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bradshawsbitch · 1 year

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flightless bird | bradley bradshaw x reader

masterlist | ko-fi

hehe, happy valentine's day! surprise! it's a bradley-tastic holiday with lots of smut. this is part two to my fic songbird.

summary; after spending a week in a snowy cabin, rooster finds himself deployed over the holidays and well in to the new year. with the help of nat, maybe he can still make your valentines memorable?

warnings; 18+ explicit smut, afab!reader, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, songbird universe, yearning, frantic, pussyjob, cockwarming, unprotected sex, creampies, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, shower stuff, fingering, l-bombs, food mention, dd/lg(?), sleepy sex, pussy spanking, choking, hair pulling, cunnilingus, blowjob.

word count; 8.3K

tagging people who might like; @mak-32 @roosterforme @roleycoleyreccenter @theharddeck @lt-bradshaw @rhettabbotts @hangmanbrainrot @laracrofted @mothdruid @notroosterbradshaw

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The week spent in the snowy cabin with you before the holidays had been just what Bradley had needed. A week where he could curl up in front of the fire with you, stay in bed during cold mornings watching snow whirl outside the windows - nights spent hearing his name sighed from your lips as he loved your body.

It felt extra special seeing as Bradley had been called out on his first out of the country mission the day after Christmas. For once, he had requested to not get put on lengthier operations, and had asked to spend the holidays state-side. However, as it was, not all requests could be accommodated - and he knew that after the dagger squad was formed, many of their new found skills in the air were coveted.

Which meant that his contact with you had been minimal. He managed to snag a video call for New Years, his eyes raking over your dolled up form as you blew him kisses, a tear rolling down your eyes as you smiled and said you missed and loved him. But other than that his superiors were quite strict about contacting home.

It was now the beginning of February, and Bradley was starting to lose it just a little. He would spend hours in the gym, enjoying the distractions they could provide him, letting out the steam that his mind plagued him with. It felt like every time he closed his eyes, the image of your blissed out form on top of his abs softly mewling his name played again and again. His gruff groan resounded in the small gym as he lifted the weights with more force than before, needing to shake the image from his head before he lost it.

It felt weird, spending so much time in such a cramped space again. The body and mind quickly got accustomed to space and the luxuries of being on land - and his claustrophobic little bunk didn’t exactly give him peace of mind to… take care of his problems. Especially not when his bunk mate, Growler, most likely had freaking sleep apnea or something. Damn the man snored loud. So now, after six weeks of grueling night flights, paired with snoring bunkmates and the tantalizing thought of your voice, your face, your embrace and body - Bradley felt like he was on the brink of insanity. He needed to come home to you. He needed you.

Sighing heavily, he trudged through the narrow corridors of the ship he was on, making his way to the small space reserved for showering. He’d spent the whole night in the cockpit, navigating as the stars twinkled happily back at him. Some constellations reminded him of you, in the way they would form a particular shape that would remind him of one of the scars or spots he’d loved during your time in the cabin.

Bradley knew you’d strangle him with your bare hands if he ever confessed that he thought of you when he was supposed to be focusing on navigating his jet. The thought made a small smile quirk on the corner of his lips. He could almost hear your scolding voice, reprimanding him and saying something along the lines of ‘keep your eyes on the road, Bradshaw! or… well, the clouds or whatever it is you watch!’

Even imagining your voice sent a stitch of longing through his chest. Seeing as this was not a ‘long stint’ as one admiral had expressed (Bradley had grumbled below his breath at that), he hadn’t heard your voice since New Years, and that was the longest Bradley had gone without hearing your sweet voice saying his name since he met you. It felt like torture, and he had been working since mid January to make it possible for him to deliver a surprise to you.

Bradley was relieved that during the time that you’d been in a relationship, you and Phoenix had found a friend in one another - often spending nights gossiping and painting your nails or whatever girls did together when Nat was home. It made it easier for her to help him arrange this surprise for you.

Stepping under the spray of lukewarm water, Bradley groaned softly, letting his eyelids flutter shut as water ran across his face. He couldn’t wait to stand under the warm water at home with you. Sighing heavily, he finished up his shower quickly heading off to get some sleep. Soon, he would be putting his plan into action.

Natasha had been absolutely relentless all week. You had suggested that maybe the two of you could spend Valentine’s together, but she just shook her head, revealing that she had a date with a pretty girl she had met at a cute little coffee shop in downtown San Diego earlier this year. She had, however, spent the day before the fourteenth going to different lingerie shops with you - hinting at sets you could buy for when Rooster made it home. The notion just made you feel a sad, longing ache for your boyfriend. Shaking your head, you told her that maybe you’d get a set when the time for his homecoming was a bit closer.

“C’mon, doll” Nat had taken to calling you many of the terms of endearment Bradley did when he wasn’t around, knowing you missed hearing them when he wasn’t home. “Maybe Roos will be able to sneak in a little video call during the day? I would hope his superiors aren’t completely heartless?” Natashas raised brow and tilted head had you furrowing your brows slightly. She was right. What if Bradley managed to get a video call slot? The thought immediately brought a smile to your face, and giddy excitement filled your every pore.

“Nat! Wouldn’t that be amazing?” you didn’t want to get your hopes up, but if he did manage it, you sure as hell wanted to treat him with a mighty fine visual. You had honestly had such a hard time ever since Roos had left - your fingers and toys just couldn’t compare to him, and more often than not your tries would only end in frustrated tears and unsatisfied feelings.

Phoenix smirked softly at you as you dragged her along now, looking at different bras and sets of various intricacies. Licking your lips you looked at a fairly simple set - Bradley was a simple man, and you knew that more than anything, he just wanted to see your body. You weren’t too comfortable wearing too many garters or complicated get-ups with ribbons twisted all around your body. In the end, you chose a simple red bra and panty set that looked good against your skin, cute little red hearts dotting it.

The rest of the day was spent plotting with Nat, giggling and speculating as to what would happen on her date tomorrow, and if Bradley would be able to call you. Going home and going to bed that night, you felt warm and happy for the first time in a while, the set sitting ready for you to wear tomorrow - not knowing what time Bradley might be able to get a call in, you figured you’d just wear it for the duration of the day.

As darkness fell, you sat by the kitchen table, a small pout on your lips. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up, but Nat had been so convincing in her ideas about Bradley calling you. Stomach growling, you just sighed softly - you didn’t really feel like cooking today, perhaps you’d just have a sandwich and go to bed. Just as that thought entered your head, your doorbell went off. Furrowing your brows, you went to open the door. A man stood outside the door, a large bag of food in his hands.

“Delivery for you, ma’am,” he spoke, and you shook your head. “I think you have the wrong house, I haven’t ordered anything.” the man only smiled.

“Nope, got clear instructions from a Natasha Trace that this was the right house, and she said you might be a little confused,” that made you laugh softly, accepting the bags from yours and Bradley’s favorite restaurant. As the door closed again, you couldn’t help the tears that accumulated in your eyes - Nat was truly the best friend a girl could ask for. She knew you so well.

Unpacking the bag, your eyes widened at the sheer amount of food. Both yours and Bradley’s favorite dishes, along with a bottle of wine, and chocolate covered strawberries. Furrowing your brow, you reached for your phone, about to text ‘Nix and ask her why on earth she had ordered for a whole army, when you heard keys being inserted to the door that you’d just locked.

“Natasha? Aren’t you supposed to be on your date? If this is you coming over to confess your undying love for me, I’m sorry but–” your tone had been teasing, a smirk playing on your lips as you made your way towards your front door to greet her - seeing as she was the only one with the spare key to yours and Bradley’s home.

“Happy Valentine's Day, doll,” you stopped dead in your tracks, a gasp tumbling from your lips as your eyes widened in shock.

“Bradley?” your voice quivered, along with your lower lip as you took in the form of your boyfriend, standing in your hallway, his khaki uniform stretching deliciously over his upper body. It was not that tight when he left, and the thought of your boyfriend’s body getting even more toned had your insides buzzing with need.

“Hey, baby,” he smiled softly, it looked as if his whole body had relaxed as he heard his name rolling off of your lips. His arms had spread wide, inviting you into his embrace. You didn’t need any more convincing, and you surged forward jumping into his arms, soft happy noises leaving you without you being actively conscious you were making them - Bradley’s name falling from your lips over and over again as you kissed at his face. A low, rumbling groan resonated deep within Bradleys chest as he wrapped his strong arms around you, one hand cradling the back of your head as he squeezed you tighter.

“God, baby… I’ve missed you,” he groaned, burrowing his face into your neck and inhaling deeply.

“How are you here right now, Roos?” your legs were wrapped around his waist now, and Bradley’s hands had settled underneath your thighs to hold you in his embrace. Your hands had found his face, cradling it as your eyes roamed happily over his beautiful face, taking in all of his features greedily.

“I pulled some strings, contacted some people,” Bradley joked, smirking softly up at your elated face.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw…” you spoke jokingly, almost reprimanding in your tone, and to your surprise Bradley groaned deeply, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t say that to me right now, doll,” he growled, surging forward to attach his lips to your neck. A breathy moan rolled past your lips as your fingers moved to tug at the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“Bradley,” you spoke breathlessly as his lips left kisses and licks to your exposed throat “food, Nat—” Bradley broke away from your neck, smiling that lopsided smile you loved so much “I know baby, I had her help me make sure you were home,” blinking a couple of times in disbelief, laughter bubbling in your throat, and the way Bradley smiled at you like you hung the moon had your body heating up slightly.

“Rooster,” it seemed as if you couldn’t get enough of saying his name, almost wanting to make sure he was real - his name carried such emotion as you uttered it, tears gathering in your lashes, threatening to fall as you took in the adoration in Bradley’s amber eyes.

Slowly, he released the hold he had on your thighs, gently letting your body slide down his own until your feet were planted on the floor again. His large hand moved to cradle your cheek, his thumb slowly soothing the tear stained skin.

“I missed you,” you whimpered, and Bradley nodded, furrowing his brows as he leaned down, his other hand swiftly moving to your neck before his lips connected with yours in a searing kiss. Bradley inhaled sharply, a soft moan slipping out as he moved his lips against yours, his tongue eagerly licking at your lips - loving the way you yielded to him, his tongue stroking languidly against yours.

Your hands, that were planted on his chest, fisted the material of his uniform in your fingers - tugging slightly as Bradley pulled whimpers and moans from you as his tongue caressed yours, as he pulled your bottom lip into his mouth, as his teeth gently nipped and tugged at it.

“Fuck” he swore, voice raspy as one of his hands moved to grip tightly at your hip, the other reaching into your hair. A breathless gasp left you, knowing what was to come. Rooster pulled away from you slightly, smirking at your obvious reaction before his fingers slowly closed around your strands, enjoying the way your breathing instantly picked up in anticipation.

“My pretty baby,” Rooster cooed as he finally tugged softly at your strands, and the desperate cry that spilled from your parted lips made a drawn out groan rumble deep within his chest. “Bradley,” you whimpered, eyes filled with desperation as you looked up at him - you needed him, needed to feel his skin against yours, needed him to hold you, to make you feel safe.

“I know, baby,” he murmured softly, tilting your head back to let his lips attach themselves to the sensitive skin of your throat. “I know,” he mumbled again as you gasped at the sensation. “I haven’t been–” you struggled to get the words out, your whole body felt like it was on fire at your boyfriend's touch “You–” licking your lips, you tried to gather your scrambled thoughts.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Bradley murmured, letting his thumb stroke along your jawline, up to your cheek and then settling on your chin, his large hand holding it gently, tilting your face up to gaze into your starry eyes. “What’re you trying to tell me, sweet baby?” his voice was like honey, dripping over your senses and making your mind hazy.

“I– they– my,” you whimpered, frustration filling you and tears rolling down your cheeks as you struggled to find the words to express how much you needed him “Aw, baby” Bradley cooed as his large form towered yours “Are you trying to tell me your small fingers haven’t been enough, hm?” your eyes widened at his words, nodding eagerly, a soft whine leaving your throat as you pawed at his chest, needing to get this stupid uniform off of him.

A soft chuckle made his chest move slightly, making you feel all the more how much more defined his pecs were. Your fingers moved to work at his buttons, and he smiled fondly down at you as you fumbled a little in your eagerness - finally managing to get it undone enough to tear it over his head, exposing his broad shoulders and large, muscular arms to you. Before you had a chance to let your hands roam over his warm skin, Bradley had once again scooped you up into his arms, walking towards your shared bedroom.

“As much as I would love to ravish you where we’re standing, I plan on taking my sweet time with you baby - I’ve missed you too much,” he grunted, kicking the door open more before entering with you cradled in his arms. That promise made a small smile appear on your lips, and you hummed in pleasure at the thought of being able to feel your boyfriend's warm body again.

The soft light from the bedside lamp had Bradley’s skin looking all the more warm and tan, the shadows accentuating the dips of his collarbones and his defined muscles. He had placed you gently in the middle of the bed, making quick work of his pants and undershirt, leaving him in his black boxers. Seeing his almost naked body had your breath hitching in your throat, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth as your eyes roamed over his defined abs.

“Like what you see, baby girl?” Bradley smirked, once again gently grabbing hold of your chin, his thumb resting against your lower lip. You nodded, eyes locked with his as the motion made his thumb drag your bottom lip down slightly.

He slowly swiped it back and forth across your plump skin, and you opened your mouth eagerly, brows coming together slightly as his hungry eyes took in your obedience. Slipping his thumb between your parted lips, it softly moved to press down against your tongue, and your eyes fluttered closed in relief as your lips closed around the digit, suckling softly at it, small mewls leaving you sporadically.

“Fuck, baby - I’ve missed your pretty little sounds so much…” Bradley groaned, letting his body cover yours, grinding his hips into your still clothed thigh, and the feeling of his rock hard cock against you had your eyes flying open and a muffled whimper coming out around Bradley’s thumb.

Releasing Bradley’s thumb, he leaned down, nudging your jawline with his nose before placing a kiss below it - alternating between licking and sucking marks into your skin. His hands trailed down over your collarbones, a soft groan leaving him as his large hands covered your breasts.

You had worn a white top, cut so that your decolletage was visible, your new bra pushing your tits together to create a nice visual of the swell of your breasts. Bradley moaned at the feeling of your soft flesh once again in his palms, kneading and massaging them carefully, letting his thumb stroke over your hardening nipples.

“Bradley, feels so good–” you moaned softly, letting your fingers tangle into his slightly curled strands, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp. He hummed softly, not wanting to leave the comfort your skin provided him.

Kissing down your chest, he soon reached your breast, his mouth tonguing at your hardened nipple over the white fabric, wetting it and sucking at it - drawing soft whimpers from your lips as your thighs clenched together. His other hand had slipped under your top, letting his fingers pinch slowly at your nipple over your bra.

As he drew back to take in his work, he raised his brows as the dampened white material gave way for red to shine through. “Baby… what do we have here?” you smiled bashfully, heat filling your body as Bradley removed your top, leaving you in the bra that you and Nat had picked out the day prior.

“Did Nat tell you I’d come home?” he seemed a little sad at that prospect and you shook your head, “She made me buy one because she said you might be able to video call me, and that it would be a nice treat for you,” your voice was small, your fingers now tracing over his exposed collarbones, over his shoulder and down his flexed bicep.

“Thank fucking god for Natasha fuckin’ Trace,” Bradley groaned, his forehead falling to rest in between your breasts as he kissed and laved his tongue all over your skin, one hand running down the length of your abdomen to undo your jeans. As his large hand splayed on your lower abdomen, he inhaled deeply, reigning himself in slightly to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“Hi, baby,” he spoke softly, making you smile softly as he gazed down at you “Hi,” you whispered back, stroking his cheek lovingly. “Would you stand up for me, love?” he continued, moving so that you could stand. As you shimmied out of your tight jeans, Bradley sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, showing off his muscular thighs.

As you stood in front of him, in only the red set, he smiled softly at you. “Would you give me a twirl, doll?” he never wanted to take his eyes off of you, you were a vision in red, and the tiny hearts that scattered across the fabric honestly drove him a little insane in their cute sensuality.

“Look so beautiful… I’ve missed you so much,” Rooster confessed as you stepped in between his legs, his hands immediately coming to rest against your hips, slowly moving further back until he was kneading your ass cheeks, his face scattering kisses across your abdomen. Letting your head fall back, you gripped tightly at his hair, every move of Bradley’s making your knees grow weaker and weaker “Roos,” you moaned, about to warn him - but he already seemed aware, and gently guided you to sit on his lap.

“My pretty, pretty girl,” Bradley cooed, holding you close to his body, finally feeling your skin against his own. Sitting on his lap, you wriggled closer to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, letting your lips kiss and suck at the junction, moving further down to his muscular shoulder where you nibbled and suckled softly. Bradley moaned softly at the sensation, hands gripping your hips as you started to grind them down against his cock.

“Bradley,” you whined against his skin, his cock dragging deliciously against your clit, the sheer fabric of your panties only heightening to sensation. “I know, doll, I know,” he rasped, arms wound around your midsection as he rutted against your wet core, one hand splayed on your lower back to press you harder into his clothed cock.

“I need you,” you whined softly, followed by a harsh whimper, teeth biting down on his skin to keep you in the moment, to not slip away entirely.

“How do you need me, baby?” Rooster spoke gruffly, gripping your jaw firmly to make you look at him, the sting of your bite still felt in his shoulder. At his rough movement, your eyes rolled back slightly, craving this type of touch so badly. Breathing labored, you couldn’t get the words out until his fingers wrapped around your throat.

“Answer.” he commanded, and a soft mewl left your mouth before you began to beg “I need you in my mouth, please - please, want your cock in my mouth so bad, Roos,” Bradley hummed softly before releasing his hold on your throat, letting the back of his hand stroke along the side of your neck “Good girl,” he whispered, placing a kiss to your jaw.

“Get on your knees then, sweet girl” he murmured, stroking your cheek before spreading his legs further, so you could sink to your knees between them. Shuffling, he removed his boxers and tossed them aside before turning his attention to you. You looked like a dream, sitting back on your heels, waiting for him, putting your trust entirely in his hands as you gazed up at him with your hands folded in your lap.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he praised, letting his palm cradle your cheek, loving the small smile that appeared on your face as you nuzzled into his palm. “What did I do to deserve you, huh?” he murmured mostly to himself, his other hand reaching down to stroke his cock languidly. He looked on as you blinked slowly, biting your lip as your eyes followed his every movement.

“Please?” you breathed out, glancing up at him. “Come, baby,” he motioned you closer, and without prompting you eagerly let your tongue run along the underside of his dick, moaning at the feeling of his soft skin. You took in every vein and ridge, kissing and licking along his length over and over again, relishing in hearing Bradley’s every soft moan and grunt. Licking at the tip, you felt yourself moan softly at the taste of his precum, letting your tongue swirl around the tip, your lips only ever so slightly wrapping around the very edge of him every now and then.

One hand held the base of his cock, squeezing slightly as the other rested against his thigh. Finally, you took him into your mouth, eyes fluttering closed as you felt his heavy cock rest against your tongue. Arousal flooded your entire body, feeling yourself get more wet by the sounds Bradley was making as you took him further into your mouth.

Soft whimpers were muffled by his cock, and you felt so deliciously dizzy at the feel of him stuffed deep into your throat. Your nose was almost down to his abdomen, his pubic hair tickling your nose as you inhaled his heady scent, another muffled moan leaving you as you felt him twitch against your tongue. Hollowing your cheeks, you managed to suck on him as you let up a little.

Bradley had been leaning back on his hands, his head tilted back at the sensation of you taking his cock so well into your mouth. Small gasps and moans leaving his parted lips as he felt your tongue swirl and suck at him.

You slowly dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock as you pulled away, licking at his tip before you inhaled deeply, one hand pumping his hard dick in the absence of your mouth. Looking up at him, you whimpered at the sight. Bradley’s broad chest was heaving slightly, his abs slightly tensed as he sat leaned back, fiery brown eyes gazing down at you - a thin sheen of sweat covering his upper body.

Breaking eye contact, you had to feel him heavy on your tongue again, and you moaned as he entered your mouth, letting it rest heavy in your mouth. Bradley’s large hand came to rest at the back of your head, looking down at you with a soft smile playing on his lips as he let you take what you needed from him.

His palm slowly stroked over your hair, and the feeling of your muffled whimper had his cock stirring against your tongue. With his hand on the back of your head, he gently rolled his hips, fucking into your eager mouth, cursing softly at the sounds you made as he slowly sank deeper into your throat.

“Look so pretty warming my cock baby, doing so well,” he murmured as his hands tangled into your strands. He knew what it would do to you if he tugged ever so slightly, but he had a feeling you wanted it as much as he did. How much you needed it. Your soft moan and the way your body shivered and twitched slightly let him know he was right.

Feeling Bradley slowly fuck his cock into your throat, you let your eyes flutter shut, eyes rolling back slightly at the feeling of his hand resting heavy on your head, letting saliva slip from the sides of your mouth down onto Bradley’s abdomen. Swallowing involuntarily around your boyfriend’s cock, you were rewarded with a throaty moan and the softest of pushes against the back of your head, paired with Bradley’s hips rolling ever so slightly, stuffing your mouth so full of him.

Tears rolled down your cheeks from feeling him so deep in your throat, and the lack of oxygen, but you loved it - loved how hard and silky he felt in your wet mouth, loved the way your lips were stretched to accommodate his sheer size.

“Fuck, baby,” Rooster growled, tugging at your hair to make you ease up. As much as he loved having your lips wrapped around his cock, he needed to be inside you - had waited so long to feel you and hear you fall apart on his cock for him. You took a shuddering breath as Bradley easily maneuvered your body so that it was splayed out for him on the bed.

He had you on your stomach, face pressed into the pillows as he kneaded at your ass cheeks again, “Such a fucking lovely ass,” Bradley groaned, gripping the globes of your ass hard, separating them and letting spit drip from his lips down to your holes, making you moan loudly at the sudden sensation.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling them back slightly so that you were rested on your knees and with your face still pressed into the mattress. “Mm, and this pretty fucking cunt,” he continued, letting his fingers slide between your soaked lips, gathering up your slick in his hand, loving the needy sounds you were making.

“Who’s pretty little pussy is this huh?” Rooster teased, letting his finger softly grace your clit, your moans only getting louder as you gripped the sheets. A harsh slap made a strangled cry leave your lips, eyes flying open in surprise at the fact that Bradley had slapped your puffy cunt with his fingers.

“Yours!” you cried out with a sob, squirming against the sensation of Bradley circling your sensitive clit again. Bradley hummed deep in his throat as he settled behind you, his breath hitting your clothed cunt before he harshly pulled them down to your thighs, not wasting any time before his mouth was all over your cunt, his skilled tongue laving over your clit, fucking into you, swirling around your wetness like a man starved.

Your cries of pleasure only seemed to make him more eager, and you soon found yourself grinding your hips back against his mouth as he gripped your ass in his hands, letting his thumb rest over your sensitive hole. That, along with the quick flicks of his tongue against your clit had you tumbling over the edge, crying his name over and over again.

Bradley wasted no time in flipping you over, slotting himself between your thighs, leaning down to kiss your swollen lips, letting you taste yourself on his lips, the scent of you lingering on his mustache. His cock, now aching from how hard it was, was leaking precum onto your swollen clit, and the sensation of his hard, silky cock so close to where you needed him had you mewling softly.

“You like that, baby?” you could only nod feverishly “Like feeling my cock against that wet cunt of yours?” you nodded again, whining slightly as he let his cock drag between your folds and up to your clit again. “Please!” you whined, canting your hips towards him, wanting him to slip into your warm heat.

“Please what?” Rooster murmured into your ear, repeating the action of letting his cock grind and slip just out of reach of your weeping hole, letting the tip tease at the entrance when he drew a particularly loud moan from you.

“Please, please– fuck me, oh god, fuck me,” you chanted, squirming underneath him, breath coming in short spurts, your whole body feeling like it was on fire. “I need you so bad, fuck, I need you, need you to fuck me, please, please” you sobbed, wanting him to understand that you needed him to fill you, needed to be one with him again. Bradley loved when you begged for him, it didn’t happen too often, as he would feel too bad to tease you for too long, but right now he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful.

The red tip of his cock slowly circled your clit, and your panting increased, more whines and mewls falling from your lips as tears once again burned in the corners of your eyes “Please! Please!” your words were turning into cries, soft and drawn out, chest heaving slightly.

“What do you want, baby?” Bradley smirked, letting his tip sink slightly into your needy hole before withdrawing again, making you sob out right. “I need your cock, I need you to fuck me– please! Please! Please!”

At your words, Bradley let his cock sink deep into your cunt, the sensation so overwhelming he almost spurted his cum instantaneously into your core. You were moaning loudly, the sound almost echoing in the room as you babbled “thank you, oh god - feels so good, fuck, wanted to feel so full, missed you,” Bradley groaned, rutting into you slowly, relishing in your cries as his tip massaged at that sensitive spot within you. “Missed you too, pretty baby, feel so damn good around my cock”

Pulling down the cup of your bra, as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, Bradley started to thrust hard into you, needing his release so bad after being apart from you for so long. His other hand snuck down between your bodies, drawing tight circles on your clit. As you fell apart on him, he groaned deep in his throat, spilling all of himself into you.

“Fuck,” his voice was strangled as he collapsed on top of your body, chest heaving as he felt his cock pump the last of his seed into you, your soft moans gracing his ear as he kissed at your neck.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, rising up on his elbows to look at you. Tears were streaming down your face, but a smile was on your lips as you sniffled “I missed you so much, Roos,” your voice was small and vulnerable, and Bradley’s heart clenched. “I know, I’m so sorry, baby, I’m sorry,” he let his arms wrap tight around you, cradling you in his arms as he laid down on his back, taking you with him to rest on his chest.

“I love you,” he continued, pressing kisses all over your face as more tears fell from your eyes. You nuzzled your face into his chest, kissing softly over his heart “I love you too, Bradley. I’m so happy you came home to me,”

He smiled down at you, his hand drawing soft circles on your back. “You have no idea how happy I am to have you in my arms again,” he murmured lovingly, letting his nose rub softly against yours.

“Want to take a shower with me, baby? I’m Navy gross,” Rooster joked, kissing your lips softly. You nodded happily, placing soft kisses against his jawline before moving to stand up. Bradley kept close to you as you padded into the bathroom, always having a hand lingering on your skin, or his arms wrapped around you as you waited for the shower to turn warm, his lips attached to your shoulder and neck, pulling soft sighs of content from you.

Warm water engulfed the two of you, and Bradley sighed deeply as he felt his muscles relax gradually under the steam, low moans rumbling in his chest. “Are you hurt?” he looked down at your concerned face, and he smiled reassuringly “No, sweets, not hurt - just been crammed into the cockpit a lot,” he mumbled against your lips, letting his lips linger against yours, letting you take the lead this time.

Your arms wound around his neck, stretching your body out against his. Your tongue gently prodded at the seam of his lips, and he let you softly caress your tongue against his. At one point, the tip of his tongue fell between your plump lips, and you were quick enough to give it a soft suckle before letting it go - that drew a low moan from him, cock stirring again at the sensation.

“God, I’ve missed my beautiful girl,” he sighed softly as you broke away, still leaning your naked, wet body onto his as your fingers played with the wet hair at the nape of his neck. His hands caressed your sides, gently grasping at your tits every now and then, earning soft mewls from you. You kissed him lazily, feeling your body react to his touch so easily - he’d made you cum less than five minutes ago, and you were already feeling your core slick with arousal again.

“Please, baby,” Bradley pleaded against your mouth “Can I make you cum again, pretty girl?” nodding, you kissed him again, as he pressed your back into the cold tiles of the wall. His hand left it’s perch at your breast, caressing one of your thighs softly before hitching it over his hip, letting his thigh help support you as he used his other hand to cup your sex.

“Wet for me again, baby?” he cooed, smiling softly as he planted an open mouthed kiss against your mouth “Yes, all for you,” you sighed, feeling your body relax as he let his index rub slowly against your sensitive cunt.

“Have you missed my fingers, doll?” he hummed, letting one of his large fingers sink into you “Yes,” you mewled, letting your head tilt back against the tiles “Haven’t been able to get myself off since you left, Roos,” you pouted “couldn’t work myself with my fingers like you can,” you whispered, and Bradley groaned “Baby,” he moaned “you haven’t cum since I left you?” you shook your head, still pouting as that reality settled in.

“My poor baby,” he murmured, kissing at your neck, letting his finger sink in and out of you, your soft moans like music to his ears. “I’m home now, baby - I’ll take such good care of you, okay?” he reassured you, kissing your forehead, looking into your eyes, that held so much love and trust for him. You nodded mutely, and he knew you were thankful he was home, not only for him to take care of you like this.

“Feels so good when you touch me, Bradley” you moaned breathlessly as he added a second finger, the heel of his palm giving your clit just enough stimulation so it wasn’t overwhelming. “I always want to touch you, sweet girl,” Rooster replied, placing another sweet kiss to your swollen lips. As his pace picked up, you wound your fingers around his neck again, keeping his forehead pressed tight against yours as you felt that familiar tightness in your stomach.

Needy whines and whimpers fell from your lips as your breath stuttered and you tensed under Bradleys fingers “Shh, baby - it’s okay, let go for me, I’m here - I’ve got you. Give it to me, pretty baby,” he whispered against your lips, and that’s all it took for you to reach that high that had been building and building until it now finally snapped.

A long, drawn out, relaxed moan echoed over the sound of rushing water as you came on Bradley’s fingers, who were still pumping them slowly through your orgasm. “God, you’re so beautiful when you cum for me baby,” Rooster smiled, pecking your lips. You smiled, a little dazed from the high he just gave you. Bradley only smiled, slowly pulling you under the stream of water again, washing your body and hair with the products he knew you liked.

He made quick work of washing himself before he stepped out of the shower, retrieving two towels, quickly patting himself off and slinging the towel around his hips, before he gently wrapped the fluffy towel around your form as you exited the shower after him. He gingerly dried you off, taking his time to peck your lips every so often.

“C’mon, honey - should we heat up some food?”

As night fell, you found yourself perched in Bradley’s lap, talking softly about your time spent apart, eating the food Natasha had made sure you got, slowly sipping wine and sharing soft kisses.

“I love you,” Bradley mumbled for the umpteenth time, and still, your heart fluttered helplessly in your chest “I love you, too,” you smiled, placing a lingering kiss on his lips. Your hand was resting on his neck, sporadically stroking the hair there, alternating between small tugs and soft caresses. Reaching for a strawberry, Bradley slowly held it up against your lips, a small smile on his face that told you to indulge him.

He traced the strawberry slowly across your lips, pushing it between them, letting you nip the top off, before he brought the rest to his own mouth, biting off the rest. Reaching up, his lips captured yours in a kiss after he swallowed, tasting the sweet juice that lingered there.

The two of you sat cuddled in each others embrace for a long while, not wanting to succumb to the exhaustion that trickled into your minds - wanting to stay with each other. But ultimately, after your fifth yawn, Bradley slowly steered you towards the bedroom.

Climbing into bed, you whined at the loss off contact as Bradley rid himself of the robe he’d put on earlier, he smiled as he too climbed under the covers, turning the lights off before he quickly made his way over to you, letting his arms drape over your form.

“Please, don’t leave me,” you murmured sleepily as you snuggled into his embrace, and Bradley felt his heart lurch “No, I’m home now, sweetheart - I’m not leaving,” he kissed the top of your head softly, settling into the embrace and letting himself drift off to sleep.

It was one of those nights where neither of you got much rest, waking every so often to share soft sleepy kisses and whispered words of love. Sometimes you’d wake and find you’d rolled over to your side of the bed, and you’d have to seek out Bradley’s arms again to settle down, and likewise Bradley would find himself waking up every once in a while a little cold, seeing you sprawled out of his arms.

As moonlight filtered in through the windows, Bradley woke up once again, now spooning you. He blinked slowly, inhaling the scent of your hair before gingerly brushing it to the side to place soft kisses along the column of your neck. Your soft noise of pleasure told him you were in between sleep and consciousness too, and he gently sucked at the warm skin beneath his lips. Your hips instinctively canted backwards, your ass pressing into Bradley’s crotch, where his cock was already half hard from feeling your soft forms under his hands.

“Bradley,” your sleep ridden, needy whine had him groaning with pleasure “Yeah, baby?” his sleepy rasp shot straight to your core, and you licked your lips as his hand sneaked up to squeeze your tit. “Need you,” you confessed breathlessly, once again grinding your hips into his erection.

“Fuck…” his fingers pinched at your hardening nipple, drawing soft mewls from you as you ground your soaking cunt into him. Bradley’s lips ghosted over the bare skin of your shoulder as his fingers reached down to your pussy, spreading her open with his fingers to gather the slick there with his middle finger, circling your clit slowly as you moaned for him.

As a finger sunk into your wet core, you whined in frustration, brows furrowed and a pout forming on your lips “What’s wrong, pretty baby?” Rooster murmured against your skin “You okay?” you whimpered, needing something else, needing more. You squirmed a little as his fingers stilled “Do you want me to stop?” he kissed at your shoulder.

“No,” you felt petulant, almost, but in your sleepy state it was hard to pinpoint what it was. “Okay, baby” Bradley mumbled patiently, letting his fingers continue dragging against your slick walls, his thumb lazily circling your clit as you gathered your thoughts. “So pretty for me like this,” he spoke softly against your ear, catching your lobe in between his teeth, licking gently - making you whine again. “My pretty, pretty baby,” he breathed out, his fingers working in and out of your weeping cunt.

“Daddy,” you whined hesitantly, reaching your hand up to his hair, rocking yourself against his fingers. A drawn out moan flowed from Bradley’s parted lips, his body relaxing even more against yours, burrowing his face into your neck as he grunted, pressing his cock harder into your backside. His chest felt like it was exploding, his feelings catching in his throat, overwhelming him.

“Yes, daddy’s here, pretty baby, daddy’s got you,” Bradley’s voice was raw, his grip on you tighter as his fingers sank into you again. A soft sob tore from your throat as you cried out for him again “Daddy!” tears flowed freely now, and you were desperate to turn around, to see him. “I’m here, baby, I’m here,” Bradley cooed “Daddy’ll take such good care of you,” you nodded, a soft noise of agreement leaving your throat.

Your mind felt fuzzy as you relaxed in his strong arms, mewling as he cradled you, one hand softly massaging your breast, and the other slowly fucking into your pussy. His hand slowly retracted from it’s spot between your legs, before he pulled you up with him, settling you between his spread legs as his back rested against the headboard, and your back against his chest. Large hands graced your inner thighs, spreading them and splaying them over his own, kneading lovingly as your head fell back against his shoulder.

His fingers sank into your core again, his other hand tweaking your nipples and groping at your breasts. “Daddy,” you whimpered softly, squirming in his embrace “Hmm?” he tilted your head up towards his face, his fingers resting against your jaw as you moaned softly into him. He captured your soft lips in a slow kiss, swallowing all of your soft noises.

“Tell me what you need, sweet girl,” he whispered against your lips, his fingers still leisurely pumping in and out of you.

“Need you,” you licked your lips, nudging his nose with yours, needing to be so much closer to him. “You have me,” he smiled, placing another kiss to your parted lips. “Need you to fill me again, daddy,” you whimpered, clenching around his fingers at the thought.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, letting his fingers slip out of your slick heat, your legs still spread over his own. He held them up against your lips, and you eagerly sucked at his two fingers, swirling your tongue around them.

“Good girl.” Rooster praised, low in his throat, and he relished in the soft moan it pulled from your lips. Gently, he pulled you off of his chest, lifting you so you were facing him instead, guiding your legs apart with his own so that you were straddling him.

“You want daddy’s cock, is that it?” you nodded eagerly, licking your lips. “Want daddy to fill you up so good you forget your own name?” you closed your eyes and whimpered at the thought “Yes, daddy, please” you sounded so sweet for him, and he groaned softly. Taking his hard cock in his hand, he pumped himself slowly before helping you position yourself over him.

“Go on, sweets, take it,” he encouraged you as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your smaller hands settled on his broad shoulders, and slowly you sank down on his length, moaning at the stretching sensation.

As he bottomed out, you felt so stretched out, so filled to the brim by Bradley that you could barely think - your heart was pounding in your ears, breathing a little shallow as you took in the sensation of Bradley’s cock so deep in you, his pubic mound rubbing against your clit as you rutted your hips ever so slightly. The shooting pleasure made you shudder, and a small cry of ‘daddy’ left your lips again. You had slipped so quick, and it had been so long, you couldn’t quite grasp what to do to scratch the itch that you needed.

“C’mere, sweet girl, daddy’ll do the work,” Bradley rumbled, sitting up slightly, letting his arms circle your waist, hand splayed on your ribs as he slowly fucked into you. “That feel good, baby?” he murmured and you nodded “Uh-huh” biting your lip and squeezing at his shoulders.

“My little baby feeling so good stuffed full of daddy?” he was smiling, and it felt so good to see him smile at you, you were doing good. You nodded again, mewling softly and sighing in pleasure every time he bottomed out in you.

“Missed you, daddy,” you mumbled, letting your arms wind around his neck, his smile and his voice helping you out, your hips now moving in time with his thrusts. “Fuck, I missed all of you, fucking… beautiful girl, I love you,” Bradley moaned against your skin, overwhelmed by the emotion, overwhelmed that you gave your trust and love to him so quick, so freely after he’d been gone for so long.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he confessed softly, moaning as you pulled his face closer to your chest, letting him lick at your nipples as you rode him. “S’okay, daddy - I’m close too,” you murmured, tugging at his hair, the friction of his body against yours enough to have a slow heat flowing through you.

“I love you, daddy,” you moaned as Bradley rutted into you, his cock twitching as your core clenched around him “Fuck,” his voice sounded strangled as his hips stuttered, emptying himself into you for the second time that night. At the feeling of his hot seed coating your insides, feeling his cock so deep in your cunt, you came with a soft cry as Bradley held you in a tight embrace.

As you caught your breath, Bradley managed to scoot down so that he was lying, with you curled on top of him, fingers tracing sleepy patterns on his chest.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Bradley,” you sighed softly, kissing his sternum, and Bradley chuckled softly, humming slightly as he traced your spine with his fingers. “Should probably let you sleep,” he murmured and you nodded, already drifting off a little. “C’mon, should we clean you up?” he suggested but you shook your head. Morning would be here in only a little while. “Stay with me.” you said sleepily. “I am here, baby,”

“Sleep.” you mumbled “In me.” you pressed another kiss to his chest, laying your head down, letting your breathing even out. Bradley chuckled again, letting his hands rest on your back as he too closed his eyes.

“Whatever my pretty baby wants.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #my writing #smut

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bittersweetimaginings · 10 months

Note

Request for an Alex fic!

I've always wanted to see some heavy whump put on this character-

Maybe a sick fic?

Or just a senerio where he is hurt/exhausted/thirsty/hungry etc.

She/Her

Tired • Alex DeLarge

⚠️Content warning: Implied & mentions of t0xic relationship dynamics, ch3ating, Alex being an asshole (as always), mentions and mild descriptions of injuries, description of (consensual) s3x and cursing (yes, theres SMUT in this one).

*These characters do not belong to me, all rights to their respective owners, this is just a piece of entertainment by and for fans.

Summary: After one of his outings with his droogs, Alex finds himself being injured. As his long-time girlfriend you feel the urge to take care of him.

Reader’s pronouns: She/Her

Keys: Y/N = Your Name. Nadsat glossary.

Author’s notes: If you want to send your own request, please check the Disclaimers & Rules post and the MASTERLIST post to see more content and which characters are available.

This is somewhat of a continuation to this fic: “in the aftermath” or at least I wrote it with the same MC in mind! However, this time she is less submissive and has grown to be a bit more confrontational with Alex and his shit! But is not necessary to read the first one, this can be enjoyed as a standalone if you want!

I'm not here to judge why you are consuming this type of content (I'm the one doing the writing after all) I know from personal experience that this type of content (as weird as it sounds to some of you) might be used as a coping mechanism to a similar situation some of us might've experience or are currently experiencing irl; but just in case, I want to encourage you to reach for help, so please, if you're going through a tough time or experiencing some kind of violence, here are some resources that I was able to find and might be of help, please stay safe everyone:

List of countries and their helplines for d0m3stic abus3, s3xual as5ault and other resources.

List of other resources for immediate help.

List of countries and their respective helplines for su1cid3 prevention/crisis.

Consider donating to my Ko-fi!

"He's been in there all week! Barely eats, barely goes out...I might knock the door down and put an end to this worry!"

You hear Alex's mom tone through the phone slowly rising making her concerns quite apparent.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, I’m sure he’s fine, Ms.-”

“Y/N dear, wouldn’t it be possible for you to come by the house this mornin’?”

A slight pause is settled as you ponder her request. Truth be told, you haven’t talked with Alex much as of lately, the reason being you two breaking up (again) over him continuously flirting with another woman (again) and since you were already used to such behavior it wasn’t really the flirting that set you off (having Alex as your boyfriend had made you grown desensitized to many things), it was more the time and place that angered you, and though you knew you’ll get back together eventually, you had grown quite comfortable as a single woman, it was like allowing yourself a breather and would like to stay that way at least for a little bit longer...

“I don’t think-…"

“Please, dear...I- I noticed you and Alex haven’t talked much but maybe is time to patch things up?”

You fall silent. The lady on the other end of the line has always been kind and warm to you even when her kid really wasn’t. Though perceptive she’s unaware about the true nature of your relationship with her son, only knowing the brighter side of the whole ordeal, it’s natural that she asks for your help, believing you to be a positive influence in Alex’s chaotic life.

“Y/N?”

She asks; the undeniable worry dripping in her voice tugging at the heartstrings of your own weak and sensible heart, you comprehend her pain and to be quite honest...you had been worried too...after all it is hard to break old habits...

“I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished with school”

You announce with a heavy sigh, hoping you won’t regret it.

“Thank you dear! I appreciate it!”

[…]

The door to Alex’s home is right in front of you, the apartment is unusually quiet even knowing that his parents are most likely at work at this hour; you open the door with the spare key Alex gave you long ago and enter, his room it’s right down the hall of the apartment and before you knock there’s a slight hesitation as you wonder if this is really the best choice...maybe you can still turn back.

You measure your options and become unaware of the movement in the rotary combination lock and only come back to reality as the door suddenly springs open.

You haven’t seen his blue eyes in a couple of weeks, maybe that’s why you freeze in place as his surprised gaze meets yours, his brows narrow in confusion but soon a smirk on his face appears.

“Well, well! Hi, hi, hi there! ‘Been a long time, innit?”

He seemingly mocks you and visibly sizes you up with his eyes as he leans his body in the doorframe; it takes you a couple of blinks to get out of your trance and when you do you can’t help but feel angered at his smug attitude; you didn’t expect an apology, it’s been a long time since those stopped coming for every time he cheated. In fact, you don’t know what you expected...but definitely something better than this, your brows furrow and take a quick glance at him only to notice the state he’s in: bruises, most of them in the left side of his body, part of his chest on that side even seems quite swollen and some small superficial cuts on his right cheek.

“Something wrong?” he asks dryly

“You look like trash” the words come out of your mouth, hoping to hurt him even if just a bit, but instead he scoffs while leaning this time in your direction, his gaze looking for yours as he closes the distance.

“My, really?” his voice drops in to a suggestive but slightly threatening tone, mocking smile never leaving him.

The closeness of it all making you realize the man in front of you has been half naked from the beginning if only for a pair of underwear to cover him.

As you roll your eyes and aggressively walk into his room you hope your cheeks aren’t flushed in case, he decides to tease you any further. As you enter you notice the messy state of the room which strikes you as odd since you know Alex usually tries to very careful when it comes to it but you figured he might’ve just thrown a tantrum recently. Then you see Basil sitting calmly in his usual spot by the poster of a naked woman, you immediately approach it.

“Oh, hi there!” your baby voice coming through as you pet the top of the snake’s head.

You hear him walk and feel him right behind you, his chin eventually touches the top of your head, his arms wrap around your body just right below your breasts and although you’re still mad you don’t make any attempts to remove him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of viddying* you here?”

“Your mom called; said you wasn’t coming out of your room like some pathetic hermit. Figured it was serious if there was no record of you and the boys in the last few days”

“Were you worried then?”

“No” Yes, you were but won’t admit it so easily, he scoffs once more, he can see through you and as he holds you tighter, he bows his head just slightly to kiss your temple.

“Then...why is that you’re here? More than welcomed to ignore her, are you not?” Whispers in your ear and you only try to calm the goosebumps by focusing your attention ever harder on the reptile in front of you. You hear him laugh lowly at your reaction.

“My kisa*, you’re not being quite honest...” His declaration carries on with his mouth now traveling down your neck peppering small kisses. You hate how quick the urge of being all over him invades you, turning around quickly you reach to kiss him but as your hands rest on his chest for support he suddenly winces in pain and pushes you away.

“bloddy cal*!” he mumbles as he tries to soothe his pain by covering the affected area with his hand, though startled by his sudden action you take the time to examine what exactly is wrong. Walking towards him you place your hand over the one he holds defensibly, subtly asking him to lower it to which he complies.

Your hand explores the swollen side of his chest gently, it takes you a couple of minutes to realize the reason he is in pain:

“Jesus, Alex your rib is fucking broken!” his brows furrow once more in an annoyed expression as he hears you exclaim.

“Quite the sharp one are you, eh?” sarcasm present in his voice, maybe a bit bothered you didn’t notice it sooner.

The thought of asking “what happened?” crosses your mind, but seeing the state the room is in, you pick up on the fact that it might be a sore topic for him and you don’t want him throwing another tantrum as he might injure himself further; instead, you scoff at him in a mildly angered expression.

“Lay down, let’s treat it before it gets worse or Mr Deltoid finds out and questions you about it” you command and are satisfied with how quick he obeys at the mention of Mr Deltoid.

[...]

You surprise yourself with how many times you have helped Alex with his injuries it’s almost second nature to you at this point and though you pride yourself in your impeccable first-aid abilities you can’t help but see just how sad this really must be.

Alex lays on his bed, eyes closed and wearing a pained expression that you know comes from the sensation of cold he feels through the bandages you had applied in his chest moments before; you hold a frozen bag of peas covered with a random woman’s blouse you found lying in his bedroom and take note it is not one that belongs to you and most certainly not his mother...

“careful” he warns as he feels the pressure shifting; out of spite you disobey him and apply more pressure, making him wince once more.

“Ah! What you think you’re even doin’?!?!” in anger he almost sit up, but the pain knocks him back down.

“Asshole” you declare throwing the clothing item in his face, setting the frozen bag aside, you sit by his side as you try to calm your own frustration. Alex gets strangely quiet but doesn’t move a muscle at your sudden vent and there’s a brief silence before it breaks.

“You don’t need to take it so seriously” he says, seemingly in an attempt to comfort you without lying telling you that “it won’t happen again”

“...” you look at him in frustration, he looks back at you and even through his expression is serious at the beginning, a smile grows on him as he notices your gaze, probably taking pleasure in your aching in some way.

“C’mon, my pretty kisa, are you jealous?” he lightly tugs at the fabric of your dress as a way to secure your attention.

“You don’t know what I’m feeling” you mutter. It’s true, you’re not jealous, just tired of the same shit, yet he’s so sure of his assumption he chuckles at your denial. Holding your elbow, he guides you to lay beside him, you don’t fight his action, deep down wanting the comfort he extends.

“Now, now, my kisa, you can’t be jealous at some starry sooka who can’t even compare”

You sigh, already overwhelmed by his sweet-talk, you just want him to shut up.

“Don’t” he looks at you, one eyebrow raised in confusion as you interrupt him in the middle of his speech to kiss him lightly.

“I don’t want to hear it” you whisper as your voice seems to falter slightly by the lump in your throat.

He smiles his ever-dashing smile, those bright electrifying blue eyes staring at you with a hint of amusement, but this time you don’t really care about it.

He stares at your lips, holds the back of your head tightly and finally kisses you roughly, it’s hard for you to keep up with him when you feel so close to crying; none the less you continue, allowing yourself the opportunity to block everything out; right now you don’t want to think how bad he really is for you.

He caresses your leg, his hand lifting your dress allowing him easy access to your ass which he squeezes firmly enough to hurt you just slightly and as you react by throwing your head back to allowing yourself to moan, he quickly takes the space to kiss your neck this time even leaving a trail of bite marks on it and you make a mental note to find a way to cover those later.

You can feel his hand trying to unfasten the top part of your dress and so you help him, allowing for your exposed breasts to be tasted by him, you moan even harder when you feel him suck especially harsh on one of your nipples.

“Shit” you curse at him, this time you decide to get back at him by sliding your hand past his underwear and taking his cock in your hand making harsh up and down motions earning you a sudden grunt from him followed by a small laugh.

“Quite the baddiwad* are you, my kisa, eh?” He manages to let out in between all the groaning

Your only response comes in the form of a mocking smile, one similar to the many others he had given you

“I can be even worse” you declare, in an act of petty revenge you press lightly at his injured spot, just enough for the pain to leave him lying on his back once more as you act quickly and climb right on top of him, you make eye contact with him and can tell that he is not only surprised but curious to see where this new found side of you might lead him. You lower yourself until your entrance falls just above his length and start grinding on it. You moan along with his grunts; you can feel him trying to hold himself back from cuming right then and there by gripping your ass and thighs with so much force you can tell he’s trying to anchor himself.

You make a slight pause as you place your own underwear aside, leaving yourself partially exposed as your dress still hangs by your waist. You lower back onto him, this time allowing him to enter you; you watch as he looks at you with that beastly gaze of him, one full of determination and lust. Wasting no time, you begin riding him, but unlike many times before, this time you only care about your pleasure.

You can’t tell how many times you danced up and down his cock, whatever the number might be you fasten your own pace when you feel so close and finally you reach it, your head and body naturally lean forward asking for a kiss as you moan a random curse you can’t even remember now. He complies kissing you and allowing yourself a few seconds to catch your breath, but only that...seconds, as he grabs your hips and tries to replicate your movements from moments before.

But before he can do so, you act faster; pressing once more the sore spot on his chest he is thrown back in bed by the pain and you take the chance to come down from him, stand up, quickly fix your clothes and walk towards the door without allowing him any release.

You hear him curse at you behind your back and maybe make an attempt to grab you but instead you get the pleasure of slamming the door right in his face. As you bolt through the hallway and out of flatblock 18A where your long-time boyfriend lives, you smile to yourself.

It might be time for a change in your life...

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#a clockwork orange #alex delarge x reader #alex delarge

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valleydean · 2 years

Photo

Raise the Black - posting begins on 9/2/22

a deancas pirate au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) look out for this banner! playlist | ko-fi

SUMMARY: Nassau, 1717. Captain Dean Winchester of the Impala is a born and raised pirate, committed to disrupting commerce and civility on a global scale. After a battle at sea with the Royal Navy, Dean discovers a stowaway on his ship: Castiel Novak, an officer from Carolina with a secret. As their relationship grows, so does England’s determination to end piracy in the New World. This is the story of how men can become legends and how love can ignite a revolution.

READ THE FIRST SCENE:

Fifteen years ago 1702

The foremast was cracked, its splintering wood resembling jagged teeth. It had been the collateral of the first cannonball that hit the ship. A massive hole was ripped through the canvas sail, eliminating any prayer of outrunning the galley with its battered black flag shivering in the winds sweeping off the waves.

It wasn’t long before white smoke sat like thick fog over the deck, despite the sunlight winking on the sea. There was even less time before the pirate ship crashed into the starboard of the merchant vessel Castiel had boarded three days ago.

His father, mother, and sisters had waved to him from the docks in Charles Town as the ship sailed from the harbor, headed to England—a place Castiel had never been and had only heard stories about. But he was sixteen years of age now, and his father had been adamant that it was time for him to continue his schooling at the naval academy in London. As a soldier, his father said, Castiel could truly serve the empire.

As he’d watched the land sink into the wild blue depth, Castiel determined once and for all that he didn’t want to be in the Royal Navy, to fight for a crown and a country that was as foreign to him as the golden coasts of Africa and the forests of Asia. But his father was a navy man, as was his grandfather, and Castiel didn’t know what else he’d be.

“The sea is who you are,” his grandfather used to say. “It’s all there is.”

But, as the pirates with their painted bodies roared and chanted while jumping onto the ship, Castiel’s legs were still unsteady from the unfamiliar rock and sway of the waves. He wished he’d never left the land.

Shadows moved like specters through the smoke. The paltry crew of merchants unwisely put up a fight when they should have surrendered, most of them gutted for their efforts. Castiel heard their cries and shouts of the remaining English-bound passengers as they scattered—just as loud as the choking, gagging noises of the crew, the clanging of swords, and the ear splitting bang of bullets. All of it was so clear, unmuffled by the ghostly fog, and if not for that, Castiel might have been able to trick himself into thinking the smoke was a barrier. That all of it was happening on the other side of the wall, and he was safe from harm.

The quickening of his breath and the pressure over his heart knew differently. He stayed low, hidden from the pillagers as he made his way toward the hatch into the hull of the ship. He would go past the silks and tobacco stored there for trading, which is likely what the pirates were after. He’d find a place to hide in the afterhold.

Maybe his father would have been ashamed of him taking the coward’s way out, but survival seemed more strategic than failing to defend himself at the moment. He knew it the second the flags were raised on their assailants’ ship, and a shudder went through the merchant crew. “Black John,” one of the men had whispered in fear.

The newspapers detailed John Winchester’s crimes in detail. He was painted out to be more than a murderer; he might as well have been a kraken that had sprouted up from the deepest depths of the ocean. His crew was without mercy, without conscience. They never took captives, and they never left witnesses.

Castiel had often scoffed at the reports, calling them sensationalist attempts at vilifying pirates. However, right now, he wasn’t so convinced he’d been right.

A strangled shout came from close by, and a man stumbled backward before Castiel. There was a cutlass poking out of his gut akin to a stuck pig and he was coughing blood from his lips. Castiel froze, remaining crouched down next to the rail of the ship as the merchant hit the wood and slumped downward. The man wheezed, his glazed-over eyes searching Castiel beseechingly in an unanswered prayer. His head lolled. Dead.

Remorse bled through Castiel’s fear, telling him he should have helped the man. He should have been helping every innocent man and woman on that ship—whether it was brave or stupid or a little of both.

But all those people were as good as dead, himself included. Maybe the only brave and stupid thing to do was die. But the least he could do was take Black John and his crew with him.

He grabbed the cutlass and tore it from the merchant’s belly, the blade singing as it sliced through the air. The hatch wasn’t far, but the cannon and grenade smoke was thinning to let the light back in. He could make it if he moved quickly.

As swiftly as he could, he slid toward the hatch and slipped inside. He shut it behind him, the wood an inch above his nose, his feet planted on the planked stairs. Briefly, he allowed his eyes to slip closed, his breath loud against the hatch door. Beyond it, the screaming had mostly stopped. The pirates were calling for one another, some barking out orders, others with laughter in their tone.

He didn’t have much time.

Turning, he surveyed the barrels and trunks located in the hold. Oil lanterns swung from hooks, their flames no match for the dusty sunlight that streamed through the splintered wood where a cannonball had pierced the side of the hull.

He rushed to the first barrel he saw and used the cutlass to pry off the lid. A foul stench hit his nostrils. He covered his nose with his sleeve and looked in, finding a cask of whale blubber. It hadn’t been what he’d been searching for, but the odor meant it was old enough to be flammable and therefore would aid his cause. He pressed his back against the cask, heaving until it toppled over. The fat and sludge pooled sickly on the floor.

Panting, Castiel didn’t allow himself a moment to think. He caught sight of the barrels toward the back of the hull, away from any lanterns. A thrill of excitement and the stone-cold grip of dread battled inside of him. He snatched a lantern off its hook and made for the barrels nestled in the corner.

When he pried open the lid, his suspicions were confirmed. Gunpowder. There was enough of it to blow the entire ship to Kingdom Come.

Maybe he would never become a navy man like his father and grandfather. Maybe he’d never even make it to England. Maybe the ocean would be his grave, but he could swallow his fear.

Death by fire while surrounded by water. It might have been poetic.

“The sea is who you are,” his grandfather had said. Now, Castiel would never leave it.

Metal hinges creaked as the hatch opened up again. Instantly, Castiel’s bravado shirked away. He crouched behind the barrels.

His breath felt too loud in the small space as footsteps slowly clapped down the steps. In the patch of sunlight hitting the opposite wall from the cannonball hole, Castiel saw the shadow of a man. It stretched tall, filling the space like a painting on canvas. The pirate paused, likely seeing the toppled cask of whale blubber.

Then, after the short beat, the planks began to whine under the man’s boots again. Castiel bit down on his jaw, his fist tightening around his weapon. His heart skipped with every slow step the man took in his direction, as if he were true north and the pirate was the needle point of a compass.

He was close now, and Castiel knew he only had seconds before he was discovered. Until then, he had the element of surprise. He steeled himself in preparation—then jumped up, swinging the cutlass toward the pirate in an arc.

Metal hit metal with a reverberating clang. The pirate’s sword was locked against Castiel’s, and Castiel wasn’t certain if the man had it out already or if he’d been fast enough to pull it from its scabbard. Castiel hardly realized he was holding the lantern over the open barrel of gunpowder until time slowed.

The pirate before him was just a boy—around Castiel’s age, maybe a year older. He was tall, with short brown hair and freckles smattered on sunburned cheeks. There was blood splattered on his frock coat, on his neck and collar. But the first thing Castiel noticed was his eyes.

The sunlight cut a line across the pirate’s face, lighting his eyes up like treasured emeralds.

His gaze traveled to where their swords met, then flickered to the lantern Castiel was holding over the gunpowder. His hardened expression softened somewhat at that, like he was either humored or impressed.

Castiel tried to keep his arm from shaking. All he had to do was release his fingers, let the lantern fall. They’d all be dead. He kept himself steady, kept his face firm and threatening. He’d do it. He knew, deep down, he’d do it if he had to.

He should have done it already.

But then a slow, lopsided grin formed on the pirate’s face. His green eyes swept back up to meet Castiel’s.

It was unnerving. And something else, too. While he held the pirate’s stare, Castiel didn’t know how to place the emotion skimming over him like fingers causing ripples in a still pool.

Then, a booming, rough voice called in from the hatch, breaking the trance. A shadow suddenly blocked out the light from above. “Dean! See anything?”

The pirate—Dean—kept looking at Castiel with curiosity, but the smile snapped off his face. He pulled his shoulders back, standing straighter.

And that was it. Castiel was a dead man. His fingers twitched, ready to open his fist and blow them up.

But then Dean called back, “No.”

His voice was as gritty as sand, as big as the Atlantic.

Castiel’s grip tightened more around the handle of the lantern.

“There’s nothing down here!” Dean went on.

Castiel didn’t know if Dean was being sincere. He narrowed his eyes, trying to puzzle the pirate out.

“What?” the voice from above called, and Castiel got the creeping suspicion it belonged to John Winchester himself.

“Info must’a been wrong,” Dean told him. He winked at Castiel, some of his mischievous smile returning. Castiel’s chest collapsed in what he told himself was relief. “Hull’s empty. Guess they planned on loading inventory at the next port.”

There was a pause. And then, “Damn it. Alright, let’s go.” The shadow over the hatch disappeared, and Black John called out to the rest of his men: “Move out! Back to the ship…” His words were lost to the wind.

Dean stepped back, lowering his blade away from Castiel’s. Castiel dropped his sword arm, unaware until that moment how much tension his muscles had been under. His eyes flashed to the lantern before suspiciously moving back to Dean. He decided to keep the flame hovering over the gunpowder, just in case.

But Dean kept backing up toward the stairs.

Castiel wanted to stop him, to ask him why Dean had spared his life. Briefly, he wondered if Dean would ask him to join the pirate crew. Castiel had heard such stories: of pirates giving their captives the option to join them on the open sea.

Later, Castiel told himself the answer would have been a resounding no if he’d been asked. But in that moment, and for many years, he knew in the most secret part of himself that it wasn’t quite true.

It didn’t matter. Dean never asked.

When he was far enough away, Dean turned and rushed back up the stairs, then out of view altogether.

Above, Castiel became aware of the footsteps on the deck. He looked at the lantern, knowing there was still time to kill whatever pirates were left on board. To kill Dean.

He couldn’t do it. Dean had spared his life, after all.

And Castiel still didn’t know why. Maybe he would never know.

He lowered the lantern and listened until the footsteps petered out, leaving him alone on a hulk of a ship full of ruin and blood. Alone. But alive.

Part of him wanted to rush above deck and watch the pirates’ black flag disappear into the horizon. He wondered if he’d catch one last glimpse of green eyes.

/////

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myelocin · 3 years

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Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

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commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.” To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

The rest of the night flows easy.

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.

Then he moved.

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.

Because after that, friends turned into something more.

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.

It’s been there, so here it still is.

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.

It hits you that it’s been a long day.

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.

Then again, you had always been one for truth.

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”

His grandfather wastes no second in countering. “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau. “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.

I love you, it reads.

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.

What stays is what’s rooted.

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.

Steady, present, and timeless.

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

Tokyo

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments. Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

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keiyoomi · 3 years

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Hello

How are you doing ??

If its possible can you make the 13 + william james moriarty? Ty

“What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime!”

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“What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime!”

Maybe you were expecting him to always be in a perfect condition. But in reality, despite his intelligent mind that seems to see what the future holds, he’s still human who could be vulnerable to any diseases.

“What happened to the immortal William James Moriarty?” you asked while moving in an exagerrated way.

Louis, Moran, and even Fred ignored your actions. Actually, Fred walked away when you began reciting some ridiculous lines in front of William’s door. Bond, well. he* was touched by how you care for William, until she remembered some of those lines you’ve recited.

“Y/N, you can just enter his room,” Old Man Jack, William’s teacher and as well as yours, said while smiling at you. “I’m glad to see you in person instead of just reading your name on the newspaper.”

You grinned. “Teacher, do you want me to pester you again like I used to do?”

“You rascal,” he said with affection. He ruffled your hair and smiled gently at you. “Go on now. Take this to that stubborn child.”

“I will, teacher.” You took the tray from his hand before knocking on the door. Ah, no. Barging inside Little Wil’s dark and gloomy room. “Oh, Willy!”

Much to your dismay, he was already sitting on his bed with a frown on his face. His scarley eyes were displeased and if it wasn’t for his throbbing head, he would’ve probably attacked you with his sharp dagger by the time you open the door.

“Oh come on.” You made your way towards him and settled the tray on his lap. “I thought you’d welcome me with your lanky arms wide open.”

“Yes, I will definitely do that. Before wringing your neck after not showing yourself for years.”

You cluck your tongue upon hearing him whine. “I apologize for making a name for myself.”

“And you’ve successfully done that. But you’ve also gained enemies that is beyond your capabilities!” Then, he cough. You rubbed his back to calm him down, but it seemed to fan his rage. “What would you do if they hire someone to catch and torture you? Or worse, kill you?”

You looked down on your lap as guilt seeped through your being. To be honest, you didn’t pay much attention to the consequences of your actions. Robbing those wealthy, yet heartless nobles helped thousands of people all over the country. There were orphanages, public hospitals, and even smart individuals that you’ve managed to support for years. In a way, you’ve managed to save their lives. In your own twisted, yet good way.

But as you glanced at your childhood friend’s direction, you suddenly feel guilty for your selfless actions.

“I haven’t...” You rubbed the back of your neck. “...thought of that. Not yet, at least.”

“See?!” He grabbed your hand, as tight as he could. “Stay here until I’m feeling better.”

“That’s what I’m planning to do.”

“And stay here until I tell you to leave.”

“Huh?” You looked at him with disbelief. “What are you talking about? No.”

He rubbed his forehead, as if to relieve his headache. “Let’s further discuss this issue once I’m better.”

“This Phantom’s doctor’s fee would cost you your fortune!”

“Will you take this more seriously or would you prefer if Phantom disappears permanently?”

You kept your mouth shut.

Will glanced at you as you frown. For the first time, in a long while, he finally won against your stubborness. And this wouldn’t be the last time.

He’ll win this war of stubborness against you.

Whether by hook or by crook!

#keiyoomi: does impulsive shits #keiyoomi: fluff #moriarty the patriot imagine #moriarty the patriot scenarios #moriarty the patriot imagines #moriarty the patriot x reader #william james moriarty x reader #moriarty anime #william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader fluff #yuukoku no moriarty scenario #yuukoku no moriarty scenarios #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty

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dennou-translations · 3 years

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Violet Evergarden: Booklet 3

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. If anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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At that moment, I found myself thinking, “Aah, maybe if I disappeared, if I vanished right now, nobody would notice.”

Once I thought this, I could no longer think of anything else.

Before I realized, my hands and feet had moved. I slowly moved my whole body and left that place behind.

Nobody called for. Nobody tried to stop me.

Which was why I was now hiding. I was in a corner of a maze of roses in the royal palace of this forest kingdom.

I looked up at the sky. It was overcast. The air was a little heavy, so there was a chance of rain.

Was anyone looking for me by now? No, they might not have noticed. I could bet a hundred of Drossel’s white camellias that they hadn’t. “That wouldn’t be a bet,” someone said from within my mind.

——What will happen to me if I just stay here like this?

I tried to think calmly. Firstly, I would get hungry. My body would get bitten by insects. The sky was looking shady, so rain might come pouring down on me. I would get a fever from the cold, and then... and then... and then...

The power of my imagination was scarce, so the scenario ended there.

Stretching out my dress’s sleeves and removing my long gloves, I plucked the grass with a bare hand. Picking up some rose petals that had fallen to the ground, I threw them into the air even though they would not fly too far. I looked almost like a child trying to contain her bad mood. Most likely, if anyone saw me, they would wonder what on earth the queen of Fluegel was doing.

Why had I grown up to be like this? All I ever did was think big of small matters and be in a state of chaos. It was such a weak mindset, which people most likely wouldn’t expect to come from someone born in a family that was meant to rule a country.

“Members of the royal family are actually not supposed to expose their original selves. Under no circumstance should you forget that you must act with dignity and be a role model to your subjects.”

Even though I had already become a wife, I behaved like a little girl.

“However...”

I had experienced a romance like the ones that young girls dream with.

“...from my long time working in the court...”

I fell in love and won my beloved lord over.

“...these have been the most memorable Public Love Letters. Yes... in a good sense.”

After running and running, I was now living the aftermath of that.

My name is Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel. Already a year had passed ever since I married off to Fluegel.

Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel and the Forest Kingdom

Drossel and Fluegel – no matter what could happen to these two nations in the future, they had me as their intermediary princess. If I happened to die in this rose labyrinth without anybody ever finding me, I wanted someone to remember that.

As to why things had turned out like this, I’d have to rewind my life a little to explain. I had to mix up the cauldron of time that made the hours pass.

How far back was I supposed to go?

That beautiful golden-haired girl. My favorite. The ghostwriter who had become a mediator for my romance.

Rewinding to the times of Violet Evergarden’s Public Love Letters would be going back too far. It should be a bit later. Perhaps the appropriate would be around the time when I, who was once the third princess of Drossel – that beautiful country where white camellias bloomed in copious amounts –, went away and changed my surname. Yes, right, that was adequate enough.

Fluegel was a neighboring country of prosperous forestry. I was married to the man who had the priority rights to succeeding its throne. Letting go of everything that I had cherished until then, I married off.

I had transformed from a girl into an adult. Although my appearance hadn’t changed much, that was my status.

My husband was Damian Baldur Fluegel. He was the person who possessed the rights of succession as the next monarch at the beginning of our marriage, but a few days ago, he had inherited the throne from his father and become a king both in name and reality. In other words, I had become the queen as well.

Probably the worst queen in history. After all, I had run away.

Let me try to trace the rewound time with exact precision.

Fluegel’s capital was a city of fresh greenery, which had a castle erected in the depths of a forest. Said royal palace couldn’t be considered sturdy or showy, but it was in perfect harmony with the nature, endowed with a calculated beauty. Unlike Drossel, a country that maintained itself through the tourism industry, Fluegel had much of its national interest shouldered by its forestry. Drossel’s national flower was the white camellia, while Fluegel’s was the red rose.

The two countries were separated by a large river, but one would be tempted to wonder how they could be so different.

Differences were by no means a bad thing. After all, Lord Damian and I had met because we had been raised in such different cultures. That was exactly why I became attracted to Lord Damian’s… albeit artless, uninhibited personality, which was so unlike that of the royals from Drossel and other nations...

Yes, “differences” were not bad. But the so-called “differences”... how should I put it? When they weren’t tolerated, instead viewed as an absence of profits and effort, they would turn into a really bad thing.

Most likely, that was what made me the way I was now.

Was this an excuse? It might be. But that was how it was. That was it.

At first, my life in Fluegel didn’t go well.

Becoming used to even small differences in habit was extremely difficult for me, which caused the chamberlain to sigh often. He was someone who deserved respect for having taken care of Lord Damian’s personal matters for quite a long time.

There was no mistaking that I was in a position higher than his, but I soon understood that he looked down on me. One could tell as much by things such as the movements of the other’s eyes and their attitude.

The chamberlain would tell me: “That is not the way we do it in Fluegel”, “This is for your protection. You will be criticized otherwise. Now, fix yourself up”, “I have said this several times, but...”

I didn’t think I was some idiot. I believed myself to be the kind of girl who could do well if I put my mind into it. But I had to admit that I was a very unstable crybaby.

The differences such as the ones that the chamberlain talked about were, for example, the order in which people were seated at meals, how to lift my dress when hopping into a carriage, and other minute details like that. If I were told such things back in Drossel, I was positive that I could internalize it in the first try. After that, I definitely wouldn’t repeat the mistake. But the moment I tried to do it in this foreign country that I wasn’t familiar with, being watched by the monitoring eyes of someone that didn’t have me in his favor, I ended up failing. It was almost as if I were inducing the failure on my own. What was this phenomenon?

The chamberlain most likely knew this as well. He knew it, and even then he would sigh and speak in a detached manner while watching me go pale. There was nothing good in it for either of us, yet we would find ourselves repeating this vicious cycle.

To be honest, we were so incapable of getting along that the desire to jump off from one of the Fluegel castle’s windows as retaliation surged from within me. However, I had no choice but to keep going. Because I was a newcomer and that person was an elder.

If I didn’t get used to this, it would be the end of me.

Right, and there was also the tea party. The flow of the Cauldron of Time had finally returned to the present.

It all had begun… from the chamberlain suggesting that if I, who had become the queen, held a tea party, I would certainly make myself known as someone who shines like the stars in the night sky. He gave a long speech about my authority as a queen being this and that. That detestable chamberlain.

I did like tea parties, but even after being in Fluegel for a year, I wasn’t able to find myself anyone that I could consider close to me, so I frankly didn’t like the idea. I hadn’t gotten myself anyone to be on friendly terms with, so rather than a display of my power, wouldn’t this be deemed as more of a public execution for me?

Ever since I had arrived here, I was in the position of a foreign princess who had a political marriage with Lord Damian, so both the royal family that I had joined and the people who took care of me were somewhat distant… To make things worse, I was the very person who had tainted the traditional event of the Public Love Letters. People were wary of me as an unprecedented princess.

I had seen that Fluegel had a liberal aspect to it and wasn’t too bound by formalities in comparison to Drossel, but when it came to the royal family, that was a different story.

Whenever I passed the corridors of the royal palace, I could hear one name being whispered. Everyone would have faint smiles on their faces. “Baby Princess” was what they called me.

The one who came up with it was Lord Damian’s younger sister or something. Indeed, I had childish facial features and I was the girl who had married for love, so there was no helping that I would be mocked like this.

Receiving a nickname and having it made into a title meant that it was ingrained in people. Once a knight earned himself an alias, others would expect him to have a conduct that was worthy of it. In that same manner, no matter what I, Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel, might say… I lived in Fluegel as the princess whom everyone would giggle at.

Whenever I made a mistake, “it’s because she’s a child”. If I happened to rush towards Lord Damian, “it’s because she’s a child”. Whenever I said anything, “it’s because she’s a child”.

If there was some magic spell that could turn me into a twenty-year-old right now, I would have taken it. It’d be great if I could instantly grab ahold of my dignity in a way that nobody would complain. But that was something that people had to be awarded to through the years, along with their efforts...

I might have been the Baby Princess today as well – the day of the tea party.

The chamberlain was in awfully high spirits, which one way or another was an omen for misfortune. I was watching from my bedroom as the elderly man briskly instructed the people around him.

From the room where I stayed with Lord Damian, I could see the castle’s garden, the rose maze that started from the garden’s entrance veering to the side, and the castle town. Back when we had just married, we used to often gaze outside the window together, but now we couldn’t even talk for more than five minutes.

Ever since succeeding the throne, Lord Damian was truly busy. He would be working while I waited for him in our room; by the time that I woke up, he would be by my side without me having realized it; as I stretched the creases that formed between his eyebrows while he was dreaming, he would wake up all of a sudden and then head off to the royal office again.

I was depressed since morning, because why did I have to hold a tea party while my husband was working so indiscriminately? But, well, this was also part of my duties. It was important for me to mingle with other women from a social status similar to mine. The trust earned from them would help not just me but also Lord Damian.

Those who controlled factions also had control of politics. Yes, yes, I knew that much. I had to do this exactly because things weren’t going well. In order to level up my speech skills, I had to start from taking up a stance. As my position was becoming worse, if I could get around here well, I would increase my authority in the royal territory without having to recreate myself.

I understood the reasoning behind this. What the chamberlain said was correct. He was implicitly telling me to do right, and I was the one at fault for not managing it...

The tea party was held in the garden outside at the arranged time.

There were people that I hadn’t seen ever since my wedding ceremony, whom I greeted while turning my head around at an incredible speed. Whenever someone sprinkled the subject of political affairs here and there, I’d throw it back at them with a smile, literally tearing apart and flinging away whatever came at me on repeat. Although the scene actually looked like a peaceful conversation, under the surface, I, the queen, was being evaluated, so this was a battle.

I thought I had done a really strenuous effort up until the middle of it. Instilling the impression that “My, so maybe the Baby Princess isn’t a bad person and is surprisingly smart when she talks?” was quite a success. The signs that I could make them deem me as worthy of standing by Lord Damian’s side were becoming visible. However, the very moment that Her Highness, the King’s young her sister, appeared in the tea party, everything I had set up crumbled down at once.

She was pretty late from the scheduled time – rather, she suddenly showed up when it was already ending.

Although she was close to me in age, she had a very adult appearance and was an awfully beautiful person. Renowned as one of Fluegel’s talented women, she was also involved with the National Assembly, and told us that she had rushed over because the meeting had ended just now. I had not yet been allowed to attend the meetings even though I was the queen, so I was terribly jealous... and a little miserable.

Of course, whatever had been discussed there became the topic, which Her Highness told the women present, explaining in a simplified manner. What a wonderful person she was.

Regardless, it felt like this was going to end as Her Highness’s tea party, even though it was mine. Well, that was okay too. Rather, it might be easier if there was someone to take the initiative to talk like this. I had a bug where I couldn’t speak very well to people whom I wasn’t close to, so I decided to leave it to her.

Despite this being a tea party, I hadn’t eaten anything, so I had the feeling that I would get hungry in the evening. I wondered what we would have for dinner.

Just like that, half of my soul disappeared somewhere else, so I didn’t notice that the subject had changed from state affairs to the next successor to the throne.

“Queen, are you listening? If things continue the way they are, there will be no helping it if a concubine is appointed.”

Since I hadn’t noticed it, I couldn’t react right away, even as I took the tremendous brutality of those words to the face. This had happened just a moment ago, so I didn’t remember very well what kind of reaction I’d had. I had the feeling that I had responded with a somewhat sluggish reply such as “aah” or “eeh”... much like the way that living creatures cried for the first time upon being born.

I could immediately tell that Her Highness wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

“It is because you are so laidback like this that the King has to fight the national affairs alone. You still intend to be here as a guest, not doing what you have to do, so everyone has to hold back and nobody can speak up their opinions. Talk more. Be more useful to the country. Most important of all, it has already been a year, yet nothing has been reported to us. Are you seriously discussing the succession with the King? If this goes on, someone will suggest a concubine for him.”

With such words thrown at me in sequence, I—I had... I had a thought. That perhaps she was trying to make me lose heart. Wasn’t I being attacked right now?

I looked around. Nobody attempted to open their mouths in order to defend me. There was no one. I had no one.

All of them were waiting for my reaction.

I knew this situation. I knew it very well. I wasn’t being treated as a person at the moment. My personality was being denied as well. The dignity that should be granted to the human being named Charlotte wasn’t being taken into account.

However, I didn’t break. Why?

Because I was used to being neglected.

“Yes, I am truly doing a poor job. I believe it is as you say.”

I was smiling.

“However, it has not yet been decided what will be my part of the work and what will be the King’s, as we are in the process of deciding on it as a couple.”

I was smiling mockingly.

“Now that I have talked to all of you like this, I have concluded I should propose my thoughts to the parliament slowly, little by little.”

I was... smiling.

“I was the princess of my country. But now, I am the queen of Fluegel. I did not intend to be here in the position of guest, but it is true that I was restraining myself. But is that not the same for all of you? I am aware. Everyone has been... well, surrounding me from a distance and looking after me. I was fretting, as it would have been better for you to tell me more directly if there was anything wrong... By all means, I would like to have a frank exchange of opinions with you in the future... and I hope that we can help each other... as fellow women.”

This was laughable.

Her Highness was appalled. So was everyone else. She must have spoken so conflictingly due to thinking that it was sure to make me start crying.

I wanted her to stop saying such stupid things. I was the former third princess of Drossel. Did she know what kind of country that was? It was a country where it was okay for women to become political tools. We were by no means granted the position to act freely like she did. As the shadows so-called “women”, we had no choice but earnestly do whatever we could.

I was born in a country were women were consumed and worn down. To top it off, I had been raised mostly by courtiers, away from my biological parents. I hadn’t seen my mother in forever.

Exhausted as a result of her marriage of convenience, Mother had Father build her a palace and secluded herself in it all day long every day. She did show up at the wedding ceremony, but she hadn’t even sent me a single letter after I had married off. She had probably already forgotten that she had given birth to me.

But that was the country I had been born in. I had been raised by one of this country’s strong women – a carefully selected, tough woman. This person patiently educated me, even though my aptitude wasn’t good. She explained things to me over and over again. She scolded me a lot. She taught me so that I would be able to marry anyone and live anywhere. She had also predicted that a situation like this might happen. So she told me how to act during a quarrel with other women.

That was why I smiled at times like these.

My looks weren’t bad. I was no idiot. I knew what effects I would bring about if I smiled. There was little that I could do, but I was going to be the one firing the best shot here.

I was a crybaby. I was a weakling. I was lonely.

However, I had been taught well. No matter what, I couldn’t lose in times like these. I knew that much.

I had been protected through the erasure of my personality.

That day’s tea party was over right then, and thanks to the chamberlain saying that it would soon be time to bring it to a close, it ended well.

At a later date, my feud or whatever with Her Highness would become a rumor around the royal palace, but that was a story of the future. In any case, it was over for now. Therefore, I was extremely relieved.

The chamberlain let me return to my room unusually early and consoled me with a “you must be tired”. “You were excellent today,” he told me. Enveloping my shaky palms in his hands, which had wrinkles just like Alberta’s, he warmed them up. “No matter what happens, do not forget that you have one ally,” he said.

From that, I understood a little something. That he, indeed, worried about me in his own way. I wasn’t fond of his way of doing things, but he had struggled as much as he could in order to do something to improve my position.

He had seen what I had gone through today, so he was commending my brave fight. I had been subjected to violence today. I had been told such terrible things. Even though I—I...

I was in love with Lord Damian.

Both Drossel and Fluegel were aware of this. The citizens of both kingdoms knew it. And yet, aah, how embarrassing. But everyone knew.

I was in love with that person. I was in love.

“You have not sired a child after a year, so there might be need for a concubine. Therefore, if such a woman appears, you should accept it,” she said, despite knowing how much it would hurt me.

I was told off. I was told off by the younger sister of the object of my affections. That was what she said to me.

“Thank you, but please, let me be alone.”

I still managed to keep my smile up, but as soon as I drove the chamberlain out of the room, the tears overflowed torrentially and I couldn’t stop them.

There should be things more painful than that out there in the world. I looked like a fool for crying because of something like this. But right now, I was feeling like the most pitiful person in the world. I wanted to return to Drossel. I wanted to go home to Drossel.

No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it.

I wanted to go back to the person who would always allowed me to cry, no matter how much I did so. The person who would stay by my side.

“Alberta...”

I wanted to go back to Alberta.

I knew it was stupid of me. But when I thought that a day might come when Lord Damian, my husband – the object of my affections –, would take another woman aside from me, it was so painful. My chest hurt – it hurt so much that it was hard to breathe. So I couldn’t contain my cries.

I wondered what had gone wrong.

Was it because I had started clamming up, since the chamberlain would always hammer me down by saying, “That kind of unheard-of behavior is not allowed here”, so I couldn’t speak the way I wanted to? Or was it because I was late to find out that not assertively addressing the royal family was bad manners, since I was in a position where I had to wait for people to talk to me first back in Drossel?

Perhaps it was everything.

Apparently, Fluegel hadn’t taken in a princess from abroad in the last sixty years, so maybe it was already difficult for them to accept a foreign object like me in the first place. Things would probably have been different if I were a great woman – yes, a woman like Her Highness –, yet I had nothing but tears. Still, was I such a horrible person that I had to be told such things?

Aah, nothing – just nothing. Nothing was working out. It might be that nothing would go well from now on too.

This thought swiftly made its way into my heart.

All of a sudden, I was able to clearly hear the sounds around me. The noises of someone walking, the whistling of the wind outside, my own breathing. The way that the tears fell down as they dripped from my eyelashes, the way that I was suddenly looking at myself in a holistic manner.

Yes, perhaps things would never work out from now onward. If so, then...

Then, shouldn’t I run away?

Several questions – such as to where, with whom and to do what – came to me, but I ignored them. I had probably broken down at that point.

I dropped my own heart, which I had been cherishing as much as possible in order for it not to break, onto my feet. I had the feeling that I heard a clank when doing so.