Erebus's Library

Jake doesn’t laugh this time, but he does grin. Squeezes his hand over Bradley’s knee as he quietly says, “We’ve faced scarier things, honey.”

Bradley swallows at that, sliding his hand beneath Jake’s on his knee so their fingers can tangle together. “I just. It’s — I just wanna be good at this.”

Jake knows. He gets it. Wants this just as badly as Bradley does, maybe more. And now, after months of hoping and wondering, it’s finally happening. He squeezes Bradley’s hand and bends to press a kiss against his shoulder through the thin cotton of his shirt.

“You already are,” he promises, voice warm. “And hey, I’ve gotten rave reviews on my baby holding skills from my nephews. I was their favorite uncle pillow when they were little.”

“Their only uncle pillow,” Bradley mutters, but he’s grinning now.

“Still counts. I’ll teach ya. And, y’know,” Jake continues, voice softening. “Kinda special, ain’t it? The first baby you ever hold is gonna be our miracle.”

Bradley hums at that, the tension finally bleeding from his shoulders. “Yeah. One of many.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees. “Probably gonna be our favorite one so far, though.”

“Probably.”

It’s silent between them for a moment after that, their hands still clasped together tightly. Eventually, Bradley inhales and breathes out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“We’re gonna be dads today, Jake,” he rasps, looking over to him. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” Jake agrees, nodding. “Holy shit.”

//

When their daughter’s placed on Bradley’s chest for the first time that morning, he immediately lifts his hands to cradle her like he’s always known how. He’s a natural. Jake knew he would be.

Jake brushes a kiss against Bradley’s cheek, reaching a hand out to thumb gently at the soft hair on their little girl’s head. Her dark eyes are already blinking closed as she snuggles in closer to Bradley’s skin.

“Rave reviews,” Bradley murmurs, shooting Jake a wink. The shine of tears in his eyes makes it a little less teasing than he’d probably like it to be.

Jake snorts out a laugh, running his finger over their daughter’s cheek. “Told ya you’d be fine. Not so scary, is it?”

Bradley swallows, smiling a little. “You kidding? Scariest thing in the world.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees, corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. “But the best thing, too.”

When Bradley tipped his head down to kiss your cheek, you giggled. The sound went right to the part of his brain that controlled his unbridled desire for you. All he had to do was squeeze your bare hip with his big hand, and you looked up into his eyes.

"Do we have time?" you asked softly before you bit your lip.

He kind of shrugged and grunted, but you were already lowering the zipper of his flight suit all the way down. Bradley let you take the lead on this one, and when you dropped to your knees, he was not disappointed. 

The way you wrapped your pretty lips around his cock... yeah, there would always be time for that. "You're so fucking good," he groaned as you took him deep, and he hit the back of your throat. You sucked on him until you were gagging, then you pulled him out as a strand of your saliva dripped onto your tits.

"This is for good luck," you told him before you tilted your head and sucked on his balls until he was pulling on your hair a little rough.

"Oh," he groaned. "My wife doesn't mess around." His words were deep and gruff compared to the long, soft moans you made as your tongue swirled up the length of his cock. 

You kissed the tip of him, whispered, "I love you," and then you gave him absolutely filthy head until he was cumming all over you. Your hollowed cheeks and warm hands had him fucking your face until cum dripped out of the corners of your lips. And when he spurted onto your glasses a second later, your giggle returned.

Bradley loved the sight of it enough that he wanted to make a mess with you later on when he had more time. Coat your glasses up real good. Maybe help you lick them clean. 

"Fuck," he growled. "I need to leave, Sweetheart." Bradley pulled you to your feet and placed a soft slap to your ass. You kissed him hard one time, and he promised he'd take care of you later.

---------------------------

"Tally, tally!" called one of the younger recruits into the radio. But his teammate and wingman left him hanging long enough that Bradley got himself quickly into position. A few seconds later, Bradley got tone on him and eliminated him. 

He was feeling great, and when the team landed along with Bradley, he took some time to show them where they went wrong and how they could improve. "As soon as you hesitate, it's over," he informed them, knowing very well that he had learned that lesson himself not terribly long ago.

The recruits filed back inside for lunch while Bradley joined Maverick and the other teachers to go over the plans for the afternoon. Honestly, he was having a great day, and when he was told he'd be taking another team up in the afternoon, he was looking forward to it.

But he must have been distracted. Or maybe he was the one who hesitated this time. Because as soon as Bradley managed to fly the two seater Super Hornet into a corner, he heard tone lock onto his own aircraft. 

He had been outmaneuvered by a twenty five year old student. 

Bradley landed his aircraft in a state of shocked silence, barely managing to communicate with the tower. He was mortified. And of course, as soon as he walked into the tower, everyone knew about it. 

"It happens," Mav told him. "It was your first day instructing. You'll nail their asses to the wall tomorrow."

But Bradley could see the looks on the students' faces. He could practically hear Nat's voice through her text message.

Are you fucking kidding me, Rooster? They took you out?

He wasn't even sure how she heard about it from the simulation classroom. But seemingly everyone knew. It took everything inside him to keep his shoulders squared and his voice calm. Because inside he wanted to rage. He wanted back up in the air. He wanted to meticulously pick off every single other aircraft one at a time until he didn't feel like a joke anymore. 

And that made him feel like maybe he wasn't ready to be an instructor yet.

"Fuck," he growled, slamming his locker door closed later. Absolutely nobody messed with him in the locker room. Nobody would even look at him. He was surrounded by dead silence everywhere he went. 

As he stormed out to his Bronco, his skin was crawling with the burning need to prove himself. To dominate his surroundings. When he started up the engine, he took a few deep breaths that did nothing to calm the rising temperature of his humiliation. The blazing desire to conquer. Overpower. Defeat.

He needed to get home to you. Somehow he knew you were the only thing that would make him feel better.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, he was practically panting. You were already home from work. This was good. When he opened the front door, he called out, "Where are you?" His voice was raspy. His body was too hot. 

"In the kitchen, Roo!" you replied. "Come tell me all about your day!" 

You had taken your boots and socks off, but you were still in your uniform with your hair pulled back in a tight bun. And you were up on the kitchen counter changing the lightbulb that he had noticed kept flickering. This kind of shit was his job to take care of around the house. You shouldn't have to be up on the counter like this. 

But as soon as he really looked at you, his cock throbbed with need. You looked at him over your shoulder as you finished with the new bulb. "What's wrong?" you asked softly, slightly alarmed. You must have seen the look in his eyes. He had never looked at you like this before.

Bradley knew you could make him feel better. If you let him do it. If you'd let him take his day out on you. 

He snagged you off the counter and into his arms as you squealed, but you quickly gaped at him as he carried you to the bedroom. 

"Bradley?" you whispered, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and searching his face.

He tossed you onto the bed and climbed on top of you, not bothering to remove his boots. You were silent, eyes wide and lips softly parted as he let you have his body weight. Your gaze was on his lips like you were expecting him to kiss you and be your sweet husband like he usually was.

"No," he growled, and your eyes darted up to his. You looked needy and uncertain. Bradley could tell you wanted to ask him what was going on. But then he read your last name on your nametag, annoyed that it didn't say Bradshaw yet. Very gently, he removed it, snapped it in half, and threw it across the room. Then he unbuttoned your shirt without a word and pushed it open wide. 

Your nipples were straining against your black lace bra. You were very subtly rubbing yourself up against his hard cock. Your pupils were dilated. You wanted to get fucked. 

"I hate your fucking name tag. Okay?" he asked, voice gruff as he wrapped his hand around the front of your neck. "I hate it."

You bit your lip and whispered, "You had a bad day."

"You told me you were going to get a new name tag," he grunted, pressing his hard cock against your thigh. "You said you submitted the paperwork for your name change."

"I did." Your voice was so needy. Bradley shoved his thumb into your mouth and watched as you opened wide and licked him.

"Get a new fucking name tag. And leave the light bulbs for me to change."

"I will," you said again with your mouth full of his thumb.

"Shut up," he growled, and your eyes went so wide as you moaned. "I'm not in the fucking mood. And I'm not going to be sweet. Not right now. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you cry. Use your pussy exactly how I want to."

You moaned around his thumb again. 

"Tell me that's what you want," he demanded. You nodded your head, and he withdrew his thumb. "Fucking say it."

"I want it." Your voice was breathy but sure, and Bradley was going to dominate you until your tears and whining made him feel better. Because there was always only you who could fix him.

He practically ripped open the front of your khaki uniform pants to get to you. Bradley yanked the fabric down your legs and sent your pants across the room to meet your broken name tag. Tiny, black lace panties cut low on your hips. He could see your tattoo. He could tell you were wet through the fabric. 

"You look like a little slut," he informed you. He watched you bite your lip as your back arched off the bed. "You shouldn't be this excited about being manhandled." Then the scrap of black lace met the same fate as your pants and the name tag.

Bradley had to commend you. You kept your mouth shut as he unzipped his flight suit, lowering the sleeves and pulling his cock free. You were silent as he rubbed himself through your wet slit. You didn't make a noise as he slowly slid himself inside your dripping wet pussy until he bottomed out. And only the softest sound escaped your lips as Bradley wrapped his big hands around your hips and lifted you slightly off the bed.

But you screamed when he held you in place, your ass in midair, and fucked you like you were his own personal toy. He slammed into your pussy with short, rough strokes. It was, in so many ways, the dirtiest thing he had ever done to you. And it felt to fucking good, Bradley could cum inside you right now. But your screams had him going harder, wanting to enjoy this feeling of control for as long as possible. 

"Louder," he told you. But he didn't really even need to say anything as he tightened his grip on your flesh and fucked you until tears leaked from your eyes. Your cries filled the room, so loud his ears were ringing from it. 

He withdrew from your body and let you fall to the bed. You were scrambling now, reaching for him. Looking up at him with tears in your eyes like you needed him to kiss you. 

He flipped you onto your belly before ramming his cock inside you again. Your hands were all balled up in the pillowcase as you cried out against the bedding. The rapid slap slap slapping noise of his body dominating yours was one of the prettiest things he had ever heard. The way you were letting him calm his nerves and soothe his ego, well if he hadn't already married you, he'd do it today. 

He palmed you softly before laying a solid smack right to the round of your ass. You moaned and sucked in a deep breath as he leaned down and put his lips next to your ear. "Tell me you want me to stop."

You shook your head and turned to look back at him, eyes red with tears. "Keep going," you hiccupped. "Please."

Bradley pushed your face back down into the pillow as you gasped and cried for him. He pumped his hips hard, grabbing at your thighs and your backside. Then he wrapped his forearm underneath you and pulled you up until you were on your knees for him. And how he had the perfect view of your body as you took him, full hilt, like a champ. You gorgeous pussy grabbed at him with each stroke, and Bradley spit on you where you were joined, making everything wetter.

"You like this, don't you?" he asked as you moaned and whimpered. "Huh? You actually fucking like this." He was so close as he spanked you just to feel you clench around him. "You fucking slut." 

He pressed his lips to your ear again and slipped his hand up to shove his fingers into your mouth. You were moaning and slobbering all over his hand, crying into the pillow. 

"You're perfect," Bradley growled as he filled you up with his cum. He fucked you with jerky strokes, pushing his load deeper and deeper until he guided you down flat on your belly with his hand on your ass. You were half crushed under his body weight, kitten licking his fingers when he realized he felt so good. So much calmer. You made everything better just like he knew you would.

But now he was slightly concerned that he had taken it too far, even with your permission. As he kissed along the back of your neck and ran his fingers softly up your arm, he whispered, "Are you okay, Baby Girl?"

Your voice was still a little watery with tears as you said, "I won't be able to walk tomorrow. And now I need to update my to-do list so I remember to order a new name tag. But that was hot. Do you feel better?"

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and buried his nose against your skin. He felt perfect. "So much better. Thank you." 

He helped you to your feet with the promise of a bubble bath. Then he assured you he could figure out how to make something for dinner. After he picked up all of the discarded clothing, he threw your name tag in the bathroom trash can while you sank down into the tub.

"I have an extra name tag in my office, you know," you told him with an eye roll and a smirk. 

"I know," he replied, bending to kiss your nose. "And I have an extra one in my locker. You can have it. We can match. It'll be cute." And now all he could think about was you wearing his last name on your khaki uniform every day. 

-----------------------

Okay, yes...okay, yep. That happened. Stay tuned for the upcoming (4th!) series with Roo and BG called Always Ever Only You! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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They were twenty when she met his parents. He took her back to their house in the country, watched as she played with his nieces and helped his mother cook dinner and he couldn’t help but see his future in the way she seamlessly fit herself into his life. He dreamt of Christmases and birthdays spent at the house, her smile saved just for him. 

He loved her, he said as they sat out on the old bench near the pond the summer they turned twenty one. 

I’ve loved you for a lot longer than you think, she replied. 

He held her close, afraid to let go. She clung to him, scared of the day he would leave.

They were still twenty one when her period came late and they spent four days dreaming of the future they might dive head first into. She wasn’t ready, so he didn’t tell her that part of him wanted it to be positive. He was scared, too, but he wanted her forever. Nothing could change that. He dreamt of a little boy that he could dress up in white and orange on game day, hoist into the air, read bedtime stories to. 

They were twenty two the first time they said goodbye. Standing next to their respective cars, stuffed to the brim with clothes and books and graduation gowns from the day before. They had spent the night tangled in each other’s arms, but the moment the sun peaked its head over the horizon they both faced each other with the grim realization of what the day brought. 

He wiped her tears away with his fingers, but he couldn’t keep up. Eventually, he gathered her into his arms, pressed his lips to her temple, felt her tears on his shirt, told her he loved her. That he would always love her, no matter what. 

She pressed her small hands to his chest, memorizing what he felt like in her arms. He kissed the underside of her ring finger. Promised that he would get her a ring and make her his. 

She asked him to swear that he would. 

He was twenty three and halfway through his Naval training. She was also twenty three, living at home, getting a master’s degree. They exchanged calls and letters and visits. 

Every time they went their separate ways he kissed her finger. She felt the heat of his lips on her skin for days after. A promise. 

The days got longer and the gaps between visits did, too. 

He loved her, she knew it. But he had to say it more. 

She was twenty four by the time he finished training. It was the same year she got a dream job at a school in her hometown. They decided it was OK, they could be apart a little more. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. They had done it before, they could do it again. What’s a few more years as a trade off for a lifetime of happiness? 

What he didn’t realize was that if he loved her, he would let her go. 

They were twenty six the first time he got called away to a place he might not return from. She gripped the phone tightly in her hand as he explained the situation the best that he could. He told her not to, but she got on a plane anyway. He cried as she held him in her arms on the tarmac. She cried in the car watching him walk away. 

If he loved her, he would have let her go. 

He returned, but he was different. There was no mirth in his eyes, no chuckle. He was solemn on the phone. He was broken. She tried but she couldn’t fix him. 

When she was twenty six the distance became too much and she left her life to settle into his. It worked, for a while. He kissed her shoulder before slipping out of bed in the morning, and she kept food warm for him on nights when he stumbled home late, boots tossed near the door, flight suit soaked in sweat, head filled with dreams and nightmares and anxiety. She held him in his sleep as he thrashed and fought. 

He kissed her finger and promised he would make her his. He just needed to wait out the next promotion cycle, climb one further rung on the ladder. She nodded but her heart broke. She was ready to be his. 

He loved her, so he should have let her go. He loved her, but he was never ready. 

When she was twenty eight she walked away. In two years, nothing had changed. He was no longer the Jake that went out of his way to get her favorite pastries on his way home from the base in the early hours of the morning after a watch shift. He stopped kissing her finger. He no longer brought up the stale promises he had spoken into existence so long ago. He had become a roommate. 

He was twenty eight as he watched her say goodbye. Car stuffed to the brim, along with the moving truck. He held back his tears. He wanted to fling himself onto the ground and beg her to stay. He wanted to tell her he had made a mistake by letting her fade into his routine. He wanted her to know she was the only reason he got up in the morning. 

Instead, he watched her drive away. His ring finger throbbed, despite being bare. 

He was twenty nine when he heard she had met someone else. His mother had seen them at a restaurant in town. 

She looks happy, his mother said. 

She deserves to be, Jake replied. 

He loved her, but he had to let her go. 

When he was thirty one he went home for Christmas. His niece gripped his hand tightly, dragging him into the toy store. As she grabbed a plush walrus, his ears perked up at a familiar voice. 

He was thirty one the first time he saw her future outlined in front of his eyes. 

She was thirty one the first time she saw a positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter.

She was thirty the first time someone got on their knees to propose.

She was thirty the first time the burn of Jake’s kisses on the underside of her finger began to fade. 

He was thirty two the first time he saw her with her daughter balanced perfectly on one hip. 

She was thirty two the last time she saw him, her daughter drooling on her side, hair askew, no makeup. She had gone out to run an errand, not see the man whose life she had once assumed would be intertwined with hers forever.  

He was thirty two the last time he saw her. She was perfect. She made his world stop for a beat. And when it started up again, he saw her future. It was the little girl, perched on her hip. 

He smiled without saying anything. She smiled back. 

They both let out the breath they had been keeping in for thirteen years. 

Din swears, laden with his own emotions. Typically any flirtatious comment throws him, but he’s too frazzled to acknowledge it. He retracts the blade and throws his arms up. You half expect him to chuck the saber into the nearby lake. Instead, he tosses it at the ground.

“The creator of the Darksaber was both Mandalorian and Jedi,” you bend down to retrieve the handle, brushing off the stray pieces of grass. “what does that tell you?”

“That I’m grateful you’re only a Jedi.” Din tries to joke, but his tone is coarse, and his anger slips through the modulator. You travel to him, taking a gloved hand in yours. Your fingers delicately wrap his own around the handle.

“You’ve mastered the ways of Mandalore. Now, you have to think like a Jedi.”

“What does that intel?”

You let his hand drop, planting yourself on the plush grass and crossing your legs. “Sit.” 

Din squats and stares at you expectantly through the sharp line of his visor. He gestures with his hands, waiting. 

“Ass on the ground.” 

A sigh escapes the modulator as he obeys your request. 

“What do you feel?”

“Grass.”

This was going to be a long day. 

“Look within.”

Another sigh. “Frustrated.”

You roll your hand, urging him to continue. 

“Frustrated that I can’t get this blasted thing to work.”

“Close your eyes.”

Din simply stares at you. He hasn’t survived this long by shutting his eyes to the world around him. 

“Do it.”

Din wonders what the force entails for you to see past his mask. But he recalls it’s not through the physical objects themselves but through himself that you sense his reluctance. You possess an inward gaze into the world around you, a clarity towards the people and, in this case, objects. Maybe, just maybe, Din needed some of that lucidity too. 

“Hold the handle,” you start. Din rubs a thumb over it. “Think of the blade’s intentions. After a thousand years, what is it seeking?”

“It’s just a blade.” Din deadpans. He peeks and is met with your enraged glare. Even for a Jedi, you’re losing patience with him. And it scares him. “It wants the possessor to fight in the name of Mandalore.”

“Go on.”

“It’s traded hands,” Din thinks of Bo-Katan and Moff Gideon. “many times. It wants to be in the right hands. Maybe I’m not those hands.”

“Maybe it needs to feel your intentions like I can feel you peeking.”

Din squeezes his eyes shut. He wouldn’t let anyone else cripple him in such a way. But here, with you, Din complies. “I want to serve my creed, to build Mandalore up again,” he thinks of you and Grogu. “But mostly, I need to protect my clan.”

Din can’t see your smile, so you let it blossom on your lips. 

“Now, instead of focusing on your emotions,” he hears you shuffle but dares not to open his eyes, afraid to lose his train of thought. “think of your intentions and raise the blade.”

Din gazes up at you with partial-focused eyes. He feels… calm. Introspect isn’t something Mandalorians are taught, nor is peace. Even at his age, he still has a lot to learn. He imagines that this is how you always feel whenever you meditate. Tranquil and grounded. Perhaps it’s because he’s thinking of you.

You wait as Din shuffles to his feet. He grips the handle in his hand and extracts the blade in a swift motion. You match his movement, and your light-colored saber contrasts the Darksaber.