#I almost made it’s own category for All I do too called ‘’it’s not oh my BUT’’ KFNDJDNJD

[yoohyeon]

After probably what been 9 hours total, I finally finished my monsta x songs tier list 😳

Here’s the og one I used ! 💚 Don’t reblog if we aren’t moots

[emomanswhore]

I feel like... if you call ghost daddy in bed he'll go crazy

ghost with a daddy kink ? oh yeah… he definitely eats it up, when his prettiest princess calls him daddy in bed. <33

—❤︎︎ — DADDY’S HOME . . . ❞

SIMON GHOST RILEY X FEM!READER

✵. !! WC : 3.7k

✵. !! TAGS & CW : explicit content! (18+ mdni) - service/softdom!ghost (he’s a lil bit mean), cunnilingus, daddy kink, size kink/difference, praise/petname usage, subtle spit kink, squirting, thigh slapping, overstimulation, dumbification, pussydrunk!ghost (hes in LOVE with your pussy), orgasm denial, fingering, the mask stays ON.

✵. !! A/N : hihi babies ! just a lil treat for y’all and thank you for 700+ follows and all the love you’ve given for simon says ♡!! hope you enjoy this mini fic, lmk how we feeling about it !! <33 ps… i folded. im sat. i actually wanna call this man daddy so bad. 🧎‍♀️

In your mind, there was one word— one forsaken word that you refused to utter. A word that only the most sexually deprived would use.

A person with their morals in check, should never attempt to sexualize something that is meant as an innocent title and name. Usually reserved for an actual father, or someone fulfilling the role of a male caregiver.

Right.

A person with their morals in check.

Right. You totally weren’t projecting… and deeply shaming your own innermost yearning, to desperately call your boyfriend ‘daddy’ while he fucked you.

It definitely wasn’t a thing you could say you were proud to admit outloud. Nope, you would quite frankly rather be caught dead than have your questionable cravings exposed to the world.

But every single day, you swore to god that your boyfriend tried to purposely provoke you into using the absolutely forbidden word.

Simon always took care of you. Whether that’d be making sure you got to work safely, cooking you meals on days that you were too tired to be bothered, or even texting you throughout the day to make sure you were resting properly.

You know. You know that’s probably the absolute bare minimum, and what a boyfriend is supposed to do for you in a serious relationship. But you just couldn’t help that ache and flutter you got in your heart, that made you so weak for him.

He worked so hard every single day, busy and moving nonstop on less than four hours of full rest. Even when he had his most stressful and agonizingly long days at work, he still tried to reach out to you. It could be a single worded text message or a phone call that only lasted for five minutes.

No matter what or without question, Simon will do his absolute best to tend to you. It was truly unconditional love, devotion, and his unspoken rule to give you whatever you most desired.

And you feel sick— sick in the head for letting your insatiable lust take over your sense of morality. Putting his mostly wholesome catering ways, in the same category as what you needed to relieve that scorching, sore pounding in your core.

That was alright though, you could live off your little fantasies and scenarios you created in your mind. Always making yourself dizzy and soft headed, imagining a world where he would make love to you and refer to himself as ‘daddy’.

It would suit him so well. Your hulk of a man, who had to put a slight bend in his knees whenever he came through the doors of your home. His mellow, husky voice always gently rasping to you— almost never, ever raising it higher than an octave at you. The way he could spoil you absolutely rotten, only ever calling you by his own little terms of endearment.

Always putting you first when he fucked you. Even in times when it got rough or you two were experimenting with things on the more intense side, you always came first. Literally and physically, since Simon couldn't properly get off himself, without knowing you were completely satisfied.

Your aftercare would consist of cuddling, he’d coo the sweetest of praises as he handled your sore limbs.

“My sweet girl, look at how pretty she is. Did such a good job today, angel. I know baby, I'll take good care of you now. Such a pretty girl, aren't you?”

It’s perfectly fine.

You could keep all those things about him to yourself. Just let your brain work its magic, to create fantasies and fill the deep void of your scorching carnality. You always subconsciously needed that one little thing to make yourself come even harder. But you were a good, grateful girl for him and always let Simon know how well he treated your body.

It’s perfectly fine. You don’t need a daddy kink in your life, to make yourself feel better. You were so much better than that, and you’d never let Simon get the idea that you were some ill, perverted deviant.

It was all fine.

Until today, when he finally pulls the most forbidden word out your mouth— and satiates the bubbling, hot desire that has a heavy chokehold on your heart and soul.

You don’t know how things escalated so fast.

One minute, you get his text that he’s on his way home and he’ll see you soon.

Out of pure joy and excitement to finally see him again after three weeks, you start to get yourself ready for the evening by taking an extra long shower. Making sure you’ve lathered and exfoliated every inch of your body in vanilla scented body polish, with a hint of brown sugar and cocoa butter. It was always Simon’s favorite scent on you, and he’d seemed more clingy than usual whenever your sweet aroma hit his nose.

The next hour, you throw on a simple, yet cheeky little lingerie set.

A delicate floral embroidered baby blue bra, with its matching mini stringed thong panty. You couldn’t help but fall in love with it at first sight. The design is a lovely work of art, the milky color enhancing the glow of your soft skin— yet it’s so scandalous on your body.

You did purposely get a smaller size, but on top of that it was made of see through mesh material. Not a single doubt in your mind that if he looked close enough, Simon could make out the shape of your nipples through the bra. And between your legs? The outline of your folds were perfectly clear and transparent against the light color of your panties.

After spending another minute admiring yourself in the bathroom mirror and taking a few selfies of your enticing form, you slip on a fluffy cream colored robe and head to the kitchen. You wanted to get something in your stomach before Simon came home, so you decided to lightly snack on a slice of pomegranate fruit.

You don’t even make it to the fridge before you hear the sharp clicking of keys turning a door knob, and feel the cold gust of wind that comes with the front door being swung open.

A gasp and squeal flies out your mouth as you bounce up and down on your toes, the actual sight of your boyfriend trudging in through the doorway makes your heart swell and pound in your chest.

“Baby!” You practically skip on your feet towards him, unable to hide your excitement of his abrupt appearance, as he starts taking quick strides to meet you halfway.

You think with how fast Simon approaches towards you, and him not even bothering to take off his shoes at the front door, he must’ve been just as excited to see you.

When you two finally meet each other in the middle of the hallway, you give him a big, dazzling smile as you go to lean in to hug him.

Before you can get your arms around him, he places a large hand on the small of your back and pulls you in close to his chest. You gape up at him, your smile slowly melting down to a look of pure confusion. Knees already feeling wobbly at his close proximity, and the way he has to tilt his head down to look you in the eyes.

Your breath hitches in your throat, when he slowly drags his open palm up along the cotton material of your robe. Even through its thickness, you can feel the heat radiating off his hand that follows along the curve of your back. Sending tingles down your spine, when his hand eventually makes its way up to the soft nape of your neck.

You both stare at each other. Your eyes become hazy and unfocused, while his dark ones scan over your perfect little form. You hear him pull in a deep breath of air through his nose. Holding it in his chest for five seconds before letting it back out, while he drags his eyes up back onto yours.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day long, y’know that?” He mutters these words, yet somehow they’re loud enough to ring and echo in your eardrums. You pull your lips in your mouth, feeling your core thump in tune with the pitter patter of your heartbeat.

You practically whimper out loud, as he continues onto his sentence,

“ ‘S about time I came home. Think it’s only right to show my princess how much I really missed her, wouldn’t you agree, pretty baby ?”

That was the only warning you were given… for what your boyfriend truly had planned for you, once he finally got his hands on you. Everything after that moment, truly did escalate as if time were being fasted forward.

You knew he missed you. Without him vocally telling you how much he thought of you, his actions spoke much louder than his words.

He was so sloppy.

From the way he practically rips your robe off your trembling body, to pushing you down onto your shared mattress and diving face first into the warm heat of your clothed pussy.

He was truly like a dog in heat. Not even bothering to take his mask off completely from his head, and only lifts it enough to show you his parting lips as he comes face to face with the growing patch of wetness sticking in your panties.

“Look at my pretty lil’ lady,” he coos softly, hooking his thumb into the side of your soiled panties and pulling them to the side to expose your glistening cunt to his heavy eyes. “Missed me, haven’t you? Can’t imagine how tight ‘n upset you are, since I haven’t been givin’ you proper treatment lately.”

It always blew your mind when Simon literally talked to your pussy.

Speaking in soft murmurs and giving it the same delicate pet names that he gave you, the owner of it. As dumb as it probably sounded, you sometimes couldn’t help but feel that ugly swirl of jealousy when he practically treated it like it was an entire living and breathing person.

You don’t have time to mull over your childish feelings, letting out a squeak when he grabs both of your thighs and presses them back until your knees squish against your chest.

“Know you’re mad at me, little one” Another squeak sounds out your throat, as you feel him turn his head to the side of your thigh and he lets his teeth sink into the doughy flesh of your skin. He hums, sucking on the flesh before letting it go and pressing a soft kiss to the flaming bruise he leaves behind. “Gonna show you how much I’ve missed splittin’ you open on my tongue.”

He follows through with his words, putting his full attention back onto your pussy. Using his index and middle fingers to pry open the thick lips of your cunt, groaning when he sees your hole twitching and spasming over nothing. The scent of your nectar coating your thighs and leaking out your pussy, makes him feel even more high and drunk off your arousal.

You’re so messy already. And like the gentleman that he was, Simon always took the initiative to help clean up messes that you made.

Still keeping his fingers spread enough to keep your lips parted, he lolls his thick tongue out before swiping it on your slit. You mewl and flinch at the feeling of his warm tongue, but he grips the side of your thighs to keep you still. Simon continues licking up and down your cunt. Maintaining the same pattern of stroking his strong tongue, as if he were savoring a frozen delicacy that helplessly dripped down the side of its waffle cone.

Once he feels like he’s collected enough of your cum on his tongue, he pulls his tongue back into his mouth to let the taste of you sit heavy on his taste-buds.

Your toes curl and you let out a soft gasp, as you watch him hollow his cheeks, before he lets the sinful mixture of your cum and his spit fall right back into your twitching hole. Chuckling to himself as he watches the way his greedy girl swallows up the little treat he gave her.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, princess” This time he does actually talk to you, dragging his eyes up from your drenched pussy and onto your blearing, glossy ones.

“Always so good for me. Could eat you up every single day ‘n never get tired of it. Can’t believe I went so long without this, fuck.”

Simon starts to probe his tongue along your core, tracing the shape of it until he finally pushes inside you. Already feeling the tight caverns of your pussy ease up, and welcome the thickness of his tongue rubbing up against your gushing walls.

“S-Sim— oohhh,” You throw your head back, unable to finish your squealing when he pulls his tongue completely out of you, and decides to inflict his torture upon your little clit. First he flicks the tip of his tongue over it, then he lets his mouth completely envelop around your pearl. Pumping it a few times between his lips, before pulling off to run his tongue over the expanse of your pussy.

You weren’t going to last.

You were far too sensitive after not having him around to please you for three entire weeks. All you could do was sob and let it happen, letting out a cry before you feel a fat watery gush of cum shoot out your hole. Simon pays it absolutely no mind, only widening his mouth to catch every little drop you gifted him.

“That’s it. Such a sweetheart, you’re already spoiling me ‘n givin’ me a lil’ treat. ,” He feels the way your body starts to relax, already going into its state of after pleasure— but he isn't done. Far from done, actually. Hasn’t even been half of an hour yet, and your legs start shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Ah, Ah,” Simon tuts, slapping his palm hard on your soaked inner thigh, making you jolt and buck your hips up. “C’mon baby, couldn’t have thought I was done with you. ‘S only been a few minutes, ‘n you’re tapping out already? Thought my baby missed me, hm?”

It hasn’t only been a few minutes. Even in your dazed and dizzy mind, you knew that he’d been feasting on your pussy for well over twenty minutes. You shake your head, bottom lip wobbling as you let out a soft sob.

“I di-did miss you, baby” You sniffle wetly, feeling him trace his thick fingers along your soaking heat. Shaking your head in protest as he slips in his middle and ring fingers, humming while you babble to him. “But I can’t ta— aaahh, t-take it anymore. ‘S too much, baby. No more.”

“Too much?” He starts to flex his fingers deep inside of you, curling them in slow motions to stimulate your special gummy spot, that has you sobbing hysterically.

“You haven’t had your fill yet, sweet girl. I can feel it. Y’see this?” Simon tries to retract his fingers from your cunt, but your walls instantly clamp down on him. “You’re not lettin’ me out. My little lady down here knows exactly what she wants. So c’mon princess, lay still ‘n let me spoil this pretty pussy rotten.”

Having absolutely zero regard for your whines and sobs, he continues his previous abuse on your poor little pussy.

Seconds, minutes, hours, decades— You can't even tell how long he stays between your thighs.

Simon uses both strong hands to keep your legs steady and trap you from squirming or running away. You can take it. You will take it. He knows how much you need this, humming at every broken little sob and wanton moan that comes screeching out your throat.

Your vision starts to blur while you stare up at the spinning ceiling. Saliva pooling in your mouth and making a puddle next to your temples, as you let it run down the side of your lips.

You’re going crazy.

So high off the overstimulation of his face buried deep in your leaking pussy, that you swear…. you swear, you can feel your brain getting mushy. So mushy that if you shook your head hard enough, it could probably come spilling out through your ears.

He’s speaking into your pussy, saying words and mumbling something out loud. But you can’t hear it. All you can hear is your heartbeat pulsing in your throat, and feel the way he shakes his face side to side, while his tongue is plugged in your cunt.

Feel the way his hands grip your thighs so tight, that the blunt tip of his nails dig deep into your skin. You can already imagine the bruising and crescent little puncture marks it’ll leave on your legs.

It’s all so sloppy. Your pleas and cries for mercy, getting lost in the little squeals of ‘yes!’ and ‘simon!’ you can’t help but let out. And he eats it up, kissing your heated pelvis while burying three fingers inside of you.

“There’s my good girl, y’sound so pretty” He goes back to focusing his attention on your sore clit, giving it an open mouthed kiss before he continues speaking to you.

“Wanna hear my girl tell me who’s making her feel good. Hm? Lemme hear it. Say who it is, that can make you sing your little heart out.”

You make some unintelligible garbles, and Simon chuckles at your quivering and hiccuping. He squeezes your thighs encouragingly and smacks the side of them twice.

“Big words, baby. You’re a big girl, so tell me… who’s making you feel good right now?”

“It’s…” You swallow thickly and sniffle, slowly losing your train of thought as he suctions his lips around your swollen pearl. “It’s— ohhh, ‘mmm my goddd. It’s you…”

You start to gather some of your discombobulated brain cells to form a complete sentence. Simon’s name sits on your tongue, and you’re ready to tell him, it’s him. Simon. It’s Simon.

Until he pulls his head back with your clit between his lips— taking it with him, and letting it go with a loud pop!

It’s not Simon.

“Oooohhh g-god. It’s you! ‘Mmmy goodddd… daddy, it’s you… it’s all you, daddy.”

He pauses.

Whipping his head up to see if he really just heard what he believes you just cried out. Tapping the side of your thigh, he tries to get your attention so you can focus on his voice.

“What was that, honey? Didn’t hear you, come back to me and say it again.”

You whimper and hiccup, tears run down the side of your face and you continue whining at him.

“ ‘S you, daddy. Need you so badly, pleasseee baby. ‘M-m so close. I need it.”

Unbelievable.

He lets go of your trembling thighs. Letting the weight of his body help keep them pressed against your chest, as he crawls from up below your stomach and hovers over your face. Simon’s face is covered in your arousal. His lips glisten, and a good portion of the mask is damp and sticks to his skin.

“One more time, honey. Y’said it’s ‘daddy’ ? Hm? It’s your daddy, that’s taking good care of this pretty pussy?”

Simon’s fingers trail back down between your legs, softly shushing you as you keen at the feeling of his digits sliding back inside of you. He stares down at you, practically seeing the little stars spinning in your eyes. You weren’t in your best state of mind right now, but he’ll be damned if you tried denying that word escaping out with your cries.

“Can’t come ‘till you let me know,” You give him big, sad eyes but he shakes his head at you. “Wanna come, right? Tell. Me. Say it again, _____.”

At the use of your real, full name you quickly snap back into reality. It was like a switch, your bubbly headspace falling apart and bursting open once he rasped your name.

You did it. You really did call him daddy. It was your most taboo, and forbidden word—

But fuck it.

Today, your daddy was finally home. And you needed him to take care of you, just like he always did.

“Daddy,” you mewl out, feeling another hot sensation shooting through your spine. It was coming. You were so close. “Daddy I n-need you. ‘S you Simon, so please, pleaasee let me cum.”

His nostrils flare before he’s smacking his lips down on yours. Licking inside of your mouth, and inhaling the little moans you let out from tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Not yet, pretty little baby. Daddy hasn’t had all his fun yet.” Simon pulls away from your lips for a moment, laughing softly at the way you try to chase after his mouth for more. He uses one hand to swiftly fumble with the buckle of his belt, making quick work of pulling down his cargo pants and boxers. Laughing again when he pulls his drenched fingers out your greedy little hole, that puts up a fight to keep him deep inside your cunt.

“Must’a been treating my lil’ lady real good,” You can feel the heat of his hard, thick cock pressing onto your pelvis. Already licking your lips and grabbing onto his flexing bicep for support. “Gotta keep showing my special girls how much their daddy loves ‘em.”

He uses a free hand to guide his length to your throbbing pussy, unable to help himself from slapping the head a few times against you. His cock makes a squishy plop plop when he makes contact with your sticky folds, and teases you with a rub on your raw, swollen clit.

“Want you to remember this, once I’m done with you.”

Simon feels your nails dig into the hard meat of his bicep, bracing yourself when he finally lets the head of his cock greet your warm, welcoming insides. Already feeling the way your pussy grips around him, and makes no plans of ever letting go.

“Want you to remember what’ll happen every single time, that daddy comes home to his pretty, little princess.”

✪-tagging-✪ / : @touyyes @winterbimbwo @sirenh4ll @sailewhoremoon @noriken @kokobunn @fushisslut @dilftaroooo @aasouthteranoswife @daeneeryss @simon-rileys-princess @g4bby @sussywowzaee @lazuli-leenabride @moonshot-eclipse @mietkoz @honeybee54321 @lich1 @terrythetortoise @fuckinriley @actuallyanita @wedonttalkabouthenry @motionlessinrhi @hauntingtherosebush @spookyclowwn

(couldn’t tag y’all </3 ily tho) @benandjerrysisqueer @bleedingmagic-02 @tescomealdeals-blog @getoruii @alyssam14 @officialjotchuagirlfanclub

[unholyhelbig]

Can't wait for part four oh my god

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 4/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3,545

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, night terrors, chains, mentions of things under the skin, mentions of torture, terrible grammar.

[a/n: This one may be shorter, but damn if it's not filled with plot. I promise, I don't hate Thor. ]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Wanda Maximoff stared at you while you slept. She hadn’t meant to do so; she was drawn to you. A blanket that was a soft baby blue was covering you and you’d tightened your grip around it until your knuckles were white. Soft breathes escaped you, and she selfishly thought about other quiet sounds she could draw with her presence.

They’d moved you from the initial containment unit when SHIELD was satisfied enough with your blood results, and your rate of regeneration. There were no more physical tests they could run on you, no more blood or vitals that needed to be taken. So, they’d moved you to a cell that was less like a hospital room and more like a condo.

No, Wanda wouldn’t quite call it that. It was mostly white, the walls honeycombed and equipped with sound proofing in need be. There was a bed, and a nightstand, even a television that was tacked the adjacent wall.

In the corner was a glass containment unit that reminded you that you were, in fact, a prisoner. They’d given you more clothes, simple sweatpants and shirts that had a large stretching logo on the front. You’d considered it a win that it didn’t have an inmate number just below the collar.

Wanda stood at the two-way glass. She didn’t have the heart to push through your reserves when they were lowered like this. And truthfully, her skin still tingled from the first time she had invaded your mind. There was so much there, yet, each time she tried to reach further it was like a rolodex of times and dates, and an immeasurable amount of death.

A calloused hand found its way to the small of her back. Wanda clocked the scent of birch and vanilla. It was familiar and calmed her nerves like a soothing balm. The witch bit down on her thumb nail and spared a worried glance to her wife.

“She looks so peaceful when she sleeps.”

“You wouldn’t believe how loud it is in there.”

Natasha hummed and wrapped her arms around Wanda, resting her chin on the other woman’s shoulder. They both watched you for a few minutes; the curve of your figure, and the rhythmic up and down of your chest. A small frown had etched itself onto your features, but it quickly vanished.

“Nat,” Wanda’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but she’d turned her head, making it ring loud and clear. “I know we’ve been making jokes about this… toying with her. But, I don’t think I can let her go.”

Natasha squeezed Wanda tighter and made eye contact with her in the reflection of the window. That stare was so genuine that it made Natasha’s heart ache in the center of her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, but she found you quite charming too. Aloof, at times, but there was so much hidden under the surface.

“Yeah, baby. I know what you mean. You’ve always had a thing for the broken ones, and she’s convinced that she falls into that category.”

A sigh moved past Wanda’s lips. Your thoughts were so loud they almost penetrated her defenses. You were having a nightmare. According to Natasha, they all followed the same formula, and if it was anything like she had witnessed; the farmstead, the stretching bone-white rib cage that protruded from the center of a young girl. She wanted nothing of it.

“Can we keep her?” Wanda asked.  

A chuckle vibrated through Natasha. Wanda felt the sensation against her spine and leaned into the feeling, laying her hands over the ones encircling her. “Well, I suppose that’s up to her.”

A frown formed against your features, a pained expression that pulled at them both in ways that they weren’t expecting. Through they glass, they could hear small whimpers that seemed to catch in your throat. You burrowed further into the mattress. If Wanda squinted, she could see tears wet your rosy cheeks.

Then the screaming started. It was wracked with pain, and a second one didn’t’ escape you before both women burst through the door. They each had experience with night terrors, though, from the sound of it, nothing as visceral as yours.

“Solnechnyy svet,” Wanda’s low hum was accompanied by her soft touch. You writhed, effectively shoving the blankets away. You were in a pair of shorts and a tank-top. A growl pushed past your lips, something inhuman and startling.

It was Natasha who saw the darkness under your skin. She clenched her eyes tighter, trying to clear her vision. There were black veins that squirmed just beneath the surface in the form of chains. But no, they couldn’t be. That would irrational. Binds forming under your flesh and wrapped around your bones. It simply wasn’t possible.

Unconsciously, you clawed at your throat, at ghostly links that snaked around your neck. It was choking you, making it hard to breathe. A hiccup pushed past your lips and tears continued to dampen your pillow.

“Wanda, what do we do?”

Natasha had placed a hand firmly on your chest, pressing you into the mattress. She didn’t want you to thrash hard enough to injure yourself but she struggled against your strength. Another cry escaped you, and blinked again, trying to push the image of sharpened teeth from her mind.

“We have to wake her up, I think.”

“What if that hurts her more?”

“I think she’s going to hurt herself if we don’t pull her out of this. It’s so loud. God, her mind is like tar.”

Natasha didn’t wait for an explanation. She straddled your squirming form. She gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. A cry escaped you, even in your sleep you tried fruitlessly to buck her off.

“Can you go in and pull her out?”

“I can try. Everything is so dark. Can you hold her still?”

Natasha grits, pushing all of her weight on you. “I’m trying. Jesus Christ she’s strong.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed a dark, and alarming red. Natasha huffed, knowing that it would be impossible to reach either of you in this moment. Her arms were starting to fail her, strands of copper hair falling into her gaze. The phantom binds seemed to tightened, you sputtered and pulled, but didn’t falter in your fight.

The witches shoulders started to tremble, her jaw clenched and whispered words not reaching Natasha’s ears. You bucked again, pushing into her. She tightened her thighs around your center, trying to lean all of her weight on your arms.

Small pin-pricks of pain erupted the tendons in hands. With fierce eyes, Natasha gawked at the pitch black that spread across your fingers. Your nails were elongating, ending in claws that were sharp enough to pierce her skin and even draw blood.

Wanda drew in a sharp and cloying breath before she wretched herself away from you and stumbled back from the bed. Her eyes were crimson and frantic for a few moments before she could blink the color away, chest heaving up and down. You were finally quiet, falling limp under Natasha.

Natasha panted, looking back at her wife “Are you okay?”

Wanda used the back of her hand to wipe moisture away from under her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her stare frantic. “I could taste blood. All I could taste was blood.”

Natasha made a small noise and looked down at you. The chains had vanished, your skin smooth, if not an irritated red from your scratching. She couldn’t’ glimpse your teeth, but prayed they weren’t pointed. Your nails had retracted and left nothing but small cuts behind.

“Mm, what the fuck,” you grumbled, eyes fluttering open, betraying your groggy state. You were fully pulled from unconsciousness when you realized the pressure against you. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah, I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

Natasha let her own body go slack, she flopped down next to you to catch her breath. Wanda had lowered herself tentatively to the corner of the mattress. She audibly gulped, trying to quell the dryness in her throat.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” You glanced down at Wanda, raising yourself up onto your elbow. “I hurt both of you.”

“Not really, kitten. Just startled us, is all.”

Her words hung in the air. She was a good liar, possibly the best, but you could still detect the trepidation in her voice. Your entire body was buzzing, thrumming with a type of fear that you hadn’t felt in years. Not since the ice broke, and your brothers gurgled screams echoed in the air.

Wanda looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Her skin was pale and her eyes were borderline wild. You’d only ever seen the woman in pristine composure, and this frightened you more than the metallic scent of blood that wafted off Natasha.

She let out a shaky breathe that had her wife shooting up despites her exhaustion. She curled a finger under the woman’s chin and guided her soft stare. “Baby, what did you see?”

Wanda grabbed Natasha’s hand with her own, lowering it down to her lap, but not releasing her hold. Her eyes found yours. “What did you see?”

You drew your legs to your chest and hugged them close. There was mostly dark, but a deepening sense of dread clung to you throughout sleep. “I… was in Jennifer’s apartment but something was off. It didn’t’ feel right and it didn’t take me long to notice it. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and splash my face with water, but when I opened the door, it was, shit, it was this dense forest.”

Wanda nodded as if she agreed with your recall. It was an endless landscape of stretching evergreens. Through the gaps in the trees you could see a mountain range that was dusted with a powdering of snow. You knew you weren’t alone, but you couldn’t quite see who was with you.

“There were chains, dozens of them that I was meant to break. The people around me willed that I didn’t, that I couldn’t. But they were easy to snap, nothing for me to push through.”

“They made other chains, didn’t they?” Wanda asked gently.

You nodded. “I think they were afraid of me. I scared them with my size, with my strength. What does that mean?”

Wanda shook her head and gave you a sympathetic stare. If she had felt a fraction of the fear, the contempt, that you had, then you owed her an apology. It hit you like a stone but could break bones like a boulder if one wasn’t careful.

The glass shattered under the strength of the hit. A fierce ache shot down your spine, the pop of windowpane not registering until the pebble-sized shards reined down around your bare feet. Your breathe had effectively been knocked out of you, and kept out by the mans iron-tight grip on your throat, his other hand keeping you steady by wrapping around the fabric of your shirt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This man was huge and could easily toss you to the sun if he weren’t restraining himself. He smelled of citrus, of a kind of mint that tickled your throat. Your introduction to Thor, God of Thunder, was not at all what you had imagined.

There was a flicker of anger in his eyes before he launched himself at you. He’d shoved you into the glass pane and decided to choke the life out of you. Your hands clawed at his unwavering grip, lungs burning and legs kicking. Spots had started to form in your vision.

Natasha and Steve tried to pull him away, making little progress. You were losing consciousness, not able to fight back in your current state of shock. His arms were suddenly wrenched back. You fell to the floor, glass embedding itself in it’s skin.

You coughed and sputtered, not registering the phantom manes of red around his wrist, and arms. You curled into yourself, coughing as you greedily took in as much air as you could. Natasha was at your side in an instant. Steve’s aftershave coating your throat as he checked you over. Both disregarded the glass.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha was on her feet, satisfied that you had turned away from death’s doorstep. She closed the distance between herself and the God of Thunder, shoving him with a strong hand. “You touch her again and I’ll put you through a wall. Understand?”

She was deterred by the fear in his eyes. She’d known this man for years, and had him backed into a corner with a protective fury in her bones. Thor was a gentle giant, never using his strength without a driving factor. There was apprehension in his stance, large hands dragging down his bearded face.

“Lady Romanoff, I assure you, you do not know what you are protecting.”

“I just watched you throw someone half your size through a glass window. Explain to me why I wouldn’t protect her.”

She glanced over at you, on your feet and with Steve’s arm around your middle, keeping you up. The hardness of his stare mirrored Natasha’s. Wanda’s eyes were neural, but magic whirred around her fingertips like worms, writhing for purchase.

“That is not a woman!” He laughed, boisterous, yet without humor, he pointed a finger at you. “That is the end of times, the catalyst for the fall of Valhalla and Asgard. My home! If you don’t destroy it, I will.”

“No one is destroying anything.” Wanda snarled, effectively placing herself between Thor and yourself. Her arms were crossed over her chest. “We called to you for answers, not this. You’re welcome to return to your galivanting around space.”

“You expect me to leave? Not until I have it in chains.”

This brought your own stare to his, hardening your stance. A low growl escaped your chest, one that had a dark rumble to it, silencing the entire room. It was inhuman, it pulled the air away and filled the area with tension.

“You see that? That’s just a fraction of power. You let it get in and manipulate you, then you’ll be responsible for the world crumbling. You hear me?”

“Hi, yes,” You raised a shaky hand, “Do I have a say in this?”

“I cannot talk to you!” He said, almost frantically, taking a step back, “I refuse to let you manipulate me.”

Steve cleared his throat, taking control of the room. He removed himself from you when he was certain that you weren’t going to topple over. The pain had turned into a dull hum, and then soon, nothing at all. Your own hair was standing up at the presence of Thor.

“We’re being rash here. You’re clearly bothered by y/n. Before we jump to conclusions, maybe we should talk about this.” He offered, earning a huff and an apprehensive stare. “Explain to us what has you so spooked.”

Yes, god please. You pleaded silently. There was the inherent fear in his stance, but that at least gave way to him knowing exactly what you were. The horror was more accepting than the confusion. He’d sited the end of worlds, and you certainly knew you didn’t’ have that in you, standing in a pair of blood-soaked sweatpants and awkwardly picking a shard of glass from your palm.

Thor’s shoulders had dropped. He’d deflated like a balloon and suddenly looked as pale as Wanda had earlier. He kept his distance from you, licking his dry lips and scratching the back of his head. “Captain, do you recall the struggle of going up against Loki? This deceit and his tricks, and his betrayal.”

He nodded, the room engulfed in quiet. It was their first encounter as a team and so much had happened since then. Natasha clenched and unclenched her jaw, recalling her turmoil with Clint, but keeping her thoughts to herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“We scraped by in that war. Can you imagine the damage his daughter will do if unleashed on this world?”

Thor didn’t get an answer. All eyes had turned to you, finally dislodging the piece of glass from your hand. You let it fall to the floor, your mouth opening as if you wanted to say something, but it died before spoken.

“No,” You laughed, shaking your head “No, absolutely not. I have very normal parents who didn’t’ try to take over the world. My dad paints houses and my mom teaches biology and there is no way in hell I’m anyone else’s child!”

He looked at you with a form of pity now. Just like the rest of the Inhuman’s and heroes of the world, you hadn’t kept up with Loki. Of course, you recognized the sourness behind his name. The malice and the hundreds of lives that he took. But you also recognized the familiar feeling in your gut.

“I don’t’ understand,” Wanda spoke up, “We ran all of the background checks. FRIDAY didn’t’ find a single red flag in Y/n’s history. She was born and grew up in Hoboken. The only police report is from a busted house party and she was just in a holding cell until she sobered up. She is, by all accounts, normal aside from digging herself out of her own grave.”

“You were not supposed to die, so you didn’t.”

“I got hit by a taxi.”

“Okay,” Natasha soothed, placing a calming hand on your back. Nothing was connecting, and it all swirled around your mind viciously. Thor was your uncle? Your angry, blood thirsty uncle.

“Loki had three children that were all a threat to Asgard. And for centuries, the population struggled with their existence, feared them. They were unstoppable creatures that craved nothing but blood and carnage.”

Okay, ouch. The only thing you craved right now was normalcy. It seemed so far out of reach. If you could turn back time and go back to your desk job and your quiet comfort, you would be content for eternity.

“Jormungandr was trapped within the waters that surrounded Asgard, meant to float in a limbo for all eternity. And Hel, she was sent to the underworld to rule. Better the dead than the living be effected by her cruelness.” Thor grimaced, nearly shuddered at the thought of her. “And then there is you. Fenrir.”

“y/n,” You suggested quietly.

He pointed at you with a shaking finger “untamable. Feral. They attempted to chain you down twice before they realized that no metal was strong enough to hold you. They needed to trap you in a different way to stop the coming of Ragnarök.”

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, voice unsteady with anger.

“I didn’t’ do anything. The people of Asgard knew that if they were truly to be safe from its reign, then they’d have to banish it somewhere that didn’t’ offer much power. So, they crafted chains. Ones that would keep it’s animal nature restrained on Asgard, but it’s conscious in a constant state of torture.”

“Oh, nice, cool.” You let out a shaky breath. “That’s really comforting, thank you.”

He sneered at you, fueled by years of legend that had seeped into his brain. You couldn’t remember seeing this type of hatred in anyone before, and certainly not the Avenger that was voted the ‘most huggable’ in at least ten teen magazines.

“You tore Tyr’s hand from his body, ripped his tendons and filled your mouth with blood, you greedy animal.”

“That’s enough.” Steve barked. “You’ve explained nothing. If she is some all-powerful world-ending child of a God, then how is she here?”

“Don’t you get it, Cap? This is it’s prison. Centuries of pain. Life after life watching it’s family die in the most horrific ways. It’s the same prison we’ve trapped Loki in for his sins and the same one it’s fated to live forever.”

The dreams you’d had for years flashed before you in a dizzying brigade. Thor looked much too satisfied for your liking but Natasha’s sudden grip on your arm stopped you. She gave you a knowing look, a warning telling you to stay in place, and against your better judgement, you listened.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wanda said.

“Fine,”

He laughed again, taking a few steps away from the three avengers and their charge. His boots crunched against the glass. He refused to turn his back to you, instead keeping a vicious glare on his features until he made it to the door. You fought off the chills that threatened to work their way through your body. If not for Natasha, you would have fallen back to the floor.

“Be warned, Lady Romanoff. When I return, I will not be alone. I cannot guarantee your safety in the event that you throw yourself between me and this beast again.”

“Go.” Wanda rumbled, “Now.”

Thor held up both hands, nodding his head at Steve before he finally willed himself to turn. The three of you watched helplessly as you walked with a purpose down the corridor. His footfalls echoed, and you swore that you could hear them even when he was out of view.

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee, @shayarshucky, @bstvst]

[webslingingslasher]

could you do angst -> fluff?

you and peter are long distance. someone sends you a picture of "peter" cheating. but the picture isn't peter.

Long distance relationships sucked. 

You may be biased, but you knew that long term relationships were the worst of them all. You’d put that in the same category as finding out you’ve been catfished for years. 

It could be worse, like Sadie and Dylan. Dylan moved across the country for school and watching your roommate go through the process of trying to set up date facetime calls, and scheduling calls between the hours of the night, made you feel like you didn’t have any say about yours. 

At least you and Peter were in the same time zone, he was only an hour and a half train ride away but it felt like lifetimes when for years you shared a school and zip code. You always had Peter around, and it’s very noticeable when he’s not. 

Imagine not being able to kiss your lover everyday, hold their body, or look in their eyes. 

Sadie smiled empathetically when Peter called, she got up to leave the room empty. Many times you’ve gotten out of bed at three am for a long bathroom break, you know that there are some things you tell Peter you’d never want anyone else to hear. You could extend that to Sadie as well. 

Peter’s voice was warm through the phone. 

“Hiya, baby.” 

You bit your bottom lip, too excited to keep it in. 

“Hi, handsome.” 

“Tell me three things from your day.” 

You paused to think, you knew this question would come up, you made a mental note of what to tell Peter. 

“So, the fat squirrel by park hall attacked this guy for his sandwich, and I know what you’re thinking, but that squirrel is fucking vicious. And, hm…” 

Peter shuffles around on his end. 

“Oh! My English professor is letting us have open notes midterm, and finally… I really, really missed you.” 

Peter gives you a soft chuckle, you wish you could see his face too. 

“I missed you too, also that fat squirrel? Next time I come down I wanna see him in person, pictures don’t do it justice.” 

When he comes down, he hasn’t visited in a month. Not that you can’t go see him, you make sure to take trips but he also has his aunt here, and he tries to do Spidey in the city as much as he can to keep questions to a minimum. 

“Two more, petey.” 

He hums on the line, you miss feeling his chest vibrate when he does it against your back. 

“I ate a salad for lunch,” 

“Bullshit.” You cough on the line. 

“Okay, listen here, stinky.” 

“Shots fired! I’ll hang up right now.” 

Peter whines, “you can’t! I have to tell you my third thing.” 

“Go on, I have a call to finish.” 

He scoffs, “rude, I was going to say that I may have found an out for my robotics midterm so hypothetically-” 

You squeal so loudly on the phone Peter pulls his own away from his ear, it was slightly obnoxious but knowing you were just as excited to see him made his heart melt. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” 

Peter gives you that boyish laugh, the one that makes your heart beat three times fast. 

“Baby, I didn’t even finish.” 

“You don’t have to! I know what you’re saying and I need you here so I can kiss your face and other stuff.” 

Peter’s tone drops seductively,  “oh? Like what other stuff?” 

“You want to see the fat squirrel right?” 

“The one in my pants?” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Okay, okay, so I was thinking I could come up on-” 

His name was called in the background, it made you pause for a second, he stopped talking for a minute. His name was called again, it was tilted, like a song almost, it was a female for sure. 

“Oh, peteyyy?” 

Your stomach dropped, that was your name for him. The name that he only liked you calling him, it was something that was so sacred and this person you don’t know saying it so loosely, like it’s regular. 

“Pete?” You say his name like you’re asking ‘who’s that?’ ‘why is she calling you that?’ ‘where are you, are you in your dorm?’ ‘why is there a girl in your room calling you my name?’ 

He coughs, “sorry, baby. I uh, I need to go but I’ll call you in a few hours, okay?” 

“Oh. Oka-” 

The line went dead. 

Your mind swimmed with dangerous thoughts, each one simmered down with the overwhelming echo that peter would never do anything like what a part of you is insinuating. Not to mention you were sure that he’d explain everything when he called you in a few hours, except when you sat around and waited, and waited, and waited, he never called. 

You fell asleep waiting on his call, you woke up with your morning alarm and checked your phone, no missed calls or texts. It felt weird, he never missed goodnight calls. It wasn’t until ten he tried to call, you had to ignore it because of your class but made a note to call him on your way back to your room.

At lunch everything shifted. 

You and some friends met up in the dining hall and you were in the middle of scarffing down fries when you tried to look up your friends ex’s new girlfriend on instagram, you were confronted with a message request. The picture and text made your hand fall, french fries scattering, you felt like you were about to puke all over the table. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re peter's girlfriend, we shared a class last semester and he talked about you all the time. I was out with some friends last night and I’m pretty sure I saw him at a bar with a girl that doesn’t look like you. If this isn’t him or if you guys aren’t together anymore please ignore this, idk i’d want someone to tell me. I’m sorry :(“ 

Sure enough the picture was grainy, definitely zoomed in from across the bar but it sure did look like him. A plaid button down you’ve seen him a million times in before, curls poked out the sides of his head, it seemed curlier and longer than you remember but it’s been a while since you saw him in person. 

His left arm was looped around the waist of a girl totally opposite of you, it looked like his other hand held her face steady as he kissed her. It made your vision go blurry, you’ve never felt this way before. Curls blocked the side of his face but it looked like him, maybe he looked taller than normal but it was a pic taken from far away, you want to question everything about it but the longer you look at it the sicker you feel. 

You shut out of the app and go back to smiling with your friends, you wonder how you’ll call him out. If you were strong enough you’d just ghost him all together, never speak to him again and make him question his insanity. 

Instead the second he called when you were home you picked it up with shaky hands. 

“Hi ba-” 

“We’re done.” 

You hung up the phone. 

It rang less than three seconds later. 

“I’m sorry, what did you-” 

“I said we’re done. Goodbye.” 

You hung up again. 

It rang even quicker, immediate redial. 

“Is this a joke?” 

“I dunno, peter. Am I?” 

“I-” 

“Save it, it doesn’t matter. We’re broken up, you can stop calling.” 

You don’t know why you thought that would settle things, if anything that made everything worse. 

The fourth time he facetimed, he only did it when he was alone, you assume he either kicked his roommate out or is biting the bullet to get teased by his friend for the rest of his life while he begs to keep his girlfriend. 

You answer, “what.” 

“I need to see your face, what are you telling me?” 

“What did you do last night?” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, “I don’t know, what did I do?” 

You take a deep breath, “don’t play dumb. Who was she?” 

He makes a face of realization, “Ohhhh, you mean the girl on the phone?” 

You mock his tone, “yeah, the girl on the phone. You know, the one you were making out with?” 

You hear someone cough, it’s not peter, you can imagine the dead silence that just blanketed the room. 

Peter immediately takes the defense, “I didn’t make out with anyone last night, want to take the offense louder?” 

“Someone literally texted me a picture.” 

“Okay, so let me literally see it.” 

You narrow your eyes, “I don’t have to entertain this, peter. I broke up with you and you cheated, the end.” 

Peter sits up on his end, “no, not the end. You’re throwing damaging accusations out there and not giving me any fucking context.” 

“I. got. a. text.” You paused between each word to prove a point, also a little condescendingly. 

“Show. me.” He mocked your tone. 

You let a groan rip from your throat, “it doesn’t change that you did it.” 

Peter rubs his hand down his face, “okay, fuck this. I was here all night, in my dorm room. If you want you can ask my roommate, he was here, with his girlfriend,” he enunciated the last word, “who called me petey, you know, like you do, maybe, I don’t know, mockingly?”  

His words make you think, if he was truly guilty you don’t think he’d be defending himself so hard. You would think that once he was caught he’d fold his cards, instead he’s insulted you could even assume something like that. 

You take down the threat in your voice, “but… I got a picture. And it looks just like you.” 

Peter takes your side, he may defend his but he can’t make it better by pitting against you. 

“I’m sure it does, baby, but I promise I was here all night.” 

“Peter, it looks just like you.” 

He takes a deep breath to settle his frustration, “I know, but I promise it’s not me. Why would I cheat?” 

It’s a good question, you never would’ve thought he could but the picture was damning evidence. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you would, but I mean pete, it looks like you. He’s even wearing your green blue plaid button down.” 

Peter’s eyes bug open, his head spins, you know he’s staring his roommate in the eyes. 

“Evan!” They both exclaim at the same time. 

Your eyebrow scrunches, “who?” 

“Hair a little longer than mine? Maybe a little taller?” 

You pull your head back, “yeah… why?” 

Peter smiles wide, “making out with a blonde? At a bar?” 

“That would be it.” 

Peter shares a high five off screen. 

“That’s our friend Evan, he was on a date. He borrowed my shirt, wasn’t me, promise.” 

You stare at the screen, he seemed authentic and desperate for you to believe him. 

“Fine. We’re still dating for now, but I need to see you and him in the same room. Preferably from the back and in the same shirt.” 

“Done. I’ll print them out and bring them when I see you next week.” 

Peter winks at the screen and you squeal at the thought of seeing him so soon. 

[revluvzen]

[/💦/] Splash! [/💦/]

Top!Hongjoong x Bottom!MaleReader

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credits to the owner of the gif!

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Category: Smut, some fluff. MINORS DNI.

Tags: Hongjoong is your boyfriend, gay sex, top hongjoong, bottom male reader, sex in public, exhibitionism, sex in the pool, degradation, some romantic remarks, anal sex, spit on mouth/spit swallowing, dirty talk, hongjoong and you refer to each other as "honey"

WC: 4k

Despite my fics being mainly of NCT, I want to try doing fics for other idols. These idols will mostly have their own storyline in a series format! You can expect another Hongjoong fic in the future, continuing this plot, if this gets enough love! Please upvote, reblog and leave a comment if you liked it! ❤️

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"H-Honey, they're gonna notice..."

It's summer! And Hongjoong and you both got some days off from (college/job). You've been so busy these months, what better than some vacations to relax a little?

"Honey~", you call Hongjoong, who's making some iced tea for both of you. "Yes, darling?", he replies, with a kind voice. "Wouldn't you like to go on vacation~?", you ask him, having thought of it since the past week. "That's... actually a good idea, sweetie...", he says, giving you your iced tea.

"Did you think of any destination already?", he asks, before sipping his tea. "I was thinking of going to a resort... a beach resort... I think we deserve it", you tell him, excited. "I like the idea! Let's book a room for us two and the ticket planes", Hongjoong happily says. "Really?! I'm already excited~", you tell him, happy that he agreed.

Hongjoong and you have been dating for two years already. He's the best boyfriend someone could have: he's kind, funny, and hot. And don't get me started on the sex topic. He's always coming with new kinky things to try... and, how could you say no to him? Bondage, whipping, role-play, he always do some new things and you end up loving it. Every time he's horny and approaches you, you know you're going to have a good time. The fact he's (almost) always horny implies you and him fuck on a very regular basis. It's not weird for you suddenly getting into a love hotel with him or passionately making out with him on the park.

Anyways. The day after, both of you arrive to the airport, do the check-in and get on the flight to the beach destination. Fortunately, the flight was nice and comfy, with no turbulences at all or whatsoever. After landing and going through Migrations, you finally could observe the beautiful sight of the town: luxurious hotels, fancy and colorful shops, and the gorgeous, blue sea on the horizon. "Hongjoong-ie~ this is so beautiful~", you tell him, very excited. "I know, honey~", he replies, with a smile on his face. "This is gonna be awesome!"

Hongjoong and you took a taxi to your resort hotel. "Oh, my, god!", you say, amused at how big and luxurious the resort is. "It's even more beautiful than in the pictures~", Hongjoong remarks. You do the check-in, and the bellboy guides you both to your room.

The room is majestic, it has everything you can expect from a 5-Star resort: great views from the window, a fancy and comfy king size bed, a minibar, and a luxurious bathroom. "Wow~ It's so beautiful, I love it!", you say, sitting and bouncing on the bed. "It truly is~", Hongjoong replies. "We're gonna have a really good time here~".

Both of you get everything from you luggages tidied up, and go have brunch at the hotel's restaurant. The buffet has many delicious dishes, made by a top-tier chef. After eating with Hongjoong, having some nice views to the sea, you started planning about the things you could do for the rest of the day.

"I think we should take a tour around the town, and go shopping", you suggested. "I think we should do that tomorrow... We have a lot of time to enjoy, so we don't have any hurry. I'm kinda tired, aren't you too?", Hongjoong asks. "Well, you're right... getting everything tidied up and the flight overall made me kinda tired...", you agree with him. "Why don't we go to the pool? It's midday still, the sky is clear and the water should be warm... I think it's a great idea", he suggestz. "Hmm, yeah, so do I! We can go to the pool, yeah. Although, we should go out for the night. Maybe going to the town's nightlife avenue or something?", you say. "I think that would be great~ Let's go back to our room and get ours swimming shorts, and let's go to the pool!", Hongjoong says, excited.

Both of you go back to your rooms and change your clothes. After taking off your shirts, Hongjoong puts on some swimming shorts with a Hawaiian flowers design. Your shorts also match the flowers design, but it's with different colours. "You look so cute, darling~", Hongjoong tells you, making you blush. "You too, honey~", you reply, smirking.

Hongjoong and you go downstairs and go to the resort's pool sector. Following a short path of natural rocks from the main building, you end up on an intersection with a sign in the middle.

<=== Kids this way || Adults this way ===>

Please, for the safety and wellness of our guests, kids should go to the kids' pools, that's less deep and has funny games for them.

"Let's turn to the left, then", Hongjoong says, joking and actually walking towards the left. "Hongjoong!", you laugh and tell him to come back. He does come back, and both of you follow the right path. Then, you see a very large pool, with many amenities on its side such as jacuzzis, water massages machines and saunas. There are quite some people on the pool sector. Some of them sunbathing, and some on the pool, swimming or playing between each other. The deeper side of the pool is closed, with a sign that reads "Life guard on a break, please stay on the shallow side".

"The last on on jumping in is a loser!", Hongjoong says, excited. He runs towards the pool and jumped in. A big splash was produced as he got submerged. He then looked at you, laughing. "You lost!", he says, mocking you. "You started running when you announced it! That's not fair!", you reply to him. You then jump into the water. It's kinda warm, as the sun rays has been hitting the water since the sunrise. "Wow~ it's nice", you say, getting relaxed. "It truly is, honey~", Hongjoong tells you.

You both did a lot of things in the span of an hour. You swam, played between each other with water guns and a waterpolo ball, got below the hydromassage fountain, etc. As both of you got tired, you swam to a corner to talk between each other while leaning in it. There's still a lot of people in the pool as the sun's still shining (it's ~2:00pm and the sky is clear!), so talking in the middle of the pool might be annoying to the rest of people.

You both chatted about a lot of topics: plans for tonight and tomorrow, comments about the brunch you had, and gossips about the other guests. "I've heard that the lady on the 235... is cheating on her husband... Wanna know how I know?", Hongjoong told you, quietly. "How?", you asked, intrigued. "Her husband... He came to the lobby, searching for her. Apparently he discovered about her affair and came here to check it. It's about to go down", he said. "Oh, my, god!", you said, on disbelief.

You both laughed in shock, but suddenly Hongjoong got a little corny. "You would never cheat on me, would you?", he said, smiling and staring at you. "Of course I wouldn't, honey~ I love you so much~", you say, touching his chest playfully. He replied back by caressing your hips, that are underwater. "I knew it~ I love you too~", Hongjoong said, leaning over you to give you a peck. You leaned too to kiss him. His soft lips touched yours, romantically.

Although, it soon became more than a peck. You both closed your eyes at the same time, and started kissing more passionately. Your lips are softly biting each other, sending a romantic feeling all over your bodies. Hongjoong put his hand on your chin, while you put your hand on his nape.

Things soon went to second base. It's so difficult to pull apart each other once you start kissing... It's just that his lips feel so soft, and you feel so secure while making out with him... and you love him. And he loves you too. It's natural that both of you kept kissing for long minutes, getting rougher as time passes by. You start tongue kissing, your tongues dancing inside of each others mouth. Your grip on Hongjoong's hair gets tighter. Your other hands gets on his chest, sliding down the water to his stomach. His hands get on your submerged waist, sliding to your lower back. His crotch now touches yours, slowly thrusting back and forth and making your bulges get hard.

Hongjoong then grabbed your ass, squeezing it. You replied by softly caressing his hard bulge. Both of you keep kissing, tasting each other's tongues. Hongjoong slowly slide his hand down your shorts, now touching your skin, slowly approaching your hole with his fingers. You also slide your hand down on his shorts, touching his hard veiny cock.

You keep kissing him, with so much passion. Taking advantage of the little lubrication the pool's water could bring, he puts one finger inside of your hole; meanwhile, you started jerking him off. It didn't take long before he finds your prostate and starts stimulating it. You each quietly moan inside each other mouth, him bitting your lips.

You actually think no one could guess what's happening underwater. I mean, from outside, it maybe could look like a plain passionate kiss on the pool by a sweet couple. That, until Hongjoong gets so horny that he has other plans for you. "Honey, turn around", he said, sexily whispering to your ear as he started fingerfucking you, now with two fingers. "W-What...?", you ask him. You know Hongjoong is extremely kinky, and making out with him on public is very common for you, but actual sex? That's new... But, once you get horny, you just don't want to stop. Should you risk being catch and humiliated in public because of being a horny slut that gets fucked while in the pool? "H-Honey, they're gonna notice~", you tell him, kind of worried.

"Come on, turn around babe~. Put your hands on the edge and give me your cute, slutty ass. I will do it slow so no one notice. I need to fuck you, honey~", he says. Fuck, how could you say no? His dirty talking gets you every time. You do turn around, and put your hands over the pool's edge, facing towards one of the plenty sunbathing areas on the pool zone. Luckily, no one's there. Unfortunately, that is because most of the people are on the pool instead of sunbathing. Not only that, but also some people walk across that zone to get on the pool or go back to the hotel. As Hongjoong lowers your swimming shorts, low enough that your rim gets exposed to him, you start wondering... Why is this turning you on? Will someone notice? Of course they will. But, maybe that's what's turning you on.

Giving your back (and ass) to Hongjoong, you feel his hard tip teasing your hole. He gets closer to your ear to whisper to you. "Do you want my big cock here, honey~? Are you this of a slut~? Ugh, I love you~", he saids, still teasing your hole with his cock. "Y-Yes, babe~ P-Please, put it inside... Quick... Before someone notices...~", you tell him, kind of trembling because of all the adrenaline.

"There it goes, fucking whore~ Feel it all inside of you~", Hongjoong says, as he starts putting his cock inside of your hole. The pool's water kind of work as lube, so his dick actually didn't have trouble on getting inside of you. "A-A-Agh~", you softly moan, trying to stay as quiet as possible so no one noticed you. Hard task, obviously. Hongjoong's cock feels so good inside of you, that your natural response is to moan like a slut.

"I'll start thrusting now~ I'll go slow, so we don't make waves or something...~ Be quiet, honey~", Hongjoong tells you on a playful sexy voice. He then sexily whispers to your ear, "Unless, you want people to notice...~". At the moment he said that, he started thrusting into you. Pace might be slow but the mere fact of his big cock fucking you already makes you so horny. "Agh~ H-Hongjoong-ie~ I... I love it~", you quietly tell your boyfriend, giving him validation. "I know you love it, fucking whore~", he says. You can't see him, but you know he's with that pervy, smirking face you love. Hongjoong's cock feels so good fucking you, and the adrenaline of doing it on a public place is a perfect combination that soon gets your cock hard.

Hongjoong keeps fucking you, going faster. He's grabbing your waist in order to do precise thrusts that makes his cock go deep inside of you. "F-Feels so good~", you whisper, feeling your prostate sending soft shockwaves of pleasure all over your body. You put on a lewd face, that Hongjoong notice from behind. "Look at you, fucking slut~ You're liking it so much~", he says. You turn your head to see him, who's smirking and looking at your ass, that's getting fucked by him.

When you go back to rest your head over the pool's edge, you see the legs of three guys, walking past you. You unconsciously raise your head and stare at they... And you see the expression on their faces. They give you disgusted looks, as if they're shocked at how you dare to fuck in a public pool. Being so close to you, they obviously noticed what's going on (unlike the other people in the pool, that's minding their own business and they can't tell what you're doing as they're kind of far away from you). You just look down and ignore them, your face blushing as you realize how shameless and nasty you're.

"H-Honey, I think those guys noticed~ Agh~", you say, still quietly moaning. "Don't worry, babe~ Everything will be okay~ Plus, that's the best part about fucking in public, isn't it~?", he says. "Ugh~ My cock feels so good inside of your tight hole~ I'll go a little more faster~", he says, now fucking you at a normal pace, not slow nor fast.

"F-Fuck~ You fuck me so good, honey~", you quietly moan. You know feel your prostate being hit by Hongjoong's cock harder, making you so fucking slutty and happy. "Such a shameless whore you are~", he sexily whispers to you.

Hongjoong keeps fucking you at a normal pace. Then, you hear a loud noise: a dude jumped into the water, kind of close to both of you, screaming "CANNON BALL!". The water splashes over both of you, which made both of you turn your heads to look at this guy. Hongjoong's glare to him is so intimidating that made the dude get shocked, both because of seeing you two fucking and Hongjoong getting angry. "W-What are y-you guys d-doing", he said, stuttering and shocked. "Get away...", Hongjoong told him with a serious expression, as he kept fucking you. The guy got scared, and swam away as fast as he could.

Hongjoong now sets up a faster pace, enough to make it difficult for you to try to quiet down your moans. You feel his cock so fucking deep inside of you, his balls hitting your ass, and your prostate being abused so fast. The water around you starts creating soft waves as Hongjoong thrusts harder into you. "Fuck, honey, it feels so fucking good~", Hongjoong tells you, quietly moan as he feels his cock so satisfied of fucking you. You turn your head to look at his lewd face. He looks so fucking sexy, so focused on thrusting fast and hard inside of you. As you turn your head, you also notice a group of people on the pool that are discreetly looking at you, with disgusted looks; some of them leaving the pool. "H-Hongjoong-ie~ t-they're noticing it~", you tell him. "And~? Is that something bad for you, baby~?", he replies, with a sexy playful voice. His cock feels so fucking good inside of you, you just want him to keep fucking you all day long and filling you with cum. It's so good to have nasty, kinky sex with your boyfriend. You don't even care about the other people in the pool. You just want to enjoy this moment with Hongjoong.

With your mind going on an euphoric state, as Hongjoong fucks you so good and rough, you replied to what Hongjoong asked. "I-It's actually the o-opposite~, I-I love this, honey~", you tell him, now moaning on speaking voice, loud enough to be noticeable for some more meters around you. "Look at you, fucking whore~ So happy of being fucked in public, you don't even care about the other people here anymore~ You know what~? I'm gonna fuck you so fucking rough that this waves are gonna overflow the pool~", Hongjoong threatens, smirking and thrusting harder into you, actually making the waves that are created because of how he fucks you get bigger.

"F-Fuck me rough, honey~ I want your cock deep inside of you~", you moan, now frenzied. "Yeah? You like my big cock, fucking slut? Huh? Fuck, you're so tight~", Hongjoong moans, fucking you at an extremely fast pace. He puts his hand over the pool's edge just like you, to have more control of the thrusts he's doing underwater. As he does that, he puts his face next to you, and starts kissing your neck, leaving some hickeys.

"Tell me you're my slut, come on", Hongjoong ordered as he railed your ass. "I-I'm your slut, h-honey, AGH~", you moan out loud. "Good boy~", he tells you. He grabs you by your chin and puts two fingers on your mouth, and makes you suck them. "Mmm~". Despite having his fingers on your mouth, your groanings are still kind of loud. "Yeah, keep moaning while you suck my fingers, yeah, fuck~", Hongjoong groaned. He's fucking you like a beast, so fucking focused on drilling your hole. The water around you strikes the pool's edge with so much power, as Hongjoong thrusts faster and rougher inside fo you. It's impossible for the rest of the people there to not notice what's going on.

Hongjoong grabs your chin and makes you face towards his face. "Tell me you're my whore, and that you're only mine~", he commands. "I-I'm your whore, and I'm only yours~", you reply, feeling his cock hitting your prostate with so much precission, it sending big and strong shockwaves of pleasure over your body, feeding your euphoria. "Say it louder", Hongjoong ordered, with a sexy and aggresive voice. "I-I'M YOUR WHORE AND I'M ONLY YOURS~", you yell, moaning after each word. "Good boy~ I love you so fucking much~", he says, grabbing your face and spitting on your mouth. You already know what to do: you swallow his spit, showing him how much you love him and enjoy being fucked. "I fucking love you so much too~", you tell him.

After some minutes, Hongjoong and you feel your orgasms close. He keeps drilling your hole so fucking fast, and you keep moaning loud as you enjoy how you he rearranges your guts so fucking rough. "H-Honey, I'm gonna come~ I'm gonna fucking fill you up so much~", he tells you, his voice breaking with moans. "F-Fuck, I'm gonna come too, it feels so fucking good~ Agh~", you moan out loud too. "L-Let's come at the same time, honey~ I'm gonna breed you so good, fucking slut~ F-FUCK~", he groans. Hongjoong fucks you frenziedly, the pool's water around you splashing out of it with so much power. The pool zone got invaded by the noises of your moans and the striking water splashes. "F-FUCK, AGH~".

Hongjoong finally comes inside of you, with a powerful final thrust that splashes water all over both of you. You feel his cum filling your insides and warming your abused prostate. "F-FUCK, FEEL ALL MY FUCKING CUM INSIDE OF YOU, SLUT~", he moans, with his cock still inside of you, now doing slower thrusts. Right at the moment you felt his cum filling your hole, you also reach your orgasm. Your back arches and your eyes roll up, feeling so much pleasure. You ejaculate underwater, then quickly realizing how you can see your white creamy sperm flaoting to the surface, around you. "F-FUCK, FUCKING FILL ME UP, AGH~", you moan during your climax.

Hongjoong keeps thrusting, now on a slow pace. He bends over to whisper to your ear. "Fuck, honey, you went crazy~", he whispers with a sexy voice. You're trembling right now because of how he fucked you so rough and the fact you're realizing what just happened. "Y-You went crazy too, f-fuck, it's just that it felt so good~", you tell him. "I know~ The moment we started kissing here, I knew we had to take it further", he said, smirking. "You fucked me so good~", you tell him. "I didn't even care if people noticed, I just wanted you~ I love you~", he says, hugging you. "I love you too, honey~", you tell him, smiling. You both kiss for some minutes, romantically tasting each other's lips. He then takes his cock out of you, and both of you raise your swimming shorts back on.

Both of you jump out of the pool and head over the path to go back to the hotel building. The moment you turn your head to see the pool... you see there's no one left. Not surprising, obviously. Apparently they all left at the moment your boyfriend started fucking you extremely fast. "Honey... Oh my God...", you tell him, shocked. "Yeah, I know... But it was worth it, wasn't it?", he tells you, laughing. "Well, it surely was... I hope they didn't call the cops or something...", you say, worried. "Don't worry, darling~ we just had a wonderful time, probably the best sex we ever had~ relax and enjoy the moment", Hongjoong tries to relax you. "You're right... Fuck, I still feel your cum inside of me", you tell him, laughing. Hongjoong relaxed you, and all that's on your head now is the happiness from the sex you just had. "You have too keep it inside during tonight's trip to the town's center, you know~?", he says, quietly laughing. "...I promise!", you laugh.

Both of you walk to your hotel room. On the main lobby, you can see some people staring at you both with disgusted faces. They surely were on the pool when you two fucked. "Don't care about them... haters gonna hate, you know?", Hongjoong said, quietly laughing. "I guess you're right", you tell him, smiling. You arrive to your roomm dry yourselves with a towel and change your clothes.

"I still can't believe what happened... I'll never forget about this, it was incredible~", you tell Hongjoong. "I know~ It was awesome, fuck, definitely worth it~", he replies. You then noticed an envelope being slided across your room's door. "Uhm, we got a letter", you say. "Oh... check it... fuck", Hongjoong says, already guessing what could it be. You open the envelope, and, indeed, there's a letter inside.

"=Paradise Resort=

==NOTICE==

=Fine for Indecent Exposure=

Hello. We send you this letter because of the recent event that took place on the hotel's pool, wjere both of you engaged on immoral sexual acts right in front of our dear guests. We attach a link to the camera's recording of the situation as proof.

We would like to reach out for you in order to settle this case, ordering you to pay the amount of 150$ to the hotel, with a plus of 50$ more on the basis of moral damage to our guests. Otherwise, we'll call the cops and sue you. Thanks for your understanding."

"Uhm...", you say, worried about the amount of money you both have to pay because of what you did. "W-Well, as we said before, it was worth it!", Hongjoong said, optimistic. "Well, you're right on that...", you tell him. "Plus, you say the CCTV recorded it? We now get to see it on VIDEO?! We have porn of ourselves?! This is the best day of my life!", he continues. You look at him, trying to hold back your laughter. "HONEY!".

[liaromancewriter]

Stardust

Premise: Ethan and Cassie’s skating date plans go awry, but all hope is not lost.

Fandom: Open Heart/Choices Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,965 Day/Prompt: @12daysofchristmas Day 9 - “I like it out here. It’s peaceful.”

A/N: For @choicesholidays "Best Christmas Ever" prompt, @choicesprompts Holiday rewrite event: inspired by Virgin River's S5 Christmas special where Mel and Jack celebrate their first Christmas and make their own holiday traditions, including the ice skating scene. Also submitting to @choicesdecember2023 prompt "Christmas" and @choicesficwriterscreations Holiday event.

I'm using @choicesflashfics week 64, prompt 1 (in bold), and fluffy dialogue prompt 1 from Second Day of Gift-Giving by @creativepromptsforwriting. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills.

Growing up in New England meant ice skating. One of Ethan Ramsey’s earliest memories was holding his father’s hand as they stepped onto an outdoor ice rink. Light snow fell around them like stardust, and he tilted his head back to catch a snowflake on his tongue.

His father taught him how to skate that night, gripping Ethan’s hand lightly and encouraging him to lean forward and alternately stroke and glide on the ice, letting the blades do the work.

He remembered his father’s deep laughter and his mother’s cheers from the sidelines as he let go of the hand keeping him tethered. Feeling the wind on his face and watching colors blur from the festive lights strung up around the rink, everything in little Ethan’s world was perfect at that moment.

Many years later, Ethan still loved to skate but didn’t have as much time for it. As head of diagnostics at Boston’s Edenbrook Hospital, his duties kept him much too busy. But something about the holidays made him nostalgic for simpler times.

“Earth to Ethan. Anyone there?” Cassie Valentine snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Ethan shook his head to clear the memories clouding his thoughts. “Sorry, I was miles away. What were we talking about?”

“Okay, that was some trip,” Cassie commented, giving him a strange look above the rim of her wine glass. “Holiday traditions from our childhood. You were telling me about skating with your parents, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Ethan said, feeling his face flush.

For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was. He glanced around his apartment and the holiday decorations they’d put up a few days ago, scratching the back of his head as he tried to collect his composure.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay — the first one they bought and decorated together — tinsel and fairy lights winking against the dark. Presents had found their way underneath the tree at regular intervals in the last couple of weeks.

This was their first holiday together, technically second as a couple, but he’d been in Providence last year, and she’d been working. Somehow, without realizing it, he found himself in a relationship that was more serious than anything he’d ever had before.

What else would you call meeting each other’s families and planning together what presents to buy for their respective relatives?

“Do you still skate, or is that in the past?” Cassie mused, her legs curled up beneath her on the couch.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Ethan confessed, picking up the near-empty wine bottle to top up their glasses. “A few years ago, a bunch of us started getting together in the community center rink for ice hockey. Nothing formal, just pick up games to blow off steam.”

“Why am I only finding out about this now?” she said, somewhat disgruntled. “We’ve known each other for almost three years!”

Ethan rolled his eyes at her dramatic response. “Because I have other, more pleasurable things to say and do when you’re around. Besides, I had Naveen’s condition to occupy my mind that first year, and then my mother’s return and addiction last year. This is the first normal holiday season for both of us.”

“You have a point,” Cassie conceded with a regal nod before twisting in her seat to regard him thoughtfully. “I bet you’re a goalie. You’ve got the build for it.”

“You’d lose that bet.” Ethan raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I play center.”

She harrumphed and then tapped her index finger against her lips. “Remember how we talked about making our own holiday traditions when we decorated the tree last week? Let’s add skating to the list. The Boston Common Frog Pond rink is open for the season, and it always looks fun when I go running past it.”

“I’ve been, and it is fun,” Ethan said. “How about Friday? You’re working a double before that, so should be post-call, right?”

“It’s a date,” Cassie smiled, intertwining her fingers with his and nestling against him. “This is going to be the best Christmas season ever!”

When Friday came, Ethan was run off his feet. Herb, one of his oldest patients, had been admitted with an unknown infection. He spent the entire day running tests, frustrated when the results didn’t reveal anything useful.

Deciding to return to the beginning, he sat behind his desk, switched on the monitor and pulled up Herb’s medical history. He wasn’t leaving here until he figured this out.

“You’re still working?”

Ethan looked up at the intrusion, eyes unfocused, the screen’s glare reflecting off his reading glasses. Cassie stood inside the sliding glass doors, wearing a pink long-sleeved sweater beneath a puffy white vest and black jeans. A knitted cap with white and pink stripes sat atop her long blonde hair.

He wondered whether she coordinated her outfits or if it was an innate style. Maybe even both.

He noted the small duffel bag in her hand and cursed internally. He’d utterly forgotten their skating date, and judging by Cassie’s amused expression, she knew it, too.

“You’re important to me. And I want you to know that,” Ethan said, coming around from behind the desk to stand before her. He took her hand in his.

“I do know that, but thank you for telling me,” Cassie chuckled, lightly swinging their clasped hands before letting go. “What’s going on?”

Ethan quickly explained the situation, running frustrated fingers through his hair, his inability to solve the case coming through in the irritated tone of his voice. Before he knew it, he started brainstorming Herb’s condition with her, pulling up test results and walking her through his thought process.

Herb wasn’t the diagnostic team’s patient, but it helped to have someone he trusted from the team working with him.

“Could be GI. Have you considered….”

“…barium follow through?” he said, reading her thoughts as perfectly as she could his. He frowned as he tried to connect the dots to the other symptoms.

“I thought I saw something in his chart,” she said, nudging him out of the chair to take control of his keyboard, her eyes scanning the electronic medical records. “Aha, there it is. Small bowel obstruction, managed through a steroid protocol, so no biopsy was done to rule out Crohn’s or colitis.”

“Good catch,” Ethan said, reading over her shoulder. “I’ll put in orders for a barium test tomorrow. Nothing more we can do today.”

Her light floral scent drifted into his nostrils, and he sighed in disappointment. Date nights were already hard to organize with their erratic schedules. He couldn’t help but feel he’d wasted this one.

He turned the office chair around, placed his hands on either side of her and leaned in. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I not only messed up our plans tonight, but I pulled you into this after you’d already worked a double shift. I heard about the clusterfuck that was last night.”

“That would be an apt word to describe it,” she murmured. “Not sure how I got home this morning, but at least it was quiet in the apartment with everyone else on shift.”

“Still, tonight was supposed to be the start of another holiday tradition for us,” he insisted.

For the first time in forever, he resented work coming in the way of his personal life.

Cassie framed his face between her hands. “I’m here with you. I’m right where I belong. Doing what I’m good at with the man I love and one who taught me that patients come first.”

Ethan closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a slow, sweet kiss, thanking her for understanding with the promise of more to come. Cassie locked her hands behind his neck, and he tugged her out of the chair, reversing their positions without breaking the kiss.

They slowly drifted apart, foreheads touching. Cassie smiled softly, her fingers trailing down the side of his face. “Raincheck on our date?

Ethan checked his wristwatch and noted it was almost half past eight. Where had the last few hours gone?

“We could try to get to the Commons before the rink closes at nine,” he offered, mentally calculating the distance, traffic and parking situation.

“It’s okay,” Cassie said, getting off his lap and stretching her arms upward. “Another night. Besides, we’re doctors. Disrupted plans are par the course.”

“There are other rinks in Boston,” Ethan said, standing beside her. “Let me google what’s open. Tonight doesn’t have to be a total loss.”

“Actually,” Cassie said, taking her phone out and unlocking it. “Rafael’s old neighborhood has a small rink that’s open all night. He invited the Roomies there last year. It’s no Frog Pond, but it was nice. Let me text him.”

While she did that, Ethan tidied up his desk, closed out files and powered down his computer.

“Yes!” Cassie pumped one fist in the air. “It’s still around, and Raf is sending directions.”

An hour or so later, after stopping by his place to change and pick up skates, Ethan parked in the lot on the other side of the community park from where the rink was located. They walked hand in hand down the walkway, the soft glow of street lamps a welcome relief against the shadows around them.

The rink was small, as advertised, and empty, given the lateness of the hour. And yet Ethan liked it all the more for its relative privacy versus other public rinks.

“I like it out here. It’s peaceful,” Ethan commented as they sat on a bench and strapped on their skates.

“It’s popular with local families, so it can get busy early in the day,” Cassie explained, her voice muffled as she bent down to tighten her laces.

Ethan flicked the light switch, the red and green lights bright against the darkness. He stepped onto the rink, gliding effortlessly on the ice, feeling the familiar rush of wind rushing against his face.

“Whoops,” Cassie giggled behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking back to see her arms flailing before she caught her balance.

“I’m good,” she said, carefully holding herself still.

He laughed as recognition hit. For all Cassie’s bravado, she was not as comfortable on skates as she pretended to be.

“You think it’s funny?” She lifted her chin mulishly, spreading her legs wide and turning her skated feet inward.

“Yeah, I do,” Ethan smirked, skating in a loop around her.

He took her hand as she continued to struggle and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Because I finally found something that Cassie Valentine isn’t good at.”

He grinned as Cassie pretended to be offended. She started to push against his arms, but her skates slipped, and she clung to him like a barnacle. Within seconds, they were both laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

“You figured me out,” she confessed, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she swallowed back her laughter.

She placed her gloved hands on his upper arms, her green eyes sparkling as they gazed into his. “I suck at skating. No matter how much I try, I will never be more than passable.”

Ethan brushed his hands down her arms and folded her hands in his. “Then it’s a good thing you have me to hold on to.”

He lowered his face as Cassie stretched on her toes, and their lips met in a kiss that chased the cold away. They looked up as snowflakes started to fall from the sky, sprinkling over them like stardust.

And under a starry, magical night with snow falling around them, Ethan looped Cassie’s arm through his and skated them expertly around the rink, making another holiday tradition just for them.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @debbiechanclub

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate @zealouscanonindeer

[ravenloop]

Hey! I was wondering if I could request for GoW Freyr? Something like the reader is a witch whom Kratos and Atreus rescued from freezing at the start of Fimbulwinter, and she joins them on their journey — and when they travel to Vanaheim, she meets Freyr, who is quickly smitten with her?

—Admiration and Much More—

Pairing: Freyr x Female!Witch!Reader

[Picture not mine]

AN: WRITERS BLOCK IS A TERRIBLE THING FOLKS! But I'll trying to push out requests every week now. Enjoyyyy! <33

—————————————

Travelling to Vanaheim was something you always longed to do, hearing stories about the realm... Sadly realm travel to it hadn't been an option for a long time.

That was until you met Kratos, and his wonderful son Atreus. When you had so idiotically went out during Fimbulwinter for too long, a blizzard making you lose your way home... Until they found you, and took you in (not without Atreus begging his father a little) Which now brought you here. To the realm you've been anticipating to visit for so long.

Vanaheim.

You also got to meet Freya's brother: Freyr. Or Yngvi as she calls him. The god and his little group of loyal followers weren't so welcoming of you at first, all of you. But you tried not to hold it against them, you cannot imagine what it would be like to live such a life in hiding, knowing the very people who called for "peace" betrayed you.

They were scared to trust again, but Freya's assurance of the alliance she had made with Kratos seemed to lighten things up. Thankfully.

All that brought you up to here, tending a wound of Birgir. There was a recent run-in with a group of Einherjar soldiers. Everyone got out alive but not without a few casualties.

"There. All done." You offered a smile to the large man. He gave his own kind one back, bowing his head slightly as he left.

"Well, Realms be damned. If I knew you were this good of a healer I would have probably begged you to join my group." Freyr appeared next to you, his usual smug smile on his face.

The presence of the god was a little surprising, but you chuckled, "Would you?... I'm honoured to know my witchcraft managed to gain the attention of a Vanir god... So much."

Whilst you busied yourself with a bowl of herbs, Freyr shrugged. "Well, I mean—I'm just speaking the truth. From what I've seen so far, you're a really great uh... Witch. Ally. I would dare to say... Aesir-ass-kicking companion, even?" He asked, raising a brow with a smile.

Shaking your head amusedly, you replied, "What about friend? Or does... 'Aesir-ass-kicking companion' fall under that category?"

You started walking. Freyr looked at you, as if the word 'friend' was almost offensive. "Uhh... Yeah, sure. Friend? Hah! Friend." He followed you as you walked around the camp.

As you continued to work, he watched you closely. His gaze taking you in, before lingering on the torn section of your clothing, where a wound had been. Now ow a dark scar took its place. "I'd uh..." He cleared his throat, leaning against a pillar, "I'd like to apologise for that too. Hope there's... No hard feelings." He chuckled lightly.

Finally you looked at him. Following his gaze, you looked at the scar on your arm where a gash had been. "It's fine, really. I don't think either of us expected to see each other." There was an amused tone in your voice as you smiled at him. The memory of Freyr attacking you coming back. Though when he saw your face, and soon came to know you were allies with his sister—he froze up almost.

"Oh trust me... I really didn't expect you." Pushing himself off the pillar, he walked around as you continued working—probably on some healing drink he imagined. "But hey! That turned out to be a good thing." He stopped again, looking at you, "Didn't it?"

Your eyes met his dark gaze. By the Realms, you were something else.

"I guess it did." You approached him slowly. He crossed his arms, leaning back. Calmly.

"Freyr?..." You called his name. He looked at you, "Yeah?" He asked in a normal voice.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and he felt his heart speed up. He watched your face intently as you gave him a small smile, your brows raising.

"You're um... Kinda standing in front of the herb shelf. And I need a few things from there—"

He blinked, turning around to see he was, indeed, standing in front of the herb shelf. "Oh."

—————

"He's actin' stupider than normal... Ya know what I'm thinking, dont'cha?" Brok said.

Kratos grunted lowly as they watched you and Freyr speak, "Do not tell me."

"Why don't I tell you in song form? Cause there's this beautiful song of love I've heard before!"

Mimir cleared his throat, "Oooh—"

"Quiet."

—————————————

AN: This entire thing was really just Freyr getting friendzoned by the reader- BUT HOPED YOU ENJOYED! (And big apologies for the long wait)

[undiscovered-horizon]

Why there are no phones or clocks in dreams:

(Morpheus x Reader)

The Sun always rises is usually used as a cheesy inspirational quote but there are times when it seems more like a curse, really. When the Sun rises, as one might assume, the night must end and with it, all Nyx's gifts: peace, rest, and most of all, dreams. Therefore, people can generally be assorted into two categories that already reveal quite a lot about their personalities. There are those who think of the night as an inconvenient but necessary transition between days. The other ones think of daytime as the agonizingly long hours separating them from the dreams that they crave so severely. You, little lamb, fall into the latter as far as I know:

Morpheus deserves credit for the level of detail he incorporated into parroting your own bedroom in your dreams. Or, you should be the one praised for your outstanding memory. In any case, the room you and he are in, looks uncannily like the original, making you ponder, somewhere in the back of your mind, whether you are actually asleep in the first place.

But would he appear this tender anywhere outside his realm, somewhere not only you can hear him? His sweet whispers, although welcomed warmly, are flustering and you finally realize what it actually means that he's the patron saint of enlightenment or inspiration - not even poets can speak so beautifully and yet fearfully about love. Dream's long, skinny limbs are tightly wrapped around you. The material of his robe is a lot softer than it looks, gracefully flowing off the lanky body underneath. Although you know that he'd be cold to touch, the thought of his pasty, thin skin can only make you feel warm. His neck smells like exotic fruits wrapped in antique parchment and you can't help but wonder why the entire world isn't soaked in this wonderful scent. Adoration is such a strange affliction.

His hand stops its soothing movement against your back when you shift on top of him, turning your head to look at the clock hanging on the wall - 6:30 A.M. Is it really ticking or just laughing at the lovers before it? The Sun peeks over the eastern horizon. Should you want to, you could just turn your head to the other side and admire the dawn but compared to the man brushing his lips against your cheek, it would be a terrible waste of time. Morpheus whispers something delightful into your ear again, bringing your attention from to clock to him - right where it should be. When morning comes, you'll leave his side but it made no sense to worry about it while there were still thirty minutes left.

Accidentally or not, he pecks part of your neck that tickles, making you giggle quietly. In a strange turn of events, Morpheus treats it as encouragement. Trying to get away from him, you squeal and squirm but his bony arms seem to be stronger. His lips, cold yet gentle, move towards your jaw and cheeks. Something changes about the way he presses his mouth against your skin like he, too, feels the time slipping through your fingers. The intensity of his kisses is almost desperate.

The alarm clock rings. It's loud and irritating, making the world of dreams fuzzy. With each second the sound resounds in the your-but-not-your bedroom, the more this delicious reality is turning muddy and unreadable. By all means, you're not ready to let him go just yet.

Reaching for the phone on the bedside table, you're ready to do something equally satisfying and stupid. "Oh, screw this," you murmur more to yourself than Morpheus. Swinging your arm as far as you can without getting up from your comfortable spot on top of him, you throw the phone right at the ticking clock, silencing both of them forever.

"Are you sure about this?" Morpheus asks. Quite literally, it's the first thing he's said in a few hours that isn't embarrassingly lovesick. You've almost forgotten he can be serious. The 'real world' may be calling out to you but, despite the consequences, you're more than happy to let it go to voicemail.

"Are you that eager to kick me out?"

He knows you're joking but that doesn't stop him from giving you an honest answer. "There's nothing I want less."

"Good," you answer. Somewhere between tender kisses, you manage to whisper: "'Cause I made up my mind ages ago."

Your phone in the waking world, however, is still ringing but at the moment it sounds like the annoying melody is played on an old radio two blocks away. A little too lost in the softhearted whispers and caresses, you don't even notice when it, too, silences. The next night, when you step foot into his kingdom again, you probably won't even notice the strange lack of clocks and alarms.

[writersblockedx]

When Evil isn’t so Bad

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary - Dean was brought up to believe demons were nothing but the enemy, a monster to be slain. But when the Winchester Brothers find Y/n, a demon whose not so bad, his opinion begins to sway. (Enemies to lovers in 5k words or less pretty much) Warnings - Violence, death, Angst Words - 4.8K

A/N - I really wasn’t sure whether to post this or not because I honestly can’t tell if I like it or not, but I may write a part two depending on how this one does. :)

MASTERLIST

There were some rules of hunting that Dean lived by. The main one being that monsters, and creatures alike, were to be exterminated. I mean, had that not been the case, he would be unemployed. Shoved within that category were demons too. Their wicked tendencies and their need to cause chaos with every step they made, all while wearing a human smile, made sure they were at the top of a hunter's hit list.

Which would explain why Y/n was bound to a wooden chair, a devils trap painted around her. Yet the girl seemed all but bothered by said situation. "If I say please, will you let me go?" She quirked after many long moments of torturous silence.

Dean had been set to watch her. Or, in his words, to babysit the demon. All while Sam went off to track down what they believed to be her latest victims. "No." He said with a deadpanned expression, tightening the grip he held around his gun.

She huffed, throwing her head back in frustration before slowly bringing it back again to eye Dean. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not the one doing all of this."

There had been three different incidents. One in which a family were in the midst of a children's birthday party, slaughtered and then had their party hats placed back on as if nothing had ever happened. An old women who had choked to death on her own apple pie. And then, most recently, a bartender who was decapitated while cleaning up for the night. A regular customer had found him, his head balanced on the bone of his neck. All made out to be almost humorous. Though, the brothers had whittled it down that it could only be humorous to certain creatures, one of them being a demon.

"Really?" Replied Dean as he pulled himself from the table he had once been leaning against. "You expect me to believe that your just in this town, to what? To live a happy life? Work a 9 to 5 and spend weekends at the local bar-" Dean stopped himself and mockingly gasped. "Oh, no, you can't go to the bar because you beheaded the bartender!" He snapped as he glared at the girl.

"If I really wanted to pull something like this off, I'd make sure it wasn't so obvious to hunters." She argued. "Hate to bruise that ego of yours, but you've got the wrong demon."

It was only at that moment, when a slither of doubt passed Dean. Something of which he would refuse to admit. "Whether this was you or not, doesn't change the fact that you are still a demon." He seemed to remind her.

"I haven't killed anyone." She told him.

The boy took a cautious step forward, stepping over the red paint that marked the concrete floor. "Oh really?" He raised his brows. "What about the meat you're wearing?" Y/n couldn't deny that. And while, the girl wasn't dead completely, she certainly had lost all control of her body, screaming and scratching at the mind.

Dean turned his back on her, walking back, assuming she had no counter argument. "She, in fact wanted this." Dean's feet stopped. "This girl, or meat, as you seem to call her, preyed to Lucifer and wore a pentagram around her neck." The boy finally faced her once again, all with knitted brows as she continued. "It's the same as angels taking their vessels. Only, when they do it, it's deemed as necessary, even as an honour to some. But when we do it, no, that's murder."

"It's different" Dean defended as he glanced down over her.

Y/n couldn't help the scoff that escaped her lips, "Course you'd say that."

"Yeah, because they don't take over people's bodies and then go on a murder spree!" He ranted with anger laced in his pupils. "They actually try and do good things."

His fury only grew when he was met with an expression that showed no care or interest for the point he was making. It was as if the girl was sat watching tv, not tied to a chair with her life threatened. "I didn't go on a murder spree." She said.

Dean shook his head, the grip around his weapon now so tight his knuckles were white. And, in one swift movement, he raised it, the barrel aimed between her eyes. "I'm willing to bet you did." He stated as his finger tip brushed the trigger.

Maybe he would have shot the demon. Dean knew he probably should have done. But he missed his opportunity when the door to the basement they were hiding in opened, his younger, much more sympathetic (even to demons), brother wondered it. "Dean! What the hell are you doing!" He practically screeched, prompting the older boy to drop his gun.

"What? She's a demon, probably the one who's killed all these people!" He paused, glancing back at the smug girl who was making the anger bubble in his gut. "We should have sent her right back to hell the second we got her in that chair."

Sam tilted his head in thought, "Yeah, well, as it turns out, she's not the demon orchestrating all of this." Dean could feel the smirk that was growing behind his back; he despised it. "But I'm going to take a guess, if there's another demon in town, she knows who it is." Sam nodded back to the girl as both brothers faced her. They were running out of options. And, it just so happened, she was their last one.

Y/n chuckled and her gaze landed on the older Winchester who had, only seconds prior, been holding a gun to her head. "Looks like we've got to work together now, sweetheart" She taunted. "Might be a good time to apologise for holding a gun at me."

Dean's jaw was clenched as he bit his tongue in attempt to hold back the sour words which fought to escape his lips. He walked back into the devil's trap, crouching down to reach her eye level. "We're not working together. You either tell us the name of the demon running around this town, or we send you back to hell." He spoke, ever so stern in his tone.

The girl leant as forward as she was able with her body bound, "I don't think you've got the guts to." She told him, her words only a whisper with how close they were. "Send me to hell, you've got no leads. Then more people die on your watch-"

Abruptly, Dean's hand was gripping her jaw, forcing her speech to a stop. Y/n hadn't realised the knife Dean had slipped into his other hand until it was pushed into her thigh. She groaned, winced and grunted. But the hunter showed no sympathy as the hand on her chin forced her to look back at him. "A name, sweetheart." He demanded.

Y/n wasn't stupid. She knew had she given nothing, that magic demon knife of theirs would have been shoved right into her heart. "I don't know his name. But I know where he's hiding." She finally admitted.

Dean dropped his hand from her skin before retracting from her. Sam followed by entering the circle, coming behind Y/n as he broke her free of the rope that bound her. "What are you doing?" Asked Dean.

"She said she knows where he is." Sam shrugged as if the obvious move was to free her. And with the rope no longer tied to her, she stood from the wooden chair. The only thing that stopped her now, were the markings on the floor. "So unless you want to spent hours running round this town like two headless chickens, and, as she said, let more people die on our watch. Then yeah, she's working with us, whether you like it or not."

Y/n watched as the younger Winchester, whom seemed to acting much more maturely, reached down, using his pocket knife to break the devil's trap. Sam was already walking out the door. Y/n stepped over the red paint, her smirk returning to her lips as her gaze found Dean once again. "Aw, what's with the frown?" She mocked before following Sam out the basement.

In that moment, Dean chalked this up to many of his brother's bad ideas. Little did he know, he would soon thank Sam for it.

Y/n was leading the way, only a few streets over from the basement she had been stuck in. But still, she assured the brothers they were close. "I think we'd know if the demon was this close to us." Dean assured, still following the girl as instructed.

She spun on her heels, as to face him, still walking backwards. "Maybe you're just not as good as a hunter as you thought." Y/n critiqued before turning back around.

Dean leaned over to his brother so he could hear his whispers, "I don't like her." He said, literally right behind her back.

Sam would have laughed at that had they not been in the midst of a hunt. "You've made that obvious, don't worry."

Then, as they came to the end of the road, Y/n stopped. She turned and faced the boys who were looking back at her like she was stupid. "Before I continue, and give you the exact location of this demon, and then proceed to help you kill him, someone who I'm meant to treat as a brother." But that putting it lightly. "I want some...assurances." She shrugged.

The brothers both held guns. They were ready and waiting for Y/n's go-ahead. So, there was no surprise when Dean's eyes rolled. "You want to do this now?" He whined as if he were a teenager.

Y/n nodded, "Yes, because if I don't do it now, I kill this demon with you, come out the house, and then you kill me. I just want your word that that won't happen."

Dean was chuckling. The thought that he, a hunter, and her, a black eyed demon, were meant to just leave each other be, well that was unheard of. He wasn't about to be the one to go breaking that certain prophecy. "Can't promise you th-"

"Fine." Interrupted Sam who was gripping his gun tighter.

Y/n glanced over to the other brother, "Dean?"

Dean glared to the younger Winchester. He would scold him later, he promised himself. "Let's just kill this thing and be done with it."

And so Y/n grinned before turning and facing a house. Well, an abandoned house. One of which was crumbling brick by brick, seemingly strung together by nothing but a thin line of thread. That was where Y/n had tracked her fellow demon to. "In there." She informed the boys.

They all wondered in as if they were a swat team. The brothers with their matching shot guns and blades and Y/n wearing nothing but her wit - you'd be surprised how many times it saved her. Alas, they found said demon just as Y/n had promised them. A few hits here, some more there and before the brother's knew it, Y/n had a hold of their special dagger and was shoving it deep into the demon's heart.

As the demon was sent back to hell, and the boy's were released from the force they were once held against, they wondered over to her. She gripped the dagger. The one thing close enough to kill her. And now, in front of her, two hunters who were trained in wielding it. The girl held it up, ready to use it against either of them if they dared get too close.

"And what you planning to with that, princess?" Dean taunted. Truth was, he did plan on pushing that blade right into her heart once they were finished. Again: Hunter, demon. In that moment, they seemed to be no question for the Winchester boy.

Y/n shrugged, "You'd be surprised how handy this might be for me."

Dean scoffed in return, "What? A weapon that kills your own kind? Yeah, very handy."

Of course, he hadn't quite been following, too bothered in conjuring his next move. Sam, however, had his brows knotted as he attempted to figure out what exactly Y/n had meant by that. "Y/n why were you here in the first place?" He questioned.

The girl wasn't sure if she should answer at first. She glanced between the brothers before huffing and dropping her hand from threatening them. "I was doing your job."

They both looked back, equally confused. "What?" That uttered in sync.

"Look, as it turns out, the boss, down there-" Y/n pointed to the ground below her feet. "-Doesn't like the demons causing too much attention. Sure, a murder here or there, fine. But he likes demons on their very best behaviour, ready to spring to his needs at any given moment, instead of going on a murder spree for their own entertainment. So he sends me to clean up their messes." She explained as both Sam and Dean followed with narrowed eyes. "That was why I was here. And I was so very close to killing him before you guys decided to kidnap me."

The brothers shared a look as to silently ask if the other believed this. At first, Dean's instinct was to shove this away as a lie, but it seemed there was nothing to prove it as such. "You know, had you told me that before, I would have at least hesitated to put a gun to your head." The boy said as to finally break the tense silence which had fallen over them.

She couldn't help the laugh that slipped past her lips as she met his gaze. "Dean, in the last 24 hours have I said anything you've truly fully believed?" She made point.

Dean hated that she was right. So his lips stayed sealed, answering her question without any need for words. "We appreciate the help." Sam said and the older brother could feel the start of one of his sweet talking speeches, matched with the eyes of a puppy. "But, we need that knife to kill the demons that aren't so, well, nice as you. We promise we won't kill you with it once you hand it over." He assured.

Y/n's gaze dragged over to the other Winchester; if anyone were to kill her right now, it'd be him. He puffed, "Pinky promise." He flashed a mocking smile.

While her eyes rolled, she twirled the dagger in her fingers, the handle facing Sam. Carefully, the tall boy took it back from her. And, it didn't go anywhere near her heart. They said their goodbyes and went opposites directions.

Dean would be lying if he didn't admit that this one demon was beginning to shift his whole years of hunting. Maybe he had respected his dad too much to ever question that not all demons were so bad. Sure, most were terrible, very terrible. But, as he drove from the town, all he seemed to be to focused on was her. It was naive to have only one demon change his entire perspective, yet it seemed Dean was falling for it.

"She was good." Sam quirked up from the passenger seat.

Dean glanced between him and the road ahead, "What?"

"Y/n." He uttered her name. "Even if she is a demon, she was right in saying she was doing our job for us. I mean, she was way ahead of us." The younger boy went on.

"I wouldn't say 'way ahead'." Dean critiqued.

Sam deadpanned his brother, "Dean, had we not shown up, she would have killed the guy and have been done with it."

Once again, Dean hated that he was wrong. "What are you trying to say? That a demon is better than hunting than hunters?" He questioned with raised brows.

Sam huffed, followed by a shrug as he found himself hesitant in continuing. "All I'm suggesting is that, maybe, she would have been a good contact to have."

Dean scoffed and laughed as if Sam had just made a truly hilarious joke. "You're kidding right?" His expression said that he wasn't. Dean pointed to himself, "Hunter." Then he pointed back, "Demon. We're like sworn enemies. We're not gonna have a demon's number right next to Bobby's, are we?"

"Dean this isn't Romeo and Juliet, alright? She seems to know what she's doing and, who knows? We might need her to save our asses one day."

The boy was still very much in doubt; he was only just coming round to the idea that maybe she wasn't purely evil. "I'm willing to bet we won't."

Dean made the wrong bet.

A few weeks later, the brothers were following a case. It wasn't until they rolled into town, only ten minutes into research when they found it was fault of demons possessing said townspeople. From that moment on, Sam wouldn't shut up about attempting to reach Y/n again. Dean, on the other hand, wanted to try every other trick they had before her.

"She knows what she's doing." The younger boy tried to convince as he trailed behind his brother.

Dean was in the midst of unpacking his shirt and tie to, once again, pose as agents. "We've dealt with demon possessions perfectly fine before." He argued.

"I'm not saying we won't be able to deal with it, I'm just saying she might help speed things up and thus, save more people."

The other boy huffed before finally facing Sam with a stern expression; he knew he had lost this argument. "And how are you planning to get in contact with her? It's not as if she's carrying a phone inside that black heart of hers." One problem of which Sam had already solved. He only had to glance over at the table, where several ancient demon books were sitting, to answer Dean's question. "You want to summon her?"

And so, the brothers turned the motel kitchen into a satanic ritual setting. Sam threw some herbs and lit some candles before uttering Latin. Before they knew it, Y/n was standing in front of them.

She could only sigh when she realised where she was, and more importantly, who brought her here. "I was in the middle of something." She said, as if they hadn't already guessed that with the blood that littered her clothes and dotted her skin.

"Yeah, well so are we." Said Dean with narrowed eyes as the two glared at one another.

Her brow raised, "Then why am I here?" She was looking to Dean to answer. And while the words were on the tip of his tongue, he was too prideful to voice them. "Is it because you may just happen to need my help?" A smirk was growing. Dean still despised it.

"No." He replied without thinking.

Which led her to wonder to the door, "Well in that case..."

Dean tried. He tried really hard to keep his ego together, but this one demon seemed to pulling it into pieces. "Wait." He finally stopped her. "We do need your help." The words came out in a stutter as his pride fought against his logic. The boy knew that, while she was a demon, her help would probably save lives, but he still hated to admit it.

"Wasn't that hard now, was it?" She winked at him, prompting his eyes to roll. "So what's going on?" That question was directed at Sam. The boy followed by talking her through everything they knew so far about the demons running around town.

They soon conjured up a plan: go in, all guns blazing. While vague, Y/n was sure it would be effective. She informed the boys that all the host bodies would be dying by now, so there was no point in trying to exorcise them. And they trusted her in that. The trio would split up, taking house by house where they knew the demons were residing. Thus, taking them out, one by one.

Y/n was awaiting by the impala as the sun set. They moved once it was dark. "Sam said you're gonna need to be equipped." Dean started as he exited the motel room, joining her by the the boot of the car.

She turned, uncrossing her arms from her chest. "Equipped?" She reiterated.

Dean answered her confusion by opening the trunk and showcasing the array of weaponry. Her first act was to scoff and turn her chin up at it, "I don't need any hunters 101 weapons." She told him. Dean looked as if he wasn't quite convinced. "If I really wanted to, I've got the power to throw you against a wall."

The boy quipped a smirk and Y/n was already regretting her words. "Kinky." He commented, urging the girl's eyes to roll - almost out of her head.

Her hand gripped the truck lid, "I'll leave you and Sam the guns and holy water." Then she slammed it shut. All while keeping tight kit eye contact with the boy.

Once the sun was all but a slither of orange in a darkening sky, the three moved out. They went through house and house as if they were swat. And with that, they took out each demon and the body they possessed. It was effective. It was quick. Most importantly, to Y/n anyway, it was the best way to get the job done.

It had been Sam who uncovered that the host bodies weren't so dead as Y/n had made them out to be. She had promised them that there was no point in exorcizing the demons and attempting to save the people beneath them. She had promised that they would all be dead already. Yet here Sam stood, having just shoved his trusty demon killing knife into a young girl. A young girl who was resurfacing as she took her last breaths. She had been alive in there. And had Sam not stabbed her, she would have been alive for much longer. It begged the question, how many other people had he just killed?

Y/n and Dean had just finished their final houses. Blood littered their clothes, weapons still in their grip as they walked back towards one another. "That was easier than expected." Dean had observed as they wondered towards the car.

"You can always just thank me, Dean." She quirked with a glimmer of a smirk as he popped open the trunk, putting back his several weapons.

Then he glanced back down to her, "Than-"

"Hey!" The yell cut through Dean's voice.

Y/n didn't regret turning around until she realised Sam had the knife at her throat. His eyes were written with fury and his grasp on the dagger suggested he wasn't just threatening. "Woah, Sam, come on, I thought we were friends right? Need I remind you that you were the one that summoned me." She spoke, in hopes to bring the boy back to some sense.

Even Dean attempted to bring the knife around from his brother's grip. "Hey, Sam come on." The boy didn't move an inch.

"You knew didn't you." The girl swallowed the lump that had since grown in her throat. "You knew that they were still alive."

That was when Dean, too, slipped into fury with a hint of betrayal. "It was the only way we would get the job done."

The pressure of the blade tightened, feeling it clip at her neck. "We killed innocent people tonight. That's not getting the job done." He argued.

"Sometimes there is collateral." She was careful with her words, letting them come out slowly as to anticipate any movement from Sam. "Had we gone around each house, exorcized each demon, we would have been slow. Slow enough for the other demons to catch on, to warn others, for them to plan an attack on us. We would have been dead people walking." She went on. "I didn't tell you because I know you wouldn't have done it. But the job needed to be done."

Sam huffed and shook his head at a passing thought. "It's not just about getting the job done, it's about how you do it too."

He let the blade free from her throat. It felt as if she could breathe again. She watched him intently, not sure what his next move was. "Sam, I'm sorry." He didn't say anything. Neither of them did. "I know you may not believe it, but we did save lives tonight."

Her eyes flickered to Dean. She waited to see if maybe he might say something, anything really. Instead, Y/n was met with that betrayed look that made her feel regret for the first time in many, many years. With that, she turned her back on them, walking towards the centre of town.

It took a few moments before Sam finally looked back at his brother, "You were right; we never should have worked with a demon." Dean nodded, but truthfully, he wasn't so sure in that anymore.

The older boy couldn't sleep that night. Maybe it was the fault of Sam's snoring, or maybe it was due to the spiralling thoughts that plagued his mind. He didn't want to spend time tossing and turning, avoiding sleep and avoiding the horrid feelings that lurked in his gut. So Dean went to the place he knew best: the bar.

It wasn't much for the small town they were still stuck in. But it was a bar, and it would supply Dean with what he was in need of. Though, as he entered the place, he spotted a familiar figure instantly. Y/n was seated at the bar, nursing a beer. He thought about turning back the way he came and was soon reminded of the same reason he come here in the first place: avoidance. It was as if they universe was forcing him to face this, to face her.

So he walked further through the bar, the doubt rising in his stomach, reaching a certain high when he finally met the barstool next to her's. He didn't say anything. She didn't look up. "What can I get you?" Asked the conventionally beautiful bartender; the type Dean would usually spend the night flirting with.

He smiled, "Beer, please."

Y/n finally glanced upwards, clocking the boy who was sitting next to her. "What are you doing here?" She questioned once the bartender had placed the wanted bottle in front of Dean.

"Same as you." He shrugged as their eyes met once again.

Her gaze seemed to drag back to the bar as if looking at Dean was bringing on a certain feeling she wished to be rid of. "Aren't you meant to be mad at me? Meant to be staying as far away as you can?"

"Whose to say I'm not mad?" Dean should be, he knew that. While her plan may have been effective, it hurt that she hadn't told them. "But, you were right. We never would have killed them all if we were trying to save the people they were possessing. And you were right that me and Sam wouldn't have done it if you'd told us there was a chance to save them. Guess us hunters just have that bit of humanity." Dean would never like to admit it, but humanity made it harder to hunt.

"A burden I'm glad I don't have to deal with." She replied, looking over once again.

Dean narrowed his eyes in thought. "You sure?" He inquired. "Because from what I've seen, you save lives. As many as you can. Maybe that's because it's your job, or maybe that's just what you tell yourself." The boy thought that he could be crossing a line, but he seemed to not care. He knew he probably wasn't going to see Y/n again, so why not cross that line? He'd done worse.

Y/n took a long sip of her beer before choosing to respond to Dean. "You act like you know so much about me." She said with a certain glint in her pupils the boy couldn't depict. "Not to long ago, you were holding a gun to my head. You hated my guts. All because you believed I was so very evil."

There eyes never broke from another. Dean leaned closer; Y/n's heart (or what was left of it) quickened. "This might be the first time I ever admit this," Pause. "But I was wrong. I was wrong about you." Her eyes scanned his. Before she knew it, he was leaning into her lips, and she wasn't stopping him.

Dean thought about Sam and what he might say about this. He knew his brother wouldn't be happy, he knew all hunters in existence wouldn't be happy about it, but there was something about her, demon or not, that urged him in like he was a fish on a hook. As they pulled from one another, a silence followed. They weren't sure who was to speak first.

"Why did you do that?"

"Like I said: I was wrong about you."

And like that, her lips were on his again. Historians truly wouldn't believe it; a hunter entangled with a demon.

[moicat]

Show me your favorite ocs *holds you at gunpoint*

This is going to be a list for sure! I will try to keep it 'short' or we will be here for a while, I will show pictures and then do a small summary for each. They will also not be my self-insert ones or artist persona ones, just cuz I adore those too but they are in a different category compared to my actual ocs. Thanks for the ask!! (This took me way too damn long to make)

Katt

Katt is the daughter of 2 thieves, when they finally get wanted for a very bad crime, she gets caught in the crosshairs. Now, she is a very young bard, wandering the countryside. Her music is magical.

-Her blue markings glow when using her powers a lot (this is mostly visible in the dark.)

-She is a Siamese mix.

-In this world, the only anthro creatures are cats/felines, meaning lions, tigers, any sort of domestic cat breed, etc. They are also able to transform into a human form. But, depending on the area and culture of the location. Some choose to stick to one form more permanently.

-Katt used to be my fursona! Good times.

Casper

Casper is not a ghost, but an ink elemental (his element.. is ink.) He is an immortal being who lives with his other brothers. They aren't 'blood' related, but treated each other as such and are also elementals.

-Inspired by Oz from Monster Prom!

-Has an 'angelic' form.

-Is constantly tired/half asleep due to having terrible nightmares+insomnia.

Masked Magician

The main villain of the main story of 'Five Thousand Realms'. By the general public, he goes by many names, such as Mask, The Mask, Masked Man, Masked Wizard, Masked Swordsman, bla bla bla. He is well known in the public, due to hosting the arena. He is after something though.

-His real name is Jack

-Inspired by Jack of Blades (hence the name... Jack.)

-Is actually a teenager. But is able to hide that fact, unless you hear him behind closed doors.

Epsilon

The prince of the Starcats. A species that is very close to... well, the stars. Their culture revolves around listening to the stars and worshipping him. A common belief is that the Stars are always watching. So you best be on your best behavior. Epsilon is your typical kinda-bratty prince. But he's nice when you get to know him!

-Inspired by Endermen

-Commonly wear eye and star jewelry

-Due to wanting to be 'close to the Stars' not many Spacecats reside outside of their kingdom. Not saying there aren't any outside, it's just not common.

Stars

Speaking of a species that worships Stars... here he is! He is a ball of light. He resides in the sky for most of the story (The story is called 'The Sky Has Feelings Too' by the way.) He made a massive fumble and let his one true love (The Sky) get a physical form without him being able to stop her. Now she resides on the earth, as he watches over her, planning.

-He is actually comprised of many souls in one.

-His voice echoes, maybe even fluctuates.

-One of his eyes is covered by void, supposed to symbolize his downright obsession with the Sky.

Icarus

The boy who wished to fly, an avian kid who unbeknownst to him... has a very, very tough life ahead of him. Oh dear... the trauma... He is a rare subspecies of avian, called Phoenixes. He has feathers with magical properties and fire powers.

-There's a subspecies of Pheonixes also... called True Pheonixes. They are immortal.

-Icarus gets a happy ending I promise-

-He's an orphan. Did I mention that? Did I?

Lucky

Takes place in the story called 'Lucky and Friends' where it's just him and his buds goofing around. He lives in a rural town, his family owns a farm. And his gang has this cool abandoned shed in the middle of the field that they often visit. The world has hybrids of almost all animals. Lucky is a Highland cow Hybrid.

-I freaking love Highland cows.

-Probably one of the only stories I have that has the least amount of angst.

-Doesn't mean there is ZERO angst!

Paris

The main character for 'Five Thousand Realms', is the classic "Why am I here..." type of guy, the reluctant chosen one. Story starts with him being all grumpy and crap, but as time goes on and he makes some friends, he warms up.

-He wants to own a bakery above all else.

-His character is inspired by Razia's Shadow. Love that musical.

-The story is called 'Five Thousand Realms' despite the realms/universes part only being the main focus waaaaayyy later.

I have more ocs, but I'll just stop here.

[quicksilversg1rl]

A Porn Shop Romance Part 1

Alex (Adult World) x Fem Reader 

Also, sorry if any of my pricing or words I use is a little different or off, I don't live in the US so I’m not really familiar with what things are normally priced with so if I do mention prices I’ll try and make them as accurate as possible. 

part 2 part 3

Warnings: None for this part :)

You were nervous, very nervous, this was your first official job as an adult and what made this even more nerve wrecking was the fact that it was at an Adult World, a porn shop. Sure, this wasn’t your ideal job, but you were a college student who needed to make money on her own instead of relying on her parent's pocket money. They were already paying your tuition fees and you figured you might as well get a job so you could call the money your own. 

You had an interview with the store owners the day before, an old friendly couple owned the store and when you were walking past it and saw the ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window you figured you might as well try. The interview went well to say the least and you got the job! 

Upon entry, the store seemed as if it was still closed, you thought you’d be working alone today then remembered the store owners telling you that the store manager, Alex would work most of your shifts with you. 

“Uh hey, you must be Y/n.” A deep voice sounded from behind you which caused you to jump a little. He laughed at the action as you turned around to face him, your eyes trailed over his body and you noticed that he was quite good looking. 

“Didn’t mean to scare ya sorry, I’m Alex, the manager.” He said as he reached his hand out to you. You took his hand, and you felt your cheeks grow warm at his touch, he let out a little laugh at your reaction to his touch before letting go of your hand. 

The two of you talked a little before he showed you all around the store, the different items available for purchase, how to work the register and how to deal with rentals. 

“So, yeah, the price depends on how long they rent it for and that’s pretty much it.” 

“Wait, people still rent pornos? I thought everyone just decided as a collective to use the internet.” Alex let out a laugh at your question before you both turned towards the door as someone had walked in. 

“Ooo your first customer, that’s Eugene he’s a regular also don’t be alarmed with the categories he asks for he’s uhm just one of those dudes I guess, anyway good luck!” He said as he made his way to the back of the store, leaving you and the customer alone.  

“Hi how can I help?” You said as you plastered on a fake smile while you were walking to the register. He placed a few CDs onto the counter for return and as you were about to pick them up after putting them back into the system, one of them had a sticky substance on it which immediately made you drop it back down onto the counter. 

‘Oh God.’ You said to yourself as you looked up towards the customer who scrunched his eyebrows at your action. 

“So will that be all?” You said hoping you wouldn’t have to interact with him any longer but just to your luck he shook his head. 

“Uh do you guys have uhm anything to do with old ladies, I’m feeling like trying somethin’ new.” He said giving you a sly smile. You felt your insides turn and made your way to the section with the rentals. The man followed and his eyes skimmed over the section, and he quickly reached for two DVD, s and brought them back to the register. You checked them out and told him when they had to be back and then he was on his way. 

You quickly rushed to the bathroom, almost knocking Alex out of the way to wash your hands. 

“Woah are you okay?” He said as he saw you frantically scrubbing at your hands. 

“Nuh uh, your friend Eugene just returned some movies and as I was going to put them back, I felt this weird substance on the cover and I’m pretty sure it is what I’m thinking it is and God it smelt awful too.” You said making sure you scrubbed each and every single finger. 

Alex let out a loud obnoxious laugh at your revelation and you quickly shoved him in the arm once you were done drying your hands. 

“Stop laughing you jerk!” You said as you also began to laugh.  The two of you made your way to the front of the store and behind the counter, your eyes falling back on the soiled movies. 

Alex took one look at them and nodded his head, “Yep that's definitely Eugene’s kids alright, we can deal with that later.”

“We?? No, I’m not touching that again you can deal with that Mr. Store Manager.”  

Both of you broke into a fit of laughs as you pushed Alex towards the rentals. 

You didn’t think you’d get this comfortable with Alex in the span of a day as it usually took you minimum a week to become comfortable with someone but there was something different about Alex. He made you feel comfortable especially when he shot that beautiful smile of his. 

‘Oh shit.’ You thought to yourself. 

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

Thank you for reading, I’ll release part 2 asap!

[fairydares]

fuck it, new fic. let's do this.

(there's a 'keep reading' line so don't worry, this isn't too long.)

Title: Chasing Tails (AO3 Link) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Rating: E (Explicit) because I'm almost positive there will be eventual smut. I'll be clearer about this as I actually decide what I'm going to write lol. Overarching Warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Categories: 2nd gen fic; adventure, humor, romance, fluff, and angst in approximately that order. i guess.

Pairings: Nalu, Gruvia, Gajevy, Jerza, Miraxus+Fried (don't know what that ship's called sorry), Chendy, Sting/Yukino, Baccana-- next gen has pairings, too, but I don't want to reveal those yet.

Tags/TW's: The first chapter contains UFC/MMA-esque violence as well as some implied street violence. There may be more TW's I need to add later, but I honestly haven't written the whole story or decided everything, so that's all I can give you for now. I'll do my best to tag appropriately as I go.

Summary: It’s been almost 12 years since 17-year-old Layla O'Neil was found living alone on the streets and put in foster care, and she likes to think she’s done a pretty good job of forgetting the past. She doesn’t remember her birth family, the name “Nashi [*1] Dragneel,” or where she heard the absurd stories she told the police who found her. Stories about Wizard Guilds, flying cats, and–most cringey of all–her self-proclaimed status as a “Fire Dragon Slayer.”

But the past becomes pretty impossible to ignore when it confronts her in the form of some middle-aged, pink-haired stalker who won’t stop calling her the ridiculous name she’d nearly forgotten, and trying to convince her to come back to “Fairy Tale.”

Oh, and claiming to be her dad.

Like Layla doesn’t have enough problems! The last thing she needs is some delusional freak following around. Especially one who’s starting to make her want to take his hand…

Yep, this is a Second Gen (and therefore post-canon) fic. The idea took root and just would not let go. I’ll warn you ahead of time that the premise is somewhat dark. That said, I’m the kind of writer who likes (and tries to write) stories with sad beginnings, hopeful middles, and triumphant ends. I don't want to give too much away, but you shouldn't expect major character deaths or anything like that, though their may be some forms of lightly implied abuse.

Feel free to reblog, make your own additions with commentary, whatever. I'm quite lax with stuff like that. Hope this was comprehensive enough, and that you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Dragon-Slaying Aliens

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

“That’s correct…a world that exists independently from the one we know. And, unfortunately, a world that’s begun losing its Magic…unlike here, in Edolas, Magic is a finite resource. Without limits on its use, it will one day disappear forever.” -from Episode 78, “Edolas”, (English dub, ~00:09), Carla’s line [*1]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------To say this mission had gone sideways was a big-ass understatement, and even Natsu had to admit it. 

It had started well enough. A relatively small mission. Not even S-Class! Puny wannabe Dark Guilds like the one Shirotsume needed dealt with–what was it called? Bony Jewel or something? Anyways, they were a dime a dozen, these days. Hell, Natsu was pretty sure he and Happy took out, like, a billion of them in the past seven years by pure accident. So how the hell was he supposed to know that this time, he’d get blasted to another world–one even Team Natsu hadn’t wound up in? 

And he was positive they’d never been here. He may have had a bad memory (something he’d begrudgingly been forced to actively acknowledge as he grew into a man) but he was sure he’d have remembered somewhere that made him feel this bad. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t use his Magic. If it had just been that, this might have been fun. Hell, a lot of the worlds Team Natsu had visited–even Edolas–had been fun.

This one sucked. 

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he’d been transported to the future–one where FACE had been activated and all the Magic had been dissipated. Because it had felt, truly, like all the Magic was being sucked out of him. When he’d woken up on the forest floor, he’d felt as if he was dying. His lungs had burned with each breath (and not in the good way). His limbs had felt like lead when he tried to rise. 

He’d quickly realized that couldn’t be the case, though. Even if the Dragons hadn’t destroyed FACE, if all the Magic had been sucked from Earthland he’d have Magical Deficiency Syndrome. He’d either be down or in forced into his END form. 

He’d wandered around the small forest he’d woken up in alone, trying to focus through the stink and noise he was only capable of perceiving through what felt like about a hundred layers of thick blanket, and calling for his best friend as long as he could. It hadn’t been long before he gave up and left; Happy had never shouted back (something he considered fortunate, at this point; hopefully Happy was back in Earthland) his stomach was trying to eat itself, it was dark–and, worst of all–he still couldn’t use his Magic. At all.

Actually, scratch that: the absolute worst part was when a glance at his (as usual) bare shoulder showed him that his guild mark had vanished. It was just gone. So was his scarf, and so was his Mini Communication Lacrima. Obviously, his guild mark and scarf were bigger deals personally, but the Mini Comm was a bigger loss in immediate, practical terms. After That Day, seven years ago, Laxus–now Fairy Tail’s Master–had started putting Navigation Enchantments on everyone’s Comms so that anyone who went missing could be traced. There was a 3D map of Earthland and Edolas visually tracking everyone’s movements in the Master’s Office. It could even find them in Edolas. 

Now, Natsu’s was nowhere to be found. No one would be able to find him, wherever he was, and any hopes of contacting them were obviously dead in the water, too. 

He was gonna have to find his own way back, somehow. He only prayed his scarf was somehow back in Earthland, and that Happy had grabbed it for him. 

As he hobbled down the weird, too-neat walkway he’d found, he had to believe that whatever was preventing him from using his Magic was what kept him from sensing anything beyond the general–the stink, the sound, the pain, the hunger. Normally, with his better-than-normal resilience and enhanced strength, his pain would have mostly taken care of itself by now. Usually, making himself move helped. Now, it seemed to be making things worse. 

After finding the pathway, he’d kept shouting for his little buddy a whole bunch of times, but all he’d gotten were several loud verbal confrontations and one physical one. He’d expected to beat the massive brute towering next to the smaller woman beside him–and he had. But it hadn’t been as easy as he’d expected. His movements had been slower than normal. His limbs had felt like lead. His strength had been lesser. Every time he tried to call up his Magic, a wave of dizziness and lethargy had overcome him. It was like he’d feel the rushing up inside of him only to sputter to coldness at the last second; he hadn’t seen so much as a spark since he’d woken up. 

In the end, it was only experience and determination which had allowed him to level the much larger man, and hard-earned wisdom which had seen him running from the screeching woman and the gun-wielding, uniform-wearing soldiers her screeching had drawn. Yet the punch he’d taken to the nose had made it bleed and the kick to the thigh had made him limp. 

It wasn’t just that his Dragon senses had vanished, making him woozy, making it difficult to stand and excruciating to move. His strength was gone as well. Not even sealstone would have weakened him this much.

He’d wandered, now, for what felt like several hours. The number of Magical Vehicles around were astounding–astounding, and nauseating; just looking at them made Natsu want to vomit. The one good part of having an empty stomach was that he had nothing to give up. He meandered in a stupor, through unbelievably thick crowds, dodging Magic Vehicles and their honking, and glaring down anyone who yelled at him for not understanding something, occasionally barking back to scare them off.

He’d never been so disoriented, and the worst part was that deep down, he knew that there was no one to blame but himself. 

Lucy and Happy had asked him, point-blank, if the Quest he’d chosen had anything to do with his search for their long-lost daughter and kitten. 

It had. Of course it had. 

However, Natsu had denied it. Because if he hadn’t, he and Happy wouldn’t have been able to leave right then. Lucy would have forced him to bring someone else along; she was busy taking care of their son, Luke; the Perve-sicle was already out on his own mission/search for Juvia, and Erza was away, which meant he’d have had to ask someone outside Team Natsu. 

No thanks, he’d decided, covering up the fine print on the mission request with his fingers before holding it up to Lucy’s nose. 

Now, as he snarled at yet another person yelling at him for being in the way, Natsu was starting to consider the possibility that he just maybe should’ve been more upfront, and even that he should–perhaps–have waited for the stripper to get back before taking on Bony Jewel or whatever alone.

But how the hell was he supposed to have known it would end up like this?! It had been going fine–in fact, it had been going great! A couple opponents had offered a real challenge before their Master had shown up. Natsu had been laying down brick in that fight, too. Yet when the guy had been on his last legs, he’d whipped some creepy, sparkly rainbow skull from nowhere (now that he thought about it…that might have been what the Guild was named for!) and shot one last attack. One so big, Natsu had been unable to dodge–though, of course, he’d made to both block and finish the fight with an enormously powerful Fire Dragon Wing Attack. 

Based on his current predicament–he had to assume it hadn’t worked. Even though the skull had shattered in the heat of his flames at the last second, the blast had still hit him. His one consolation was that he was pretty sure his little buddy had heeded his final warning to get back. So he was almost definitely still back in Earthland.  

It had taken Natsu several pathetic attempts to stand. Getting here felt like a blur. Now, he had no idea what he was doing. What he should do. Their money had been in Happy’s knapsack, and without his precious nose, finding food was basically impossible anway. 

Man…Lucy’s gonna kill me, he grumbled internally, grunting at another group who shouted at him for bumping into him. 

Okay, yeah, maybe he should’ve been honest. Maybe he should’ve waited. But how could he do that when the lead was so good? When there was even the smallest chance he might finally find Nashi [*]? 

At the thought, his footsteps halted temporarily. He ducked his head, bangs shadowing his eyes. He balled his fists at his sides. The thought of the missing daughter he’d never stopped searching for never got easier to bear. 

It was the worst thing that could happen to a parent, to lose their child. Something he wouldn’t have wished on Fairy Tail’s most vicious, evil enemy. He and Lucy understood that too intimately. Still, he didn’t let himself get bogged down, not when it might hold him back, not when it might keep him from finding her. Seven years, she’d been gone. Her, Wendy–so many of their nakama and allies. Time had neither hindered nor halted his search for any of his missing comrades, but especially his little girl. She’d be twelve, now. He’d gotten better with birthdays and anniversaries when he married Lucy. He’d woken up and started crying on April 14th this year, the same as his wife. 

Still, even on that day, he’d spoken of her. When he was with Luke, Lucy, and Happy, he talked about it. He talked about how he’d find her and Harley–Happy and Carla’s kitten–how they’d be a family again. He spoke of the future to give it power, just like Igneel had taught him. Just like he’d taught his own kids. Wherever Nashi was, he was sure she must be doing the same; speaking of how she’d find them again, the same as he strove to find her. 

But he couldn’t continue his search (covert or not) until he got home. So getting home was definitely at the top of the to-do list. Right after eating. 

He kept walking.

Wherever he’d wound up was seedy, dark, yet strewn with lights that made paths across his newly-sucky eyes when he looked at them directly. Gross and smelly, too. The people he’d just bumped into started shouting back at him, something about bumping into someone’s girlfriend, and he huffed irritably. Normally, he’d never back down from a challenge like this, but believe it or not, he was too lost, confused, hungry, and tired to deal with another fight–not when the injuries he’d sustained from the previous one were still hurting this much. 

It was humiliating. He’d always been the type of person who refused to back down from a fight, no matter how outmatched he was. These days, a lot of fights were honestly pretty boring for him. Erza would always be scary, and Gray was admittedly pretty strong (if not badass enough to stand up to him, or so he would always insist). He could proudly admit to having achieved (at least) Gildarts-level strength without the clumsiness to make him dangerous. 

Now, he was balking out of fights with people who weren’t even using Magic. 

There was something viscerally terrifying about how much his injuries were troubling him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t limp without worsening whatever injury that asshole had doled out on his knee. His nose felt bigger than his head. 

He stumbled on, brooding. 

The guy whose girlfriend he’d bumped into got louder, closer. Obviously, the freak wasn’t gonna let it go. Cursing, he started hobbling more quickly, turning the next corner. To his relief and curiosity, bright lights, loud voices, and a huge crowd–littered with food stands he might be able to beg food from–appeared. He made his way into the thick of it, ignoring the shouts behind him, and ducked and wove between people. It took him several seconds to realize he was still trying to find food by his nose, which barely even freaking worked. Frustrated, he turned his attention to the source of the light, which seemed to focus down on whatever sat in the middle of the crowd. 

Curiosity shoving past the numbness and hunger, Natsu pushed his way towards it. 

“Ow!” 

“Hey!” 

“Watch it, freak!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Natsu grumbled. “Watch your damn selves!”

He still felt like shit, but the crowd was oddly invigorating. As he crashed through the thickest (front) lines of the crowd, more lights came on while the darkness behind him fell deeper. Natsu winced, blinking. It took him a few moments to register what he’d stumbled upon: a roundish sort of stage, elevated a few feet off the ground and bordered by some kind of chain-link cage thing. Two corners were open to be entered, but fended off  by some big dudes in black suits, holding back the crowd. 

“WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” boomed a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making Natsu flinch again and the crowd start chattering loudly. 

Match? Natsu wondered despite his disorientation and exhaustion, thinking of the Grand Magic Games. He shoved aside every stranger who tried to take his place at the front of the audience, looking around with wide, curious eyes, shoving his gnawing stomach to the backburner.

“FIGHT FANS! ARE YOU REAAAADDDDYYYYY??!!! ” 

Fight? Natsu thought, perking up, conveniently forgetting his injuries in a burst of excitement. Several people started chattering at the crack of the loud voice that was everywhere and nowhere, making Natsu look around even more fervently. 

“BECAUSE THIS LONG-WAITED MATCH-UP IS… ABOUT…TO…BEGINNNN!!!”

The cheering got louder, the shoving got more aggressive, and Natsu got more aggressive right along with it. He’d be damned if he was going to miss a good fight. Besides. He needed to see what the Magic here was like. He was being smart. So ha! How about that, Lucy?!

“INTRODUCING: OUR FIRST FIGHTER!” the voice shouted while Natsu continued to elbow and shove, anticipation rising. Music rang out, a dude’s loud, snarly voice backed up by a bunch of deep bangs and booms which had Natsu trying to decide if what he was listening to was awesome or fucking awful–nope, definitely fucking awful. For the first time, he was glad he couldn’t hear properly since he got here. 

A light flashed at one corner, drawing his eye. “UNLIKE HIS OPPONENT, THIS FIGHTER IS WELL-ESTABLISHED IN THE SEMI-UNDERGROUND OCTAGON! HAD HIS PERFORMANCES BEEN FORMALLY JUDGED WHILE THE UNDERGROUND WAS STILL ACTIVE, HE WOULD LIKELY HAVE LONG-BEEN PERMANENTLY DISQUALIFIED! YET, IN SPITE OF A CONTROVERSIAL CAREER, HE HAS REMAINED A STAPLE OF THE SEMI-OCTAGON FIGHTING WORLD FOR TWO YEARS!”

“Er, feels kinda harsh?” Natsu muttered to himself, sweating slightly. Though he didn’t really get what “controversial career” meant. 

“WHILE THIS IS NOT FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE, DUE TO HIS HISTORY, MANY WILL NO DOUBT VIEW HIM AS REIGNING CHAMP AND DEFENDER! INNNNTTRRROOODUUUCCCINNNG… ‘MAD BULL’ MATTHEW BRON!” 

A door Natsu hadn’t even seen was slammed open as if it had been kicked, and an enormous man–even bigger than the one that had managed to tag Natsu just a little bit ago, a man built like that potato head guy from Lamia Scale, and actually bearing a similar-shaped bald head–appeared, yanking off headphones and chucking them over his massive shoulder one of the lackeys who’d followed him out. The much shorter guy jumped, barely catching them and fumbling a lot once he had. “Mad Cow” or whatever grinned maniacally as he stormed for the ring, dark eyes wild.

The response from the crowd was mixed but mostly positive, Natsu quickly noticed as he glanced around. His eyes skated quickly over the group next to him (which was booing, unlike most of the crowd) then returned his focus to the stage-circle thing. He could see well enough, he was glad to note, even if his vision was nowhere near as sharp as it was back on Earthland. Big Guy took his place at the corner of the ring and immediately started pacing, lifting tree-like arms and roaring as he did so. Meanwhile his lackey scurried for the bit of protected corner behind him, trying to shout for his attention and getting nowhere as he continued to pace. 

Natsu quickly decided he didn’t like the looks of this guy, intro aside. He was the type of asshole Natsu lived to knock down a peg, and despite his injuries and exhaustion, Natsu found himself appraising the big bastard, hands twitching. Sure, he wasn’t in the best shape, but since when had he been one to turn down the chance to kick some ass? It was more a reflex than anything. For about the billionth time since he’d landed here, he tried conjuring up some fire only to curse internally as all he got for his efforts was a wave of dizziness and a wash of helplessness. 

“NOW FOR OUR CONTENDER,” the voice boomed. “SHE’D ONLY BARELY ENTERED THE UNDERGROUND BEFORE IT BECAME THE SEMI-UNDER, BUT WAS ALREADY MAKING WAVES! THIS FIGHTER HAS SPARKED INTENSE DEBATE ABOUT WHETHER WOMEN SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO FIGHT MEN–IN ANY OCTAGON!” More mixed din. Natsu frowned in confusion. Was it for the other fighters’ safety or something? Because someone should ban Erza from contributing to the guild hall violence. Oh, yes. That was a great idea. He’d have to bring the idea up to Gray when he got home. 

“BUT IT’S DIFFICULT TO ARGUE WITH HER HANDY VICTORIES!” the voice boomed. “THANKS TO HER NEARLY-UNBROKEN STREAK OF INSANE WINS, SHE HAS BEEN NICKNAMED THE THE ‘PHOENIX’, ‘UNDERDOG’, ‘TENMEN’...AND HER PREFERRED NICKNAME…” 

A new song started, and this one was undeniably cool, in Natsu’s opinion. Something hard, fast, and catchy, punctuated by an angry-sounding woman singing something about “not giving a damn” about something or other. The door at the opposite end of the ring swung open. A girl came swaggering out, and Natsu froze.

“THE DRAGONESS, LAYLAAAAA O'NEEEILLLLL!!!!”  

It wasn’t his daughter. It couldn’t be. Her name wasn’t Layla. Her name was Nashi. His Nashi would be twelve, and this girl was in her late teens–maybe even her early twenties. The fact that her fighting nickname was “The Dragoness” was a nasty coincidence, but that’s all it was. This couldn’t be Earthland’s Nashi.

But it was this world’s Nashi. Of that, there was no doubt. And Natsu couldn’t make himself take his eyes off her, couldn’t even make himself blink as he stared, ignoring the cheering and booing all around him. 

A couple strands of unruly pink hair at her bangs had broken free of their tight braids, as adorable and predictably unpredictable as his little girl’s. They clung to her forehead, bouncing as she strutted towards the monster still pacing, practically frothing at the mouth, and Natsu vaguely registered the sound of several peoples’ alarmed murmuring. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he’d have understood; she was about half the guy’s size and about -50% as insane-looking.

Not scared, though. 

And…she looked like Lucy. She looked so much like Lucy that it hurt. He could still remember times when he’d call his little girl’s name, she’d turn around, and he’d gasp–because it really was like an adorable, wild little pink-haired Lucy turning to look up at him, her whole face lighting up like he was the greatest thing in Earthland. The memory choked him up, a feeling he’d gotten used to over the past seven years. He swallowed hard.

But that wasn’t Lucy’s smile. Natsu felt like he had seen that smile somewhere but he wasn’t particularly interested in thinking about it all that deeply, because what mattered was that it was her smile, his little girl’s, big and toothy and unmistakable–a little lopsided, the corners of her lips characteristically curling. 

It hit his chest like a shot from Zeref, making him briefly clutch at his waistcoat’s dirtied fabric. 

Natsu knew, firsthand, just how similar other worlds’ versions of his loved ones could be to his. Hell, Edolas Lucy had chopped off her hair to make it a little easier to distinguish herself from Earthland Lucy. 

That didn’t make it hurt any less to suddenly see another world’s Nashi– Layla, this one was called. That was Nashi’s middle name. It made sense, when you thought about it. Names were one thing that seemed to sometimes differ slightly between worlds, as he’d learned on the 100-Year-Quest [*3]. Her canines were sorta sharp, maybe, but they weren’t Dragon Slayer sharp, like his and daughter’s. Besides. Edo Nashi and Fireball’s canines were a tiny bit sharper than normal, too. 

It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be. Looking at her still felt like being punched in the chest by Erza. Yet he couldn’t stop watching as the music, cheers, and boos faded, she stripped off her sweats (to much catcalling and whistling) to reveal a black sports bra/shorts getup sort of like “Mad Bull’s” shorts, revealing a body packed with much more muscle than any of Fairy Tail’s women would’ve allowed themselves to accumulate. She looked pretty badass, he decided. 

The voice that was everywhere and nowhere boomed on:

“NOT ONLY A CHANCE AT THE UPCOMING TITLE ON THE LINE, BUT–POTENTIALLY–THE FUTURE OF MIXED SEMI-UNDERS. TWO CHALLENGERS, SQUARING OFF FOR A CHANCE AT THE SEMI-FINALS. THIS IS A GIGANTIC CULTURAL MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF THIS SPORT… ‘MAD BULL’ MATTHEW BRON VS. THE ‘DRAGONESS’ LAYLA O'NEIL!” 

“‘Dragoness’ is fucking right!” Mad Cow or whatever roared while he hugged one arm across his chest, grinning ferally at his much smaller opponent. “Here hoping some man will look at you, fugly?!” 

Several people in the audience laughed. Even the announcer chuckled. Meanwhile, Natsu’s blood boiled. On some level, he knew he needed to separate himself from this. From this fight, from this “Nashi.” Especially when he was this powerless to do anything about any of it. But it was impossible to listen to someone say that to another version of his daughter and not have every protective instinct in his body flare, especially when the spectators apparently thought it was fucking hilarious.

However, her grin didn’t even flicker. “Like you’re one to talk!” she cackled. “You look like Popeye fucked Bigfoot!”

Natsu didn’t flinch at the language like many people in the audience seemed to. In fact, he found the disapproving murmurs confusing. The other guy hadn’t exactly been polite, but he hadn’t gotten the same reaction. Still, a solid number of people were laughing their asses off, including the group next to him which had booed Mad Cow. 

He also had no clue what the hell she’d just said even meant, but the way Mad Cow’s smile dropped off his face, a handful of people started howling with laughter, and the commentator’s chuckles cut off abruptly was enough to make Natsu grin. 

Some random guy in some sort of black, collared uniform entered the arena, signaling to the loud, annoying commentator. Unlike her opponent, no one had followed This Nashi into the arena; she was all alone. So she ran back to her own bit of protected yet empty corner and threw her clothes and a water bottle over the chainlink fence, then ran back towards the middle of the arena. There, she  hopped up and down, shaking out her arms. Stretched them above her head. 

“OUCH!” The commentator finally seemed to recover, though he sounded somewhat vexed. “WELL, ONE THING’S FOR SURE, THE CHALLENGER CAN TALK GAME…WHETHER SHE CAN LIVE UP TO IT IS ANOTHER QUESTION.” 

“God, I fucking hate when Hansis commentates,” the guy next to Natsu muttered, his friends snorting in agreement. Then he glanced at Natsu–only to double take. “Oi, are you related to the Dragoness or something?!” he asked, eyes on his hair. 

“Uhhh…” Natsu chuckled nervously, feeling himself start to sweat. He may have been what Erza would (and frequently did ) call an “impulsive idiot”, but he had no clue how to explain that he was the father of her other self. “Something like that.”

“Whoa, seriously?!” The guy’s friend leaned around him to look at Natsu with wide, shining eyes, then continued, “I won’t ask anymore, ‘cause obviously you’re trying to protect your identities or something, but that’s so cool! We’re huge fans!” 

“Hmm…” Natsu said, scanning their apparel–t-shirts and hats emblazoned with her face and silhouette–and what looked like homemade signs of her name, written in fiery letters. “I can see that…what is this, exactly?” He asked this while looking around at the lights, spectators, an unfamiliar kind of money being exchanged and counted between several people.

Natsu tilted his head, blinking. “No?” he said. 

“The semi-underground tournament?” the only girl in the group said, eyes almost as wide as her friend’s. When Natsu only continued to look confused, she said, “What, do you live under a rock?! You’ve at least heard of MMA, right? Mixed Martial Arts?” 

He perked up at this. “Like a fight?! Hell, yeah! How do I get in on this?!” He grinned, cracking his knuckles, his earlier scuffles and empty stomach completely forgotten. 

“YOU DON’T!” the entire group shouted, eyes bugging. 

The dude who’d first started talking to him huffed, sweating slightly. “The ‘semi-underground’ octagon used to just be called ‘the underground fights,’” he explained loudly, Natsu still having to lean in to catch what he said with his new, bad ears over the increasingly excited din. “It was illegal, but, like, illegal in the ‘everyone knows but won’t squeal’ way, you know?” 

Natsu nodded, fully getting this. After all, how many times had soldiers arrested him only for Queen Hisui to let him off with a finger-wag. Of course, his luck on that front had run out seven years ago…

“The feds finally cracked down on it,” the guy continued, “but didn’t prosecute any of the fighters. Now, it’s called the ‘Semi-Underground’...it’s got no weight-classes (which is why the Dragoness can fight big dudes like Mad Bull). All genders are free to compete and fight each other. It’s a bit more for entertainment than pure fighting prowess– that was different, before,” the guy added with a wistful tone. “But still! You can’t just go waltzing into the octagon, you know? Back in the basement where this used to happen, you could’ve gotten away with that, but now you’ve gotta work for it, you know? Seriously, do you live under a rock or something?” 

Irritated, Natsu opened his mouth, but his response was cut off when a loud voice–not as loud as the announcer, but still–redrew all their attention to the ring. “Alright, fighters,” the black-collar guy said into a microphone which was smaller and not as loud as the commentator’s, quieting the audience. “We’ve been over the rules. Protect yourself at all times. Follow my instructions. We’re going to have a clean fight, you hear me?” He glared at Mad Bull, but This Nashi was the only one who dipped her chin in recognition. Natsu’s eyes narrowed along with hers when her opponent refused to acknowledge the guy’s words. “Now, touch gloves at this time, and come out ready to do this!” 

Both fighters instantly danced away from each other. Black collar guy scowled. Both the commentator and the audience made sounds like “ OOOOOOOH!” 

“NO TOUCH!” came the commentator’s gleeful voice, “I REPEAT, NEITHER FIGHTER TOUCHED GLOVES, AND SO FAR, NEITHER ARE REALLY MOVING FOR EACH OTHER–” 

“SAY YOU’RE PRAYERS, BITCH!” Mad Cow roared. “YOU’RE DEAD MEAT!” 

“BRING IT!” This Nashi roared back, and Mad Cow lunged, swinging in immediately with a big, dramatic overhand hook that would have knocked her out immediately if she hadn’t skated out of its way. It took about three similar exchanges for Natsu to sag in disappointment. 

“Oi!” he shouted, utterly let down, “Where the hell’s the magic?!” 

“Geez!” the guy next to him laughed. “The fight’s only just started: give them a minute to warm up! Then we’ll get to see the cool stuff.”

“What, they’re not allowed to use it at first or something?” Natsu asked, still staring as This Nashi fended off huge, devastating blows raining down from above and leapt back from the powerful kicks, eyes narrowed and expression tight. 

“...Er, what?” the guy asked. 

“Magic–duh!” Natsu huffed, flickering wide eyes between the guy and This Nashi, who was now darting backwards around the round-ish ring, still fending Mad Cow off, weaving and ducking with a speed few could hope to match. “You know?! Fire, Ice, Celestial Magic…?

The guy stared at him for a second along with his companions, all of whom were also sweating. It was then that Natsu knew: 

Something more was going on here. Something he didn’t understand. This place…wherever he was, it was like Edolas. Not now, but back when he, Lucy, and the others had gone there. Magic didn’t just not exist, here; was some kind of… taboo on it.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. Trying to keep his voice as quiet as he could over the crowd, he continued, “I didn’t mean to say something that would get you in trouble...” 

The group’s only response was to sidle away from him surreptitiously, glancing at him and sharing looks with wide eyes. Natsu was thrown for a loop once more. Ooo- kay, talk about overly-suspicious. Were there guards listening in on their conversation or something? As discreetly as possible, with his hand still at the back of his head, he looked around, eyes narrowed. 

Yet…he saw nothing to warrant their suspicion. An unruly crowd…and an astonishing lack of guards. At the Grand Magic Games, there’d always been a ton of guards. Way more than he wanted to be there, honestly. Did this have something to do with the whole “underground” thing? 

He looked at the group again, then realized something important: it was him they were looking at nervously. Nervously, and like…he was crazy or something. 

It had taken time, but the years had made Natsu wiser–cooler–about situations like this. Even as his stomach sank with the realization that getting home was going to be a much harder task than he’d initially realized, he acknowledged that he’d need to be careful about mentioning Magic here. Dropping his hand, he forced a small smile at them then turned his attention back to the arena, where Mad Cow continued to chase This Nashi around the edge of the arena. Meanwhile, his mind continued to reel, loud to himself and no one else. 

“–IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE SHE’S CAUGHT IN A CLINCH, HERE, AND THEN OUR NIGHT WILL BE OVER!” the commentator was blaring. It was sort of surprising, how easily he’d been able to tune out when Natsu’s ears were registering so little. “I HATE TO SAY IT–” (Based on the glee in his tone, Natsu doubted that.) “–BUT HOWEVER MUCH OF AN EXTRAORDINARY FIGHTER SHE IS, SHE’S STILL A FEMALE FIGHTER. HER OPPONENT HAS WELL OVER A HUNDRED POUNDS ON HER [*4]. AND, AGAIN, I HATE TO SAY THIS–BUT THERE ARE JUST PHYSICAL BARRIERS NO CHICK FIGHTER WILL EVER BE ABLE TO OVERCOME! RIGHT NOW, THIS IS A DOG FIGHT, AND NOT ONE SHE CAN KEEP SCRAPPING IN! SHE’S NOT GOING TO COME OUT AS THE ‘UNDERDOG,’ THIS TIME–”

“Man, she’s getting her ass beat!” someone from the group broke the awkward silence as This Nashi was swept aside by a blow that caught the guard at her ear. 

“Maybe she’ll make a comeback!” another guy said, tremulous but hopeful, as a log-like shin crashed into her stomach. 

“She definitely will!” the guy who’d first spoken to Natsu said, though there was a distant note of doubt in his voice as she barely reeled from an arrow-fast straight right. 

Despite the awkwardness of their last interaction, Natsu couldn’t help appreciating these people, who were so devoted to this world’s Nashi. He decided to end their night more positively. “Is that what you think?” he asked in a somewhat bored tone, eyes on the girl still gliding backwards, dancing away from the hits and kicks or else blocking them. He felt, rather than saw, the group’s eyes jumping to him, some of them quickly leaping away only to dart back. 

“What do you mean?” the first guy ventured when he said nothing else, edging a little closer once more.

Natsu crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes thinning as Big Boy brought down a hailstorm of fists on This Nashi’s head. His eyes tracked the way a particularly big hit caught her forearm–but only barely, seeing as she’d slid out of the enormous range even as she blocked. Just like he’d thought…

His stomach churned uncomfortably. It was eerie and cruel, how much her movements and the memories aligned–

“OUCH! That hurt, Daddy!” After the exclamation, Nashi began grumbling, vigorously rubbing her forearm where his fist had just him. 

“Woops!” Natsu chuckled sheepishly, “My bad!” 

Despite the fact that she was still rubbing the arm he’d tapped with a light hit, the little girl who barely came up above his knees scowled. 

It was midday, now. In their front lawn; his and Happy’s house, now much larger with the rooms he’d added for Lucy and their kids. 

“But–” He grew serious. “–you think your enemies will take it easy on you, Nashi? You think they’ll give you a break because you say ‘ouch’?” 

She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled–pouted, really. She was so cute, he couldn’t have kept his lips from quirking into a grin if he tried. Strutting forward, he planted a hand on top of her head, rubbing the unruly locks. He only grinned wider when she turned her scowl/pout up to him. “Sorry, kiddo, but they won’t!” 

Lucy would have lost her mind, if she saw the interaction. Natsu could just hear her now: “NATSU, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?! SHE’S FIVE! BE CAREFUL, WOULD YOU? BLAH BLAH BLURGH BLAH– !” 

He never really got Lucy, when she acted like that. Nashi was a Dragon Slayer, like him. She could take much more than a normal human, but would never learn that she could if he didn’t show her! Not to mention that Igneel had been way tougher on him, when he was five. Besides, he didn’t want his kid to be some weakling! What father did want that? 

Not any good ones, that was for sure. Especially not when their kids had Nashi’s determination and drive. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he apologized again, still rubbing her head affectionately. “But you’ve got to understand…if I hurt you, it’s because I know your enemies will hurt you the same way…I don’t want it to surprise you. I want you to be able to fight back, still. You do still want to be a big-time Dragon Slayer, don’t you?” 

She stared up at him dubiously, but the smile caught on quick. She’d never been able to resist smiling back at him. 

“...Yeah,” she admitted finally, feigning reluctance. 

He lifted his hand off her head, cupping it around his ear and leaning down towards her. “What was that?!” he shouted. “I couldn’t hear you…what was it you want?!” 

“I–pfft–I WANT–” Her small smile turned to a grin–the big, corner-curled grin only his daughter ever could or would achieve. The one that always melted his heart. 

“I WANNA BE A DRAGON SLAYER!” she managed to roar through her grin. “NO–I MEAN, I WANNA BE THE STRONGEST DRAGON SLAYER EVER!” 

“HELL YEAH, YOU DO!” he roared back, the pride managing to make his chest burst even as he squared up again, preparing for more training. An adrenaline only teaching one’s prodigy could spark electrocuted his system. “IF THAT’S REALLY TRUE, THEN COME ON, NASHI! YOU’VE GOT MORE IN YOU! I KNOW YOU DO!” 

“OH YEAH? WELL I DO! I GOT WAY MORE IN ME!” She dropped into the stance he’d taught her, grinning for everything she was worth. The sun illuminated her smile. 

He somehow managed to grin even more widely. “Right, then listen up!” he commanded. “When Dragon Slayers fight, they got one big advantage: they can take a whole bunch of hits–then still get up. So that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.” 

“...Huh?!” The little girl’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You’re sayin’ I’m gonna let myself get hit?!” 

“Well, not too hard,” he elaborated. “And not too much…you’re just gonna play defense for a while, see?” He moved for her, throwing a fist much more slowly than he normally would have. Automatically, she wove away, eyes wide on his face. His right fist was followed by his left, then a kick–all too sluggish to be real. She easily moved around and blocked all of them. “This way,” he continued, throwing another kick. “You can learn the guy you’re fighting, how step, how they breathe…” 

“How they step…how they breathe…” she repeated to herself in a murmur, eyes flickering all over his body as he continued to pantomime a real fight. Natsu couldn’t help but grin. Nashi was a distractible kid, but when it came to fighting, she was always on the ball.

Natsu didn’t mind one bit when Lucy blamed him for that. 

“...how they fight,” he finished. 

“...how they fight!” she whispered. 

He started speeding up his movements. Let her orient before he lit up his fists. She mirrored him, flames igniting her much smaller fists. Their dance became even faster “That’s it, Nashi!” he praised as she leapt back from a kick, only letting it clip her shoulder. “Get into the flow of it! Read my movements! Remember, breathe, and–” 

“She’s reading him,” he murmured, voice softer than he’d meant it to be. “Fending him off and waiting for the right moment; his hits are only clipping her.” His hunger was catching up with him again, as was his pain. He ached. He wanted to sleep. And…

…It hurt. It hurt too much. Knowing it wasn’t his Nashi…that just made it hurt more. Each hit, each block, each flash of those brown eyes…they felt like shards of glass piercing his heart.

I can’t stay here, he realized. 

“What was that?” the girl in the group asked, venturing closer to him. 

His heart was heavy, sinking as he watched the girl. Embarrassment washed over him as he realized that had been a stupid thing to say in the first place. This wasn’t his Nashi. She wasn’t using what he’d taught her because he hadn’t been the one to train her. Hell, she probably wasn’t even gauging her opponents’ movements; she was probably fighting for her life, here. 

She would lose. 

“Nothin’,” he replied thickly, dropping his arms even as he watched the girl roll away from a rather impressive and extremely long-ranged crescent kick, not even the man’s big toe catching her at all. “I was wrong…enjoy the rest of the fight, guys.” He used the ensuing beat of silence to stare–for just one more second–at the girl. This world’s version of his girl. 

Without thinking, he went to heft up his backpack, only to sigh in quiet defeat–the exhale almost visible even in the warm air–as he remembered it wasn’t there; he was just a weakling in this world. That’s why his back (and whole body) felt so heavy. 

“Oh, you’re leaving?” the first guy who’d spoken to him said as he turned away, pushing back through the crowd. His tone was an odd mixture of relieved and disappointed. Natsu said nothing, merely waving. 

Overhead, the booming voice–which he’d tuned out during the competition–continued to sound off. “–AN ADMITTEDLY UNBELIEVABLE DODGE, BY ,” it said, clearly shocked, as Natsu pushed past a woman who was obviously excited to be moving closer to the arena. “BUT THE NEXT FLURRY OF BLOWS LANDS, ALTHOUGH IT APPEARS SHE’S BLOCKED MOST OF THEM–” 

“YOU’RE DONE, BITCH!” roared Mad Cow, so loud that he managed to drown out the commentator–who went silent, anyway. This made Natsu pause, his brows knitting with fury. 

It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. She’s not your daughter. He refused to look back, forced himself to take another step, then another. She’s just some fighter from another world who’s, apparently, out of her league. She’s not–

A loud slam, like a body falling on a mat. “SHE’S DOWN! I REPEAT, ’S DOWN!” 

Natsu smirked. “See, dumbass?” he murmured to himself. 

“IT’S ALL OVER, FOLKS! SHE’S–” 

All of a sudden, a fleshy CRACK rang through the air, followed by an enormous chorus of gasps and cries of surprise from the crowd. A deafening silence ensued. 

“... HOLY– UNBELIEVABLE!” the commentator managed. “A KICK FROM THE GROUND–AND O’NEIL'S BACK ON HER FEET! THEY’VE GAINED GROUND FROM EACH OTHER, AND MAD BULL–MAD BULL IS NOW TRYING TO RECOVER!”  

Despite himself, Natsu slowed even as he urged himself to keep walking. Even as he continued to force himself not to turn back. Looking back is only a distraction. It’s not Nashi. That is not Nashi. It’s not–

“Man, I really hate guys like you, you know that?” 

The seething voice was what made him stop, closing his eyes. There was just…something about it. A growl. A fire. Something that punched right back into his memories:

“Remember, breathe, and keep your eyes on my chest! That way, you can see my whole body at the corners of your eyes!” A combo, one which he pumped more speed and power to than before–throwing her off on purpose. 

“Oof!” she grunted as she landed on her butt. 

“There, when you fall– that’s when you make your comeback! Now that you’ve watched your opponent, and tricked him into thinking you’re down– now is when you get back up and blow them away! That’s how a Dragon Slayer fights! That’s how a Fairy Tail Wizard fights!” She stared up at him with huge eyes, shining with admiration, and flushed cheeks. 

He grinned. 

“So?! Get up! Always get back up, Nashi! I’m not asking the impossible of you–you can do this! I know you can!” 

“I–I will!” she scrambled to her feet, fists blazing with gold heat as she lunged for him. “I’ll always get back up! No matter what, I’ll–” 

His chest seized. He clenched his jaw, knowing he needed to make himself keep walking, but unable to do it. Even as people churned around him, trying to push past him, he found himself shoving them off, refusing to move from exactly where he was. One foot planted in front of the other. Half-hovering. Eyes still closed. 

Whatever just happened had quieted the crowd, an anticipatory sort of silence that made him clench his fists, eyes still closed. 

And then, Natsu’s world flipped upside down: 

“You didn’t even bother to study my previous fights, did you?” Her growl carried across the hushed crowd. “Tch, typical…if you had, you’d know: You’d know I always get back up!” 

His eyes flew open. 

He whirled back around and watched, wide-eyed and world rocking, as the pink haired girl rose. Rolled her shoulders against her ears, one at a time. The grin was gone, a heavy, intimidating scowl having taken its place as she recovered, getting her feet back underneath herself, her stance back in place. Her nose was wrinkled in fury. Her eyes burned. 

Natsu’s lips parted on a gasp as he stared. 

Mad Cow scoffed, hunched and rubbing his chin with a hand like a mitt. Natsu guessed that This Nashi must’ve caught him there–probably with a kick, given the size difference. That must have been what made the crowd react with shock. They were recovering now, though, getting louder.

“And why the fuck would I bother to do that?!” Mad Cow shouted, dropping his hand. “I don’t need to! Every guy you’ve faced could’ve beaten you easily if they’d quit acting like even more of a little bitch than you! You shouldn’t fucking be here anyway…fucking birds, knowing dudes will take it easy on you so you can take advantage of it and collect the reward…well I’M NOT ONE OF THEM!” He roared the last part. The bitter fury in his voice was a kind Natsu was familiar with. 

“Studying what you can find of your opponent’s fighting style–that’s basic! And you wanna sit here and bitch about how I don’t deserve to be here, you lumpy-headed fuck?! ” 

“The FUCK you just call me?!” McCow snarled back. 

“YOU HEARD ME, SHITWIT!” 

“THAT’S IT!” the man shouted. “I’ve had it! I was gonna take it easy on you, but–” 

“THAT’S MY LINE!” 

It seemed that was both their limit. 

They flew at each other. But now, everything was different, and Natsu doubted that anyone without a trained eye and fighting experience like him could recognize it. 

Apparently, the commentator was one such person: “THIS IS–THIS IS INCREDIBLE!” the voice boomed, full of disbelief, as the girl caught the fist rocketing towards her face with a hard elbow, making Mad Cow let out a roar of pain. She kicked away an arm flying towards her head, and launched a sidekick at his now-uncovered stomach–one that landed hard. She built on the damage, bearing down on him as he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own heels. A right roundhouse followed by a left to his head. Despite the fact he was obviously disorientated, he caught the first one– blocked it and tried, unsuccessfully to catch her foot–but not the second, which cracked into his ear and made him stagger, her chasing him and hammering him with surprisingly powerful blows. Each one of her hits accumulated speed and strength.

The commentator picked up again, saying something or other about “striking machines”, but Natsu didn’t hear. His eyes were wide, now, and glued to the girl cracking her shin into her opponent’s nose, teeth bared. The expression on her face…the fire in her eyes…the speed of her hits…her fighting style…it was like he’d begun watching the fight currently happening through one eye and a stream of memories through the other, his breath going still in his lungs–

“–No matter what, I’ll always get back up!” screamed the little girl, running forward and hammering him with fiery strikes, kicks, and even elbows. They’d only just started elbow work. Natsu staggered back with each good combo she landed. He put in the effort to make it look convincing, pride swelling within his chest. 

“That’s it! Build on it! Faster…harder! C’mon!”  

This Nashi slipped underneath and into one of Mad Cow’s big overhand hooks, the corrected trajectory of his fist barely skidding over her shoulder as her right fist tore up, slamming into his chin. Even as his eyes rolled and he staggered backwards, her expression was so mutinous it was almost funny. 

But as good as the uppercut was, it turned out to be a set-up: 

“LOOK AT THIS COMBO…CROSS, HOOK–WHOA! AN ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING LEG KICK! CLASSIC MUAY THAI-INSPIRED COMBO FROM TURNING–” 

“FUCKING BITCH–!” Mad Cow roared, but his opponent cut him off with a voice like thunder. 

“I’M THE BADDEST BITCH YOU’VE EVER MET!” 

“I’LL ALWAYS GET BACK UP! I WILL! I’M GONNA BE A GREAT DRAGON SLAYER, JUST LIKE YOU! NO–I’LL EVEN BEAT YOU, ONE DAY!” Nashi took a deep breath, and Natsu grinned, allowing the pause in the fight, because he knew what was coming. The catchphrase both like his and not. Inspired by him, but all her own. 

Her fists blazed brighter than ever. The sun illuminated her grin.“JUST WATCH ME, DADDY! DON’T EVEN BLINK! BECAUSE I’VE–” 

“–GOT A FIRE IN ME THAT YOU’LL NEVER PUT OUT!”

Mad Cow’s eyes were wild with fear as he desperately swung for another, big lead cross–one which spelled his downfall. The Dragoness leapt off her left leg–her back leg. Her right shin cracked into his already dipping head. 

He fell forward and bounced off the mat, limp as a ragdoll, while the audience screamed all around him. 

Even as the giant fell still, she made for his prone form, fist raised, but didn’t fight at all when the black-collared man appeared seemingly from nowhere, grabbed her around the waist, and practically threw her away. Instead, This Nashi– The Nashi skipped backwards, smirking, and raised a wrapped fist. 

And that was the realization which thundered through Natsu, now gaping up at the victorious, pink-haired fighter stalking towards the edge of the cage: not This Nashi. The Nashi. 

After seven, grief-filled years, Natsu Dragneel was absolutely sure he had just found his daughter.

*1. Yes, there will be quotes from the original series (the anime dub, sub, or the manga depending on whichever version I like best) at the beginning of each chapter. HOWEVER. The quotes are not spoilers and are often only tangentially related to my plotline. The one for this chapter, for instance, is specifically about Edolas, but is not actually true of the world where Natsu has landed.

*2. Yes, I know the canon Edolas Nalu child is “Nasha.” I decided on “Nashi”, instead, for reasons which will be explained later.

*3. Sorry in advance, but I pretty much kept what little I remembered/liked from 100YQ and ditched everything I didn’t. Same with the original story, but way more with 100YQ. Idk what it is but even though I’ve read the whole thing, 100YQ has this unique quality where a lot of what happens slips straight out of my mind as soon as I’ve read it. In one eye, out the other. So you’ll just have to roll with me, sorry.

*4. Real-life inspiration for Layla (/Nashi) comes mostly from Ronda Rousey, whose biography I read and happen to have on hand, along with Kaoklai Kaennorsing (especially his fighting style). Those are the two main ones. If you’ve read My Fight, Your Fight, you’ll understand how Layla (/Nashi’s) personality is inspired by her–especially as you go on. I highly recommend looking up the Thai kickboxer/Muay Thai fighter Kaoklai Kaennorsing. He has been called the Giant-Slayer because he did, in fact, defeat opponents who had over 100 pounds on him. Watching his fights is just an incredible experience. Other inspirations include Rose Namajunas, Connor McGregor, and some others. There are also several fictional inspirations including and outside Fairy Tail which I won’t bore you with (some of them I’m sure fellow anime fans will be able to guess lol).

[the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep]

Poor Little Rich Girl, Chapter 7: Zen & The Art of Swordsmanship

Summary: Karlach and Wyll teach Dulcinea how to fight. Dulcinea complains about everything, as usual. Rating: MA Category: F/M Relationships: Tav/Gale Chapter 7/? Word count: 1.4k

“C’mon soldier! Not much farther now!” Karlach called from the top of the hill.

At the base of the hill, Dulcinea was breathing raggedly. She looked up the hill where Karlach stood, waving to her.

“No excuses, solider! You’re running up this hill!”

“Gods, what did I sign myself up for,” Dulcinea panted. This was her third ten-day training with Wyll and Karlach had cranked up the intensity to a blindingly difficult degree. Whereas before she only had to run up the hill with a wooden sword, then a short sword, she now had to haul a longsword on her back while running as fast as possible to keep up with Wyll and Karlach.

“You’re almost there!” Wyll yelled encouragingly. “You have the power to do it, Dulcinea!”

She both loved and hated when Wyll cheered her on. On one hand, she appreciated his encouragement and enthusiasm. On the other hand, she felt that it made her work much harder to maintain his approval despite the exhaustion that weighed her down.

With a grunt of frustration, Dulcinea half-jogged and half-dragged herself up the hill. Once she reached the hill’s crest, she dramatically collapsed to the ground. While she was tired beyond what she believed possible, her stage fall was meant to be playful.

“Ope! Now the goblins have torn your guts out because you laid down on the ground!” Karlach teased, poking Dulcinea with her foot. “Only a little bit more and then we can call it for the day, hey?”

Dulcinea nodded, visibly relieved. “Oh, thank gods,” she said breathily.

“Right, so you and Wyll are going to spar,” Karlach explained, passing Dulcinea a training rapier. “You’ll need to be versed in any weapon you can get your tiny little hands on.”

Dulcinea gulped audibly. Sparring with Wyll was always the death of her. He was too fast, managing to be three moves ahead of her at any given time.

“You’ve been hard at work today. I’ll go easy on you,” Wyll reassured her.

“Wyll, come on. She’s a tough little ingot now. You don’t need to baby her,” Karlach insisted. Karlach was always the harsher trainer, but Dulcinea had come to appreciate her. Karlach accepted whatever Dulcinea could give, as long as she didn’t give up.

Wyll nodded in recognition. “You make a good point.” He cleared his throat and drew his training rapier. “Get into position.”

Dulcinea squared her hips and shoulders facing Wyll, putting her right foot forward. Wyll matched her positioning across from her.

“And advance lunge!”

Dulcinea was still learning all of the terminology that Wyll used when practicing fencing and rapier fighting. Clumsily, she lunged forward with her rapier at the ready.

“Try that again. Move with confidence,” Wyll instructed as Dulcinea returned to her starting position.

“Once more. Advance lunge!”

Dulcinea propelled herself forward, leading with her rapier. She brought her blade into a striking position, focusing her sights on Wyll’s movements.

“Strike!” Wyll instructed. “Be ready to block.”

Dulcinea nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she thrust her rapier forward towards Wyll. He’d already moved to block her and was preparing to strike. Dulcinea stumbled backward, trying to find her footing once more. As Wyll approached, about to and a blow to her arm, Dulcinea moved into a parry strike, blocking Wyll’s assault.

“Strong work,” Wyll applauded as he stood back. “Let’s do it once more. I want you to focus on your footing. Poor footing is the death of many a fighter.”

Dulcinea doubled over, her hands on her knees. “Just give me a moment. Still a bit winded,” she panted. The sparring was not doing her burning lungs any favors. With one final exhalation, she straightened her posture and returned to her first position. This time, Dulcinea managed to narrowly land a blow to Wyll’s undefended right shoulder.

“Excellent work, Dulcinea,” Wyll affirmed. “You’re progressing well. We shall pick up tomorrow.”

Dulcinea sighed in relief. Karlach gathered the array of weaponry that they’d taken for practice that day and loaded it into a pack on her back.

Dulcinea, Karlach, and Wyll sauntered towards camp in a process that Wyll called, “a cool-down.” The slower pace was a godsend to Dulcinea whose legs ached unimaginably. “When we get back, we’re going to do some mobility work. Keeping your joints mobile and limber is critical to injury prevention,” Wyll informed her. “Moreover, much work must be done tomorrow and you must be prepared.”

“As long as mobility work doesn’t entail going for another run, I’m sure I’ll hobble through it,” Dulcinea breathed.

Karlach snorted. “Nah, soldier. The run is tomorrow! We’re doing an endurance run from camp to Waukeen’s Rest.”

Dulcinea groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Gods, I think my legs are about to fall off.”

“I’m sure Withers can stitch ‘em back on,” Karlach replied in joking reassurance.

Dulcinea rolled her eyes. Truth be told training with Karlach and Wyll was the most fun she’d had in years. It was painful fun, to be sure, but it engaged her more than any class at Blackstaff ever could.

“Being a fighter is quite different from being a mage,” Wyll began. “I needn’t tell you that. I’m sure you know that by now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t infuse your magic into the art of battle.”

Dulcinea looked at Wyll from the corner of her eye, considering what he said. He was right; she didn’t have to abandon magic entirely. Rather, she could find a balance between the two and alternate as she wished.

“To change course in life feels like a betrayal of my family’s bloodline,” Dulcinea admitted. “I’m a Selemchant. Selemchants are arcanists. We have been for centuries.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t ever meant for that, though. I was Father’s favorite, but I was the most mediocre spell-caster in the family. I don’t want to turn my back on my family’s heritage, but somehow I feel like I’m doing just that by picking up a sword instead of a quarterstaff.”

Karlach shrugged. “Things change. People change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. It’s just how things go, yeah?”

Dulcinea nodded. “You’re right.” She sighed heavily. “I’m going to tell you both something I’ve not told anyone.”

Wyll and Karlach looked at Dulcinea with wide-eyed, expectant expressions.

“My father bought my admission to Blackstaff. I was never meant to be there in the first place. I lacked the skills and the drive to improve meaningfully. I skipped classes to nurse hangovers from partying, and even when I did go to class, I never paid attention.” Dulcinea shrugged. “Maybe I was never meant to be a mage to begin with.”

“You’re not half bad at spell-casting, though,” Wyll said reassuringly. “I mean, you’re no Gale, but you manage well enough.”

Dulcinea offered a half smile. Her ineptitude was always a source of embarrassment. She was a beneficiary of nepotism which was hardly something to announce with pride, especially as a Selemchant. Yet, Karlach and Wyll didn’t judge her for it. There was no disdainful silence and no palpable awkwardness or mistrust.

“We’ve all got something, soldier. I mean, look at Wyll — he made a deal with Mizora and now he’s got horns. Astarion’s a vampire and I have an infernal heart that may or may not explode one day. We’re a band of misfits with tadpoles in our heads. And hey, maybe soon enough you’ll be ‘The Blade of Athkatla’” Karlach said with joking reverence. “May need to workshop the name, but you get the point.”

Dulcinea rolled her eyes, smiling at Karlach. “Yeah the name needs some work, but… thank you for that, anyway.”

Sleep came easily that night. After a long day of grueling training, Dulcinea had no trouble drifting off. Morning, however, came far too quickly for her liking. Karlach ordinarily had to drag Dulcinea from her tent to get her to go on a morning run, but Dulcinea woke up of her own accord that day. Her circadian rhythm was resetting itself at long last. She crawled out of her tent, squinting in the early morning sunlight.

“Hey, soldier!” Karlach called, waving at Dulcinea. “Grab that long sword and let’s get at it!”

“You didn’t say anything about running to Waukeen’s Rest with a gods damned great sword strapped to my back!” Dulcinea cried indignantly.

“Surprise!”

“That’s a lie by omission,” Dulcinea groaned as she loaded the sword onto her back. The muscles in her legs ached pitifully, practically anticipating the strain they would incur that day. At least tomorrow would be a rest day, whatever that meant.

[i-am-finally-clean-13]

Taylor Swift Songs as Enneagram Personality Types

The Enneagram is a personality test that classifies your personality in one of nine categories, each with different traits. Most of Taylor Swift's songs fall into two of the personality types: type 4 (the individualist) and type 9 (the peacemaker). The songs on these lists are mostly in album order - however, there are a few added onto the ends of a few of the lists that took me a little longer to place that come out of order.

TYPE 1: THE REFORMER

The reformer tends to be rational. This person is idealistic and principled - they live by their values. They are purposeful and self-controlled, and tend to be perfectionists. The songs I classified as Type 1's are songs that focus on the ideals in relationships and life. They're songs where Taylor has a purpose, and some of them tend to have more rational thoughts behind them.

Tim McGraw

Mary's Song (Oh My My My)

Fifteen

Untouchable

We Were Happy

Don't You

Last Kiss

I Almost Do

The Last Time

I Wish You Would

How You Get The Girl

Clean

End Game

The Archer

The 1

This Is Me Trying

Epiphany

The Lakes

Happiness

It's Time To Go

Mastermind

Dear Reader

TYPE 2: THE HELPER

The helper is a caring person who genuinely cares about other people. They tend to be interpersonal and generous. These people are people-pleasing, and can be possessive. The songs I classified as Type 2's are ones where she clearly shows caring for other people, sometimes to the extent of people-pleasing. She tends to be possessive in some of these songs, too.

Teardrops On My Guitar

Tied Together with a Smile

Stay Beautiful

Hey Stephen

Jump Then Fall

That's When

Sparks Fly

Enchanted

Stay Stay Stay

Begin Again

Run

Welcome to New York

Wildest Dreams

Delicate

Lover

Afterglow

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Seven

Marjorie

You're On Your Own, Kid

Glitch

Sweeter Than Fiction

Sad Beautiful Tragic

Ronan

Soon You'll Get Better

Safe & Sound

TYPE 3: THE ACHIEVER

The achiever is a success-oriented, pragmatic, and hard working person. This person is very driven and adaptive, and is very image-conscious. The songs classified under this category show how conscious Taylor is of her own image. They're the songs where she's trying to show herself in a positive light. These are the songs where she shows herself as a hard worker and just how successful she is, without caring about those who try to bring her down.

A Place in This World

Change

Superstar

The Other Side of the Door

Speak Now

Mean

Long Live

I Bet You Think About Me

Style

Shake It Off

Call It What You Want

I Think He Knows

ME!

Mirrorball

Gold Rush

Midnight Rain

Karma

Today Was a Fairytale

I Heart ?

You All Over Me

TYPE 4: THE INDIVIDUALIST

The individualist tends to be withdrawn and sensitive. This person is self-absorbed and dramatic, and tends to be temperamental. This person is very expressive. These songs are dramatic and temperamental, the ones where Taylor is bolder about herself - she is in the right in all of these songs, even when she isn't.

Picture to Burn

A Perfectly Good Heart

You Belong With Me

The Way I Loved You

Forever & Always (Piano Version)

Come In With The Rain

Mr. Perfectly Fine

Better Than Revenge

Holy Ground

Girl At Home

Blank Space

I Did Something Bad

Look What You Made Me Do

The Man

Death by a Thousand Cuts

The Last Great American Dynasty

Illicit Affairs

No Body, No Crime

Cowboy Like Me

Anti-Hero

Vigilante Shit

High Infidelity

Carolina

Invisible

Breathe

All Too Well

All Too Well (10 Minute Version)

My Tears Ricochet

TYPE 5: THE INVESTIGATOR

The investigator is intense and cerebral - they tend to think more with their brains than with their hearts. They are perceptive and innovative, but tend to be secretive and isolated. The songs classified as Type 5's are the ones where Taylor finds herself isolated and alone. A lot of these songs tend to be very intelligently written.

The Outside

White Horse

The Story of Us

Innocent

Treacherous

Starlight

Nothing New

I Know Places

Getaway Car

I Forgot That You Existed

Exile

Peace

'Tis the Damn Season

Tolerate It

Coney Island

Ivy

Labyrinth

Would've, Could've, Should've

Beautiful Ghosts

Eyes Open

Evermore

TYPE 6: THE LOYALIST

The loyalist is committed and security-oriented. They tend to be anxious and suspicious of those around them. They are responsible and engaging. Taylor tends to be anxious and suspicious in a lot of the songs I classified as Type 6's. They're the songs where she's seeking security and comfort, but may not always be receiving it. Things are going wrong in many of these songs.

Cold As You

Tell Me Why

Bye Bye Baby

If This Was a Movie

I Knew You Were Trouble

The Lucky One

The Moment I Knew

Forever Winter

New Romantics

Don't Blame Me

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

False God

August

Hoax

Question...?

I Don't Wanna Live Forever

The Very First Night

TYPE 7: THE ENTHUSIAST

The enthusiast is spontaneous and fun-loving. They are busy and versatile, but they tend to be a bit distractible and scattered. These songs have a lot of energy and are fun. These are the dance songs, the ones that make you want to move. This is the smallest list of the nine personality types. While a lot of Taylor Swift songs could fall under this personality type, most of them tend to fall under another type better, hence why this list is so small.

I'm Only Me When I'm With You

Forever & Always

Ours

22

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Message in a Bottle

All You Had to Do Was Stay

Wonderland

Gorgeous

Paper Rings

London Boy

Lavender Haze

Bejeweled

Paris

TYPE 8: THE CHALLENGER

The challenger is a powerful and self-confident person. This person tends to be dominating - you're always aware of their presence when they walk in the room. They are decisive and willful, and oftentimes tend to be confrontational. The songs under this category tend to be confrontational and angry. Many are songs where she is feeling confident in herself. These songs tend to have a lot of energy, but aren't as happy and energetic as Type 7 songs.

Should've Said No

Fearless

You're Not Sorry

Mine

Dear John

Haunted

Superman

State of Grace

Red

Better Man

Out of the Woods

Bad Blood

...Ready For It?

Dancing with Our Hands Tied

Dress

Cruel Summer

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

You Need to Calm Down

Mad Woman

Betty

Champagne Problems

Dorothea

Long Story Short

Closure

Babe

TYPE 9: THE PEACEMAKER

The peacemaker is easygoing and self-effacing. They are receptive and really good listeners. They are agreeable and complacent, and they tend to avoid conflict as much as possible. The songs in this category are ones where Taylor is easygoing, calm, and agreeable. She tends to be open to listening to the other person's point of view in these songs, as well.

Our Song

Love Story

The Best Day

Today Was a Fairytale

Back to December

Never Grow Up

Everything Has Changed

Come Back... Be Here

This Love

You Are In Love

So It Goes...

King of My Heart

New Year's Day

Cornelia Street

Daylight

Cardigan

Invisible String

Willow

Right Where You Left Me

Maroon

Snow on the Beach

Sweet Nothing

The Great War

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

Hits Different

Crazier

Christmas Tree Farm

Beautiful Eyes

Curious what your Enneagram personality type is? Take the quiz here. Afterwards, see if you agree about the songs I picked matching your personality!

[heygerald]

HEART MECHANICS - PART 5/9

Bradley “Rooster “ Bradshaw x oc

Matty doesn’t make friends easy, but when she loses one of her longest lifelong friends to something beyond her control, she starts to seriously reconsider her life values, wants, and needs. 

Needs like a specific pilot that she can’t seem to forget about. 

Maybe the weight of family ties aren’t so heavy when you have someone in your life who offers to help shoulder the weight. 

Read it here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / ... / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

“Well, well, well,” a voice, ragged with sleep and semi-hoarse from singing at the piano for far too long the night before drifts across the empty parking lot. “Fancy running into you here.” 

Matty didn’t even have to look to picture the bemused smile that would be pulling at the corners of Bradley’s lips; didn’t even have to turn her head to catch the crooked grin that he was giving her. But, well, as fate would have it she was already in the process of getting out of her jeep and he just happened to be standing between her and the motorpool that she called her own, which only just meant that she did look at him. 

Did catch sight of the upward turn of his cheeks, the way that his nose crinkled above his moustache, the ever so barely there wrinkles at the corner of his sleep deprived eyes. 

And... oh. 

If that wasn’t exactly what Matty wanted to see first thing in the morning, she’s not sure what would be. A beautiful sunrise, sure. Some dew on the burnt Californian grass, maybe. A blooming flowerbed outside her window with sprouts of white and delicate pinks that she kept an eye out for every spring, of course. 

But Bradley Bradshaw? Well, he seemed to fit into that category just as well. 

“Fancy that, huh?” she mused while climbing out of her jeep. The doors didn’t squeal today—mostly due to the fact that she had removed the doors a few days prior after a bad day at work—and so she didn’t have much to fiddle with as she grabbed her things from the back seat. “It’s almost like this is my place of work that I go to five days a week, on a schedule.”

“You work?” he teased.

“It’s a little early for humor, isn’t it?”

He hummed noncommittedly; took a sip out of some sort of caramel macchiato—whatever that probably cost more than Matty spent on piece of shit phone she carries around.

Which... maybe she should do something about that, but, whatever. 

The parking lot is mostly empty behind Bradley’s broad shoulders. No PT or dogfight football to be seen. “Aren’t you missing a gaggle of minions? I thought you all went on early morning jogs together to build up that team mentality you’re always talking about.” 

“Hardly,” he said, a smooth reply to her teasing that she was beginning to associate with him. Few others could so deftly bat away her insults and still manage to keep the conversation going. Hell, few others would even bother. “Phoenix passed out on the common room couch last night before we could even take off her boots.”

“Harsh.” 

“Coyote hung around way too late at the bar to have gotten eight hours of sleep.” 

“Do you think that Claire ever told him she was a lesbian?” Matty chirps in amusement, thinking about how he had barely left her alone the entirety of the night. 

Sure, Claire had a good sense of humor with a killer smile to boot, but when Matty had finally called it a night, no one had the heart to tell Coyote that he was barking up the wrong tree. Or, well, the heart had been there, but Frank and Matty had made a bet about how long Claire would string along the pilot, so they had adamantly prevented anyone else from breaking the news without prompting. 

“She did,” Bradley said. He was well aware of the bet that stood, and maybe that’s why he seemed reluctant to say, “right before Penny closed down. I actually felt bad for the guy.” 

She didn’t believe that one bit. 

“You could have said something,” she pointed out, if only to be the bitch that pointed out the fallacy in one’s own thinking. 

Based on the way that he eyed her, however, Bradley obviously didn’t think that had been an option. “As if I would get between you and Frank on anything. I saw the way he manhandled you around last night.” 

“There was no manhandling,” she argued. Then added, “and if there was it was me manhandling him. Still, probably wise of you not to intervene. If I lost fifty bucks because of you, Bradshaw, we would not be having a friendly conversation right now.” 

“Oh, so we’re friends now, are we?”

She rolled her eyes at his cheek. There were quite a lot of things that Bradley teased her about the night before, but the longer they sat at the piano together joking about this and that, it had become starkly obvious that somewhere along the metaphorical line of their relationship, they had most certainly crossed territories from strangers into something more. 

Nothing too big, Matty was sure. Nothing serious. 

But, Matty didn’t make friends that often. She liked the group that she had; found it difficult to disturb her current social circle just on the off chance that she might be able to add one more guest to her monthly bar crawl list. Really, she viewed making friends as a relatively pointless endeavor considering how reluctant she was to open up to new people. There were too many stakes, too much time to make up for—stories to share, memories to reveal, trauma to exploit—and so Matty often avoided that first step of friendship as much as she could. 

Yet, halfway through her second beer, she found herself telling Bradley about which base was her favorite to live on growing up. Explaining how she didn’t get along with her sisters—though for amicable reasons enough between the three that had more to do with different personalities than anything traumatic. They had spent the better half of an hour arguing about favorite movies. 

Mostly because she was appalled that he was a die hard Star Wars fan when Harry Potter was a significantly better story. 

At one point they had moved from piano to window seat to pool table to bar and, finally, back onto the Adirondacks that they had started on. 

Now, not even ten hours later, Matty had a hard time pinpointing a single thing that they talked about—just knew how the memory of it all still felt like a warm flower blooming in her typically cold chest. 

Twenty seconds of thought feel like fifteen years, and when Matty blinks herself out of the self-imposed revery, Bradley doesn’t seem the wiser. 

“What about Bob?” she asks, clearing her throat. 

“He disappeared early last night. Not sure why, although if the way that he was stuck in conversation with Boomer was anything to go by, maybe he got scared off.”

“Ah, relax, Booms is more candy-canes and gum drops than murder.” 

Bradley cuts a dark brow, obviously uncertain about that reassurance as well, and Matty brushes on with a flippant wave of her hand. In fact, as she thinks about Bob’s peculiar disappearance from the bar, she’s reminded of the other peculiar thing about the bespectacled aviator. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure that he hustled me last night at cards.” 

“Bob. Hustled you?” 

“Yeah, the fucker. I should have known from the way he had his own pack of cards with him, but he was just so... I don’t know, doe-eyed or whatever. I didn’t want to say no.” 

“You mean you didn’t think that you would lose.” 

She narrows her eyes. He laughs; a low, cool sound that has that itty bitty flower opening up just a little bit further in her chest; petals opening to the sunshine, roots digging deeper upon feeling solid ground. 

“Wh—whatever,” she manages after a moment. It’s a poor excuse for conversation, and certainly lacking in snark. Bradley notices, if the way his gaze sweeps over her features, and the glare she shoots him in response is hot enough to warn him off from even mentioning it. “Just didn’t know the kid had it in him to hustle. I mean, I’m totally going to kick his ass next time I see him, but I’m impressed. At least a little.” 

“I’m pretty sure you were hustling the boys all night,” he argue, unperturbed by the way that her snarl came out of nowhere. In fact, Matty watches his lips curl all the way up his cheeks until she swears that his face is pinched in two. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you and Nick ganging up on everyone at shuffleboard. What’s twenty bucks when you drank for free all night? Not to mention that volleyball game.” 

“The volleyball game was your idea,” she reminds his tartly. 

“Technically, it was Hangman’s.” 

“Hm. Blame all your poor life choices on him, sure. Still, being tricked out of my money by Bob of all people is just plain embarrassing. See if I ever give him dating advice again.” 

“When’d you give him dating advice?”

Matty ignores that question with a prompt flick of her hair. 

She didn’t have the time to wash it last night after getting back to the bar, and so it had been a challenge to get it all stuffed into a regulation worthy bun. And, well, if the long strands tickling her ears on the drive in were anything to go by, she had failed at that. 

She turns to eye Bradley. “What are you doing out here this early anyways? Couldn’t sleep? Bunk buddies snoring too much or something?”

“We get our own rooms, you know. It’s not like we’re in basic training.” 

She harrumphs while slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Of course, in her hurry that morning, she had forgotten to zip it closed, and they both watch as its entire contents go clattering to the ground with a thud. 

“Kill me now,” she mutters. Bradley doesn’t. In fact, the bastard even has the audacity to snicker at her misfortune. All amusement floods his face when her stare becomes more of a glare, though, and soon enough he stoops down to help pick up her things. “And they say chivalry is dead.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re a klutz.” 

“I’m not a klutz.”

“Fine. Walking disaster. Whatever,” he shrugs indifferently while carefully inspecting a crumpled newspaper advertisement she had snipped a few weeks prior offering discounted pottery classes. Under that, sits half a pack of cigarettes and a broken lighter. Bradley takes a single glimpse at the other litany of items before arching a brow at her. “Never would have pegged you for a pack rat.” 

Matty harrumphs and snatches the entire pile of... well, okay, shit that she had been stuffing deeper and deeper into her bag over the past couple of weeks. Still, she has the audacity to play at being offended. “Aren’t you just hilarious? Seriously, Bradshaw, you probably should have considered a career as a comedian rather than hurtling through space at the speed of light. Might have saved yourself some braincells in the process.” 

“Eh, too many critics.” 

She snorts this time, a half-grin betraying the exaggerated eyeroll she rewards him with. Together, they stand. “Who knew pilots were so funny, huh?”

“Who knew mechanics were such good drinking buddies.” 

Together, they laugh. Giggle, almost, if Matty Neven actually did giggle. But she didn’t, and no amount of snarky commentary and good looks would provoke something so abhorish from her. So, instead, she chuckles under her breath while Bradley smirks at her from behind his cup of too-white coffee. 

“You know,” she points out, “I think it’s pretty fucking rude of you to bring yourself coffee without getting me any.” 

“Oh?” he asks, a brow curling into his hairline. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to buy you drinks. Isn’t that the whole mantra?”

“It’s a motto.”

“Hakuna Matata is a motto,” he argues as they slowly begin their crawl across the parking lot. Her, to the motor pool where a long docket awaits her approval. Him, at her side, despite the fact that the PT field was in the opposite direction and the mess hell was even further away. “Pretty sure me not being able to buy you drinks is a law, at this point.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll consider revision,” she says out of the side of her mouth; a mumble, more than anything else, but he’s close enough to hear. 

Of course he is.

And, well, when he stuffs his free hand into pocket of his pants and looks away the rising sun so that she doesn’t see the shit eating grin splitting his cheeks apart, Matty doesn’t even bother to kick herself for saying something like...

That. 

Something flirty, sweet, saccharine to match the smile she had given him. Not like the mean grins she had given him at the Hard Deck upon their first meeting or the nasty snarl that she had chased him out of her garage with. Instead, this is something wholly Matty.

Wholly for him.

“Yeah?” he asks after a moment, his voice lilting at the end.

Matty shrugs. “Well, sure. I mean your friends did have a pretty good taste in the drinks they bought me last night,” she quips. Also because she is a bitch. There’s something teasing in her tone though; friendly and light. “Even Hangman held up his end of the bet and got me a blowjob shot; did one with me too just for the hell of it.”

Bradley scoffs indignantly. “Hangman is a total tool. He was just trying to get you to sleep with him.” 

“Well duh.” 

He frowns down at her. “You knew?”

“He couldn’t even talk to me without looking at my chest,” she deadpans. Bradley considers that for half a second before he scoffs once more; this time though irritation swathes his features in the half-lit morning sun. Matty just elbows him with a crooked smile. “Relax. If he even tried to make a move I would have broken his nose.” 

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” she shrugs. Then, just as easily, adds, “besides, I’m not really into blondes. They tend to have big egos.” 

“You’re a blonde,” he points out. 

“And I have a huge ego,” she tells him simply while twirling a loose strand of hair with her index finger. It’s still bent and bruised—of which their impromptu volleyball game the night before did not help—but she’s since removed the bandages giving her free mobility once more. “Of course, my ego is deserved. I’m the best damn mechanic on base. Not sure what Hangman has done to earn his though.” 

“He claims to be the best pilot.” 

“He couldn’t even serve the volleyball straight.” 

“Oddly, not exactly a skill transferrable to flying a fighter jet.” 

Matty rolls her eyes at his comment as they round the front of the garage. The door has been raised meaning that someone was here, but she doesn’t see anybody milling in the back of the garage so she isn’t quite sure who. 

George, probably. He’s always been the timely one of the group.

“Whatever. Flying jets is not something I ever plan on doing, so I think I’ll let that particular dick measuring contest up to you guys. Although, if I had to guess, Hangman is a teenie-weenie.” 

Bradley, having not expected such a comment so early in the morning, snorts into his drink. 

“And here I thought I was supposed to be the klutz, Bradshaw.” 

He wipes his chin with as much dignity as he can manage. Though, little dots of coffee speckle his t-shirt. No one would notice if they hadn’t watched it happen, but Matty still hopes that the other boys give him shit for it during lecture. Considering how much booze she saw spilled the night before, she thinks the hypocrisy would be amusing. 

“Sorry, I just haven’t heard anyone say teenie-weenie since middle school.” 

“Middle school insults have a timeless quality to them.” 

He shakes his head again but laughs all the same. Matty beams at that; at the rough sound of his voice in the early morning air and the glimpse she catches into who he is beyond this. Beyond the base, the plane, the job, the trauma. Beyond it all, she gets to see the Bradley Bradshaw that still has a middle school sense of humor and likes to forgo toxic masculinity to instead order the fruitiest, creamiest, sweetest drink one could get at a Starbucks. 

And when he glances down at her with a warm gaze, Matty doesn’t know it, but he’s thinking the same thing; enjoying the way that she crinkles her nose when she finds something amusing, how she snorts at her own jokes or speaks without thinking. The Matty behind the coveralls and ink and bruised, broken fingers; the one that doesn’t snarl at every person trying to get to know her but instead smiles at the way she can make them laugh. 

Few see the person behind the pilot.

Fewer even see the person behind the mechanic. 

“Aren’t you going to be late to... I don’t know, whatever it is you guys do this early in the morning?” she asks. There’s an edge to her voice; almost regretting having to ask that question in the first place. In fact, when Bradley calms down from his laughter, she actually feels a bit bad for asking at all. “I just don’t want everyone giving you shit because you’re late. You see how much I get heckled for being late with this group.” 

“That’s because you’re always late.” 

“I’m a very prompt person, I’ll have you know,” she says, nose stuck up into the air. It’s a very clear lie, however, and with the past two weeks of evidence against her, she has to change tactics. ”At least, normally. The past month has been... well, you know. Broken mirrors and spilt salt.” 

“Sure.” 

“I think I’m cursed.” 

“The only logical reason.” 

Matty narrows her eyes at his suspiciously agreeable nature, but he’s already turning away before she can catch him. Sipping his drink, there’s something both relaxed and tense about him. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything to be late to.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Class doesn’t start till nine this morning. That’s still plenty of time for me to get my ass moving.” 

“Oh.” Matty nods because that makes a whole lot more sense than the fact that he’s being dragged out of bed at seven am for a lecture. But then, well, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense because here he is talking to her well before he even needed to get out of bed. Frowning, she starts, “then what are you—?”

“Jesus Christ, I thought you’d never show up,” someone drawls from the garage door, and Matty whirls around so fast that what hasn’t already fallen out of her bun does so with the plop of some poorly placed bobby pins. Frank, of course, doesn’t seem to give a shit about that. Just arches a brow at her over the top of a steaming cup of coffee. “Glad to see that you are still following the uniform regulations, Neven.” 

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Frank gestures to the back of the garage with a lazy tilt of his head before sweeping his gaze to Bradley. “Did you come to pay your tab from last night? Pretty sure you owe me a hundred after that last game of pool.” 

“Pretty sure that you owe me a hundred after you cheated at the last game of pool,” Bradley shoots back. Matty swings her head between them—so aggressively so that her hair is now a tangled mess at the nape of her neck—but they both studiously ignore her. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that I heard Maverick banning you from betting with anyone.” 

Frank rolls his eyes. “He’s just a sore loser.”

“What? He owes you money too?”

“Course he does,” Frank tuts, voice rough and low in the early morning hours. Swallowing his coffee as quickly as he does when it’s scolding hot probably doesn’t help either. “That asshole has been dodging his IOU payments for four years now.” 

“Oh, he has, has he?” Matty re-inserts herself with the cock of her hip. She can’t quite be surprised that someone had interrupted her conversation with Bradley, but she can at least play offended that someone would then steer the conversation towards the very same bullshit argument he wouldn’t leave alone whenever he got the chance. “Well, you two idiots both owe me for my couch that you ruined last Easter. When’s that IOU getting paid?”

Frank smacked his lips and looked away. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she announces, arms crossed tightly over her chest. This time, Bradley is the one glancing back and forth between the pair like he can’t quite figure out what’s going on. “Anyways, Bradshaw doesn’t owe you shit, Frankie. We both know that you cheated on the last play.” 

Both men turn to her in surprise. Surprise that she would defend a pilot, first of all, and surprise that she had been sober enough to even remember that secondly. 

“You were passed out on the bar,” Frank argues. “You don’t know shit.” 

“I know everything, Frankie-boy,” she chirps with a sardonic grin. It’s much more what Bradley was used to seeing on her face; all tight lines and sharp angles that make her seem almost... well, menacing. “Just like I know that Claire didn’t tell Coyote about her night time proclivities until well after midnight. Meaning you owe me even more money.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m serious!” 

Frank shakes his head at her, before darting his eyes towards Bradley. There’s an uncomfortable edge to Frank—always has been to people that don’t him that well, all hard lines and taut muscle—and beside her, Bradley seems to shift under his weighted stare. 

Regardless. Matty always thinks if people ever stuck around long enough to hear Frank open his mouth they wouldn’t be scared of a fucking moron like him. 

“You makin’ shit up just to get on her good side?” 

“Frank!” 

“I ain’t paying shit unless Claire tells me straight up,” he continues, completely ignoring the seething look that Matty is now shooting him. Bradley catches on to it fairly quickly though; takes a step away from her when he sees the white of her knuckles. “As far as I’m concerned, you can take that debt and shove it up your ass.” 

He disappears back into the garage without another word.

Matty gapes at his absence. 

“Shove it up my—?!” she echoes, shouts, eyes nearly twitching as she watches Frank disappear into the back room. The parking lot is starting to fill up now, and several heads turn in their direction in interest. When they see who it is causing a ruckus, however, most keep on moving. 

“I feel like this is a good time to leave you be,” Bradley drawls. 

She spins to him; her hair is a whole mess now, features even more so as they’re pinched in irritation and exhaustion. It’s a marvel that Matty doesn’t explode on a daily basis from the amount of shit she has to put up with from the very people that she calls her friends. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” 

“You shouldn’t tell me something like that, you know. Plausible deniability and all of that.” 

“One of these days, buddy,” she warns. 

As she retreats into the garage—her home away from home—in search of a specific hick that needs his ass kicked, she can hear the smile on Bradley’s face as he calls after her.

“It’s Bradley!” 

---

The morning sun has drifted low on the horizon by the time that Matty manages to take a break. It’s been a busy couple of weeks that have somehow only managed to get busier with the arrival of Bradley’s group. She doesn’t blame him for it, though. Planes would be her specialty anywhere she went; at least working at Miramar meant she got to suffer through the unrealistic expectations of deadlines with people she considered to be her friends. 

Friends, like Frank.

“You’re not drinkin’ coffee are ya?” he asked as he joins her out behind the motor pool. The pair had stacked some crates in the small square of grass they were given, and since it had become their unofficial spot to take breaks on.

Matty smiles blithely at his question. “The coffee machine is still broken.”

He grunts, offering a water bottle anyways that she takes without any arguing.

A nice silence floats around them. Frank, with his own bottle now half filled with chew. Matty with a cigarette between her fingers stretching her legs as far as she can in hopes of getting rid of the kink in her back she had earned from passing out sideways on the couch last night.

They watch as a couple Humvees meander on by. Some soldiers drift from one parking lot to the next. A lot of people think that military bases operate like they do in movies—fast flying military escorts and booted privates running place to place—but in reality, bases more or less operated at a slow, but steady pace. Everyone had somewhere to go, but no one was in a great rush to get there lest they want to be badgered by the MP for driving too fast.

And now, as the work day was ending, the slow trickle of soldiers had turned into a snail’s pace crawl as cadets left for the day.

Matty always liked to watch them go. Liked to make stupid bets with Frank about how many Mustangs with fresh plates from the local dealership they would see drive by. Sometimes, they would even sit past dinner, when the motor pool was completely empty, just talking about the little things in life.

“Maverick seems good,” Frank drawls after too long of people watching.

Matty simply hums at the observation; not riled up enough to bite his head off for the obvious turn in conversation, but also not feeling particularly chatty after a long day of work.

“Penny too.”

“Penny’s always doing good.”

“Not always,” he banters, sitting forward to spit into his bottle, before scrubbing oil stained fingers through his short-cropped hair.

Matty concedes that much. She can still remember catching Penny at the end of a bad week closing out an even worse month last year. The normally easy-going woman seemed more frazzled than she had ever seen her before. Rumor had it that her ex, Amelia’s dad, had been stirring up trouble for the pair while passing through town with his newest girlfriend in tow. But Matty had never been one for rumors and by the next week Penny had found her smile again.

“Yeah, alright, maybe not always. But she’s gotten it straightened out in the last year. The bar is doing better than ever. Plus, Amelia’s grown into herself.”

Frank snorted. “Since when do you like Amelia?”

“Since she started becoming a funny teenager and less of a moody middle schooler,” Matty shrugged. Frank laughed into his dip, and she gave him a smile in return. “What? Penny knew how I felt about Amelia. She chased me out of the bar more than once for teaching the kid some creative curse words. I don’t know how she does it, honestly.”

“Puts up with you?”

“Raises a good kid like Amelia all on her own,” Matty says while kicking Frank’s leg with a mock scowl. He’s unbothered, of course. Always unbothered when it comes to her antics. And for once she’s fine with that. Matty is enjoying the peace of the day too much to pick up an attitude about anything in particular.

An odd thought for another time, she supposes.

“What’s their deal, anyway?” Frank asks.

“Who—Penny and Amelia? You do know how sex works, don’t you Frankie?”

“Fuck off,” he snorts, rolling his eyes at her cheek. So, okay, maybe she can still find it in herself to bring some attitude to the table. He knows her well enough not to call her out on it though. “I mean Penny and Maverick. They gonna’ get back together?”

“You secretly a romantic or something?”

Frank spits into his bottle but says nothing. Just lifts a dark brow at Matty that seems to speak volumes. She knows him like the back of her hand; which means that she knows he’ll be happy as a clam to sit around all night waiting for an answer to his obnoxiously invasive question.

Matty huffs, but gives in. “I don’t know. Mav doesn’t talk about her that much.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not really sure why you think Mav is secretly a Nicholas Sparks type guy beneath the jet fuel and idiocy,” Matty chirps at her friend. A pair of lime green Camaros rumble down the road past them, momentarily catching her attention, and she smiles at the idea that she might win finally beat Frank tonight at their little, stupid game. They vanish after a few moments, however, and he catches her attention with the nudge of his boot. “I’m telling the truth. He told me a little bit about it at breakfast the other day, but with him... I don’t know. It’s difficult to know when he’s being honest with women, you know? I think he wants to believe that he can be a different guy—a better guy. The type that Penny deserves.”

Frank considers that for a moment before tilting his head at her. “You don’t think he can?”

Matty’s mouth screws up at the sides. “I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships, Frank. You’re better offer asking Nicky for his opinion. Or Eggy. How Maria hasn’t left his ass yet eludes me.”

“He buys her flowers,” Frank shrugs simply. Then, with a bit of a crude smile, adds, “and fucks her every night.”

Matty scrunches up her nose at the idea of her friend fucking her other friend, and chucks her water bottle at Frank for even suggesting such a thing. “You’re a pig!”

“What? It’s the truth! Eggs won’t shut up about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to know, god!” she shrieks.

Frank chuckles at her aversion to the topic, and with a gleam in his eye, he leans towards her on his crate. “Don’t you know how sex works, Matty? They already have one kid. I thought you would have figured it out by now.”

She shoves him away with her boot. He bowls forward in amused laughter.

“I hate you,” she reminds him with her nose upturned. He, however, doesn’t care in the slightest for her insults, and because his laughter is so goddamned contagious, after a few moments her shoulders become less stiff as she lets a couple of laughs slip through her lips as well. “Maybe you should talk to Mav about Penny. I would love to know what’s up with the two of them, but he’s pretty tight lipped when it comes to me. Who the hell knows why.”

Frank, coming down from his laughter, shrugs. “You’re a bitch.”

Matty considers that. Then she shrugs too. “Yeah, alright. Fair enough I guess.”

They make eye contact and the pair are suddenly falling into a fit of laughter once more. It makes it easy to ignore the setting sun and the steady thrum of engines turning down the road in front of them.

It almost makes her miss the call coming through on her phone, too.

She doesn’t miss it however, and when she swings the device up to her ear, she presses answer without even catching the name on the screen.

“Hello?” she asks through giggles.

“Matty,” a familiar voice cuts across the line. It sounds unusually heavy and tense in the midst of their laughter, and maybe their laughter is the exact reason she doesn’t take a moment to consider why.

“Oh, hey Dad,” she chirps. Laughs when Frank lifts a brow at her, and then boots crate as far as she can so that the hick isn’t bent over into her space like he does when trying to eavesdrop on her phone calls. Sticking her tongue out at him, Matty switches the phone to her other ear. “You never call me during the week. What, did you miss me or something?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence.

Matty starts to feel it then; the presence of something beyond herself. The imaginary weight that settles onto her shoulders, the way it starts to slowly press the air out of her lungs.

“What’s—what’s wrong?” she asks.

Somehow, her voice remains steady, but the difference in it is still enough that Frank straightens in his seat all the same. Gone is the humor from his eyes. Now, he seems to be bearing the imaginary weight with her.

She’s not sure why she didn’t consider this.

She’s not sure why she didn’t think of him as soon as she answered the phone. All the same, it takes less than two words to shatter the peaceful space that she had settled into.

“It’s Ice.”

----

The flight simulations go better today than the days prior. Bradley isn’t sure what exactly has made the difference, but when he lands on the tarmac he’s told that he had somehow cut off a whole fifteen seconds from his route. It doesn’t sound like much to people outside of a cockpit; hell, in a normal job, fifteen seconds is nothing to be missed.

But in this job, it’s everything.

He’s almost expecting a pat on the shoulder from Maverick when him, Phoenix, and Bob make it back to the classroom. Their relationship might not have been mended yet, but that didn’t stop Mav from praising Rooster whenever he was given the chance. It tended to bruise his nerves knowing that he was the person Bradley needed approval from in the first place to get this job. Today, however, he finds himself almost disappointed that he doesn’t receive some sort of praise for his efforts up in the sky.

Even if it is Maverick that is offering them.

Alas, Maverick is nowhere to be found as the group is let out for the day.

“He disappeared a couple hours ago,” Phoenix answers his unasked question. Bradley scoffs at it, hoping to hide the fact that he was looking for their teacher, and in response Nat rolls her eyes at him. “Like you weren’t looking for him or whatever.”

“I wasn’t,” he argues.

She doesn’t believe him in the slightest. Bradley, now scowling, swivels his head towards her RIO only to find that Bob is studiously avoiding his gaze like he does when he’s trying not to get involved in an argument.

“Seriously?” he barks. Bob glances at him before darting his eyes away once more as if straightening out his sweat coated undershirt is more important than a simple conversation. “Whatever. I wasn’t.”

“You’re such a bad lair,” she tuts up at him.

Bradley doesn’t even get a chance to argue with that, either, before she swiftly disappears into the woman’s locker room with Halo. He feels a bit puff off at the idea that she clearly won this stupid argument, but then he reminds himself that it is, in fact, a stupid argument and Bradley turns into his own locker room with a shake of the head.

Bob is the only other person inside. Thankfully Hangman and his cohort of idiots are nowhere to be seen. They might have made some steps in cooling down their battle of egos, but the blonde was still unbearable to be around during their lessons. Bradley wonders if some of that has to do with the fact that Hangman must have had—as Matty told him the morning prior—a teenie weenie.

It can’t be an easy thing to live with, afterall.

And suddenly as he’s showering off the day, Bradley is left thinking about Matty. It was almost unconscious at this point. A little bit ridiculous too, how much he thought about her. She wasn’t exactly a diamond in the rough when considering her looks.

Sure, she was pretty. Gorgeous, actually. With white teeth and bright eyes and blonde hair that had been under the sun without protection for just a day too long. Not to mention her long legs. Her perfectly tanned skin. Crooked nose that was somehow cute to him. Lips that curled into a devious smile every time she made a joke that bordered on being insulting to everyone around her. The slight cut through her eyebrow that made her quirk it to the side rather than straight up her forehead.

The tattoo stretching down her back...

So, yeah, okay, Bradley thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen before. Whatever.

The fact of the matter was that he wasn’t a shallow guy; something he prided himself on after seeing how much of assholes some guys could be to what they considered to be “plain” women. hat had never bothered him. Never would, either. All it meant was that there were plenty of women for him to pick from outside of Matty fucking Neven. 

So many that he couldn’t keep count anymore.

Plenty that offered their numbers on soggy bar napkins. A handful that would approach him on a night out with a coy smile that suggested nothing innocent. More than enough to keep him occupied for the next couple of months if that’s what he wanted.

The problem wasn’t the lack of pretty girls. The problem was that the only girl he thought about didn’t have any interest in him. 

Because while she was both gorgeous with a killer banter, she was also impossible. She didn’t want his attention; she hadn’t given him her number. She had insulted him and his livelihood in the matter of seconds, but then apologized while sharing something personal that he doubted many people knew. She could have an attitude that was so breathtakingly nauseating to be around, but she could also make him laugh without even trying.

She—

“Jesus, Rooster, hurry up!”

Bradley blinked out of his stupor at the sound of Phoenix’s annoyed voice echoing through the locker room. He was startled at it, but when he turned on his heel—nearly slipping on wet tile—he was at the very least relived when he realized that she was not, in fact, in the locker room with him. Just shouting at the top of her lungs from the hallway.

He turned off the nozzle and wrapped a towel around his torso when Bob was shoved back into the locker room by a pair of tanned hands.

The techie looked flustered about the situation.

“You got a problem?” Bradley asked in exasperation.

“Oh, uh,” Bob rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. His hair was almost dry on his forehead, and suddenly Bradley had to wonder just how long he had been stuck in the shower. “Phoenix is getting a little hungry.”

“Rooster!”

“A lot hungry,” he corrected.

Bradley let out a strangled noise halfway between a huff of amusement and a scoff of annoyance. But, to be fair, he had promised that he would join the duo out for dinner at the local Italian place that Boomer told them about. “Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m coming. Just give me five minutes. Think she’ll last that long before turning into a fucking werewolf?”

Bob darted his eyes to the door. After a moment he must have realized that she hadn’t heard the comment, however, and the techie relaxed with a sheepish smile. “I’ll buy her a granola bar from the vending machine. But, uh, you’re sitting next to her.”

"Yeah, alright.”

They shared a laugh before the sound of Phoenix kicking the door with her boots startled them back into reality. Bradley tossed Bob his wallet.

“Buy her something chocolate.”

---

Whatever Bob had bought Phoenix had seemed to level out her sugar because she was much calmer once seated inside Bradley’s jeep. Not calm enough that she didn’t urge him to drive faster every five seconds, but calm enough that the boys felt confident she wouldn’t bite their hands off for laughing.

The base was getting empty by the time they got onto the road.

Empty enough that Bradley was able to spot an all-too familiar motorcycle sitting sideways in an all-too familiar motor pool parking lot.

Without thinking, he turned in towards it.

“Excuse me, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Little Italy is not on base. you know that, don’t you? You know where we are supposed to be going? Like, right now.”

“Relax, will you? I just want to see if Matty is still here.”

“Rooster, I’m fucking dying back here,” she threw her hands up in irritation. He caught a glimpse in his rearview mirror and would be lying if he said that the look alone didn’t make him re-consider his choice. “You’re girlfriend can wait another day to see your hideously ugly face. I, however, cannot wait any longer to get food. And we still have to drive across town!”

“Hideously ugly?” 

“And going to be even more disfigured when I claw your eyes out.” 

He rolled his eyes at her threat. Phoenix could be down right terrifying when she wanted, but being around Matty had given Bradley an entirely new scale of terrifying women one should not piss off. 

A hangry Natalie was, unfortunately, no longer the top of the scale.

Maybe that’s why he chirped, “you don’t think I’m ugly, Nat. In fact, if I remember correctly, you think I’m a stud.” 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “As if I would ever say that.”

“Oh, but you did,” he snarked while turning the engine off. Phoenix huffed at the accusation, and Bradley nudged Bob with his elbow. “You can even ask the backseater, Nat. You were all over me the other day at the bar. Talking about how we could make cute kids together. It was almost embarrassing.” 

Her eyes widened in horror. “I was not! Bob!”

Bob’s gaze darted between the pair, but as there was literally nowhere for him to run, he didn’t have much choice but to agree. “Uh, well... you might have said something about his, you know, cheek bones.”

“And hair,” Bradley added.

“And hair,” Bob agreed. 

Phoenix practically screeched at the concept; he hadn’t the slightest idea if she were embarrassed, angry, or hungry, but Bradley figured it was best that he not find out in that exact moment. He swung his door open quick enough that the hinges squeaked.

“Five minutes, P,” he said. “Try not to kill him by then.”

“You’re leaving me?” Bob asked at the same time that she shouted, “five minutes or we’re leaving! Wait, Bob! What did you just say?”

Taking that as his cue to leave, he made quick work of heading towards the empty motor pool. A few vehicles still sat in the parking lot. Next to Maverick’s motorcycle was Matty’s jeep. The prior was in such good condition that it made hers look like it belonged in a junk yard.

He vowed to keep that thought to himself.

Mostly so he didn’t upset her, but also so Maverick didn’t go around with a big head at the idea that Bradley complimented something about him.

Frank and Mav were the only people in the motor pool. They paused in their conversation as he approached.

“Hey,” he nodded.

“Hey kid,” Mav smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though, and Bradley slowed in his walk with a glance around at the empty garage.

“Is, uh, Matty here?”

Frank and Mav shared a look, before the former shook his head. “Nah.”

“Oh,” he paused. “Isn’t that her jeep outside...?”

It was. Obviously he knew that. Obviously they knew that he knew that.

Frank crossed his arms while leaning onto the tool bench behind him. He seemed unusually tired; almost somber as well. It was an odd look on the mechanic’s face. Though they didn’t know one another all that well, Bradley had never seen him without a troublesome twinkle in his dark, hard eyes.

“She’s not here,” Frank rasped. “Sick day.”

He almost took that response at face value; almost turned around and went off to dinner with his friends in tow, but there was something off about the atmosphere that had him considering the pair suspiciously. Maverick squirmed a little under his stare.

“What are you doing here, Mav? Phoenix said you took the afternoon off.”

“Yeah, uh, I... wasn’t feeling all that well.”

“You’re sick too?”

Maverick cleared his throat. “Something like that.”

And, yeah, there was definitely something going on. Something that settled in the air between the three that did not feel right. Maybe him and Maverick didn’t have the best relationship in comparison to what they once had. Maybe him and Frank’s relationship didn’t exist outside of teasing one another and sharing a beer at The Hard Deck. Maybe it was odd for them to be together in a conversation without the one thing they had in common.

Matty.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to feel that something was up. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked next. It wasn’t just weird because she wasn’t there. It was weird because every mention of her seemed to stiffen the men up even more. “Did something happen with Matty?”

“No,” Frunk grunted at the same time that Mav said, “she’ll be fine.”

“Be?” Bradley echoed.

Frank leveled Maverick with a scowl that might have made a lesser man buckle, but the pilot just gave a half-shrug in response as if to say what?

“Okay, seriously. What’s going on?”

“Nothin’ is goin’ on,” Frank affirmed. “Matty’s fine. Just sick. She’ll see you when she sees you Bradshaw. Same with you, Mav. Fuck off and let me finish the docket now, yeah?”

“You’re a shit liar, Frank.” 

Frank pushed off the tool bench. “What’d you say to me?”

“Alright, alright,” Maverick stepped up too. He was relatively small compared to the two of them due to the height difference, but he was not in any sort of way someone that could be considered weak. Because of that it was easy enough for him to force the boys apart without any blood drawn.

Though, Frank still looked like he might be out for it.

“Maybe we should just tell him.”

And, shit, Frank was about to get it if the scandalized look he shot Maverick was anything to go by. Actually, it was hard enough that Bradley almost took a step back just to put some more space between them. He hadn’t quite believe Matty when she joked about Frank being nothing but a guard dog; right now, though, it was fairly obvious where his loyalty lied.

“If she ain’t tell him, then that means she don’t want us fuckin’ tellin’ him either, Mav,” he snarled. Maverick swallowed thickly, but somehow kept that lightness to his movements that he was known for. Always joking, even when there was nothing to joke about. “You know best of all how she feels about this pilot shit. She just needs time.”

Nothing they were saying made any sense.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Bradley asked.

The pair continued with a silent contest of wills to the point that he was almost beginning to wonder if he was invisible.

“And you know best of all that she need someone who understands right now,” Maverick pointed out. His voice was low, tight, and heavy. Not anything like the easy-going guy that Bradley knew growing up. “Hollywood can’t give that to her. I can’t give that to her. And you can’t either.”

Hollywood?

Bradley kept that particular thought to himself; instead, he clung to everything else that Mav said about him, thought about the little piece of truth that Matty had shared with him at the bar the other night.

“Her dad,” he said. Both men turned to look at him. Frank still looked pissed off. Maverick looked surprised. “Is this something to do with him? She said that he was a pilot.”

The surprise ebbed to sadness.

Frank’s ebbed to curiosity lingering in the depths of dark eyes. “She tell you about that? About him?”

“Just that he was a Navy pilot,” Bradley said. He was still clueless to what this was all about, but hell if he wasn’t determined to get to the bottom of it. “Said that they were always moving around when she was growing up. And, uh, that he’s some big hotshot. Is he okay? Is Matty?”

He wasn’t sure what he said that was right, but something surely was.

Frank lost a little bit of his anger; calmed down a little bit as he returned to his slouched position on the desk. Maverick, for some reason, took that as a positive sign.

Turning to Bradley, he sighed. “Do you know where she lives?”

“What? No,” he shook his head in confusion, then annoyance when they continued to stare at him silently without giving much of anything away. Bradley squared his shoulders at them. “Are you two going to tell me what the fuck is going on or...?”

Maverick turned to Frank who, after a long moment, just gave a jerky nod. He seemed defeated about the entire situation, but when he met Bradley’s gaze, there was a whole lot of concern in his eyes as well.

“She’s probably gonna fuckin’ come after me when you show up at her door, but Mav’s right...” he rasped. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Frank started to explain, “there’s something that you should know about Mats...”

---

It’s late when someone knocked on her front door.

Maybe not so late that it’s unusual for her to have visitors, but late enough in the day that the sun has already begun to set beneath the horizon. The lights in her house are dark, though, so she’s left to wonder who might be coming by to bother a lonely house with no evidence that someone in inside. The driveway is empty too seeing as how she had gotten a ride home from Frank the night before with no intention of getting her jeep back any time soon. 

All of which mean that whoever has come to bother her has done so knowing she was home with no intention of accepting visitors.

There’s a short list of who that could be.

They knock again. The list gets shorter.

Matty is in no mood to see anyone. No mood to entertain friends that have come meaning well, but that would require some sort of effort on her behalf. Frank is the only person from work that has seen her cry before. The only person she trusts to visit in a time like that, but she knows for a fact that whoever is here isn’t him.

He had spent the night before sleeping on her couch. The pair cuddled up beneath too many blankets with a stupid movie on in the background. Though the best friend she has, even Frank has limits on the amount of crying he can handle, and she’s well enough aware that she crossed the limit last night.

So no. He wouldn’t have come a second night in a row.

When they knock a third time Matty has half a mind to scream at them, but her throat is too raw to do any good yelling. Instead, she trudges from her spot on the couch to the door.

Sighs. Wipes her face. Opens it only to find—

“Matty. Hey.”

Bradley Bradshaw stands on her front steps with an awkward look on his face. He doesn’t manage a smile—which is good because neither does she—but he doesn’t seem angry either. Just...

There.

“What are you doing here?” she blurts out.

There’s no usual bite to her words. Nothing flirty or snarky or sultry. Just a croak that makes it obvious she’s been crying for roughly twenty four hour straight.

Which is fucking horrifying.

Bradley Bradshaw is the guy she has placed on the back burner. He’s fun to be around, someone she thinks about often, the first guy in forever that she’s actually considered the possibility that she might have genuine feelings for outside of wanting sex. He’s a good friend that she’s earned in a few short weeks. He’s someone who she’s pushed herself to be honest with even when she doesn’t want to be.

He’s not the sort of guy she cries in front of.

Matty moves to swing the door shut in his face because—what the fuck else was she supposed to do—when Bradley stops her with a boot wedged into the space.

“Neven,” he says. “I never even realized that your last name is Neven.”

And.

Fuck.

Matty slowly opens the door back up. He owlishly blinks at her through narrowed eyes, an impressive feat really. But he also looks like he has a lot on his mind that she doesn’t really want to hear in spitting distance from the sidewalk.

Maybe that’s why she sighs. “Shut the door behind you.”

He does.

And suddenly Matty Neven is coming face to face with the reality that her family name ties her to a lot more shit than she ever wanted to consider.

---

“Here.”

The mug that Matty offers to Bradley is not one that should host two shots full of cupboard whisky. It’s a splatter of pink and purple with a faded image of Hannah Montana on it; a gag joke from Claire for her birthday a few years prior that had certainly been found in the back of a thrift store, but something that she had always loved to make hot cocoa in for the irony of it all. Now, as she holds it over to him, it feels stupid, childish, and wrong.

He doesn’t care though.

In fact, he gives a quiet laugh as he accepts it from her hands. The ugly appeal of it doesn’t prevent Bradley from taking a long swallow of the amber liquid inside.

She likes that about him.

Matty sits down on the chair opposite him. It had been awkward when he first walked inside her house. Few people were ever invited over to her place. It felt like a personal invasion given how much memorabilia she had tacked up on every empty space of her walls. Bradley’s eye caught on more than one picture of her with Hollywood and his friends.

That’s when she had asked if he would wait on the screened in porch for her. There was a long moment of hesitation before he agreed. 

Maybe he saw the haunted look in her eye. Maybe he didn’t want to see the memories anymore than she did.

“Who told you?”

“Frank.”

“Frank?” she echoes. Her first instinct isn’t even to be angry at her friend for spilling a secret that wasn’t his to keep. Really, she’s more surprised than anything that he would trust Bradley enough to share it.

“And... Mav,” he tacks on with an uncomfortable look. Almost like saying the guy’s name left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oh,” she says lamely.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a blithe nod.

Nothing else is said for a long, drawn out minute. Matty is silent because she’s not sure what she should say that could make any of this better; she hadn’t even been the one to share the secret with him, so she wasn’t sure how to approach the topic of it at all. Bradley is silent for a litany of reasons that she can’t comprehend just from looking at him.

She takes a long swig of her whisky—this in a chipped mug she had for far too long—before deciding to just get it over with. “Just ask me already. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To talk about it.”

He doesn’t say yes or no. Just fixes her with an unreadable stare.

Eventually, however, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“That Hollywood was my dad?”

“Or that you knew Maverick before all of this. Or that you knew me before all of this—you knew my story, my dad, what the fuck I went through. Why didn’t you tell me, Matty? Why did I have to find out that your dad is fucking Hollywood from Frank? Was it some sort of game to you?”

“Of course it wasn’t.” 

“Then why? Why keep it from me? Why make a big deal out of how you hate pilots when you knew damn well that my dad died in a fighter jet in school right alongside yours?”

“What exactly would have changed if I told you?”

He scoffed. “Everything!”

“Do you think that we would have instantly become friends if you knew?” she shot back. He scoffed again, and Matty quirked a brow at him with a sharp scoff of her own. “What would have changed? Would we have made friendship bracelets for each other? Had movies nights where we talked about it? Would you have wanted to hear stories about your dad that I heard from my dad?”

“Of course not,” he rasped.

“Then what? What would have changed?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so fucking angry at you right now, Matty!” he shouted. The intensity of his anger surprised them both. Matty sank back onto her seat, hands clutching at the mug in her hands because she had nothing else to hold onto, and Bradley quickly turned his eyes away towards the dark yard.

There was nothing to see.

She didn’t remind him of that.

Instead, she said, “it’s my life too, Bradley. You don’t get to decide what I get to keep to myself and what I have to share with you.”

“This is different than you not telling me about your ex-boyfriends,” he snapped. It was a fair difference, she had to admit, but it wasn’t something she was about to let him play the victim over.

Not now. Not like this. Not after Ice...

“I don’t tell anyone about him. You’re not special in that regard.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s supposed to make you understand me better,” she corrected him. Her tone was sharp enough now that he paused upon hearing it. A heaviness settled in the air between them that Matty resented him for bringing. Then again, she had bore a heavy weight on her shoulders for years now because of her dad. He was probably the only person that felt that same weight. “My dad pinned me at my commissioning ceremony. Ice was there with his wife, clapping along with everyone else. I was so happy. So excited that I managed to make my dad proud without following in his exact footsteps. I got the chance to do what I wanted and still make him happy. It was the best of both worlds.”

He settled in his seat as she spoke. 

Though, he seemed no happier. Maybe it was the bitter reminder that his dad hadn’t been at his ceremony; hadn’t pinned him, hadn’t been proud of him.

“The moment they left, my unit started calling me Baby Nep; short for Baby of Nepotism. People asked me for favors from Ice. Guys in the motor pool would corner me when I was alone asking for... less than savory favors. They figured out pretty early on that I wouldn’t complain about anything to anyone because I didn’t want word getting back to my dad or Ice. I wouldn’t even complain to my Captain because I couldn’t fucking stand people making accusations that I didn’t belong where I was.”

The thought of that first year in the service made the room seem so much hotter, the air so much heavier. It had been a dark time in Matty’s life that had heavily skewered her image of what a Naval career would be like.

But things got better, she reminded herself with another sip of whisky, and she decided to cut the rest of that story short to focus on the bigger issue at hand. 

“I am... I’m sorry that I wasn’t the person who got to tell you about my dad,” she croaked. It was as close to crying as she had ever been in front of Bradley, and the change in tone had him glancing at her in surprise. “I’m sorry that I fucked up... whatever this is that we have; whatever sort of fucked up friendship we’ve made. But I’m not sorry that I didn’t tell you right away. I choose to keep my relationships to myself.”

“That’s not a very good apology,” he argued. 

“I’m not going to give you a fake apology just to make you feel better,” she told him incredulously. A thought came to her then that she didn’t hesitate to share, even if if did make her a bitch. “And if I remember correctly, you didn’t exactly tell your class who your dad was either.”

“That’s different,” he argued. 

“How?”

“It just—it just is,” he said. The hotness had bled from his voice though. The resolve to stay angry at her going with it if the somberness of his gaze was anything to go by.

Maybe because they both knew it wasn’t different.

Matty sniffled when she felt her eyes getting too heavy with tears and she quickly turned away. She didn’t want to see Bradley anymore; didn’t want to sit in the heavy presence of all the times she had fucked up in the last couple of weeks. Didn’t want to feel alone when sitting with someone she thought understood her. 

"Well, now you know,” she wiped at her face with a bitter chuckle. She managed a bit of her signature sass even when she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the door. “So, feel free to leave or whatever. I’d rather cry alone where no one has to see me with snot bubbles, thank you. My mirror tells me that I’m an ugly crier.” 

“Matty, I—”

Whatever he was going to say got stuck in his throat. Matty sipped on her drink while she let him figure it out. She wasn’t sure why, though. He was going to leave and she was going to be left alone.

Things would go back to normal.

“I’m sorry.”

It took a minute for her to realize what he just said, and when she whipped her head towards him, he seemed to grimace at the audacity of it as well. In fact, he finished the last of his whisky while managing to studiously avoid her gaze.

When the mug was empty there was nothing to occupy his attention, however, and she watched him trace the faded writing with his thumb.

“I... you’re right. It’s not that different. I shouldn’t have come over here just to yell at you when you’re—” Bradley caught himself before he finished that sentence. He gave her a wary look. Maybe he expected her to bust into tears at the mention of her mourning or maybe he just didn’t know how to act when she was being vulnerable rather than vulgar. Swallowing, he tried again. “Maverick said that you were close with Ice. Is that... true?”

Matty started picking at the loose hem of her sweater. “He was my godfather.”

He said nothing as she collected her thoughts.

“He was around from the minute I was born. Him and dad were always deployed together, so when one was gone the other was, but Ice didn’t have kids for a while. For him, coming home he got to see his wife, and he got to see me. He always joked that I was the one that convinced him on having kids of his own.”

“Sounds nice,” Bradley commented quietly.

She gave a bubbly laugh through the barrier of tears she was barely managing to hold at bay. Honestly, Matty was surprised that she still had any left to shed at this point. “My mom kind of hated him. He taught me my first curse word, taught me how to throw a punch. He would even take me out of school every once in a while just so we could so something fun. Dad loved it. Of course he did. He was ecstatic that Ice and I got along. Over time, of course, we spent less time apart. And then he got sick...”

“I didn’t even know that he was. Mom never mentioned it.”

“He kept it a secret the first time around,” she nodded. It was just like Ice to keep something such as a terminal illness to himself. Still, she didn’t blame him. Everyone had a version of themselves they presented to the world. Weak was not a word in Tom Kazansky’s dictionary. “This time he got sick quicker. Kept it quiet while he could. I visited whenever work allowed, but... he didn’t like people seeing him like that. Said he wanted to let us keep the good memories without the bad ones.”

Bradley seemed to understand that, in a weird sort of way.

“I met him a couple of times,” he admitted.

Matty hadn’t known that. She sat up at the idea. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he said with a half smile on his face. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she appreciated the effort anyways. It made her smile all the same. “He took me and mom out for lunch once or twice while I was growing up. I mean, not just him. Maverick was always there too, but... he was nice enough. From what I remember, anyways.”

“The only person I’ve ever known to be more charming that Maverick.”

“Mav might take some issue with that statement,” Bradley chuckled.

Matty shrugged. “He knows. I’ve told him on more than one occasion over the years that Ice was the better pilot between the two.”

His smile halted. “About that...”

Matty’s own smile shrank upon realizing what he was asking. She glanced down at her mug only to find it empty, and with a defeated sigh, she answered his unasked question. “Mav and I have known each other for a while. Definitely not for as long as you knew him and definitely not as well, but... he tries to check in when he can. I think he started making an effort the first time around that Ice got sick. I guess it scared him.”

Her answer didn’t appeal to Bradley who glanced away with something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. Though, it wasn’t hard to guess what it was about.

She knew that Maverick had done something stupid to mess his relationship up with Bradley; knew well enough just from the look that Mav got on his face every time she brought up the incident. He had never told her the entire story, though, and while she respected his privacy, part of her was desperate to hear it.

But not now. Not like this.

“Can I ask you something?”

That got his attention. “Since when are you bashful?” he barked in surprise.

It was so out of the blue that Matty actually laughed in response to the scandalized tone of his voice. He must have realized how it sounded too because she caught a blush redden his cheek before he tried to cover it up by running a hand through his hair.

“I mean,” he cleared his throat. “Sure. Just didn’t know you could ever care enough to ask for my opinion first is all.”

Another time she might have shot back with something snarky and mean.

“It’s a touchy subject for us both,” she said instead, surprising him even further with the gentle tone of her voice. This time, however, Matty was the one to blush. She looked away hoping that he didn’t see it at all. “It’s stupid anyways.” 

“What is it?”

She hemmed a bit. Then, with a sigh, bit the bullet knowing that she couldn’t make a bigger ass of herself than she already had managed today. “What was the moment that made you realize you wanted to become a pilot?”

“What sort of question is that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. She didn’t have a clue where it had come from, but as she took the time to actually tell him about herself—a rare opportunity indeed—Matty was struck with the peculiar urge to know. She hadn’t become a mechanic to spite her dad, despite what some people thought, and she hadn’t joined the Navy to please him.

A single choice that negated all expectation.

A choice like that could tell a lot about someone. Matty was probably more shocked that she wanted to know so that she could try to better understand him than she was surprised to have asked at all.

Whether or not he understood that urge, Bradley still considered her question.

It was difficult for them both without whisky. Difficult to have a serious conversation while sober, but harder still to have it under the never ending weight that settled upon their shoulders the moment he showed up at her door.

Difficult but necessary. Self-inflicting but important.

“When I was fifteen, Mav picked me up after baseball practice and took me out to get some dinner at this nearby pizza place,” he started softly. “Mom was working late that night so we didn’t have to hurry back. We just there in this plastic covered booth for hours. I already told everyone that I wanted to grow up and be just like my dad by then. Everyone knew.”

There was a faraway look in his eye.

It was nothing next to the soft smile pulling at his lips.

“I asked him about his job, why he was gone for so long, stuff like that. He couldn’t tell me much and, well, you know Mav. He tried to tell all the fun stuff. I didn’t care about that, though. So, I badgered him with questions and... he got this goofy smile on his face talking about flying with the others. Merlin, Ice, Hollywood. He was so proud to be up there with them. I knew right then that he didn’t care if he was shot down tomorrow. He just cared about being there with them. These people that understood him more than anyone else ever could.”

He abandoned fiddling with the mug to meet her gaze.

“I wanted that,” he told her truthfully; so honestly that it almost made her want to turn away. “I didn’t care about the awards or fame. I just wanted to have a chance at being understood; at making my own family from people all around the world who thought like me. That’s why I did it. And then Maverick...”

The smile turned sour, the light in his eyes darkening to the point that Matty could no longer see it. Whatever Maverick had done, it was obvious that it had a lasting impact on who Bradley was as a person—it had hurt him unlike anything he had felt before.

Matty knew that hurt.

Maybe not the reason, but the pain. She could feel it tightening her chest when she woke up that morning to the sun already streaming through her windows. She could feel it when heard the sorrow in her dad’s voice when they spoke about the funeral plans over lunch. She could feel it like a ghost dagger in her side as she had to stare at pictures of her and him smiling through the years.

Matty Neven knew that pain better than anyone else.

And somehow, despite all of that, Bradley Bradshaw gave her the ability to smile even when drowning in the midst of it.

“Look, I suck at cooking and I only have shitty whisky, but... if you want to stick around for a little bit I was gonna order a pizza. Probably get a little bit drunk. I could even tell you some stories that Ice told me from the academy. There’s more than one about Maverick making an ass of himself in front of women.”

An olive branch.

Hell, it was so much more than that, but Matty didn’t really want to consider the reasons that she was so hell bent on fixing things with a guy who she swore she didn’t like at all.

“A total ass?”

“The biggest,” she rasped.

“Yeah, I think I can manage a few stories,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “I skipped dinner to come here anyways.”

“It’s only fair.”

It was.

It was the fair thing to do. Bradley had come to confront her and somehow ended up comforting her at one of the darkest moments in her life. More than that, but he knew. Maybe having someone around that she could connect with wasn’t the end of the world.

“So long as pizza and whisky doesn’t make this a date,” he quipped. Matty raised an eyebrow at him for the oddness of his joke, and Bradley managed a genuine smile in return. “You are a Neven, after all. I think my dad would turn in his grave if he knew that I was fraternizing with the enemy.”

Matty threw her head back with a laugh.

Maybe, she thought as he ordered them some pizza with extra pepperoni on top, she liked him a little too much for comfort.

*** taglist (thanks for asking!) @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado​   @shanimallina87   @luckyladycreator2 @olivethenerd16 @alanadetigy​ @the-winter-marvel33​ @hiddleless​ @momc95 @alanadetigy​

I have absolutely no excuse for taking so long to put this chapter out other than life? Life is a reason. Kind of. But I am back with an update! Hope you like it (and hope you haven’t forgotten the story by now). 

[chthonic-cassandra]

F, G, and T for the fic asks?

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Hmm. For this question I'm going to go back a decade to a 2012 fic of mine, Timorous Dreams (Richard III/Anne Neville). Warning for canon-typical ableism in the below excerpt:

“You were glad enough,” he replied, quick as a viper, “to come to the bed of your husband’s murderer, dear wife. Curious that your conscience should trouble you now.”

Fury made her tremble. “I have not forgiven you, Richard, and you are a fool if you think I have. You remember my curses; I did not feign when I pronounced them.”

“What are you then, too weak to dare your own revenge? Oh, you may be sure that I believe in your hatred, when you moaned my name so prettily the other night -”

“Do you ever listen? I did not say that I hate you, but only that I have not forgiven what you did. I meant my curses and still do, but I shall not be the agent of their fulfillment. It is not for me to decide your punishment. I married you for love, but now -”

“But now? I am the same man you married, Anne. If I am a murderer now, then I was so then.”

“There is a difference between killing grown men who can defend themselves and slaughtering children. To kill a child is monstrous -”

“Monstrous deeds,” he told her, his voice suddenly cold and hard as stone, “are fitting to a monster such as I.”

Anne tried to gentle her voice, in fear and in compassion. “I have never thought you a monster, my lord. Ask yourself whether I ever have held your deformity against you.”

He stepped close to her then, his heel of his bad leg thudding dully on the floor, grabbing her hair in his hands. “It was my skill that made you forget my ugliness, lady. I remember how I slowly dripped my honeyed words onto your revulsion until it melted into desire. Do you think I have forgotten your insults then? Foul toad, you called me, diffused infection of a man. You thought me a monster ere ever I ever made you think you loved me.”

His breath was hot upon her face, and, for the first time in their marriage, Anne feared that Richard might hit her. But she kept her voice even.

“Yet still, I chose to marry you. You may argue that your flattery addled my wits or blinded my eyes, but there was nothing to prevent my refusal of your suit. The opinion of all the world would have been with me. I chose you, husband.”

There are a number of reasons why I am proud of this scene. Writing dialogue in Shakespeare fic is always difficult because I don't want to try to outright match his language, which would be a hubristic and foolish task, but I do want to give some light echoes of it in a modern idiom, enough that there's some feeling of continuity (this is my method for writing in any historical canon, actually); I think I got that pretty effectively here.

This scene is also one in which I have to take a stand, from a characterization standpoint, on some of the most notorious ambiguities in these characters' relationship. RIII is a gloriously porous and malleable text, and in some ways any certain answer on what the hell is going on for Anne is always going to be a let down; but I like the version of her that I wrote here, and I think this scene does a lot to sell that. I love love love getting to write scenes where characters who have tangled and fraught emotional entanglements with each other get to outright name tensions between them, and this was a very gratifying example of that to write.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

From start to finish, almost always.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

In a different by related vein to my objection to guilty pleasure as a category, I also don't love complaining publicly about fandom tropes at this stage of my life. I don't know, I just want people to write whatever they want to write, even if I don't myself like it? There's certainly stuff that gets on my nerves, and there's a lot that I'm not particularly interested in reading and a ton more that I would never write myself (as people who read my fic may have noticed, I have a pretty limited range of things I write myself). I mean, I reserve the right to go right back to complaining later, but that's just not where I am right now.

Wait, maybe I'll say that I can't stand those content warnings that go out of their way to apologize for engaging with problematic content, or that give some kind of sickly sweet assurance to potential readers who have experience trauma that they are strong or whatever? That's a weird thing I've been noticing recently, and I'm sure it comes from a place of anxiety that I am sympathetic to, but also I find it extraordinarily off-putting.