༻a.s.h.l.e.y༺

Your bones creaked and snapped with each flap of your powerful wings as you gasped for air. Each breath you drew in felt like you were swallowing a thousand suns, but you had to push through the pain. You had to make it to Bradley.

By now, the Daggers and others on the boat would be coming to terms with the fact that you were dead. In a way, you already were. Transforming to save Bradley would seal your fate.

You accept it.

You could see him struggling, just up ahead, desperately trying to slow his decent. You flew fast towards him, stretching out your arms, reaching for him desperately before—thwack— his chest collided with yours as you pulled him close to you.

Normally, his weight wouldn't be an issue for you. But you were so weak. You struggled to hold onto him. You looked around. Frantically hoping for some place to land. You caught sight of some cliffs, just on the horizon. You could make it. You had to make it.

You beat your wings harder. Trying to get to the cliffs before your body gave out and you returned to mortal form. They were getting closer and closer, but as you approached, you could feel your power slipping. The flames surrounding you snuffed out. Dark spots clouded your vision before everything went black.

.............

A smokey, bloody cough and the sound of Bradley's voice slowly brought you back to consciousness. You could feel your body swaying. The light hurt your eyes as you slowly opened them, letting out a groan of pain. Glancing to the side, you could see that you were tangled in the ropes of Bradley's parachute. Looking up, you could see that the two of you were snagged in some stray branches growing out of the cliff you'd tried to fly to.

"Angel, hey, there you are. There's my girl." Bradley said as he smiled down at you. You focused on him, trying to check his counter, but it seemed as if it was glitching, flickering between the fifty years he'd had when you first met him, and just over thirty minutes.

As you watch the times change, never settling on one, you realized two things. One, a choice that Bradley would make in the next half hour would determine his fate. And two, that choice had to do with you.

"No." You breathed out, fighting to keep your eyes open. "They won't make it in time."

"Bradley, Love." You croaked out. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. "I'm right here, Honey. I can't reach you to untangle you. Just stay still. I triggered my ESAT tracker. Search and Rescue will find us and get us home." Bradley assured you.

That's when you knew what choice Bradley would have to make. There was no way you'd live long enough to be rescued, and you didn't have faith in the ability of the branches you two were tangled in to hold both your weights. Your arms were pinned to your sides. There was no way for you to cut yourself free. Bradley was going to have to.

Bradley was going to have to let you die.

"What do you mean. We're fine as long as we don't disturb these branches holding us." Bradley says, his voice wavering slightly.

"There's not enough time." You say as a violent cough racks your body as you struggle to breathe. Blood sputters out of your mouth and splatters on your face, and Bradley's cheek."

"Hades? You're hurt! Just hang on, everything will be okay!" Bradley cries out. He uses your real name. It's funny, really. It's been so long that you almost forgot what it sounded like when he said it.

"I'm not hurt, Bradley. I'm dying." You say in as soothing a tone as you can manage.

"No, you can't know that. You're a Goddess. Mortal things aren't supposed to hurt you!" Bradley tries to argue back.

"Bradley, Love, I've been keeping something from you." You sigh, about to come clean. " A few weeks ago, for the first time, I saw my own lifetime counter. It showed me I had a few months left. I was going to die on my birthday. Minthe came to visit me and said that the Fates told her my lifeline was crumbling because I spent too much time on Earth and because I was tethered to a mortal." You tell him. He swallows thickly.

"Minthe said I could ask Hera and Aphroditie to cut my tether to you, but I refused to. The Fates said if I completed my quest for worthiness, I'd be resorted. I thought I would be able to figure things out before something bad happened. But I didn't." You chuckle before coughing again.

"Minthe also warned me that if I turned into my true form, it would take too much of the life force I had left, and it would kill me." You tell him.

"Why—why didn't you tell me?" Bradley asks you. You see the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"Because you would have told me to cut my tether to you. To go complete my quest. That being with you wasn't worth my life." You shake your head. Bradley opens his mouth but quickly shuts it again because he knows you're right.

"But you're wrong about that, Bradley. That my life is more important than loving you. Because the truth is Love, I didn't have a life before I loved you. I was living, but I wasn't alive." You smile at him. "You gave me purpose."

Bradley smiles and lets out a small sob. "Why did you save me? Why did you save me knowing that it would kill you?" Bradley asks you tearfully. "You're my reason for living. You're my purpose, Bradley. Now that I've lived in a world with you in it, I couldn't imagine one without you. You're worth more to me than immortality." You tell him truthfully. "I love you."

"I love you too, Angel. There has to be a way to fix this. I can't lose you." Bradley sobs.

"It's okay, Love. I've accepted my fate." You sigh. "Bradley, I have had more than a hundred lifetimes. I have done and seen so much. And even though I have been alive so long, this is the first lifetime I have truly lived in. This is the only one I have enjoyed. I have loved and been loved by someone. I have made friends and been a friend to many, and most importantly, I learned to love who I was and that I am enough. You and our friends have given me more than I ever could have imagined." You say as you feel your own tears streaming down your face.

"I am not afraid to die, Bradley. And you shouldn't be afraid for me either. I know I'll be okay, and you will be too." You smile at him. "How am I supposed to live without you?" Bradley asks you, desperation in his voice.

"I'll always be with you. I promise." You assure him.

The wind blows the two of you, and you hear the creak of some branches snapping.

"There's not much time left, Love. I can't do it myself." You tell him as you struggle to try and reach your dagger.

"Can't do what?" Bradley asks you, panic in his voice.

"These branches can't hold us both. And I can't reach my dagger. Bradley, I need you to get the knife out of your boot and cut me free." You tell him. Horror flashes across his face.

"No. No! No, no, no, no! You can't ask me to do that, I won't!" He shouts through tears.

"Bradley, you have to. If you don't, we both die. And it's not your time, Love." You tell him.

"Hades—please don't make me." He cries.

"I wouldn't if there was any other way." You try to comfort him.

"It's okay. I promise. This is my choice. It's my choice." You assure him. "But—" He stutters.

"So much of my life has been decided for me. I've only really gotten to choose two things for myself. Loving you and my own death. I don't regret either of them. Please, Bradley. I need you to cut the rope." You try to persuade him.

You hold eye contact with him for what feels like ages before he slowly reaches for knife. You keep telling him it's okay over and over again as tears stain both of your faces.

"Love, before I go, I need you to promise me something." You say to him. "Anything." He tells you.

He moves to grab one of ropes, holding you. He drags the blade over it a few times before it snaps, and you drop a few inches. He repeats it three more times. When he gets to the last rope, you stop him.

"You have fifty years, six months, three weeks, five days, and eighteen hours left. Promise me I won't see you in the Underworld a second, too soon." You say to him. It feels odd saying his time out loud. You've never told him before.

"Hade—Angel—I" He trails off.

"Promise me, Bradley." You insist.

"I promise." He finally relents.

"Thank you. I love you. Remember, this isn't goodbye, this is see you later." You weep.

Bradley moves his knife to cut the final rope. Tears spill from both of your faces as you whisper "I love yous" to each other over and over again until the final stroke of his blade.

You don't feel yourself falling. It feels more like flying than anything. You look up just in time to see Bradley's time go back up on his counter, and you smile.

You stretch your arms out wide, accepting your fate as the air rushes around you. You're not scared. For probably the first time in all your centuries of life, you're at peace. You don't dread dying. You've been around death so much that it feels more like a memory, like an old friend welcoming you home.

You don't feel yourself hit the water. You don't feel the icy sting of it. Instead, you feel warm all over, like being wrapped in a blanket. You don't feel the water filling your lungs. Instead, you focus on watching the sunlight overhead start fading, more and more, until it all goes black.

............

The knife falls from Bradley's had as he tries to reach for the ropes attached to you, immediately regretting what he'd done. But it was useless. The cord slipped through his fingers as he cried out your name.

He could feel his heart breaking as he watched you fall further and further down. It shattered the moment he heard you hit the water.

Bradley was forced to dangled there, alone, staring at the waves you disappeared under for another two hours until he was rescued.

His eyes were red and practically swollen shut from the tears he cried. His throat was raw, and his voice gone from screaming in agony.

Maverick was waiting for him on the chopper. All it took was one look at him, and Maverick knew that Bradley knew you were dead. Only Maverick didn't know you died in front of him. He assumed that Bradley saw your jet explode. That's what everyone thought.

Maybe it was for the best, though. How would Bradley ever explain the truth?

When the rescue helicopter landed on the carrier, there were no cheers or victory celebrations. Instead, the Daggers, Cyclone, Warlock, and several others stood on the flight deck, all wearing matching somber expressions.

Maverick got off first. Bradley followed. His large frame practically dwarfed his uncle as he leaned on him for support. Hangman and Bob quickly rushed to his side, each grabbing an arm to help hold him up.

"Rooster—I—Bradley—I'm so sorry." Jake is the first to speak. "It's my fault. I'm so, so sorry." His voice cracks.

"It's not your fault, Jake. She knew the risk. We all did. She made her choice. We can't change it. All we can do is accept it and prove ourselves deserving of her sacrifice." Bradley tells him before wrapping his arms around Jake and letting out another sob and dropping to his knees on the flight deck.

It takes the Daggers and Maverick almost an hour to get Bradley back to his bunk. And even though it's beyond cramped, none of them dare leave Bradley alone. They're all too afraid of what he might do if he's by himself.

Maverick sits beside him on his bed. And even though it's small, Bradley manages to curl up with his head in Maverick's lap as the tears silently stream down his face. Maverick runs his fingers through Bradley's hair, trying to soothe him. It's the same thing he did back when he was a kid after Goose's death.

Maverick has to fight his own tears. He feels so bad for Bradley. Almost everyone he has ever loved is dead. Maverick knows he is the only family Bradley has left. He worries about what will happen to Bradley after he's gone. You were supposed to be there for him. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

...............

The rest of the deployment goes by in a blur for Bradley.

He's numb to everything around him. He doesn't remember debriefing about the mission. He just goes through the motion.

When they finally get back home, Maverick drives him to your house.

Penny and Amelia are there waiting for them with Hydra and Cerberus. When Bradley walks through the door, the two animals immediately rush to greet him. Bradley walks by them and sits down as they both stare at the door, waiting for you to walk in.

"She's not coming home. She's never coming home again." He tells them as he chokes back another sob.

Hydra and Cerberus each whine before coming over to the couch and sitting with Bradley. "She's gone, Hydra. She's not coming back, Cerby." Bradley tries to explain to him. He doesn't know if they understand yet, but he knows they can tell something is wrong. They don't leave his side for the rest of the evening. Not even as Penny makes dinner and cleans up or as Maverick makes himself comfortable in one of the guest rooms.

Neither of them leave Bradley's side as he trudges up the stairs to shower, nor do they leave when he flops onto the bed and burries his face in your pillow.

They are still there when Maverick rushes in later that night because Bradley woke up screaming from yet another nightmare.

He doesn't go back to sleep after that because every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you, falling to your death and all he can think about is what he could have done differently.

.............

You thought you might have been in pain when you first woke up in the Underworld, or maybe cold. You'd never thought to ask the souls that stood before you waiting for judgment what it was like when they first found themselves there. It never occurred to you that you might be in their shoes one day.

But you certainly didn't expect to feel smooth silk sheets under your fingertips or a velvet pillow under your head. Nor did you think you'd be in such a pleasant, calm space. But that's exactly where you were as you slowly regained consciousness.

You sat up and stretched your arms out and discovered that your hair had been braided and you were wearing a flowing white gown with a gold belt around your waist.

"Is this what happened to everyone when they died?" You wondered.

You sat up from the bed you were laying on tentatively putting your bare feet on the floor. Taking stock of yourself, you were thankful to find that you still had all of your tattoos, the anklet from Bradley, and your wedding ring, but something felt off. You couldn't quite place it.

Standing up, you looked around the room only to realize that you weren't alone. There was a man standing a few feet away, looking out a window.

"Hello?" You called out to him timidly. He whipped around, and the tension from your body immediately melted away as you recognized him

"Poseidon! Brother!" You cried running to hug him. "Hades! Sister, you're awake!" He sounded startled as you jumped into his arms.

You pulled back and smiled at him, happy to see the brother you cared for and the only person from Olympus you actually missed.

"Si, it is truly wonderful to see you. Oh, how I have missed your brother!" You said as you hugged him tighter.

"Hay, I have missed you too, sister. You are truly a sight for sore eyes." He smiled down at you.

"Si, as happy as I am to see you, I'm curious as to why you're here." You tell him. "What you mean?" He asks you.

"I mean, why are you in the Underworld Poseidon? Why are you not with the others?" You ask him. He furrows his brow before he realizes what's happening.

Poseidon takes your hands in his, and both of you sit down at a stool in front of the window. "Hades, dear sister, we are not in the Underworld. You have been restored. We are on Olympus. Welcome home."

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Resolving that you weren't going to get any more sleep, you rolled out of bed and stretched before meandering into the shower. Without Bradley in there with you, you felt the anxiety of being around water creeping in, causing you to spend less time in there than you would have liked.

You got out and dried yourself off before dragging your hand across the mirror to clear the steam.

You froze as you stared at your reflection.

There, looking back at you, was something you'd only see on other people. The neat row of numbers ticking away just above your head.

A lifetime counter.

How was this possible? You were a Goddess, never meant to die. But there, right above your brow, was the proof that you would. And what was worse is you didn't have much time. A few months. After doing the math, you realized your time would run out on your birthday. You'd barely get six months of marriage with Bradley.

You just didn't understand. It didn't make sense. But then you thought back to the cut from the mug at his aunts house. The soreness in your muscles. The fatigue you had. The bruises that seemed to come from nowhere that took ages to fade.

Something was wrong, and you needed answers.

You threw on some clothes and raced to your kitchen.

You grabbed a sprig of mint and quickly lit it. Moments later, Minthe appeared before you with worry written on her face.

"Hades." She breathed out as she took your hands. "I have horrible news, my lady."

"I'm dying." You say before she can speak again.

"How? How do you know?" Minthe asks. "I saw a lifetime counter above my head. I'm going to die on my birthday. But I don't understand. How is this possible? I thought I had one lifeline left." You say.

"Hecate and I weren't sure either. We were doing our regular check of the lifelines when we came across yours, and well—simply put, it's crumbling. It's very similar to when a mortal has a disease that kills them slowly rather than a fast snip of the line." Minthe explains to you.

"But I'm immune to mortal diseases." You insist. "Yes, we know that, which it was why we found it so strange. So we immediately consulted the Fates, and well—" Minthe sighs.

"What did they say?" You press her. "They said your lifeline is crumbling because you've spent too much time away from the Underworld and because—because you're married and tethered to a mortal." Minthe looks at you with sad eyes.

You swallow thickly. "So, if I go back to the Underworld, turn into my true form for a bit, that would help restore it?" You ask her.

"No!" She shouts at you. "Turning back into your true form takes so much of your strength. It would kill you!" She says. "The— for lack of a better term— best solution would be to ask Hera and Aphroditie to cut your tether with Bradley. That would give you enough time to complete your quest of worthiness."

"No." You state firmly. "I will not be doing that. Bradley is one of the few good things I have in my life. He is the first person to truly love me. He is my soulmates, and I will not cut our tether. If loving him means the end of my life, so be it." You tell Minthe.

.............

"I understand, my lady. Hecate and I will see what we can do to help stop your line from crumbling. But for now, please he careful. I do not wish to see you back home unless you are sitting on your throne." Minthe says. She takes your hands and gives them a squeeze before hugging you and disappearing, leaving only the smell of mint behind.

The rest of the day, you wrestled your inner demons on whether or not you should tell Bradley. On one hand, he deserved to know. But on the other, him knowing that he was the reason you were dying, it would kill him. So, you decided not to tell him, at least not yet.

You'd give yourself a few weeks to figure it out.

You could tell that someone was wrong the moment you and Bradley stepped onto base Monday morning. The air was charged with negativity.

You'd no sooner made it through the doors of the building before you were being pulled into a briefing room with Cyclone, Maverick, and Warlock.

"Gentleman," you began, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Commander Bradshaw," Cyclone cleared his throat, "we have credible intelligence that there is a cargo ship in the Pacific right now that is bringing a large amount of illegal weapons a bomb making materials to a nation that doesn't have our best interests at heart. It's currently being escorted by a foreign Naval aircraft carrier, which provides surveillance for it. We have been asked to take a small team out to destroy both the cargo ship and the carrier." He tells you.

"Admiral, when I came here, it was for a teaching position. I was brought here to train the next generation of aviators and to take the Daggers from good to the best. I did not come here to lead another death-wish mission." You say.

"Hades. We aren't asking you to lead the mission." Maverick chimes in. "Then what are you asking me?" You turn towards him.

"We are asking you how you would fly it. What would you do." Warlock tells you as he pulls up a graphic. You study the picture in go over the scenarios in your head.

"You're going to need five jets. Three singles and two doubles." You say after a long while. "Why?" Cyclone asks you.

A single and a double to drop a coordinated bomb strike on the cargo ship at the same time another pair strikes the aircraft carrier and then a single to provide back up in case you're spotted before taking them out and they launch their own airstrike." You reply.

They shake their heads, whispering amongst themselves.

"And of the Daggers, who would you pick to fly this?" Warlock asks you.

"Hangman, Coyote, Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. Rooster as mission leader." You tell them.

"And why Rooster for mission leader?" Cyclone asks you. "Because he listens. He cares. He looks out for the whole team." You tell them.

"Well then, who would fly as the spare?"

"Me. Obviously." You say without hesitation.

"Commander Bradshaw, I'm sure you're well aware of Navy regulations and why you can't do that." Cyclone sighs.

"Admiral, with all due respect, I don't give a fuck about the Navy regulations." You chuckle. Everyone's eyes go wide.

"With the information you've given me, there is no way that our planes aren't spotted before delivering the payload. The other carrier will have time to launch aircrafts. The Daggers are going to need a spare ready to launch and go straight into a dogfight or tactical position. Who else has more experience in that than me? Furthermore, there is not a pilot, living or dead, in the Navy that's better than me. I'm not sending my friends and my husband into a situation like this without the best possible backup." You state.

"Well, Hades. If you're the best pilot in the Navy, why are you not naming yourself as the mission leader?" Cyclone challenges you.

"For the same reason you never put your best batter first in the lineup, you need someone to clean up the mess everyone else makes." You lean back in your chair.

"Commander Bradshaw, while your reasoning is sound. I can not send you on a mission of this caliber with your husband. I'm already bending the rules by keeping you on the same squadron!" Cyclone tells you sternly.

"Then I guess you'll have to find another squadron to fly this mission, sir." You chuckle.

"Excuse me?" Cyclone grits out, surging forward in his chair.

"Admiral Simpson, as you know, I have thirteen confirmed kills and zero failed missions. Do you know what thirteen confirmed kills and no mission failures get you in the Navy?" You ask him as you cock you head to the side. The men across from you are silent, their eyes fixed on you.

"I'll tell you what it gets you. It gets you a lot of friends. Powerful friends who are grateful for your work and owe you a favor. And I won't hesitate to go to one of those friends who out ranks you cash in one of those favors. Face it, you need me and the Daggers to fly this mission because no one else is as good as we are. So, either you bend the rules even more, or we all walk away. Your choice, Simpy." You click your tongue before crossing your arms.

You can see the rage in Cyclone's eyes. He knows you're right. Everyone in the room knows you're right. Cyclone holds eye contact with you, waiting for you to break, to call your bluff. But you're a goddamm Goddess who has never bowed down to a mortal and you're not about to start now.

"Fine." Cyclone breathes out when he realizes you're not bluffing. "I thought you'd see it my way, Admiral. Now, when do we leave?" You ask the men in the room.

"Friday. We will tell the rest of the Daggers today. That means every moment from now until we ship out is spent training. Is that understood?" Admiral Bates says.

"Understood. Now, if there isn't nothing else, I'd like to be dismissed to regroup with the rest of my team." Bates nods his head once, and you get up and exit the room.

..............

The news of mission doesn't settle well with the Daggers. You can tell they feel under prepared and caught off guard. You sympathize with them. Being given a mission of this caliber on such short notice, it's scary.

The car ride home with Bradley is silent. Neither of you know what to say.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur.

Soon, you're standing in a parking lot holding your husband's hand as you watch the rest of the Daggers, and the crew say goodbye to their loved ones.

Reuben holds his wife close, and Bob kisses his wife while cradling his son in his arms. Mickey's mom and dad hug him while Nat and Javy say goodbye to both of their families. Jake's girlfriend Jasmine clings to him as he buries his face in her natural curls and kisses her head. Maverick and Penny whisper hushed and tearful goodbyes before breaking apart and boarding behind you and Bradley.

You wish you could go up to all of the families that your friends are leaving behind and tell them that they are all going to be okay. You've checked. You know. The only person who might not come back for this mission is you. You'll keep them safe. You vow that to yourself.

You've decided to still not tell Bradley about your impending death. He has enough on his plate. You know that you probably aren't supposed to, but the two of you share a bunk. And even though the bed inside it is barely big enough for Bradley, every night, you're crammed in there with him, practically on top of him, soaking in every moment the two of you have together.

The night before the misson, you and the rest of the Daggers gather in the mess hall. You eat and talk, and it's almost carefree. But you and everyone else no better than to let your guard down.

That night, in that shared, cramped bunk, Bradley makes love to you like it's the last time he will ever get to hold you, and you love him back just as hard and just as fierce and with every ounce of your soul.

It's the early hours of the morning when the two of you finish. You both know you should sleep, but neither of you can.

"Everyone is going to make it. Right?" Bradley asks you as the two of you lay naked in the dark. You turn on your side using his tattooed bicep as a pillow. He drapes your leg over his hip and begins to trace the lines and patterns of your tattoos that he knows so well. Including the rooster that now adorns your hip.

"Yes. I promise." You say trying to make eye contact with him. It's dark, but you can still see the lines of his face relax. "I wish we could tell them, tell their families." Bradley says. "I know, me too." You agree.

Bradley cups your chin and brings your lips to his, and kisses you tenderly. "Why'd you name me mission leader?" He asks you. You'd been waiting for that question. "Because you're the best person for the job. You'll take care of everyone." You tell him. He opens his mouth to speak, maybe to argue with you, but a yawn comes out instead.

You both agree that you should rest. You need to be sharp for tomorrow.

A few minutes later, Bradley is fast asleep. Soft snores fall from his lips. You lay there in the darkness, gently tracing over his features. His forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his scars. You're committing all of them to memory just in case. Your lifetime counter hasn't changed, but you can't shake the feeling in the pit of your stomach that this is the last time you'll hold Bradley in your arms.

..............

The salt air stings your face as you stand on the deck of the carrier with your helmet in your arms. The sea breeze whips the stray strands of hair that refuse to stay pulled back around your face.

You and the rest of the squad have gone over the plan and your planes more times than you can count.

You hear a siren indicating that it's almost time. Everyone starts scrambling on deck. Bradley finds you and grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to face him.

You linger at the side of your jet, looking at your name, Cmdr. Y/N 'Hades' Bradshaw, in the thick, black, and blocky letters.

"We all come home." He says. "What?" You ask him, looking confused.

"We all come home." He emphasizes. You know exactly what he means when he says that. Bradley has your number. He knows that you wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice yourself for him or the others if it came down to it.

"Bradley—" You breathed out, but he cuts you off.

"No buts, Angel. We all come home. Six planes in, six planes out." He leaves no room for argument. "We are leaving this boat with eight souls. We are coming back with eight of them, too." Bradley says, as if speaking it into the universe will somehow make it true.

You check his counter. It's still got the same fifty years it had earlier today. You sigh and nod your head, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

................

Sitting in your plane as you listened to what was happening in the mission was torture. So far, everything was going according to plan.

Overwatch hadn't picked up anything unusual, and the weather made flying smooth. Maybe you were wrong, and maybe you wouldn't even have to deploy, and everyone would land back on the carrier safely, and they would unload you out of the catapult and tonight you and Bradley would stay up having wild celebratory sex.

But the idea of all of that was soon banished from your mind as you heard Coyote call about a rouge strike team.

You lowered the canopy, ready to be launched at a moments notice.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, beating so loud it filled your ears to the point that you almost didn't hear Cyclone screaming for you to launch.

You did so quickly. Your F/A- 18 sliced through the air as you pushed the throttle forward on your way to rescue your team. You were a few minutes out, and you could hear them calling out moves and counter moves to help each other stay safe.

Hangman was out of out of flares, and you could hear Bradley saying that he was coming to cover him. The closer you got to the team, the more smoke and gunfire you could see.

You quickly lined up a shot before sending a missle through the plane of one of the bandits that was on Phoenix. She and Bob thanked you as you circled back around. You directed them to head back to the boat and for Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy to follow them. You would help Bradley and Jake. There was only one other plane and you knew you could take them.

Jake called out desperately that he was out of ammo and missiles, and Bradley was almost out of flares. Thankfully, you were able to force the pilot of the enemy plane near some cliffs of some tiny island that ran along the shores' edge.

It confused their navigation enough for you to take them out. Quickly, you, Bradley, and Jake all made your way back towards the safety of the carrier while breathing a sigh of relief.

Only, it was short-lived because moments later, another bandit was on Jake's tail.

Before you could do anything, Bradley swooped in to protect him, using the last of his flares to throw the missile attack of, giving Jake time to fly ahead to safety, leaving Bradley with the bandit on his tail.

You were out of missiles and down to a few rounds of ammo left, but them enemy was locked on and so close to Bradley that if you fired, you might risk taking out your husband. You didn't know what to do.

Then, before you could think of a plan, you hear Bradley cry out that the other pilot and missile lock on him, and he had no way to deflect it.

You told him to quickly get as much altitude as he could. Bradley listened and jetted back up towards the clouds, giving you a chance to fire at the other pilot.

But you weren't fast enough. The enemy pilot was able to fire a final shot before plummeting into the water below. The shot was just close enough to clip the tail of Bradley's plane causing him to lose control.

You screamed for him to eject, panic setting in because you couldn't see his lifetime counter. You had no clue if this was the end for him. All you could think about was how it wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Thankfully, you heard Bradley eject and saw him burst from his cockpit before seeing the bright orange of his chute open.

But as he fell, you realized he was falling too fast. His parachute was tangled. If you didn't do something, he would surely crash into the sea below and die.

So, you ignored the warning that Minthe gave you because you knew what you had to do. You didn't think. You acted as you let the fire of your true goddess form burn through your veins one final time.

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The thought of having one never crossed your mind. Buying a house meant staying somewhere. It was a physical representation of permanence. Something you never had before.

But now, with Bradley, your husband, you wanted a place for the two of you. A place to raise your future family because you were done running. You'd found your place in this world.

You scrolled and scrolled until you found the perfect house. It was a four bedroom colonial. Two stories, fenced in backyard, and a large front porch. It had a pool, which you weren't thrilled about, but you knew Bradley would love.

It was in a quiet neighborhood in Coronado. The house had hardwood floors throughout, and the listing said it had been newly remodeled, which was evident in the pictures.

The outside had beautiful landscaping, which complimented the lime-washed brick of the exterior. The only drawback was the price. For most, it would deter them, but for you, who'd spent over a thousand years saving and investing on earth, it was a drop in the bucket.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you filled in your information to set up a meeting to tour the house at ten in the morning. You didn't want to tell Bradley because it's not something the two of you had talked about, but it felt so right.

So, in the morning, you told him you had some errands to run and a surprise for him when you returned.

When you came back home around two that afternoon, you were giddy with excitement. "Love, pack a bag." You announced to Bradley as you came through the door.

"For?" He asked you with a raised eyebrow.

"For Virginia Beach. I figured we might as well take advantage of this time off that we have. I know you've been wanting to go home for a bit, and I'd love to see where you grew up. So, I made a few calls, worked out a few things, and I booked us two first class tickets. Our flight leaves at five. You announce proudly as you go to your bedroom and pull out some suitcases and start packing.

"Woah, babe, slow down. What about Hyrda and Cerberus?" Bradley asks as you toss clothes at him.

"Penny agreed to pet sit for us." You tell him.

"Well, what about a place to stay? I normally stay with my aunt, but I can't just spring this on her." Bradley asks you concerned.

"Bradley, it wounds me that you don't have faith in me." You mock him as you turn around to face him for the first time. "I got us a hotel. Everything is taken care of. Now start packing!" You scold him as you return to your suitcase.

Bradley exhales, knowing that it's fruitless to argue with you. So, he relents and starts packing alongside you.

An hour and a half later, the two of you are being dropped off at the airport. You decided to Uber rather than leave either of your vehicles there.

The moment you get your bags out, a young man greets both of you. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw. I can take your things for you, and then you can follow me to the lounge."

Bradley looks a little surprised but hands your luggage over. The two of you follow the steward to the first class lounge and take a seat before getting a drink.

Bradley looks around as he settles into the plush chair with a glass of expensive scotch. "This is something else." He remarks. "Have you never flown first class?" You ask him.

"Never. When I fly commercial, I always try to upgrade to business because I'm too big to fit comfortably in economy." He shrugs his shoulders and continues to look around.

"You know, I sometimes forget that you're like, wealthy from being around so long. But then you buy me fancy watches and first-class plane tickets and I remember." Bradley chuckles.

"Bradley, Love." You lean forward in your chair. "I'm not wealthy. We are wealthy. You're my husband. For better or worse, what's mine is yours." You remind him.

"If you say so—still—it's a lot to take in." He sighs as he checks the time on his aforementioned expensive watch that you bought him.

A little while later, the two of you are on the plane tucked into your first class suite with all the bells and whistles, complete with lie-flat seats and a door.

Bradley is engrossed in finding out what all the buttons do when a flight attendant comes by with two glasses of champagne as you wait for take off.

"We didn't order these." Bradley says, but you pat his shoulder and chuckle. "They are complimentary. Perks of first class." You smile at him before grabbing the glasses and toasting. Minutes later, a dinner menu appears, and Bradley marvels at all of the choices, unable to decide.

You lean back in your chair and watch him over the rim of your glass. He's like a kid in a candy store. It warms your heart that you are able to give him all of this. You thought maybe completing your quest for worthiness was your purpose in life, but looking at your husband, you realize loving him is your true purpose.

The roughly six hour flight goes smoothly. After dinner, your suite is converted to a bed so you and Bradley can get some sleep. However, the two of you decide that joining the mile-high club was a better idea. You came with Bradley's hand firmly covering your mouth and his chest pressed against your back with him whispering absolutely filthy praises in your ear about how you were such a good girl for him.

By the time the two of you made it to your hotel late that evening, you were both thoroughly exhausted. You took a quick shower together before curling up to get some much needed sleep before meeting his family tomorrow.

....................

You woke up the next day extremely nervous.

Today, you would meet Carole's sister, Bradley's Aunt Marsha, her husband Tom, and their three children.

While the two of you were getting dressed, Bradley could sense that you were worried. The entire drive there in your rental car, he assured you that they would love you, and everything would be fine.

You felt nauseous as he pulled into their driveway. His aunt and uncle had a lovely home, and Bradley told you that they were great people, but this was all new to you.

You held his hand tightly as you climbed the couple of steps that led to the front door. Bradley rang the doorbell, and the two of you patiently waited for someone to answer. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze just before the door opened, and a lovely middle-aged woman with short blonde hair opened the door.

"Oh my goodness! Bradley! What are you doing here?!" The woman, who you knew had to be his aunt because she looked just like Carole, exclaimed as she pulled him in for a hug before cupping his face. She hadn't noticed you yet.

"Hey, Aunt Marsha! I had a few days off, so I thought I would fly out here and surprise you. I also wanted to introduce you to someone." Bradley said as you pulled you closer to him. "Y/N, this is my Aunt Marsha. Aunt Marsha, this is Y/N, my wife." Bradley smiled.

Bradley's aunt stood there silently for a moment before a wide grin spread across her face. You turned her head over her shoulder and called into her home. "Tom, Conner, Alyssa, Maddie, meet me in the living room. Bradley is here, and he brought his wife!"

Marsha ushers the two of you inside and directs you to her living room, where you sit down on the sofa.

"Marsha, what are you going on about?" And older gentleman, whom you assume is her husband, comes into room holding a cup of coffee before stopping in his tracks when he spies you and Bradley sitting on couch. You aren't sure what to do, so you shyly wave at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, Bradley's cousin burst into the room. "Mom, what do you mean Bradley brought his—" a tall boy who has blonde curls similar to Bradley's stops short when he sees the two of you. "—Wife." He finishes in a choked tone. The two girls stand there silently, each mirroring their father's shocked expression with wide eyes and mouthed slightly agape.

Marsha stands up and scolds her husband and children. "Don't just stand there, introduce yourselves!"

All at once, the four of them move toward you. You and Bradley both stand up, and you shake hands with his Uncle Tom and his cousins Conner, Alyssa, and Maddie. You a sit back down, and there is an awkward silence in the room.

"Well, Y/N, tell us about yourself, honey." Bradley's aunt breaks the silence as she brings in cups of coffee for all of you. You take the mug and take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm a pilot like Bradley is, I'm originally from North Carolina. I'm thrity-one. I'm Greek. I have a dog and a cat, my rank is Commander, I graduated from the Naval Academy, and my parents passed away when I was nineteen. Oh, and my call sign is Hades." You say, telling them what you'd practiced on the drive over here.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry to hear about your folks." Marsha says. "It's fine, Mrs. Edwards." You shrug your shoulders. Bradley's aunt shakes her head.

"Mrs. Edwards is my mother in law. I'm Marsha or Aunt Marsha, whichever you prefer. We are family now." She smiles at you coming to sit by you on the couch and resting her hands over yours.

"Aren't you just the most beautiful woman. If there's one thing those Bradshaw boys can do, it's pick a beautiful wife. My goodness Bradley, she is gorgeous." Marsha compliments you. "Thank you." You smile back at her. "And she went to the Academy and is a Commander. That means she outrank you, doesn't it?" Marsha asks him.

"She sure does." Bradley chuckles. "Beautiful and smart. No wonder you couldn't stop talking about her when you came out to Maddie's graduation!" Marsha laughs, and Bradley blushes. You turn to him a quirk an eyebrow.

"Oh, honey, you should have heard him. He wouldn't stop talking about you!" Aunt Marsha says. "So, tell me the story, how did you two meet and all that jazz?" She asks you.

"Bradley was assigned to be my wingman, and we became friends and found out by accident that we were neighbors. We kind of danced around the fact that we liked each other for a while until Bradley asked me out on a date on my birthday. We went out the next day. Dinner and the boardwalk amusement park. He won me a stuffed shark!" You cheer as you tell them.

"Then Bradley got hurt, and I convinced him to move in with me, and last week, he proposed, and we eloped on the beach." You say, leaving out some of the more supernatural details before showing her your ring.

"This was your mother's ring, wasn't it?" Marsha asks with a few tears in her eyes. "Yes, yes, it was." Bradley says to her.

"She and Nick would have loved you." Marsha smiles at you. "You know, I never met two people who were more perfect for each other than my sister and Goose. You know he proposed after four dates. I guess when you know you know. I know Carole never loved anyone else after him. I hope they found each other in the afterlife and are happy together." Marsha sighs.

"They are." You sigh, and she looks at you confused. "I mean—I'm sure they are. Bradley has told me so much about them." You recover quickly. Marsha sighs before getting up to take your coffee cups. You offer to help her and follow her dutifully into the kitchen. You set the mugs down on the counter and turn to ask Marsha if she'd like help washing them.

But as you turn, your elbow catches the handle of one, and it crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. "Oh no! I'm so sorry! Let me clean it up!" You drop to your knees to grab the broken fragments of ceramic. A sharp piece catches your index finger and you wince, drawing back at the pain.

You bring your finger up to examine yourself and notice the fresh, crimson blood leaking out of the cut. Your eyes go wide with shock. This isn't supposed to happen.

"Are you okay, dear? Here, let me get the broom." Marsha says as she scoops you to your feet and sweeps up the mess. "I'm so sorry." You say to her again.

"Oh, honey, don't you worry. There's a hundred more where that came from. Do you need a bandage? Come over to the sink and grab a stool, I'll clean you up." She says.

"I'm fine." You assure her as you wash the blood from your hands.

Hours later, you and Bradley's family, well, your family now, are gathered around the dining room tabled eating. The cut and dropped mug from earlier long forgotten.

The atmosphere is warm and welcoming and it's nice to sit down and have a family dinner where everyone wants you around.

It's nice to have a real family.

That night, when the two of you leave, Marsha and Tom insist that they have enough room for the two of you to sleep over, but Bradley tells them you already have a hotel room. His aunt makes you promise to come over again before you leave so she can show you some photo albums of Bradley through the years. When you return the next day, you spend hours flipping through them with her. Bradley blushes every time Marsha shows you one that he deems embarrassing, but you love every minute of it.

The two of you spend the next few days exploring. The day before you're set to leave, Bradley takes you to the graveyard where his parents are buried.

As you drive into the cemetery in your rented car, you hold tight to Bradley's hand. Afraid of what might happen if you don't.

He drives up a hill and stops at the top, pulling the car over to the shoulder and shutting off the engine. You both unbuckle, but you reach for his arm before exiting. "Bradley, wait," you say, catching him by the elbow.

"What's wrong, Angel?" He asks you with a soft expression. "I just—I just need to do something before we go out there. C'mere." You say to him as you pull him closer.

You lean over the console of the rental car and thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of Bradley's neck before pressing your foreheads together. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths hoping that your idea works.

You break apart and look down, and a smile graces your features as you see what you were hoping to see.

"What was that about?" Bradley questions you. "I was seeing if we were tethered." You tell him. He cocks an eyebrow, still unsure.

"Graveyards and one of the places that I can easily travel back to the Underworld. When I'm in my true goddess form, I can see the portals inside them. But when I'm in my mortal form, I can't. If I would accidentally pass through one, I don't know if I would be strong enough to make it back. But if I'm tethered to you, I have something connecting me here to the mortal world. It keeps me safe." You explain to him.

"How do you know we are tethered?" Bradley asks. "Look at your ring. You should be able to see it." Bradley looks down, and there's a gold string running between the two of you. "Holy shit." He breathes out. "How—how is that possible? How can I see this?"

"Because you're the King of the Underworld. And as much as I never thought they existed, Bradley, you're my soulmate. Only soulmates can be tethered. It's how they find each other in the afterlife." You explain to him.

"But, but I thought you said we couldn't be soulmates. That our marriage could never be real?" Bradley shakes his head.

"Ancient laws are tricky. But I think you made it real, Bradley." You say as the pieces fall into place in your mind. "How?" He retorts.

"Because you made me an alter the first time we made love. You said you would worship at my hips, worship me. You made me an alter, and so when we got married—"

"We married at an alter of the Gods, an alter for you." He finishes. "Exactly." You smile. "So what does that mean, Angel?" Bradley presses further. "It means they can't take you from me. Gods can't tear apart soulmates. Looks like you're stuck with me." You chuckle.

Bradley smiles and kisses you before stepping out of the vehicle and coming to open your door. You slip your hand in his as the two of you walk to the headstone that marks his parent's resting place.

The two of you walk up, and Bradley introduces you as if they were actually standing in front of you. He starts talking about you to them, and you can't fight the tears that slip down your cheek at his one-sided conversation.

It's moving to watch him talk about your love and your marriage to his parents. He does it in such an enthusiastic manner that it makes your heart swell. Bradley wraps an arm around you and pulls you close after a few minutes and the two of you bask in the silence.

"I've met them." You say after a few long minutes. "What?" Bradley whispers as he looks down at you.

"I've met them. In the Underworld. The day your mother passed. I was in the Underworld trying to figure out a way to stay. She walked into Paradise asking about "her Goose." I thought she was talking about a pet until she explained that Goose was he husband's call sign. I got to see them reunite. It was— beautiful." You say to him.

"So they really are together. You meant it when you said that at Aunt Marsha's house?" Bradley tears up.

"They are together and happy and still in love. I'm sure you've heard this before, but you really do look so much like your father." You say as you cup his cheek. Your thumb brushes away some of his tears.

"I'm sorry I never told you before." You apologize. "It's okay. I understand why you didn't." Bradley says as he places his hand over yours. "I'm also sorry that I can't take you there to see them. If I was stronger—if I had my full powers—I could." You sigh, angry at yourself.

"It's okay, Angel. I know you could if you would." He whispers before kissing your forehead and pulling you in for a hug. The two of you stand there for a moment before you ask Bradley the question that's been on your mind. "Bradley, where do you want to be buried?"

He pulls back and thinks for a moment. "I never really thought about it. I always figured I'd either burn in, and there wouldn't be anything left of me or that I'd die alone and get boxed up and put in some military graveyard. But I think— I think I'd like to be buried here, with my parents. I'd like to have this view forever." He says as the two of you watch the hues of red and orange paint the evening sky.

"I think I can make sure that happens. Right here is going to be the perfect spot to spend eternity with you." You say. Bradley shakes his head. He doesn't say it, but he knows that he's going to die before you. But you've already promised him that you won't let him go without you. He just hopes you're both old and have lived a full life with that happens.

The two of you say goodbye to Goose and Carole with a promise to visit again soon before leaving.

Your flight home the next day is uneventful.

It's mid afternoon by the time you make it back. The two of you Uber back to your apartment before going to pick up Cerby and Hydra from Mav and Penny. You insist on driving to go get them. Bradley makes a fuss about it but ultimately gives in and hands you your keys.

"Angel, this isn't the way to Mav and Penny's." Bradley remarks as you make a turn. "I know." You hum back. You drive for a few more minutes before you pull into your final destination.

"Honey, who's house is this?" Bradley asks you as you pull in the driveway. "It's for sale. Let's go take a look." You say before hoping out of the car and bounding up the steps to the front door.

"Angel—baby—Hades, wait! We can't just go in a house that's for sale. We don't know if someone might be here!" Bradley scolds you as he follows you up the steps.

"No one is home, and we can go in if we have the key." You reply as you hold up the shiny piece of metal before unlocking the door. "How did you get that?" Bradley interrogates you as you step inside. "I have my ways." You laugh. "C'mon, Bradley, look around with me. Don't be such a kill joy." You tease him as you begin to flit throughout the space.

The bay windows along the back wall let in tons of natural like, and the floor plan is open concept with the kitchen, living room, and dining room flowing into one another. Gorgeous amber colored hardwoods run throughout the house and there is a fireplace along one wall.

The kitchen has beautiful light grey cabinets with white counter tops, and all the appliances are stainless steel. Bradley follows you up the stairs as he takes in all of the bedrooms before you lead him downstairs to the back patio and outdoor kitchen and the pool.

"Isn't this place amazing, Love?" You say to him with starry eyes.

"It's great, but—"He says hesitantly. "But what?" You ask him as you wrap your arms around his middle. "This is an expensive neighborhood and I know that you have money—"

"We have money." You correct him.

"We have money." He sighs. "But I don't want to spend so much of it. You earned that, and it's not fair."

You chuckle. "Bradley, I can't take it with me. And I've never had a reason to have a house until now. I mean, think about it. The yard would be perfect for Cerby and later on some kids. I mean, this would be the perfect home to raise our family in. You could teach them to swim in that pool while I make snacks in the outdoor kitchen. We could have our friends over. Heck, your aunt and uncle and cousins could come visit us. This place would be the perfect home for us!" You try to reason with him.

"I guess you're right. A place like this would be perfect for us to have a family. I guess we could talk to a realtor." Bradley laughs as the thought of you standing in the kitchen round and pregnant with his child while a toddler is running around the back yard with him creeps into his mind.

"We don't have to talk to a realtor, Bradley." You tell him. "I'm pretty sure we do, honey." Bradley chuckles.

"I'm pretty sure we don't. When we pulled up, you asked me whose house this was. Well, it's our house, Bradley. Welcome home." You say as you take a step back and dangle a key in front of him.

"You—you bought us a house? When? How?" He stammers, taking in your words. "The morning we left for Virginia. You'd be amazed what you can get done for the right amount of money.

"So you, you own this?" Bradley sweeps his hand around.

"We own this." You smile.

Bradley is silent for a moment before he picks you up and spins you around and carries you out the front door and onto the porch.

"Bradley? What are you doing?" You laugh. "I'm supposed to carry you across the threshold. It's tradition." He says with a matter of fact tone before doing just that. You break out into a fit of giggles as he sets you down and starts going through your home in earnest.

.................

Two weeks later, the two of you are all moved in. Your furniture fills the room, your photos and decor fill the walls and shelves. Your dishes sit in the cabinets, and Hydra and Cerberus have settled in nicely.

You've just come out of your huge new shower and are doing your nighttime routine when you notice a bruise from when you hit the corner of the kitchen island when making dinner, but you shake it off. As you apply some lotion, you notice the small scar on your hand from the mug you broke in Virginia.

When you go to inspect it further, you suddenly realize just how tired you are as you let out a yawn. You don't dwell on it because Bradley is calling you to come to bed, and the idea of being wrapped up in his big strong arms is the only thing you can be bothered to think of right now.

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˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

Rosalee Marziel worked her ass off to get where she stood today, and she’d die before she let some stupid boy ruin it for her.

She’d lived in cities since she was a toddler, and growing up in such a hostile place causes you to realize that no one will help you but you. It took her losing her mother, her extended family, and a few boyfriends and flings to realize this. Once she had nothing, and was at rock bottom, of course she’d sign her life away. What more did she have to lose when everything was already lost?

The 1st amendment no longer felt like it applied to Rosalee. She was stripped bare of her former self, and instead embodied a new persona, Rose Marz. Rose Marz was confident, selfless, bold, and had no problems making a statement. She was a music, movie, and fashion icon all the way past France.

Truth was, she’d been groomed since she’d signed her life away when she was only 15. Groomed by the men around her who only wanted the greatest pleasures of life, and naive Rosalee Marziel was their ticket to that. ‘Wear less, and more of this’ they’d tell her as they held up skimpy playboy sets. She was 16. ‘More makeup, she’s aging.” They’d tell her makeup artists. She was 17. By the time she had reached 18, she’d corrected every little flaw they had pointed out. She spent hours covering acne scars, moles, and stretch marks.

She’d powder and cake herself in flawless natural makeup, which wasn’t so natural once you’d watch her apply a ton of it. She formed an eating disorder and lived off of eating Cesar salads with extra grilled chicken, and even then, she’d sometimes feel herself become sick. The smell, taste and feel of food made her vomit in her mouth. So, when she went to ball events, charity event, etc.; she’d stick to a glass of water and give tight lipped smiles when offered a plate of appetizers.

You’d think oranges were her favorite fruit, but she’d only eat them when she’d gain a pound or 2. Her stomach pains sometimes became unbearable, but beauty is pain, or at least that’s what her producers would tell her with money on their tongues. Sometimes she swore instead of feeling spit when they’d speak to her, she felt hard and cold coins. God forbid they found out she’d eaten that day, the comments would strike up.

The ones that formed her eating disorder in the first place. The ones that make her cry herself to sleep and curl into a ball. The ones that made her weep for her dead, junkie of a mother. The ones that made her throw up her insides till her stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. And the ones that made her wanna not wake up the next day.

Roses first gig was a lousy bar her old manager booked for an hour. It’s one she’ll never forget, I mean, it’s what sparked her love for preforming in every sense of the word. On stage, she didn’t have to be the broken shell of a little girl, especially not when she heard people cheering her name. The rush of adrenaline shot into her veins was addicting and was a high she’d strive to chase any moment she could. In those first moments, she felt like her body was on fire, and the words slipping from her mouth held every ounce of raw emotion she would never normally say.

She had something other rising female preforms didn’t have, and that was a genuine love for music. They didn’t have the same spark in their eyes like she did. They weren’t passionate about the lyrics they wrote or sang. The only reason they were famous was because of their sex appeal.

Climbing the ranks in a male dominated industry wasn’t an easy task by any means, but Rose managed to do it. She sunk her perfectly manicured claws into their backs to rise herself to get to where she was today. Past Carl Perkins, past Johnny Cash, even past Jerry Lee Lewis. She was at the top of her game.

Showered in every luxury she could imagine. Queen worthy jewelry, the latest and hottest cars, 3 mansions and 10+ houses stationed all around America. Her favorite house was stationed all the way in Milan, Italy. She had an endless list of ‘friends’ and men throwing themselves at her feet for even a glance, but she wasn’t naive anymore. She could see right through them with the x-ray vision she swore to herself she had.

Hell, even the Kennedys loved her.

But none of it was ever enough. None of it made the throbbing pains in her head, chest, and stomach stop. It didn’t stop her from taking nearly lethal amounts of pills on her roughest days in hopes that just maybe she’ll find the courage to take a little more.

Rose was never satisfied with the life she had. And when they started throwing her in movies alongside people she didn’t care to know, she nearly lost herself. Rose? An actor? That couldn’t be right. She was a singer. But it’s what her fans wanted, which means it’s what her producers would make her do.

She was sure her fans adored her, and she was grateful that they did, but a small part of her detested them. A small part of her had wished she’d never became famous. If she knew this would be her at only 19 years old, she would’ve ran away from that man with a few papers and a pen all the way to across the globe. But she could never bring herself to hate the people who got her to where she is today.

They are the only reason she’s able to live the way she does, after all. Those little girls who look up to her, dreaming of being in her shoes and, wishing to be like her when they get older and cheering her on from crowds will always be the reason she continues to preform. But how badly she wanted to cradle them and tell them ‘careful what you wish for.’ Because she wishes someone had told her.

Though she was at the top of her game, there was still one large obstacle in the form of a southern man.

Elvis Presley.

No matter how many movies she starred in, or how many songs she made—no matter how many awards she won and was nominated for, he always somehow managed to beat her. Not to mention the constant comparison she was always faced with when I came to him. ‘Elvis does this better’ her manager would start. ‘So you need to do this’. He’d say.

I learned how to dance, and Elvis was the star of a dance musical called ‘Copacabana’ the next day. I mentioned i knew how to draw, and all the sudden Elvis’ art was plastered in museums. The list goes on and on of him trying to out-do her an coming out successful. Naturally, Rose wouldn’t care, but at the end of the day it was her having to hear her entire management team on her ass. One time her producer even phoned in about it.

It was a constant battle between the two and it seemed like an endless cat and mouse game. Not to mention Elvis throwing loads of shade at her when he was in the press a few weeks prior. Since then, anytime she’s been asked about their ongoing rivalry in the press, she’s said the upmost worst things about him. If it was any other A list celebrity, her manager would have her head, but it was the 2 most hottest people in America going head to head like bulls. Obviously it would make both parties become a more popular subject, and the more publicity, the better.

And now they want Elvis and Rose to preform together for a Valentines special? Hah, they must be crazy to think they wouldn’t claw each others throats out. Rose had never dared to protest against anything her producers and managers had planned for her—the last time she did she was beaten. But this—this is the one thing she wouldn’t go down without a fight for. After a good year and give or take a few months of going against each other, why would they now want them to make amends? The damage had already been done.

Rose was fortunate enough of never having to actually meet the man talking the upmost shit about her in person, till now.

As she sat in her dressing room, she could swear her makeup was sweating itself off, resulting in her panicking. Her eye makeup was dark and bold, and her lips were a faded cherry red. The dark mole above the corner of her lip just barely peeking through her pounds of foundation. Her hair was was naturally a brunette, but her main manager thought blonde would be a better look on her. So now she sat with her blonde hair teased and overly large, adorned in pink and red flowers to match the Valentines theme.

Rose felt her confidence begin to dwell as she thought of every possible terrible outcome this show could bring. Her brows furrowing as she applied setting powder aggressively while thinking of beating that stupid man, Elvis Presley, to a pulp if he tainted her imagine in any way, shape, or form.

A knock on her dressing room door brought her out of her thoughts. “Miss Rose, it’s almost time.” An annoying feminine voice said from behind the door. Rose huffed as she got up. “Alright, give me a moment.” She yelled back as she began to dress herself.

They’d chosen a white, tight fitted turtle neck long sleeved shirt for her to wear, paired with a short, light pink dress to go over it and a large white belt fit around her waist to seem more slim. The knee high white leather boots and different shades of pink and red heart earrings pulled the whole look together as she stared at herself in the long mirror in front of her.

She smoothed her hands down her dress as she took in a long breath of air before she finally found the courage to leave her dressing room.

When she stepped out, the narrow backstage hallways parted like the Red Sea at her entrance. Her manager, a short old man with the personality of a donkeys ass, stumbled his way over to her.

“Ah, Rose! There you are, come.” He said urgently as he tightly gripped her upper arm. Rose didn’t get a chance to respond, and instead winced as she was dragged along with him to wherever he was taking her. Their walk wasn’t long as they stopped at a tall man with his back turned to them.

“Mr. Presley.” Her manager coughed out, making his prescene known. Rose fought an eye roll. The man turned around and Rose swore her jaw could’ve dropped right then and there. The pictures and interviews did him no justice, as he was even more good looking in person, much to Roses dismay. Nonetheless, this god of a man was still her biggest rival and the only person stopped her from being deemed ‘queen of rock n roll’ on every cover of The Rolling Stone Magazine

Screw him and his charming smile. She hated his stupidly perfect hair—and she wanted to pull the little strand hanging out on the front out of his head. She wanted to punch him in his perfectly chiseled jaw, and same with his nose. She didn’t like the fact that he easily towered over her, even in heels, so she thought about kicking him in the back of his knees to bring him to the ground where she thought he belonged— below her.

Elvis on the other hand felt his breath get caught in his throat and her nearly dropped the cup of water held in his hand. There she stood, in all her terrorizing glory, was Rose Marz. But Elvis’ eyes couldn’t help but linger on the chubby fingers tightly wrapped around her arm, almost in a painful manner.

How could this little thing be his biggest competition? She was so small. So pretty. So- “fuck you.” So vulgar. That was the first thing she’d ever said to him, and he’d remember it for the rest of his life. He would’ve been offended if it wasn’t for the fact that she was so damn cute with her furrowed brows and pouty red lips.

Her managers face went pale as a ghost. “Aha!! She meant hello!” He nervously laughed as he glared at Rose through the corner of his eye. The small girl let out a huff. “Elvis.” She acknowledged, sizing him up with a quirked brow. He felt a chuckle rumble deep in his chest.

Rose turned her head downward to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks at his intense gaze, even as he talked to her manager. “That’s quite alright, Mr.Smith. How ya doin, Rose?” He said in that southern draw that made all the girls’ head spin and panties drop. Now Rose understood why, but she would never admit it aloud.

“Terrible since I seen you.” She said with an eye roll. Elvis pursed his lips. “I’m real sorry ‘bout what I said in the press about ya.” He replied with a nervous chuckle. Roses head shot up at that. “Liar!” She called out with a pointer finger.

“Jesus, Rose! Can’t you act civilized for one damn moment?!” Her manager screamed in her face. Rose went beat red in embarrassment, her hands clenched into fists. The old fat man looked at her pointedly. “Excuse my behavior, Mr.Presley.” She said through clenched teeth and false smile.

Elvis pondered for a moment as he took in the situation before him, before coming to a conclusion. “Lemme take ya to dinner to make up for it, Rose.” He said. Something boyish was swirling in his eyes and a certain hope was in his small smile he sent her way. Rose opened her mouth to reject his offer, but it seemed her manager had other plans. “Yes, of course she’ll go!” He answered for her.

Elvis merely glanced down at the obnoxious fat man. “I’d like for her to answer.” He stated with a glare. Rose paused. No one had ever stood up for her like that. No one batted an eye when people would yell at her, grab her, or even beat her to a pulp. She didn’t know what to think—or even how to act.

Her mouth was hung agape as he awaited her answer. “I—uh, sure.” She responded—seemingly in a daze as she gazed up at the taller man. His eyes danced all across her face before stopping at the mole she tried so desperately to hide. “Tomorrow night.” He said before his eyes snapped up to meet hers again.

Rose, absent minded, merely nodded her head.

“You’re on in 5!” Someone shouted over the loud backstage ruckus. That caught Roses attention as she quickly smoothed herself out and took in a deep breath. Elvis reached his hand out towards her. “Shall we?” He asked with a smirk.

Rose rolled her eyes as she slapped his hand away. “Let’s just get this over with.” She replied as she turned quickly away from him.

But Elvis didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks.

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

"Hey there, beautiful." He smiles at you. He crosses the room to come and hug you, but you draw back from him. Retreating under the duvet.

"I don't feel well." You say softly. Your throat is dry and scratchy. "Let me get you some water and something to eat, and then we can talk. Okay?" Bradley asks you, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

"Just some water. I'm not hungry. Why aren't you at work?" You question him.

"I called Mav yesterday. Told him we needed some time off." Bradley tells you. You nod your head and wrap the blankets tighter around your body as he leaves the room. You hear him pad down the hallway to the kitchen.

You don't know why, but you feel so exposed. You get up and go to your closet and pull out your softest wool cardigan and wrap yourself up in it before returning to bed.

The events from yesterday play over in your mind. You still can't believe that Persephone was in your home. You're also having a hard time processing everything that she confessed to doing to you.

For centuries, you thought you were a monster, but it turns out that she was one.

She had used you, damaged you, and then cast you aside, like an old sweater under someone's bed.

You wondered what Bradley would think of you now. Would he still love you? Or would he think of you as broken and unlovable? Your heart still hurt from Persephone's words about how Bradley would grow tired of you.

You wanted to believe that he would never do that, but the fear of him leaving you still crept into your mind.

You try to push the terrible thoughts from your mind, but they aren't the only ones that creep in. Your hand drifts down to your thigh, trailing over the valleys and grooves in your skin that your tattoos hide so well.

Scars from another time in your life when you wanted to feel something or when you felt low or like you deserved it. When you didn't know what else to do or how to process.

It's been years since you've done anything like that to yourself, but the hurricane of emotions brought back by Persephone has you thinking about the small obsidian knife you have tucked away in your nightstand.

You know you shouldn't, but the anxiety comes creeping in like an unwelcome guest and settles in your mind. You know that you should feel better for knowing that everything that happened wasn't your fault, but you've never felt more broken in your life.

So, maybe that's why you find yourself opening your nightstand and pulling the blade out before darting into your bathroom and locking the door.

You turn on the water in your bathtub as hot as it will go, hoping it will fill up quickly.

You press the tip of the blade to your upper thigh. The obsidian is a stark contrast to the water colors that currently cover it.

You strip down from your clothes before sitting on the edge of the tub. The small blade is in your hand. You grasp the handle so tightly that your knuckles turn white. Silent tears stream down your face as you slip into the water and draw your knees up to your chest.

You just want to feel in control

You draw it across your skin quickly, wincing at the pain, but you do it again and then again. It's not enjoyable, but it makes you feel better because it makes you feel in control.

The crimson of the fresh blood that you've just drawn mixes with the scalding water of your bath, turning it a light pink color.

"Angel? Are you alright in there? I hear the tub running." He calls through the door. "I brought you something to drink and a snack." He says as he reaches for the door knob. He jiggles it and finds it locked.

You're just about to draw your blade across your thigh again, when you hear Bradley knocking on the bathroom door.

Shit

"Angel. Open the door. You're scaring me." Bradley says again after a few minutes.

"Angel, why is the door locked? Is everything okay?" Bradley's voice rises a decibel. You don't answer him. Hoping he will take your silence as a hint to go away. You don't want him to see you like this. You'd never be able to explain this to him.

How could you?

"Go away, Bradley!" You practically yell at him as fresh tears fill your eyes.

"Hades, I will not go away. I am worried about you. Please, open the door, or I'll open it myself." Bradley says sternly. You start to panic as he jiggles the door handle again, more forcefully this time.

You quickly jump up from the tub and pull the plug, willing the water to drain as fast as possible. You grab a towel from the rack and wrap it around your body trying to cover your fresh cuts.

In your haste, you lose track of your knife as you quickly go to open the door because Bradley has started counting.

"Three!" You hear him breathe out just as you open the door. He takes a step back and looks at your face. "Why was the door locked?" He asks you.

"I just wanted some privacy." You tell him as you try to catch your breath. You are uneasy about something. Bradley can sense you aren't being totally honest with him.

He takes stock of you, and that's when he noticed the rivers of red running down your leg and staining the towel.

"You're bleeding." He tells you, alarmed. You look down and see that in your frenzy, you hadn't stopped the bleeding. "Why are you bleeding? Did you fall or something?" Bradley asks you, reaching forward.

"No, I must have just scratched myself." You hesitate as you take a step away from him and try to retreat back into the safety of the bathroom.

Bradley follows you in because he knows something is wrong. "Let me help you get cleaned up and make sure you're okay." Bradley says.

"I'm fine, honey, I promise. I can take care of myself." You back away from him, but he continues to invade your space.

You don't pay attention to where you're stepping, and your foot lands right on the handle of your misplaced knife, causing you to trip and fall to the floor. Your towel comes open, and you scramble to cover yourself, but it's too late. Bradley's eyes are wide with shock as shame fills your body.

"Angel—Angel what happened? Did you—did you do this to yourself?" Bradley's voice trembles as he drops to his knees to inspect the fresh cuts on your leg.

"Bradley, stop. It's not what you think. It's not what it looks like." You try to reason with him and push his hands away, but he grabs your wrists, forcing you to still.

"Angel. My beautiful girl—why—why did you do this? Why would you do this to yourself? Did I—is it something I did? Is it because of me? Please—please talk to me." Bradley cries, unable to hold back the tears.

"No, Bradley. It's not you Love it's—it's—" you don't know how to respond to him.

"You cut yourself. Why? Why did you hurt yourself? I don't understand. Please—just tell me why." Bradley sobs as he runs his hands over your thigh, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Bradley, stop. Just leave me alone. You wouldn't understand." You try to push him away, but he holds onto you tightly.

"Then help me understand." He whispers as he meets your eyes.

You sigh and blink back your own tears.

"It makes me feel in control." You whisper. Bradley cocks his head to the side, trying to process what you said.

"I've had so much happen to me that I couldn't control. And no one was there to help me process it. This was something I could control. Something I had power over." You say as you gesture to your ink covered thigh.

"You've done this before?" Bradley asks you. You nod your head before running your hand over your leg. The tattoos that were once there vanish, uncovering the centuries of scars that you've given yourself.

"Oh, Baby." Bradley breathes out softly as he gently traces over them. Silent tears stream down your cheeks as he cups your face.

"Angel, my sweet girl." He soothes you. "I don't ever want to see you hurt yourself again. I'm begging you. If you're struggling, talk to me. Whatever pain you have, give it to me. I can take it. I'm strong enough for the both of us. Okay?" Bradley gently wipes the tears from your eyes.

"You aren't alone in the world anymore. You have me, and I will always be here for you." Bradley assures you as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lifting you off of the floor and placing you on the counter.

Silently, he grabs the first-aid kit and cleans your wounds before you put your tattoos back on. "Why don't I get you some clothes and lay them out, and while you get changed, I can go make some popcorn, and we can curl up on the couch and watch a movie. How does that should?" Bradley asks you as he cups your face.

"Sounds good." You nod. "Perfect," he smiles before helping you off the counter. You stay there in the bathroom a few moments longer, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Your eyes are puffy and red rimmed. Your skin is dull, and your hair is flat and kind of greasy, but you can't bring yourself to care. Bradley doesn't seem to mind either. You sigh and splash some water on your face before exiting the en suite.

Stepping into your bedroom, you see that Bradley has laid out one of his UVA sweatshirts and a pair of your soft leggings on the bed.

You pad over and pick up the navy-blue fleece and bring it to your nose. Even though it'd been through the wash and tucked away in the closet, the smell of Bradley hangs around on it, bringing you instant relief as you revel in his scent.

You slide the garment on it dwarfs you, falling to your mid thigh. Sometimes you forget just how big Bradley is. You forgo your leggings and plop your hair into a messy bun before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt so your hands are free.

You quietly make your way into the living room, and you find Bradley already perched on his side of the couch with a blanket thrown over him. The smell of freshly made popcorn lingers in the air, and you can see that Hyrda and Cerberus are curled up together in Cerberus' oversized dog bed at the far end of the room napping peacefully in the pale mid-day sun that filters in through the curtains.

You walk up to the back of the couch and slip your arms around Bradley's shoulders, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck and placing a few kisses there.

"Hi, Baby." He whispers to you as he turns his head to meet your lip. "Hi, Love." You echo back to him before making your way around and plopping down beside him as close as you possibly can. He wraps the blanket around the two of you as you tuck your feet beside you.

Bradley shifts both of you, stretching out before pulling you against his chest. He tucks you under his chin as one of his strong arms wraps around you, securing you against his chest while his other hand rests on the exposed part of your thigh. He traces lazy shapes along it as he starts the movie.

It's one that you've both seen before, a romantic comedy. Sure, you already know how it ends, but you still enjoy it. You love how Bradley's laugh rumbles in his chest while you're pressed against him. You also enjoy the sweet kisses he presses to your temple each time he leans down to feed you a handful of popcorn.

You tangle your legs with his and bask in the closeness. The sweatshirt you're wearing has ridden up partially due to your position on the couch and partially because of Bradley's wandering hand, which has now slipped under the material.

Currently, he's tracing long lines along between your rib cage and the elastic of your underwear. Every so often, though, his fingertips will head a tad bit further south and skim just under the band if your panties, or they will head an inch more north and he'll graze the underside of your breast.

But it's never anything more than a fleeting touch, over just as quick as it happened. You shift slightly, drawing closer to him, and you can feel him start to harden through the material of his sweatpants. But Bradley doesn't say anything. He's never pushed you to do anything you didn't want to do, and right now is no different.

You enjoy how close you are with him. Tender, quiet moments like this have been rare in your life. You love how safe and secure you feel right now wrapped up in his big, strong arms. You love how he makes you feel small. Not in a weak way, but in a protected way.

You sigh and turn so you can kiss him. Feathering light pecks along his neck until you reach the sweet spot behind his ear that has him letting out a contented sigh as he curls his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, securing you there for just a moment before cupping your jaw and kissing you.

His kisses are salty and buttery like the popcorn the two of you have been sharing as his tongue sweeps into your mouth. You slide up further, straddling him more as he falls onto his back, head resting on the arm of the couch.

You toy with the hem of his shirt before pulling it off of him. Not as a precursor to sex, but as a need to feel closer to him.

Bradley pulls you on top of him, chest to chest, as the two of you lazily get lost in the feel of each other's mouths. His hands rest against your thighs, respectfully as you wrap your arms around his neck.

You love how close the two of you are, but it's not enough. You want to be fully enveloped by him. You want Bradley to flood your senses. You want everything you can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel to be Bradley, all Bradley. You're close, but not close enough. You need more of him. You need all of him.

"Love." You whisper against his lips, drawing him to you.

"Yes?" He hums back in response.

"I wanna be close to you." You murmur. Bradley quirks an eyebrow at you. "You are close to me, baby." He chuckles and squeezes his arms around you to illustrate his point.

"Wanna be closer." You tell him, nuzzling into his chest, not quite sure how to articulate your point.

"Baby, you can't get much closer. Here." He says, slipping his sweatshirt off of your body. He pulls your now bare torso flush with his and sighs. "Is that better?" He asks as traces the length of your spine, trying to help you settle.

You squirm against him. It is better, truly, but it still isn't enough. You want to be so close to him that you can't tell where he stops, and you begin.

"Closer, please. I need it." You almost beg against his skin as you shift your hips.

And that's when it clicks for Bradley as to what you are asking him.

"Angel, baby, do you want to cockwarm me?" He asks you almost hesitantly. You nod your head against him. That's exactly what you want. You just weren't sure how to ask him.

"Okay, okay. I'm not— I'm not fully hard though." Bradley admits.

"S'okay. I'll get to feel you fill me up." You say.

Bradley smiled and kisses your lips before having you sit up enough for him to slide his sweatpants down. He pulls your underwear to the side and grabs your hips to help guide you down over his semi-hard member.

You whine until you're fully seated against him. Then, you sigh contentedly and settle against his chest. You squeeze your walls around him, and Bradley hisses at the motion , but doesn't protest.

He wraps the blanket around both of you before securing his fingers in your hair, gently running them through it.

You wiggle your hip slightly as you feel Bradley growing harder, until he has filled you completely, stretching your walls in the most delicious way, that only he is able to do.

"Feels so good. Love being so close to you." You praise him as you rest your chin on his sternum and look up at him with stars in your eyes.

"Yeah?" Bradley asks you as if he doesn't know that his tip is just grazing that sweet spot inside you that has your eyes fluttering closed.

A breathy moan passes from Bradley's lips. His grip on your hips tightened. "Sweetheart, if you keep doing that, it's going to be awful hard for me to lay here and not have you." He threatens weakly.

"You're such a good girl for me. You know that? Keeping me so warm, gripping me so tight." He praises you as he brushes a few stray strands of hair away from your face.

"You're my favorite person in the whole world, Angel. Don't you forget that." Bradley assures you. You preen at his praise and constrict your walls around him.

You pop up on your elbows and look him in the eye. "Then have me." You state. Bradley shakes his head at your audacity before experimentally thrusting upward.

You keen at the sensation as he does it again. Building a lazy rhythm that has your toes curling and your insides buzzing.

You collapse against his chest and let the feeling of him filling you over and over flood your system as you take everything that Bradley gives you.

You clench his length as you feel the blunt tips of his fingernails dig into your thighs. A telltale sign that he's close.

"Fuck, Angel—I—" He rasps out as he fights to stave off his orgasm, but it's no use. You're gripping him just right, and he was already so close from you cockwarming him that Bradley spills into you before he's had a chance to get you off.

"I'm so sorry, baby. You just felt so good, and you were being such a good girl, taking me so well, I couldn't help it."

"You're fine, Love." You chuckle. You're still laying on him. You can feel his spent cock throbbing inside you, neither of you making any effort to move.

Then, without warning, Bradley eases you off off him and onto your back. He sinks to his knees and carefully pulls your panties off of you.

He pauses to admire the way his spend drips out of you and runs down your thighs, marking you as his.

"Bradley, what are you doing?" You ask him.

"Rectifying the situation." He tells you. Before you can ask him what that means, his lips connect with your core.

You cry out in pleasure and surprise as he makes obscene slurping sounds from between your legs. If it didn't feel so good, you'd be embarrassed. But the sounds Bradley makes let you know that he's more than enjoying himself.

No matter how many times Bradley has been on his knees for you, he never ceases to surprise and amaze you at his eagerness to do so.

You sometimes wonder if he enjoys it more than you do.

It doesn't take him long to have you teetering on the cusp of an orgasm. He eases one of your legs over his shoulder and shakes his head back and forth as he laps at your cunt over and over again.

Your finish hits you hard and fast as it gushs out of you all over his face and the sofa. You scream so loud that it rouses Hydra and Cerberus from their slumber.

You have half a mind to be worried about the mess you've made, but Bradley doesn't care as he works your core until you're utterly spent and weakly pulling at his mused curls to get him to stop as the overstimulation sets in.

When you can open your eyes again, you find Bradley looking up at you with a dopey grin and a glistening chin.

"You're something else, you know that?" You huff out a laugh. "So I've been told." He says as he gets up to his feet and goes to the kitchen for a drink.

"So, another movie?" He asks as he comes back in like nothing happened. "Yeah, another movie would be great, just as soon as we get cleaned up." You chuckle and roll your eyes.

"I'm on it!" Bradley cheers as he comes and scoopes you up and carries you to the bathroom, peppering your face with sloppy kisses the whole way.

Later, when the two of you are cleaned up, cuddled back on the couch watching a movie and eating pizza, you can't help but smile.

Persephone may have tossed you out like trash, but Bradley—Bradley picked you up, dusted you off, and treats you like the treasure you are.

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