no way—no way in Hell that you were doing domestic activities with a serial killer. You’d lost your mind. Lost it.

You felt his presence like a knife poised to strike behind your back, watching you as you set the cookies down on the stove and inspected them. When you were done, you turned, unsurprised to see him hardly a foot away from you. He tilted his head, that creepy, pale mask looking down, before he moved a step closer.

You froze.

“Relax, Y/N.” He purred, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering. The material of the glove felt wrong against your skin. “I only wanted to visit my…newest friend.”

“You’re sick, you know that?” You said, pushing his chest away when he moved even closer. He only leaned into your touch, your arm bending involuntarily as that mask, that freaky ass mask, stared back. “You kill people. Innocent people.”

“They weren’t innocent.” He snarled, and turned you, grabbing your waist and shoving you against the opposite counter. You let out a cry and tried to scramble away, but he held you fast. “Stay away from them.” He said; the killer seemed to be breathing as hard as you. “Or you’re going to get caught up in their shit.”

“They’re my friends—”

“I’m your friend.” This time, you only stared as he moved away, glancing quickly around your kitchen before he moved towards the stovetop, picking up a cookie off the pan. You gaped. “Take my advice. Or don’t.” He said, then left, practically vanishing out your front door, leaving you without hardly any breath, heart still pounding, alone.

-

You couldn’t get there fast enough.

You searched and searched, scanning your usual study rooms, then the library. Then you checked outside and relief hit you like a shot, your feet carrying you swiftly over to where Ethan, Chad, Mindy, and Tara sat. Ethan looked up first, a smile growing onto his face as you approached, already rising from his seat.

You threw yourself into his arms so fast you almost knocked him over, a choking sound leaving your mouth as every ounce of terror and confusion you’d been feeling since last night slammed into you again.

“Hey—hey—” Ethan’s voice was stunned, but he still held you, arms warm against your back. “What is it? Y/N, what—”

“He was in my house.” You cried, shoulders heaving, even as Chad and the others moved over to you, already asking a flurry of questions. Ethan waved them off with a hand, trying to give you some space.

“Who was?” He asked, and you almost snorted. “Ghostface?”

“Who else?” You sucked in a shaking breath, pulling back half an inch to wipe the wetness off of your face. “He said he—was my friend. And that he wasn’t going to hurt me too much, whatever that means, and then he—”

“Are you hurt?” He demanded, pulling back to give you a once-over, but you laughed. This seemed to surprise him. “What’s so—”

“He stole a cookie.” You told him, hysteria almost rising as you reached into your tote bag and pulled out the container. You shoved them at Ethan, still feeling slightly crazed. “A cookie.”

“Maybe he’s into sweets.” Ethan’s worried expression had relaxed into one of amusement, his white teeth flashing in a grin as he took the box out of your hand. He opened the lid and looked in, nodding appreciatively. “Double chocolate. I like it.”

“Oh hush you’re—” but a laugh escaped you, watching him take a comically large bite, rolling his eyes back into his head, and the others seemed to take your change in attitude to be a sign they could approach.

They asked you about a hundred questions but finally took cookies of their own, slumping back down onto the seats of the table they’d been at before. Mindy was watching you, a confused, almost worried look on her face, but quickly showed you an aggressively raised eyebrow when she caught you looking.

You jumped a little when Ethan took you hand, tilting his head in the opposite direction, towards the parking lot.

“Wanna skip?” He asked, giving you that boyish grin again. “If we’ve got a killer on the loose, I don’t feel like going to Math.”

You smiled hesitantly and gripped his hand in your own, a thrill running through you at the fact that he was touching you so casually.

“You’re the worst study partner I’ve ever had.” You lied, as you pulled him towards the parking lot, and he laughed.

-

Later, after lunch with Ethan and a day trip to the aquarium, you sat together on your couch, you curled up next to him as you watched the newest Spiderman movie. Ethan had occasionally commented, sometimes complaining about a detail that wasn’t comic accurate, sometimes an excited statement about some action scene.

During the aquarium visit you’d walked through the dark halls, your hands brushing against each other’s occasionally as you peered at the tiny fish, the sharks, and the turtles. Ethan hooked his pinkie around your own, sending a jolt of what felt like electricity through your system, and, after a beat, you’d slipped your hand fully into his.

Now, as the credits began to roll on the movie, you yawned, turning and pressing your cheek against his chest. He was running a hand idly down your back, his head resting on your own. He gave you a sudden shake and sat up a bit further, turning to look at you.

“Want me to stay?” He asked, tilting his head, and you glanced up. “In case he..comes back?”

You chewed your bottom lip and glanced towards the front door. It would be nice to have backup. Especially attractive backup.

“I‘ll sleep on the couch.” He offered, raising his brows, and you were surprised by how fast you said no.

“It’s safer if we’re together.” You told him, ignoring the blush rising onto your face.

You were surprised to see him turning slightly red as well; you’d known him for a while now, had spent multiple days a week popping into each other’s apartments—hell, he’d slept in your hospital bed with you. He’d been shy at first, almost awkward, but he’d grown comfortable with you. Confident even, sometimes even cocky when he joked around with you. But now his face was flushed, his brown eyes warm as he looked down at you.

“I suppose that’s a smart point.” He mused, a lazy grin that made your heart drop into your stomach pulling onto his face.

And you couldn’t help it. You reached for him, tugging his face down to your own, and pressed your mouth to his. He leaned into you eagerly, his heart racing as fast as your own, as he tugged up, pulling you into his lap. You settled around him and kissed him hard, your fingers slipping into his dark hair.

“So did you—” he gasped against your mouth. “like the movie?”

You laughed and tugged on a piece of his hair, making him grin. He wrapped his arms around your back as you held his face in your hands, brushing your tongue lightly into his mouth. At the feel of you he whined softly, making you jolt away.

“Excuse me?” You asked, raising a brow as he flushed. “None of that. It makes me feel things.”

“What kinds of things?” He teased, but he was clearly embarrassed, so you pretended to think, even as you scooted farther into his lap and pressed fully against him.

“Things you aren’t allowed to do in horror movies if you want to live.”

Ethan rolled his eyes and tugged you into him, his mouth claiming your own. This time it was his tongue, his fingers gripping you, that made you sigh.

-

When you woke, an arm thrown over your head and the other tucked against your chest, you felt the growing familiarity of the body pressed against you in bed. You let out a moaning noise as you stretched, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, but you felt Ethan’s arm tighten around your waist.

“What did we say…” he mumbled, voice low and sleepy. “about those types of noises?”

You giggled sleepily and wiggled a little, allowing him to tug you closer under the covers. Your eyes slid shut as his mouth began placing slow, lazy kisses on the back and side of your neck, murmuring tiny compliments onto your skin.

“I like you.” He said, voice still quiet. “A lot.”

You smiled and snuggled closer, impossibly close, tangling one of your legs with his own.

“I like you too, E.”

hellooooo continue commenting for part three!

#ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #Ethan Landry x reader #jack champion #scream 6 #ghostface

[qdbs-writes]

Hi can i get the cullens with a clingy female vampire mate

Pls i love u and ur work

aw thank you, nonny i love you too!

Cullen Clan with a clingy, female mate!Reader

Carlisle

He'll get you a job as his assistant in the hospital so you can spend more time with him

He knows vampires can't get sick but he's pretty sure you have anxiety

Once you're comfortable with being able to resist human blood in a medical environment, Carlisle will put you on the maternity unit, Forks could always use more midwives

Esme

You're clingy? That's fantastic, so now you can do everything together!

Esme spends most of her time doing charity work, like making cookies for a bake sale, so you can help her with that

You two have the cutest annual lesbian vow renewal ceremonies in the woods outside of casa Cullen, seriously they're so sweet!

Edward

You're gonna be clingy together but in a Romeo and Juliet level of clingy

Edward likes to be 'edgy clingy', so don't be surprised if he makes things more complicated than they need to be

He does love that almost all your thoughts are about how much you love him and want to be with him, he thinks its cute

Rosalie

In some way or another, I think Rosalie has always been scared of being alone so your clinginess is quite appealing

The fact that you're mates also helps confirm a lot of concerns that she had about immortality

But you can never get hurt or be uncomfortable, she will lose her shit if literally anything happens to you

Emmett

Would probably be the most stressful Cullen to be with if you're clingy, Emmett is just all over the place all the time

My boy regularly just forgoes all passenger safety laws in public, and yeah, he's an indestructible vampire, but that's not really the point

Despite how much time you spend together, he'll always find some way of screwing about whenever you take your eyes off him, like where did he get that bag of eggs?

Alice

Genuinely, she would've sought you out herself, like "Hi, my name is Alice, we've never met but we're destined to be immortal life partners!"

She knows that you're clingy and she doesn't care

She will warn you if she has a vision where you have to be apart for whatever reason so it doesn't come as a nasty shock

Jasper

Now, Jasper is probably the most nervous about you being clingy

Not that he doesn't like you being clingy, but he's worried that you might fall out of love with him when you learn how quiet and withdrawn he can be

In a way, he sort of likes that you depend on him for almost everything, it helps reinstate his antiquated concept of masculinity

#twilight #twilight imagine #twilight x reader #twilight headcanons #twilight renessaince #twilight reader insert #carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #esme cullen #esme cullen x reader #edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #rosalie hale #rosalie hale x reader #emmett cullen #emmett cullen x reader #alice cullen #alice cullen x reader #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #qdbs-writing

[itsjustaninchident]

Baked with Love

Carlos Sainz x baker!reader

summary: where everyone is just obsessed with yn's pastries or where carlos is jealous because everybody seem to be obsessed of yn and her pastries.

warning/s: none

author's note: just a sudden burst of imagination. Anyway please let me know of what you think of it. It would be nice to hear some feedbacks! ❤️

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, and 764,084 others

yourusername baking a little something

view 452 comments...

carlossainz55 I don't think I can finish all of that, mi amor

yourusername who says they're for you?

user1 HELP

user2 NOT YN HUMBLING CARLOS DOWN

landonorris did u make some for me yn?

yourusername kids shouldn't consume too much sweets

user3 I LOVE YN OMG😭

user4 not yn humbling them both😭

user5 I LOVE YN SO MUCH SHE JUST BAKES AND PUT CARLOS IN HIS PLACE

user6 DOES CARLOS REALIZED HOW BAD OF A BITCH YN IS

user7 RIGHT? HE BETTER WIFE HER UP

liked by carlossainz55 and 234 others

user8 NOT HIM LIKING THE COMMENT

user9 he better get the hint

user10 he should because i will do my best to steal yn!

scuderiaferrari

liked by carlossainz55, charlesleclerc, and 422, 054 others

scuderiaferrari what a way to start the race week in the ferrari hospitality! thank you for these delicious cookies yourusername! we might have to add these to the menu next race week!

view 2,320 comments...

user1 THAT LOOKS SO GOOD

user2 i might have to disguise myself as a ferrari staff to get my hands on those cookies

user3 count me in!

user4 gonna sneak in the ferrari hospitality for the cookies

yourusername you better not f up the strategy or no more cookies!

user5 she's so real for this

user6 i do believe the cookies will work like a charm

user7 she's just like us😭

redbullracing what do we have to do to get a taste of the cookies? 👀

yourusername maybe if you let carlossainz55 through I will consider

user8 I LOVE HER YOUR HONOR

user9 SHE'S SO😭

carlossainz55

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, and 893,434 others

carlossainz55 no better way to celebrate your birthday than your girlfriend baking your cake! I love you, mi amor. ❤️

tagged: yourusername

view 4,239 comments...

yourusername i love you too! you're stuck with me and my pastries 🥰

carlossainz55 wouldn't have it any other way❤️

user1 IM SO SINGLE

user2 ME WHEN

user3 suddenly i wanna be a bird on the race track and just be ran over

landonorris ew couple

carlossainz55 kids are not allowed here

user4 not lando being their honorary child

scuderiaferrari happy birthday to our smooth operator!

charlesleclerc happy birthday mate! You better leave some cake for us

landonorris he better be

danielricciardo yourusername please sneak some in the paddock next race

carlossainz55 this is for me only!

yourusername there's plenty enough for you all stop fighting like kids

user5 YN AND HER BAKED GOODS

user6 CAN YOU GIVE US SOME TOO YN

liked by yourusername and 23 others

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, and 694,903 others

yourusername it is definitely a challenge to bake a lot of cookies😅

view 3,345 comments...

carlossainz55 I'm so hurt that I don't get to keep it all

landonorris stop gatekeeping yn's cookies!

user1 oh to be carlos sainz, who literally tastes everything yn bakes before anyone else😭

user2 one day there will be a get together at carlos and yn's house for the drivers because of how good yn's baking is.

user8 I will be waiting for that

charlesleclerc I will enter the paddock early, last time everybody finished it and there's nothing left for me

lewishamilton roscoe thinks the cookies are good, can he please have some?

yourusername roscoe can have as much as he wants!

user3 NOT LEWIS USING HIS DOG TO GET SOME COOKIES

user4 sir there is a line!

user5 sir please go to the back we're all waiting here

lilymhe please give me some🥺

yourusername i will never forget to give you some bae❤️

carlossainz55 life is really unfair

user6 how is carlos surviving this? he literally has so much competitors for yn's pastries

user7 i mean can u blame them she's literally the sweetest girl ever🥺

carlossainz55

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, and 1,023,649 others

carlossainz55 you get to taste the baked goodies but I get to taste the baker😉

view 73,394 comments...

user1 HE'S HERE TO REMIND US OF OUR PLACE😭

user2 IM SO SINGLE

user3 i hate it here

user4 why can't single people be left in peace

landonorris get off my timeline

carlossainz55 get off instagram then

yourusername you can just tell me you want tiramisu no need to make a post 😉

user5 MOTHER

carlossainz55 you know me so well, my love

user6 YN SO REAL

user7 IS NO ONE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE CAPTION😭

user8 IN BROAD DAYLIGHT?

user9 not the smooth operator for nothing

please send me requests of any scenario with a driver ❤️ I'd love to make them on my free time.

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz smut #f1 socmed au #f1 fluff #f1 fic #carlos sainz social media au #f1 imagine #f1 x you #smau #f1 smau

[hawkinsbnbg]

top priority

Prompt: top | Word count: 510 | Rated: G | Tags: modern setting, light angst, fluff | @steddiemicrofic | ao3

Eddie’s career was doing great these days. People listened to his music, bought his albums, and recognized him on the streets.

Eddie Munson had become big.

Not over a fortnight, mind you, it was years of hard work, sleepless nights, and unyielding determination that got Eddie to where he was today.

And Steve was happy for him, willing to step back, to stay behind, to be a constant pillar so Eddie could spread his wings without worries.

Despite their relationship, he didn't expect Eddie to prioritize him over everything else.

(His parents had taught him the hard way how painful it was to hold his hope too high.)

He was content to be second, no, even third or fourth would be enough. And if it stung him to not be first on Eddie's list, then it was his own weight to bear.

Even when he hated sleeping alone on their bed, hated that Eddie's spot was often cold and empty most days, he never intended to burden Eddie with his problems.

Naturally, Steve omitted to mention that a small accident had landed him in the hospital on their nightly phone call.

When Eddie wondered why he sounded more tired than usual, he just threw some half-baked excuses and reassured Eddie that he was alright.

Since Eddie was on tours in Europe, the last thing he wanted was to be a distraction and ruin Eddie's performance.

Then again, he forgot to take Robin into account, because he should've known by now that Eddie’d bet on her to be the one informing him truthfully about Steve's well-being.

And here, sitting by his bedside, Eddie looked concerned and dead on his feet.

Judging by his disheveled appearance, anyone could tell that he had gone straight from the airport to the hospital without taking a break.

After helping Steve recline with some pillows, Eddie said nothing and just gazed at his cast with so much sadness that it pained Steve.

“C’mon, Eds,” he grabbed Eddie's hand to give the man a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not a big deal. I’m gonna be discharged soon anyway.”

“You fell from a ladder and broke your leg, baby,” Eddie brushed aside the stray hair on Steve's forehead. “That's a big deal to me.”

Shrugging, he shifted his gaze away to avoid those warm brown eyes. “Yeah, but your work is more important. I couldn't bring myself to… burden you.”

“No, I’ve told you this before and I’m telling you this now,” Eddie turned his face by his chin gently until their eyes met again. “You're never a burden, angel. You're my top priority. And nothing will ever keep me from running to you, okay?”

Steve nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. His lips might wobble a bit when he admitted quietly, “You're mine, too.”

Cradling his face, Eddie placed soft kisses on his forehead, his nose bridge, and his lips.

Then, Eddie stroked the apple of his cheek fondly.

“Lucky me.”

And Steve could hear his heart echo the same melody.

“Lucky us.”

Their love song.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #babygirl steve harrington #steddie fluff #sionewrites #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficmay

[thefreakandthehair]

steddie | rating: m | wc: 955 | tags: established relationship, use of cake as a metaphor, they're so in love your honor | art credit: @firefly-party

Eddie Munson celebrates two birthdays every year: the day he was actually born, December 19th, and the day he woke up in the hospital, April 8th. Funny enough, the latter is usually a bigger celebration. Family and friends that no longer exist in separate groups come together with all of Eddie’s foods and drinks, small gifts and sometimes, a bigger gift from the collective.

Try as they might, they’ve yet to top the Metallica tickets. 

But today is Eddie’s original birthday. December 19th— the one that’s usually swallowed up by the holidays, the one that really doesn’t mean all that much to him because, well, compared to waking up after saving the world, why would it? The last few celebrations have been tight-knit, mostly just himself, Wayne, and Steve either at Wayne’s trailer or the tiny little apartment Steve and Eddie managed to find for themselves. 

This year, it’s just the two of them with no one to blame but Mother Nature. A blizzard drops nearly three feet of snow over northeastern Indiana and no one is going anywhere, least of all Wayne whose getting up there in years. We'll make up for it later, Eddie assures him when he calls with a stream of apologies. 

How can he complain though? Wayne will make up for it, he’s snowed in with the love of his life, and the apartment smells like his favorite pasta sauce, the one he knows takes Steve hours to simmer. So no, he’s not disappointed. Not in the slightest. 

“Sorry your day got snowed out,” Steve sighs, plopping down onto the couch and draping an arm along the back of the couch, toying with the ends of Eddie’s hair. “I did get you a surprise though.” 

Eddie’s brow furrows, knitting tightly above his nose. There’s been no mail for two days, and their apartment doesn’t exactly lend itself to keeping secrets. “A surprise? What kinda surprise?”

“Well,” Steve smirks, confident in the way that always makes something stir in Eddie’s chest. “It’s not a birthday without a cake.” 

He’s so fucking lost. 

“A cake? We’ve been snowed in since Sunday and I would’ve smelled you baking in here. Also, I would’ve tasted it already, or at least demanded to lick the spoon so— wait, what are you doing?” 

Steve stands up and walks around the back of the couch, just behind Eddie. “Just close your eyes, okay? Or do I need to blindfold you?”

He can hear Steve’s smug grin without even seeing his face and now it’s not just his chest stirring. Eddie shifts I’m his seat. 

“No, no I can just close my eyes. Put a pin in the blindfold idea though.“ 

With his eyes closed, all he can do is imagine what the rustling is behind him, scenarios that will never compare to the sight he sees when Steve gives him the all clear. 

“Okay,” Steve says, his voice now coming from directly in front of Eddie. “Open.”

Very funny, brain, he thinks. My entire life since the demobats has to have been just one long, final burst of dopamine before kicking the bucket because there’s absolutely no way this is fucking real. 

Steve’s standing in front of him, shirtless, in nothing but some of the tightest shorts he’s seen Steve wear since the time he blindly walked into Scoops Ahoy asking for rum raisin and instead, got a fucking show. They’re dark maroon in hue with the word Cake printed in white script across the entirety of Steve’s ass. Moles litter his skin from the base of his neck down the flesh of his thighs, and the small indentation in his lower back is highlighted by the low waistband. Barely noticeable cuts in the sides expose what looks like black lace detailing. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching the soft, cotton material. 

“Yeah?” Steve looks over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “You like it?” 

Eddie fingers trace the font and he doesn’t even dare to blink. If it is a coma dream, he doesn’t want to risk waking up. “Do I like it? If I ever say no to that, Steve, take me into a field and off me because I’ve been replaced by the body snatchers.” 

Steve laughs and Eddie pulls him in closer, one hand on Steve’s hip and the other working its way up Steve’s thigh and beneath the fabric.

“Y’know,” Eddie starts, swallowing with a dry mouth around the lump in his throat. “There’s just one little problem with this birthday cake.”

“What?” Steve looks back over his shoulder again, this time confused. 

He gives his right cheek a light tap, just enough to relish in the way the plush flesh moves. “It’s not finished.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it need?” 

“You know I need my cakes frosted. And c’mon,” he leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve’s hairy thigh, just below the hem of the shorts. “Where’s the candle?”

Steve turns with a teasing grimace. “Did you just compare your dick to a candle?”

“Sure did. Is it working?” He smiles with his bottom lip between his teeth as he stands and places both hands in Steve’s hips. 

“I can’t believe it, but yeah, it kinda is.” Steve’s eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and back up. 

Eddie can barely get his thoughts in order, placing both hands on either side of Steve’s face and kissing him between words. 

“Best.” He kisses his forehead. “Birthday.” He kisses his nose. “Ever.” He kisses his lips. 

They make their way back to the bedroom and no one can blame him for leaving Steve’s ass littered in purpling hickies and love bites. 

It’s a cake, after all.

art by @firefly-party to celebrate @sidekick-hero's birthday today! here's a little collaboration to honor our favorite Cake Enthusiast! Sandy, we love you and hope you have the absolute best day. go give her some love, everyone!

#please rb if you enjoy!! #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanart #steddie art #steddie fanart #stranger things fanart #myblurbs

[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.

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[sixosix]

FOR YOU I WOULD FALL FROM GRACE | LYNEY

warnings blackmailing lol… AETHER PAIMON!!! 3.6k words!

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The bell chimes as the door of the flower shop swings open, and in comes strutting in Rosalie, all dazzling smiles and ostentatious jewelry. Even now, her brown locks are curled to perfection, framing her face beautifully. Even across her, you feel like you’re standing next to an Archon.

This time around, you don’t accidentally freeze the pot of flowers you’re holding from her bursting inside. But you might again tomorrow; Rosalie loves to test you.

Rosalie hums in approval. “Hm, very good, very good. Any customers today, ma chérie?”

“Just one. That guy really wanted to see you,” you reply, eyes fluttering shut as the woman ruffles your hair. You repress the urge to lean into it. “Was he the same guy you met in Café Lutece?”

Her face twists unpleasantly, haunted. “Oh, dear. Thank goodness I wasn’t here. Keep scaring him off.”

You bow your head. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Rosalie bent the law just to keep you, and you’re more than grateful for her generosity. In exchange, you pledged to work diligently for her. You knew that even your hardest efforts couldn't compare to the years of food and shelter she had provided, but this was the least you could do after she didn’t once hesitate to take you in when you confessed you were stranded and alone.

At first, you wanted to repay her by helping out in the kitchen, but you later find that your Vision isn’t the most perfect fit for it. Rosalie’s teeth could shatter from the amount of bread you’ve frozen at the slightest mistake. Your experience in battle doesn’t translate well in handling baking—the heat makes your actions rougher than intended. You get frustrated when you don’t get the results you want. You treat the kitchen like a battlefield. Your hands are too cold; they can’t handle the warm and hot temperatures well.

And the sight of fire… You don’t react to it nicely.

Rosalie suggested you help out in the flower shop. The thought of kneeling over for hours sounds like torture to the posture and grace you’ve perfected over the years, but you can’t quite be picky with under-the-table jobs and nice people who are willing to take care of an orphan who doesn’t know how to act like a normal child.

At least, with gardening, you’ve trained yourself to be more gentle with how you handle living beings. Your hands will always be calloused; they will always have the muscle memory of carrying weighty weapons and tossing them around like sticks—an immutable trait. But you’re trying.

Although Fontaine could never be the safest, it’s safer here. The Fatui don’t have reason to spy against a local flower shop; you’re away from prying eyes, and it isn’t too big of a change because this is still your home.

And you have been safe for years. Rosalie is nothing like The Knave. They have the same fierce protectiveness, but Rosalie is much warmer and open with her fondness, a stark difference from The Knave’s distance. You’re not quite sure how to act around either of them.

You try not to get yourself attached to Rosalie despite her endless hospitality. So long as you don’t reveal your past affiliations and the reason why your hands are rough and why your affections are clumsy, she wouldn’t throw you out. But if she ever does… those are what no attachments are for. You learned your lesson from last time.

“I’ll cook us dinner,” Rosalie sings, heading towards the back of the counter, where it’s connected to her house.

You return to your flower.

You were the one who planted it, and it pleases you to no end that it’s growing healthily. This is the first flower you managed to not— well, kill right off the bat. Or freeze right off the bat, really. The elemental power from your Vision is hard to control, and it certainly doesn’t help that you aren’t doing anything to do something about it, too afraid to even try.

The Lumidouce Bell. It means something about a desire to return. It speaks to you, but not because you long for it—gods no—but because you’ve seen it before. It was probably in a dream, or perhaps a vase back at home, maybe in the middle of the large dining table or in between the fingers of someone with lilac eyes.

The door lashes out once again, the familiar chime ringing in your ears. It had only been two hours since the last customer. Business is doing well today. In comes a floating pixie and a blond with a glow of gold. He’s furious.

“Paimon doesn’t know…” the pixie says, floating behind. “All she knows is that you don’t want to get involved with the Fatui but—” Your hands falter around the petals, “—they said their goals were different, right? What are we doing here again?”

“Paimon,” the blond sighs, and only then do you notice he’s holding a flower. It’s crushed and dried, but it’s supposed to resemble the pot of Lumidouce Bell by your side. “We can’t trust them just like that. We don’t know them.”

“Really…? You think so? Paimon doesn’t think they’re bad people.”

“They’re hiding a lot of things. I don’t want secrets—not anymore. Lyney and Lynette may seem harmless now, but once the time comes where our goals oppose each other’s—well.”

It’s been a while since you heard those names. A rush of nostalgia fills you. You hear about them in passing when your (rare) customers gush about their performances, or ladies passing by giggle about the charming young man in the center of the stage, but that’s about it. To think that these two know that they’re affiliated with the Fatui…

Who are they? They look so familiar, like you’ve seen them once and then never again. Were they sent here? What did they do to be involved with the Fatui? No ordinary person would casually indulge in a conversation about the Fatui like that. There is usually a lot more secretive whispers and cautious glances around the crowd.

“Paimon gets it now,” she says, but she doesn’t look too happy with it. It seems she’s really fond of the twins—which you know all too well.

“Besides,” Aether pats her head, then hands her the flower, wondering out loud, “We don’t even know what this flower means.”

As if following a poorly-written script, both pairs of eyes direct to yours. Like they were expecting you to listen in just for that. At your stunned silence, they wait patiently.

“Um—yes. Lumidouce Bells often mean separation or the wish for reunion,” you recite like a good florist, recalling the words straight from the textbook. “Would you like a copy of a book about Fontaine’s Floral Language, sir?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No thanks. Was just curious.”

The pixie nods her head, studying the flower in her hand. “Yeah! For all we know, this could’ve been some secret code! Apparently not. But wish for reunion…? Paimon heard Lyney only uses that flower. Does he know about its meaning?”

That name again. It seems that their main topic this afternoon is the twins. You want to crawl out of your skin and bury yourself in the soil. You thought you had moved on, but just hearing about him feels as if listening to strangers talk about a friend you’ve lost—not too far off from the truth. The guilt has not left you since; who were you kidding?

“He probably doesn’t mean anything by it,” the boy murmurs. “I mean—I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them. Is Lyney truly a magician? Is Lyney even his name?”

“Snezhevich,” you murmur out of instinct. Son of snow. You’re surprised that you even remember; it’s been years since you tasted the word on your tongue.

The blond hair and the floating pixie are staring right at you, the man slamming an arm on the counter desk and the little one moving her hands to her hips. “How do you know that?” he asks.

You pale. “I—excuse me?”

“I heard it,” he says. “Those surnames… They’re for the orphans in the House. How do you know that?”

Your heart pounds. You want to ask him the same question, but then, upon closer inspection, you realize why they’re familiar. They’re the Traveler and his travel companion, posted all over magazines. You’ve used one of those papers as placemats for dirty work involving soil, catching glimpses of their faces. The Outlander, the hero, Aether, having come all the way from Mondstadt—of course he knows about the Fatui; he has probably gotten himself involved more than you have.

“Don’t think about lying,” Aether warns at your silence.

Weakly, you say, “Is—is it not… in their introductions?”

“No.” And, well, honestly, that was a stupid cover, so you should’ve expected that. They’re only for the orphans, and he’s right. Even when he’s not a local, he seems to know his facts. Locals are getting smarter, dammit.

“Lyney told me,” is what you decide on after a split-second of contemplation. Aether isn’t giving you enough time to come up with a lie here.

“Told you?” Aether narrows his eyes, studying your face. “Why would he tell you about that? He hasn’t even told me. Are you two close?”

Paimon gasps before you can comment about how Aether sounded like an insecure boyfriend. “Is it…like that?”

You blink at her, lost. “What? Like what?”

At Aether’s conspiratorial expression, your eyes dart between the two of them warily. “What are you two on about?”

“Are you and Lyney romantically involved?”

Romantically involved. You think back to all those sidelong glances and allusive remarks. Lyney was definitely and monumentally involved in your life, but romantically? Even the word feels forbidden. Not once have you thought about romance throughout your entire experience as a child under the protection of the House.

Your face feels like lava, and their crowded attention has you feeling even more embarrassed. “How could you even come up with that? Mortifying! You’re both wrong!”

“What else would it be? You seem to know him well.” Then, much to your embarrassment, Aether adds, “And you’re not bad-looking.”

Is the Outlander calling you pretty enough for Lyney to date you? Right now? Just thinking about the implications has your mind screeching to a halt. “No! I was an orphan there!”

“Ah,” Aether grins widely, “I knew it.”

“Gods,” you mutter, burning. Of course he already figured it out. But was that really necessary? “Is this how you interrogate everyone? Embarrassing them to death?”

Aether shrugs. “If it works, it works.” At whatever expression you must be making, he adds, “And I was just kidding about the romantically involved thing. I mean, unless you aren’t denying it. By the look on your face—”

“Enough. Just spit it out. What do you want?” You’ve gotten awfully rusty with dealing with people. Then again, you were rarely sent out on missions in the first place, so this blame is not for you to take. You curse out The Knave’s name and then feel terrible about it.

“What are you even doing here, huh? Undercover?” Paimon sneers. She fails to look even slightly intimidating. “Do you own this shop?”

“No. I work here.”

“Does your boss know about the whole Fatui thing?” Aether asks. You stare at him warily. If he dares to harm Rosalie, you won’t hesitate to fight dirty. “That seems like a no. If you cooperate with me, I won’t tell whoever is taking care of you.”

“You’re blackmailing me.” You laugh dryly. “I guess I can never run from my past for too long; I just didn’t think I’d be blackmailed by the Outlander himself to face it.”

Aether has at least the decency to look a bit guilty.

“Why do you want to know about the twins so bad?”

Aether’s shoulders hike up to his ears just a little. “Lyney and Lynette… they’re very dependent on each other, aren’t they? The Fatui are not good people—they’re powerful ones, too, and getting involved with power like that while you have your family,” Aether’s expression does something complicated, “It never ends well.”

“You’re blackmailing me into helping the twins out?”

“I’m not trying to— Listen, I just need to know if they’re hiding something else from me. Something that tells me that I shouldn’t be trusting them, then we’ll decide if I’m helping them out or not.”

…Something else? “They already told you a lot, haven’t they? You just have trust issues, hero.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable to have trust issues as a hero.”

Aether inches closer. Your hand twitches by your side, instincts screaming at you to pull out your weapon and flee; the man before you is danger, but you don’t.

Aether hums at your wariness. “And you talk like you know them well. Do you have something you want to say to me, retired Fatuus?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I used to be an orphan in the House of the Hearth,” you say, not wavering with how he holds your gaze. This is no lie; you have no reason to falter. “But that’s not my life anymore. For all I know, they’ve completely changed goals.”

Aether’s shoulder sags because he knows you’re right. There wouldn’t be a way for you to know if the House is still operating with the same objective. If he’d really believe the words of a former Fatuus is a completely different story, however.

Aether sighs. “…It’s not right to call me a hero in this situation.”

“Oh?”

“I’m doing this for selfish reasons.”

Aether hesitates. Does he think you know nothing about selfishness? You ran from the House that took care of you because of your cowardice. You’re plenty familiar with selfishness.

“Mhm,” Paimon nods, “the Traveler wants to know if they’re hiding something about his sister.”

“Paimon,” Aether admonishes, then wilts.

“Oh no!” The fairy’s face pales, her hands coming up to her mouth. “Was Paimon not supposed to say it right away?”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. You can see it in the lines between Aether’s brows, his tense shoulders, and his sharp glare to the floor. “You already blurted it anyway.”

“Your sister,” you repeat, conjuring an image of a girl with the same gold as Aether, the same hardheaded determination. What is it with you and getting into trouble with brothers? “I’ve never heard anything about your sister during my time there.”

Aether shrugs. “That doesn’t surprise me. I only arrived here not too long ago, and from what I’m getting, you were already out of the orphanage.”

“So you think Lyney knows something?”

“I know The Knave knows something.”

How strange. Aether’s certainty that their ‘Father’ would confide in them everything, imply that Lyney is privy to information that only the Harbingers would keep to themselves.

You had this same thought before: Lyney, someday Harbinger, someday who would take Arlecchino’s throne. Now, you feel empty thinking about it. It used to fill you with so much rage before.

You turn away from Aether so he won’t see your face. Your previous affiliation with the House shouldn’t matter anymore—you’ve long since abandoned that life. You shouldn’t care about what the upstanding hero would want with them.

You shouldn’t.

Yet you end up fearing what this Outlander will do if they find out the darker secrets of the House that the orphans have to task themselves with. It’s never the children’s fault. But as a hero in a storybook, they rarely have pity for the bad guys.

If Aether finds out anything remotely wrong, what would he do to them…?

You sigh heavily. “I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong about whatever you think of them.”

Aether smiles. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Rosalie comes out of the counter’s back door a few moments later, holding two plates of dinner. She stares blankly at your frozen figure and Aether’s slack posture.

She hands you the plates. “I’ll get two more.”

Rosalie disappears back into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as she leaves the scene. There was a skip in her step, too.

You settle the plates down in front of Aether and Paimon. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Paimon gasps in delight.

When Rosalie comes back out, she’s fluttering all over the place, gushing over how adorable your new friends are. She then goes into a tangent about how she was right in telling you that you have a charming personality, and it was about time people realized that.

“Rosalie,” you murmur, steaming from the ears.

Rosalie laughs heartily. “Oh, you’re so cute. Do you kids have any plans tonight?”

Aether casts you a glance. “We’re going to watch Lyney the Magician’s show tonight if that’s alright.”

You breathe in deeply. Aether sure works fast. You haven’t even prepared yourself for the little chance you were going to be forced to face Lyney again. You expected it on much more personal, grudge-driven circumstances, with Lyney taking you in for The Knave to deal with.

Rosalie sips from her glass, turning to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to watch it, mon ange? I also would have taken you to watch Mr. Lyney.”

“They came over to give me their spare ticket,” you say before she can start thinking deeply about Lyney, but it doesn’t work.

“Ah, I see! Well, have fun.” She grins. “I’ve heard only good things about Mr. Lyney.”

You down the rest of your drink, wishing it was the strong taste of alcohol instead of the sugary sweet Fonta.

Rosalie gasps, hands on the table as she stands. “Oh! Let’s get you changed for tonight’s show! What if Mr. Lyney’s show picks you as a chosen participant? You have to make him and the audience fall in love with you, Y/N!”

“None of those are necessary,” you say, nearing a whine. It’s embarrassing to have her say that while Aether and Paimon are right in front.

“This is the first time you’re going out—let me please dress you up!” Sometimes, Rosalie acts more like a big sister than a mother.

Rosalie turns to Aether, already pushing you out of your chair. “Give us ten.”

Aether is smiling, looking as if holding in laughter. “Don’t worry. We aren’t going anywhere; we made a deal.”

After rummaging through closets and spilling dresses all over Rosalie’s bed, you're soon ushered out of the door. You witness Paimon's jaw dropping and Aether's eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Whoa…!” Paimon gasps.

“Please spare me from any more comments,” you say, face hot.

Your dress, while nothing as grand as the rest of richer Fontaine women, is still grander than your loose blouse from before. It flows all the way down and drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine.

Thankfully, they oblige. You can’t handle any more—too much have you a puddle on the spot, and in the most humiliating way possible. Rosalie bids you all farewell, telling Aether to bring you back home before ten.

“I don’t think you can be home before ten,” Aether mutters as he leads you outside.

You hide behind his figure, uneasy from the curious stares of the passersby. It could be because you’re walking next to the renowned Traveler, but a part of you thinks that they know who you are. For all you know, there could be wanted posters of your face, and you wouldn’t know because you don’t go outside.

Aether turns to you. “Can you move comfortably?”

“This corset is a little too tight.”

Aether takes your hand and leads you somewhere off to the side, away from any onlookers. Then, he moves behind you and helps with loosening the corset. You look off to the side and swear that you saw a figure dash past, as nimble as a cat, but that was probably nothing.

“Should we rip off the length, too?” Paimon asks.

“No!” you exclaim, startling the two. “No, it’s fine. This is not my dress. Are you going to make me fight Lyney?”

Aether shrugs. “If worse comes to worse.”

“I’m in heels.”

“If worse comes to worse,” Aether repeats, tying the ends in a neat little ribbon.

“I wasn’t aware that you would start blackmailing me this early on.”

Aether smiles grimly. “There are no warnings when it comes to that.”

You perform a twirl in the new adjustments, twisting around, finding it much more breathable than compared to when Rosalie treated it like her usual fitting.

“Good?” Aether asks.

“Good.”

The conversation doesn’t die down, but it’s much more stiff than before. Paimon tells you that she liked your muddy apron better, and you wish you could agree. But this is who you really are. Nothing genuine like the soil staining your washed-out apron and your hands, or the Lumidouce Bell by the counter you’ve watched grow, but a dress that doesn’t belong to you for a mission that you have to fulfill to save other people who wouldn’t even recognize what you’ve done.

The Opera Epiclese, though you’d never been, looks the same as all the stories you’ve heard about it. Filled with a lively audience, the atmosphere dimmed, and your breath held in anticipation as Aether led you to vacant seats. You sit on Paimon’s supposed seat.

You face Aether. “What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?” you whisper hastily as all the lights flicker off.

A spotlight centers on the stage.

Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”

BEFORE YOU STOP READING!! LOOK AT ONCE AGAIN ANOTHER AMAZING FANART BY OUR FAVORITE akagi0021

scene of paimon's "whoa...!" and aether demanding "how do you know that?" !!!!!! 😭😭😭❤️❤️

sorry if my inherent attraction to aether came out a bit for some scenes here. the heart can’t help but want what it wants… and that includes what my fingers end up typing whenever aether is on the same docs LOL

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

[suiana]

"Rewind?"

As a patient in a hospital, you swear that you're living the same day over and over. However, your doctor assures you that you're simply hallucinating.

Warnings: manipulation, obsession, classic yandere stuff idk, gn reader

[Day 2]

A warm breeze kisses your skin gently, the smell of freshly cut flowers as well as sanitized equipment invades your senses as you rub your eyes and let out a soft yawn.

Waking up in the same hospital bed, you smile as the thought of getting better fills your thoughts. Yes! A brand new day! You can already feel your body getting better and better!

"I can't wait to finally leave this place..."

You mutter to yourself, smiling softly as a soft knock comes from outside. You feel your heart race as the sigh of someone familiar enters, a small paper bag of baked goodies in one hand as he smiles down at you kindly.

"Doctor!"

"Well hello to you too, y/n."

You greet cheerfully, beaming at the handsome doctor who walks over to you with a smile who greets you back with a soft smile. You feel your heart warm slightly at him, butterflies in your tummy as he comes close to you.

Doctor Anthony Eurwen.

That's who he was. A genius young man who became a doctor at the age of 24. He was highly respected in the medical field, having achieved so much at his young age and right now, he's your doctor. Well, he has been for quite some time now. You suppose 3 months now?

He takes care of you personally and you wouldn't have it any other way. Why would you? A genius doctor caring for you one on one! You would have to be a fool to pass up this opportunity! Not to mention the fact that he was quite dashing...

Neat black hair along with brown eyes that shined golden under the sun, his facial features were no joke.

You were sure he had both girls and guys chasing after him. I mean, he was very handsome, intelligent, and had a nice personality. What isn't there to love about him?

...And that's why you developed a small crush on him.

Not like you'd ever confess though! You knew you'd be rejected in an instant, so there was really no point in trying in the first place. Plus, you knew that it was against ethics for a doctor to date a patient they're caring for. If you wanted to try your luck you'd have to wait until you were well enough to go home.

"y/n? You're spacing out, are you okay?"

You snap out of your thoughts, blinking repeatedly as your doctor presses a hand against your forehead in a worry. You immediately shake your head, laughing awkwardly as you feel your cheeks flush a dark hue.

"Ha-ha... Doctor I'm fine! Just... daydreaming is all!"

You choke out, smiling awkwardly at your doctor who purses his lips, clearly unconvinced by your words.

"Really? Hm... If you say so."

Doctor Eurwen mumbles, reluctantly taking his hand away from your forehead. You see him pause for a second, grip tightening on the paper bag of baked delights before relaxing.

"If you're not feeling well, you must tell me, y/n. I am your doctor and I just want you to get better."

He sighs, looking at you with a... loving? look in his eyes. Huh... loving? You never thought you'd describe his eyes as loving, especially towards you of all people! Haha, maybe it's a platonic type of love!

You nod at him, smiling awkwardly before looking at the small paper bag he held before gesturing to it.

"Doctor, what's that? Is that for me?"

You hum, staring curiously at the bag that smelled wonderful. You wonder whether he bought that for you or for himself. Or maybe he bought it for both of you to share?He'd do that once in a while when he was feeling hungry.

Doctor Eurwen looks down at the paper bag, smiling slightly as he places it on your table, opening it before taking out a small croissant.

"It's for both of us. I was hungry and bought a croissant for myself. Then I thought I'd get my favourite patient a little something as well."

He hums, pushing the small bag towards you as he munches on his croissant. You feel your heart flutter at his words, eyes widening as you look at the paper bag that carried another croissant in it. Ah, so he did get it for you! How nice of him...

"Thank you doctor, you really didn't have to. The hospital will get me breakfast later..."

"Don't worry about it, just treat this as a small snack."

He chuckles, smiling at you before he takes out his phone to show you a picture of his dog. Right! He had a dachshund dog that he treated like his own daughter!

"Milly gained some weight recently. She's been eating too much. I should reduce her treats."

The young doctor sighs, showing you some videos of his beloved puppy before looking at you with a cheeky grin. You can't help but feel your heart skip a beat at his attractive face.

"y/n, after you get better, we should go for a walk sometime. We can walk Milly together."

He proposes, looking down at his phone before chuckling softly. His cheeks were a soft pink, eyes clouded with happiness as you freeze in place, gulping nervously as you feel yourself grow hot at the sight of your doctor.

You try to answer, but your mouth was dry and your brain refused to cooperate normally, rendering your ability to speak useless at the sight of the handsome man. So you opted to nodding instead, laughing awkwardly as you avert your eyes elsewhere.

Damn, that was embarrassing as hell.

"Anyway, I'll be back with your medicine and check up later. Enjoy the croissant I got for you."

He mumbles, backing away as he pats your head. You watch as he leaves the room quietly, not mentioning anything about your flustered state. As soon as he was gone and the door to your room clicked shut, you let out a silent sigh of relief.

Thank god he left. You swear that you'd die from embarrassment if he remained in your presence any longer.

Shaking your head, you stretch slightly before looking out the window. What a beautiful day it was today! You can't wait for later and the following days to come!

...

A warm breeze kisses your skin gently, the smell of freshly cut flowers as well as sanitized equipment invades your senses as you rub your eyes and let out a soft yawn.

You immediately shoot out of bed, eyes wide as you observe your surroundings cautiously.

What? Flowers? You were sure that Doctor Eurwen removed them yesterday after the check-up...

You stare at the clear vase in confusion, looking around your room before the footsteps of someone familiar walks in. Doctor Eurwen! Maybe he'd know what's up!

"Doctor!"

However, you feel your heart sink slightly at the sight of the same small paper bag that you were quite sure you threw away yesterday. What the hell was going on? Oh, wait, the bakery was nearby so he migt've just gotten it again today, right? Haha...

"Well hello to you too, y/n."

What the- The same exact greeting too? Nah, this has to be some sort of joke. Right, a joke! He probably placed the flowers back there to play a little prank on you... Of course!

"Doctor, is- is this a joke? Haha... You did the same thing yesterday..."

"What? y/n are you alright? What are you talking about?"

Doctor Eurwen frowns at your words, walking towards you as he places the small paper bag down and reaches out his hand to touch your forehead. You can't help but flinch at his touch, looking up at him with a confused expression.

"Doctor, I swear you threw those flowers out yesterday! And you definitely bought the same exact pastries! That bag looks exactly like yesterday's! Why are you playing a prank on me?"

You whimper, looking at him as you look for him for an answer. Unfortunately, all you got was his concerned gaze and furrowed eyebrows as an answer.

"y/n, I didn't do that... Are you okay? Are you having delusions again? Maybe we should adminster you a different medicine..."

You stare at him in shock, not understanding what was happening. Wait, you were so sure that yesterday actually happened. Is this just a dream? But it can't be! Everything feels too real!

"Anyway, It's for both of us. I was hungry and bought a croissant for myself. Then I thought I'd get my favourite patient a little something as well."

Doctor Eurwen mumbles, gesturing to the paper bag of goodies on your table. But before you could protest any further, he says something which sends you into even more of a frenzy.

"Milly gained some weight recently. She's been eating too much. I should reduce her treats."

What the hell? That was the same exact line as from yesterday! You furrow your eyebrows at the doctor, chewing on your bottom lip as he talks about his pet dog before leaving the room, exactly the same way as yesterday. After he left, you couldn't help but throw the croissant into the trashbin.

Just what the hell was going on?

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere concept #yandere scenarios #yandere story #yandere doctor #yandere doctor x reader #gn reader #yandere oc x reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

[jm-2406]

Summary - Tommy Shelby has been slowly drifting away from his only son after losing his wife. You are a nurse specialising in children's wards. When Frances comes running to the hospital with little Charlie in her arms, you decide to give a piece of mind to the bigshot gangster.

Words - 1.5k

Note - this is silly. I wrote it in less than one hour. It features an OOC Tommy Shelby and a daring reader who doesn't fear him like others.

Tommy Shelby, MP OBE was not used to getting calls between meetings, especially from his loyal housekeeper who knew when not to bother him. He was busy dealing with some important people, drowning himself in work like he usually did after Grace passed away. It was not that he didn't care for his son but sometimes looking at him was too difficult for him, the little boy had so much of Grace in him. So imagine his surprise when instead of Frances it was someone else on the other side of the telephone.

"Mr Shelby, I'm not Frances. My name is (Y/N) and I'd like to let you know that your son is not well. You should come as soon as possible to the hospital." You informed him without any hesitation, the concern for Charlie made your nervousness take a back seat plus not looking directly at his blue eyes also helped in retaining your confidence.

"What happened to him?" His lazy drawl came as a reply. "Well if you insist…" You tried to stall, tried to get under his skin so that he'd come to see his son but his silence made you speak up. "Mr. Shelby, I understand that you are grieving but so is your son. He was having a nightmare and needed someone to hold him close, to soothe him. I'd say he needed his father, not his nanny or Frances. Help yourself and your son by being there for him." Without thinking about the consequences, you pour your heart out and immediately hang up.

• • •

It has been a few days since the incident. You were worrying about Charlie and went to meet him directly at 'Arrow House'. [Yes, you are daring and a risk taker]. You knocked gently, arranging the basket of freshly baked cookies for the three-year-old cherub in your arms.

"Who are you?" A deep male voice caught your attention. Looking up, your breath got caught in your throat. Standing in front of you was the man of the house himself, Thomas Shelby. "What are you doing here?" You questioned foolishly instead. In your defence, you did not know that he'd be home at eleven o'clock since it was a Tuesday. He merely raised his eyebrow at your remark.

“If you didn't know Miss, this is my house. I live here.” Your cheeks reddened and you turned around to escape when a high-pitched voice stopped you. "(Y/N)" shouted Charlie. "Call her inside daddy. She's my friend." He said - more like ordered - his father who complied with a small "as you say, son." You felt a sense of comfort seeing the father and son interacting almost normally after that phone call incident.

Nervously, you stepped inside and Frances immediately took your coat as well as the basket of cookies. Charlie ran inside to get his colouring pages and asked you to wait for him. You were looking here and there, avoiding the dark-haired man but he had other plans.

"Thank you," Tommy said. You furrowed your brows in confusion. He cleared his throat and elaborated. "For making me realise that I was unknowingly neglecting my son, pushing him away from me. I love him, I really do. Thank you for making us come closer." He was not a man of words, especially praises but something about you got him talking, was it your kind nature, your non-judgemental eyes or your stern yet concerned voice when you called him that day that made him open up to you, he didn't know… but that is a topic for later.

"You're welcome, Mr Shelby. Charles is a sweet boy. I wish well for him." You blushed, no one had said such kind words to you. "How about you join us for dinner? Charlie would like that." Tommy said unexpectedly. Just as you were about to deny it, considering it rude to intrude, Charlie came running to you asking you to stay and colour with him. You couldn't say no to that adorable face.

And that's how you spent the evening, laughing and enjoying the company of two Shelby men, happier than ever.

• • •

[PART - 2]

It has been almost half a year since that evening you spent in the company of the Shelby men and you couldn't help but feel lucky. Everything went uphill after that, luckily.

You found out that you and Tommy had a lot in common which was surprising in itself. You both were mostly emotionally detached but were willing to cross any line if it meant saving your family, you both liked to read though Tommy was secretive about it for reasons you still didn't know, and nothing could surpass the love you had for horses, those strong yet gentle beasts were the only faithful friend you had… except for each other.

While your thoughts started to roam in dangerous territory, you were still unsure of Tommy's feelings on the matter. You have heard that the man was ruthless and incapable of feeling affection but you saw a side of him that was hidden from the world, his gentle and loving sight, his respectful side… you were certain that what you felt for him may not be love but it wasn't anything less. You decided to ignore this newfound feeling, unsure of what he felt.

The sudden knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. "What-?" You were confused about finding a drunk Tommy Shelby on your doorstep. "(Y/N) How are you my angel?" He continued to stare at you making you realise that this was an actual question and not a rhetorical one. "I - uhh - I am fine Tommy. What are you doing here at midnight?" You pulled him inside.

The sight of a drunk Tommy Shelby lying on your cheap broken sofa with the bottle of Irish whiskey clasped in his hand was unusually tempting and soft, as he gazed up at you with his bright blue eyes.

"Charlie loves you (Y/N). Did you know he was calling for you earlier today?" He whispered and gulped the remaining of the whiskey immediately after.

"No Tommy. I am sorry. I was busy today." Your heart broke hearing about the little boy calling for you and not finding you by his side. "Yeah. Being a lifesaver is not easy, eh?" He said rhetorically this time, placing his hands on your waist. The cool of his hands seeping through the thin material of your nightgown.

"I asked him to be a well-behaved little boy and I'll bring you to him… maybe permanently what say?"

You gasped hearing his words, not knowing what he was suggesting. "Tommy… you're drunk. We'll talk about it in the morning if you still remember what you said." You pushed him to your bedroom, tucking him in like you'd do for Charlie. taking the spare pillow and blanket, you laid down on the sofa.

• • •

"You alright Mr Shelby?" You asked giving him a painkiller. He looked at you with wide eyes, just like Charlie would… The resemblance between them always melted your heart.

He cleared his throat before addressing you. "(Y/N) about last night - uhh - I meant what - what I said." You gawked at him, The Tommy Shelby stuttering in front of you. You were definitely special to him.

"I - you mean - what exactly did you mean by 'permanently' last night?" Your cheeks reddened, little hair on your neck stood as you awaited his answer.

"I didn't plan for this to happen so spontaneously but we gotta do what we gotta do right?" He paused and you held your breath for his next words. "I'm not good with words so beware. Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) I am grateful for your help in more than one of my life problems. My son loves you and calls out for you all the time, I adore you and your strength. Will you do the honour of making me the luckiest man in Birmingham by marrying me?" Tommy pulled out a small jewellery box from his coat pocket and held before you a simple but elegant and beautiful princess-cut diamond ring.

You sobbed. "Is that even a question?" You nodded, unable to speak as he placed the ring on your finger. You jumped up, unable to control your excitement and hugged him with all your might. And for the first time in many years, Tommy Shelby was finally feeling peace. He felt a wave of hope… for himself and your future together.

• • •

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby #fanfic #𝐣 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬