#Organic Nail Bar

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[autistickfigure]

i remember maybe what inspired me for stories is like. playstation all stars has a little origins section for each character which explains their backstory. Hey i just found out plastation all stars came out when i was 6 WELL anyway that was one of the first things that inspired me to flesh out things i guess. i love knowing why people are here and doing these things. i feel like i wrote some stuff in like a notebook somewhere about chug + lollipop (but maybe that was later?) i dont know where or if it survived. maybe it was about hat instead i also really liked smash bros + ratchet and clank + pokemon. and some other things i dont remember

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[stillmonsterz]

be with her tonight

pairing: heeseung x reader

genre: smut

summary: every week, you go to the same coffee shop for their great service and wonderful drinks. but for some reason, the barista has always rubbed you the wrong way. he seems harmless, though.

contains: unprotected sex, rape, noncon, somnophilia, drug mentions, lying, swearing, johnny is there, mark is there, twitch mention

word count: 5.0k (unproofread)

---

Heeseung’s eyes were shifty, his hands trembling over the paper cups. He plucked one off, a grande, and started to prepare the same familiar order. Despite his quivering hands, Heeseung went through the motions of making the drink with the utmost of effort. A small splash of hot coffee dribbled from the spout onto his hand; he scarcely noticed the pain. 

He set the cup down on the counter and surveyed the small cafe where he worked. Patrons were settled into small wooden tables, the windows were bright, and succulents lined the windowsills. Heeseung tugged at the collar of his black button-up and adjusted his apron. His coworker, Sunghoon, noticed him and smirked. 

“Is she coming again today?” Sunghoon asked while he restocked the croissants in the pastry display.

It took a few seconds for Heeseung to process that Sunghoon was talking to him. “Huh?”

“That girl, what’s-her-name…” Sunghoon conspicuously slipped a small brownie bar into the pocket of his apron.

“Oh,” Heeseung said softly. “I dunno…” Of course you were coming today. You came here every Wednesday and Friday at 2:00 pm, during your lunch break. Your favorite coworker was off those two days, so you ate alone and got yourself a coffee and a pastry. You were coming today. Heeseung had to see you again. 

When 2:00 arrived and you hadn’t walked through the doors with your usual vivacity, Heeseung got nervous. He begrudgingly served some other people whose faces he couldn’t have recalled if he had been paid to do so. 

2:15 and Heeseung’s hands shook even more. Sunghoon was already glancing at him strangely, so Heeseung busied himself by wiping down the counter. Why weren’t you here? He only got to see you twice a week, so he savored the time where he got to drink in your face, to inhale your scent that percolated so harmoniously with the ubiquitous scent of coffee. 

As the second hand slipped to 4, a cold chill spread all over his body and he felt as though someone had forced him to swallow a handful of nails. They sat in his stomach, tearing apart the delicate lining, puncturing holes in his organs, ripping him apart from the inside. It was Wednesday. You were normally here by now. What had happened? 

The drink he had made you in advance was getting cold. 

Had you switched coffeeshops? Had you forgotten about him? What if you hated him? What if you had caught onto him?

Heeseung swallowed hard; he dug his jagged nails into the palms of his hand. “Sunghoon…” he began quietly, “I think I’m going to step outs-,”

The door opened and you stepped inside, waving at Heeseung. The nails melted away and were replaced by spoonfuls of honey, soothing his throat, filling him with golden light. 

“Hi,” you said, pulling your purse out of your wallet. You glanced over at the forgotten drink resting on the counter. “Oh, was that mine?”

“I’ll make you another one,” Heeseung said, far too quickly. He unceremoniously dumped the drink into the sink and started bustling about in the kitchen. Once he was facing away from you, a grin split across his face, and he had to restrain himself from giggling. You hadn’t forgotten him! You had come back. While he pulled himself together, Sunghoon input the order into the machine before wandering away, presumably to take care of more customers. Whatever. 

Heeseung lifted his head up to face you again.”The same as usual?”

You nodded and grinned. “Same as usual. You know me so well.”

If only you knew, Heeseung thought. “You were late today- I mean, you came in later than you, uh, normally, arrive, at the uh, here. Why?” Heeseung wasn’t known for his eloquence on a normal day, but you rendered his vocal cords obsolete, his frontal cortex inoperable. 

“Oh, well, had a long day at the office,” you said, tapping your card on the reader. “Another useless meeting from HR.”

Heeseung wished he had something clever to say, something that could win your heart, make you love him. Instead, all he could offer was, “That sucks.” He bit his lip and got another grande cup so he could remake your drink. 

“It does suck,” you said with a wry smile. “How’s your day been?”

You were asking him how his day was, too? Heeseung nearly dropped the cup as he pumped syrup inside of it, and he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. “It’s been…good. Good. A little busy.”

“Well, busy is good,” you said. Then you cleared your throat. “Hey, I was going to come over on Saturday with a…friend of mine. What time do you think would be the best? You know, so it’s quiet?”

Heeseung carefully pressed the lid onto the cup, scrunching his nose as he thought. “Probably…I’d say 5 pm-ish? Most people don’t really want a coffee around that time.”

“Good to know,” you said, placing your wallet back into your purse. Heeseung admired how confident your motions were, and his eyes lingered on your hands. When his eyes flickered up to your face, he realized that you were looking at him. 

Desperate to seem like he wasn’t ogling you, he stammered out, “Y-your friend…does she work at the same, uh, place as you?”

“He actually works down at the insurance company, the one on Smithson?” you kept talking, but Heeseung couldn’t hear a word. His blood ran cold, and his vision went blurry. Him. He. You were going to have your date here? You must despise him. 

Heeseung thrust the cup in your direction. “Uh, enjoy,” he murmured, looking away from you.

“Thanks, Heeseung! You have yourself a good day,” you said brightly before leaving. 

Heeseung felt Sunghoon put a hand on his shoulder, heard him ask if Heeseung were okay. “I feel sick,” Heeseung whispered. “Could I step out for a bit?” Heeseung didn’t actually hear Sunghoon’s answer, but Heeseung was already leaving, stripping his apron and casting it aside someplace in the little break room. He tugged his worn leather jacket on and went outside. The sun stung his eyes so he lowered his gaze to the ground. Heeseung sat down on the concrete step leading into the back room and fished his lighter and cigarettes from his jacket pockets. 

He took a long drag as he tried to calm down, but it was difficult. Every time he thought about your date with some other guy, he started to feel strange. Beyond his initial panic and feelings of abandonment, there was something else nipping at him. A feeling he couldn’t quite place, but it was harsh and red and ragged. 

Heeseung wasn’t an idiot. He knew he wasn’t normal. He knew that his fascination with his pretty customer was irrational, and deep within his heart, he knew that you didn’t belong to him. Yet at the same time, Heeseung knew that you should belong to him. Already, he could read your emotions so well, and that was just after quick interactions twice a week for 3 and a half months. Heeseung would do anything for you, just so he could bask in your sweet glow. 

Normally, the world was cold and boring. Everything was predictable and trite. Heeseung couldn’t remember a time in his life where there had been any novelty. Talking to people wasn’t fun to him at all; navigating the labyrinthine social rules that others seemed to understand effortlessly just made him feel confused and worn. All throughout elementary school and middle school, even into high school, Heeseung had been ignored and ridiculed. He couldn’t decide which was worse. Even at his menial barista job, people purposefully averted his gaze. 

Not you, though. You had given him a bright smile and had even dropped money into the little tip jar. Most importantly, you had awarded him his first compliment. Despite his current misery, Heeseung smiled at the memory. You had sipped the coffee he had made you, your eyes had lit up like a little kid’s, and you had said, “You make great coffee, Heeseung.” When Heeseung had protested shyly, you had continued. “No, no, this is really good. You have a knack for this, you know.”

Heeseung took a long drag off of his cigarette as he sulked. Tears pinpricked his eyes at the thought of you disappearing from his life. Of course, he figured he could always spy on you at work (he had spent hours trying to find your LinkedIn based off of your first name), or maybe break into your house and hide under your bed (he had followed you home from work a few times.) but it just wouldn’t be the same. What made him happy was that you chose to come see him. There were a lot of cafes near your workplace, some even closer than Heeseung’s, but you came to his. Even if it wasn’t for his personality, you liked the coffee that he made. You chose him, but now you were choosing some other guy. And if this date went well, then you might disappear from his life.

Salty tears streamed down his sallow cheeks, and Heeseung swiped them away with his free hand. That feeling simmered within him, festering within him like rot. Angry. That’s what he was. Angry, upset, mad. 

Heeseung couldn’t let you disappear. He couldn’t let you go. 

He stubbed the cigarette out on the step and started coming up with ideas.

Then Heeseung smiled. 

– 

You pursed your lips in the mirror as you applied your red-tinted lip gloss. You had your coffee shop date at 5, and you wanted to look nice. The way you saw it, it was a win-win: you got to get a free coffee and pastry out of a guy, and you could finally subtly let Heeseung down without having to acknowledge his feelings for you at all.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Heeseung felt something for you. Ever since you had complimented his coffee, his dull eyes had developed a shine whenever he saw you. He always made your coffees with the utmost of care, which was one of the reasons why you kept coming back instead of going to another place. And, of course, you’d be lying if you said that his attention didn’t flatter you in some small way. Heeseung wasn’t necessarily unattractive. If he did something about his lank hair, stopped fidgeting so much, and could string together a sentence without stammering, he’d be passable. Even cute. That wasn’t the problem.

It was the same thing you had told your friend and workmate just before she had proposed the date idea. “He’s just…creepy,” you had told her over a shared Cobb salad. “Something about his eyes.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” she had said, snapping her fingers. “Like they’re empty, right?”

“Exactly,” you had said, relieved that she understood. “Empty. It freaks me out.”

Your friend took a bite of salad and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “So stop getting coffee from there.”

“No can do,” you had replied. “Gotta take you there sometime. The coffee is amazing.”

“Okay, well, just tell him to back off.”

You frowned. “Technically, he’s never actually said he liked me or done anything or anything, so…”

“Subtly hint that you have a boyfriend?”

“I’m a bad hinter.”

Your friend groaned. “You suck, you know that?”

The two of you had hemmed and hawed over the dilemma before she had offered up a solution: Find a guy from the office, ask him out on a coffee date at that exact place, and make it seem like you were enjoying the date.

So now you were in your bathroom, tucking the front of your sweater into your skirt. As you were posing one last time, you got a text from your date, Mark. He had texted you a succinct “yooooo i’m pulling up 😬”, so you locked up your apartment and walked out. 

When you got to the coffee shop, you were initially worried about Heeseung’s reaction. He looked like a sad little deer when he got upset. You shook your head slightly to get those aberrant thoughts out. You were here to get him off your back, anyways. So that the creepy barista wouldn’t get any ideas and you could keep enjoying some of the best coffee in this part of downtown.

You needn’t have worried, though. Heeseung was kindly towards you and your date. He had even taken your coats at the door and hung them up on the coat rack at the front. He had plied you with pastries, and even stuttered out a, “T-take care of her, she’s a good one” to Mark. When you glanced at the counter, you could see Sunghoon smiling at Heeseung as he brought out refills of coffee and dusted extra powdered sugar onto delicate little desserts. 

Mark looked at you with glee as he dug into his second croiffle. “Nah, this place is dope,” he said, crumbs surrounding his lips. “I see why you come here every week.” You hadn’t bothered telling Mark about Heeseung. It seemed a bit cruel to use a guy  to get rid of another unsavory guy.

You reached out and rubbed some of the crumbs from his mouth, hoping that Heeseung would see you. “Yeah, it’s great. Maybe…” you lowered your voice and leaned in, “this could be our spot, you know?”

Mark gently reached out and took your hand. “Why were you wiping my nose, weirdo? Did I get crumbs up there?”

“Huh? I was wiping your mouth…” you reached out with your other hand to touch his mouth, but your arm started to feel a bit heavy. 

“You okay?” Mark frowned as his eyes scanned your face. 

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Drink a little more coffee,” he suggested. “It’ll make you alert and shit.”

As you sipped your drink again, you realized that the drowsiness wasn’t going away. Even though you had downed a whole grande latte, you felt like you were about to

–

You slumped over the table and Heeseung had to suppress his smile. This part had to be perfect. He called your name and strode over to the table. Mark was just sitting in his chair, frozen. “What happened?” Heeseung asked, trying to make himself sound worried. His naturally anxious tone actually helped him.

“N-nothing, she just…fell over,” Mark said, staring at you. “I dunno, she must have had a long work week. Or she’s anemic, women are always anemic.”

Heeseung made a show of checking your pulse on your wrist and on your neck. Getting to touch your velvety skin, and not just a quick brush of hands when he handed you a coffee cup, was exquisite. He could already feel himself getting hard, so he had to move fast. 

“I’ll take her to my place,” Heeseung said, already lifting you out of the chair. Mark quickly stood up, blocking Heeseung’s path. Heeseung bit back a groan. 

“Nah, shouldn’t I, you know, take her home? I know her from work,” Mark said, crossing his arms. He looked from Heeseung to you to Heeseung to you as though he were following a ping-pong match. 

Heeseung sighed and attempted to try using that wheedling, condescending tone some male customers had used on him sometimes. “No offense, but when normally, a pretty girl like this passes out on a date, it’s not because of a-anemia.” 

Mark stepped back, holding his hand to his heart. “Ay man, are you tryna say that I roofied her? I’m not like that!”

“Yeah, well…” Heeseung pushed past Mark, carrying you in his arms. “I don’t know you, do I?” Then he paused and turned around. “Tell you what. You give me your number, and after she gets a little more rest, I’ll call you so you can pick her up, okay?”

Mark nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, sounds good, thanks.” He told Heeseung his number, and Heeseung carefully repeated the numbers in his head. “I think I’mma head home, thanks for the…hospitality.” Without his jacket, Mark stepped into the cold and ran to his car. 

As Heeseung was leaving, he called out to Sunghoon: “Cover me until I get her some medical help, okay?” Sunghoon gave him a curt nod, and Heeseung left the coffee shop. 

With some difficulty, he managed to get you buckled up in the front seat of his old clunker. Now that he was alone and no one could see him, Heeseung could finally smile. The way you were sitting here, all dolled up, it almost seemed like you and him were on a date. You were going on a drive together after a date at the coffee shop, and you would be going home with him. Heeseung carefully adjusted the car seat so that you were reclining, so it would look like you were just napping. 

“Carbs will do that,” Heeseung said sympathetically, rubbing your hand. “Make you tired. You should know better, baby. You come here all the time.” He stroked your warm, soft hand, and he ran his fingers along your sweet little cheeks. The hand that caressed your face slowly fell to your chin, then your neck. “You look so pretty. You always look pretty, of course, but you looked really pretty today. All for me.”

His hand slid all the way to your chest. Heeseung hesitated; he was risking everything, and he didn’t have much time to execute the rest of his plan. Just one kiss, he told himself, just one. Heeseung leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, ever so gently. It made him shudder, the sweet taste of chocolate lingering on your lips. He wanted to keep going, but he would have to wait. 

As Heeseung drove to his apartment, one hand rubbing your thigh, he congratulated himself on his ingenuity. It hadn’t been easy to coordinate this plan. 

–

First, he had had to figure out who you were cheating on him with. That wasn’t hard; you had foolishly Tweeted: “sooo excited for Saturday!” and “onyour_mark” had replied with a devil emoji. A cursory flick through his Twitter account offered Heeseung an informative, if not somewhat nauseating, look into Mark’s life. Heeseung found out that he worked the same hours as you, but he was on a separate floor. He lived with a Twitch streamer, Johnny “suhcondem” Suh, who streamed on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. As he scrolled through Johnny’s Twitter account, Heeeung found that Johnny had once complained about his fans sending them dildos, pizzas, and other “weird ass shit.” Perfect. 

After that, Heeseung had searched for Mark’s Instagram. Thankfully, Mark had posted a picture of his outfits in front of an open window. Utilizing a combination of Mark’s own descriptions of his neighborhood and Google Earth, Heeseung had found Mark and Johnny’s apartment complex within three hours of tireless searching. He could extrapolate the floor from the basic positioning of the tree, and after scouring Mark and Johnny’s social media accounts for more descriptions of their living space, he had narrowed their apartment to a potential unit. 

Now came the more difficult part. Using Tor browser, Heeseung was able to access a site where he could purchase some Rohypnol. It cost a pretty penny, but Heeseung wasn’t about to experiment with other roofies and potentially ruin his chances of having you. He ordered it on Wednesday, and on Friday he had two packages sitting in front of his door, one small and unmarked, the other a lettermail package. Heeseung used gloves to pick up the white package and take out the white box. He couldn’t have his fingerprints on it, after all. The other package held precious cargo: a used Papa John’s uniform with a pizza carrier.

Next, he had to plant evidence in Mark’s room. On Friday, he begged Sunghoon to cover his shift, citing violent diarrhea. Heeseung knew that Mark would be working, but Johnny would be streaming all day. Heeseung changed into the Papa John’s uniform, threw his jacket over it, ordered a meat lover’s pizza from Papa John’s, and drove a few blocks away from Mark’s apartment complex. No way was he going to risk people seeing his car. 

Heeseung placed the pizza inside of the carrier and headed to the apartment. He was nervous about getting inside, but thankfully an older couple let him inside. With a tremulous hand, Heeseung pressed the button for Mark’s floor. If he screwed this up, then Mark would get to have you. The thought alone spurred Heeseung on to keep going. 

He walked to Mark’s door and rang the doorbell. After a full, heart-wrenching minute, Johnny opened up and gave Heeseung a slow once-over. Johnny was wearing a baggy hoodie that said “I ATTENDED SUH CON AND I GOT THE LONG JOHN” with sweatpants. 

“Uh… meat lover’s pizza for Johnny?” Heeseung said tentatively. 

Johnny groaned. “Dumb ass chat gotta stop buying me pizzas,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Heeseung asked, shifting his weight between his feet. 

Johnny shook his head and waved dismissively. “Sorry man. I uh, I stream on Twitch, so a lot of my fans like to send me shit. I didn’t order this.”

“Oh,” Heeseung said contritely. “Well, I can’t exactly keep it…” 

“Why don’t you eat it?” Johnny asked, leaning his arm on the doorframe. 

“I’m vegan,” Heeseung lied. 

Johnny chuckled. “I can tell. You skinny skinny.”

Heeseung laughed awkwardly. “Right, yeah.” He shifted again, and he could feel sweat pooling under his armpits.

“What, you gotta piss?” Johnny gestured at Heeseung. “You’re dancing like you gotta go.”

“Oh, yeah,” Heeseung said, trying not to appear too eager .”I drank too much, uh, soylent.”

Johnny stared at Heeseung like he was an idiot. “Whatever. You can use the bathroom. Use the one in my buddy’s room, actually. Don’t need chat to hear someone piss.”

As Johnny stepped aside to allow Heeseung to enter, Heeseung fought to keep himself in check. The apartment was as sparsely decorated as a Twitch streamer and male office worker’s living space could be. Which is to say that the only notable decorations were Johnny’s streaming awards that were strewn on the walls and Mark’s bible on the living room table. 

“You can just put the pizza down there,” Johnny said, pointing at the kitchen counter which was already littered with a variety of take-out boxes and greasy bags. “Down the hall and to the right for Mark’s room. Make it quick. Mark gets weird when people go in there.” Johnny retired into his own room, and from the clattering noises he made, Heeseung figured that he was going back to streaming. As Heeseung hurried into Mark’s room he heard Johnny say, “Chat, you’ve been very, very bad…” 

The first thing Heeseung did was take some rubber gloves from his pocket and tug them on. Then he scoured Mark’s room to try and find condoms. They weren’t in the bathroom, they weren’t in his nightstand, and they weren’t under his bed. Heeseung searched desperately for them, before he found them behind his pillow, along with some lube. Just how much fucking does this guy do?

Heeseung inspected the box and was pleased to find that him and Mark were actually the same size: Mark used Trojan larges. Then Heeseung frowned: him and Mark were the same size. Heeseung had always been proud of his size, but now it didn’t feel so special. No matter, Heeseung thought as he removed a condom from the pack, I’m the one who’ll fuck her. He slipped the condom into his pocket and made a note to purchase the same brand of lube. Heeseung went into the bathroom and pulled out the flattened Rohypnol box from a Ziploc bag he had kept in his pocket. He placed it inside of Mark’s trash can and covered it up with some tissues he found in there. As Heeseung searched, he found a tissue coated in Mark’s dried semen. Couldn’t hurt to have it. Heeseung put it in a spare Ziploc and kept it for later. It was nasty, disgusting work, but it would pay off. 

Finally, Heeseung did actually use the bathroom. All this stress made him piss a river. 

When he left the apartment, Johnny didn’t even notice. Heeseung had actually done it. 

– 

Now Heeseung gently carried you into his apartment. It was still early, so thankful there weren’t a lot of people milling around. 

He laid you onto his bed, and your head hit the headboard as he lowered you. “Sorry,” Heeseung said apologetically. “I’m sorry, baby.” Heeseung kissed your forehead. He could wash your forehead, but for the next part, he figured he should put on some gloves. Rummaging around in his nightstand, he found more latex gloves and tugged them on. 

Now that he finally had you, he didn’t actually know what to do. Should he take off your clothes first, or his? He decides to disrobe first, so he could take his time with you. Quickly, Heeseung tossed off his work clothes, throwing them into his dirty laundry pile. His room was about as bare as Mark and Johnny’s living room had been, but once you were his, he would decorate it however you wanted. 

Heeseung forced himself to take his time as he popped your skirt buttons, one after the other. It was the kind of skirt that opened from the front, so when he was done, he could part the skirt off of you, admiring your panties. 

“You wore this just for me?” Heeseung asked softly. God, he wished he could touch you, skin on skin, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He ran his finger along your clothed pussy, and he trembled from the white-hot flames he felt licking at his cock. Patience, he told himself. Patience. Your sweater came off next, and Heeseung folded it up into a neat square and set it to the side. 

Heeseung pulled the condom he had filched from Mark’s room onto his cock,wishing he could just go in raw. At least Mark used ribbed. Then, he got the lube from his nightstand and slicked his cock with it,making sure it wouldn’t be too hard to slide in.

 He couldn’t believe it. There you were, so pliant, so vulnerable, so his. Of course, now that he was hovering over you, he couldn’t deny the twinge of guilt he felt. As he tugged your panties down, he kept whispering apologies. “Sorry,” he said as his cockhead tapped your entrance. “I’m so sorry,” he said while marveling at the way his thick cock bulged your stomach. 

Heeseung moaned so loudly he thought for sure the neighbors would hear. But he didn’t care, even though he should. How could he care? He had never experienced anything like this. Your pussy was gripping him so tightly, its walls enveloping his cock so warmly, he couldn’t care about anything else. With some effort, he pulled out of you and drenched his cock with even more lube.

He plunged back inside of you and gripped your hips, admiring the way your tits jiggled as he fucked into you. As he took your pussy, it dawned on Heeseung that he wasn’t being very romantic about this. “Sorry,” he said, feeling like an idiot. Heeseung pulled out of you and used his gloved hands to put you in a more sensual position. He would just have to wash the places where your bodies touched. He put you on your side and crawled behind you, so that he was spooning you. 

He groped at your tits as he slid inside of you again. This much was much better. Ever since you had told him that you were going on a date, Heeseung had been edging himself for hours so he could last longer, just for you. He did it all for you.

Heeseung started going faster, pounding your cunt harshly. A part of him was sad that you wouldn’t remember this. No, you would wake up scared, wondering why Mark had done this to you. You wouldn’t even know that Heeseung had given you the most passionate fucking of your life. His headboard smacked against the wall as he pushed himself into you from behind. Using his gloved hand, he turned his face towards his. Your face looked so peaceful, and seeing it only made him go faster. The bed creaked as Heeseung relentlessly thrusted in you. He could feel you getting looser and wetter, accommodating his dick. 

Heeseung felt himself bottom out, hitting the firm muscle of your cervix. He couldn’t stop now. Heeseung gripped your tits, loosening his grip when he remembered that he could leave handprints, and thrust up and down. He could have spent all day in your pussy, but he didn’t have much time left. 

His balls smacked into your thighs as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was unlike any other orgasm he had had; he had never felt so in-tune with his body, and the sensation burned. Heeseung grunted and pulled out of you before he came inside the condom.  Heeseung rolled off of the bed and laid on his carpet, panting. 

Soon, he would get up, wash himself off, then wash you off. Then, he would call Mark and say that you weren’t waking up. While Mark drove to his place to get you, he would use the cum he had extracted from Mark’s tissue, wet it with water, and smear it in your pussy. As soon as Mark had gotten you, Heeseung would dispose of the used condom and wash his sheets. After half an hour, he would call Sunghoon and say that you and Mark had forgotten your coats. 

Undoubtedly, Sunghoon would find the bottle of roofies that Heeseung had planted in Mark’s jacket. 

Heeseung sighed, completely content. After this, you wouldn’t trust men again, let alone Mark. Except, of course, for the man who had taken you home, tried to take care of you, and had called the police on Mark, the man who had assaulted you. 

Heeseung couldn’t wait for you to wake up.

[violent138]

Do we think random people in Gotham find Batarangs wedged into walls or lying around and decide to take a shot at throwing them, and it slowly becomes a Gotham city staple you can play at the arcade/bar? (Everyone is surprised at how hard it is to throw them with accuracy and the force needed to have any sort of impact)

The Batkids delight in either pretending they don't know how to (as civilians)/alternatively flirting by demonstrating their expert ability to nail phone numbers to alleyways.

There are also definitely collectors who trade these Batarangs and organize them by era based on material, and you get extra acclaim if you know the provenance of the Batarang (fished out of the harbour or taken out of a GCPD squad car).

[topgun-imagines]

Permanent State of Oblivion

Requested: yes

Summary: Despite all the times you have tried to make your feelings for the mustached pilot obvious, he still hasn't caught on. You make things clear one night at the Hard Deck.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: drinking, arguments, angsty feelings.

Pairings: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader

“I just- I don’t know what to do about him, Nat.” You were seated across from Natasha on her bed, hand in hers as she worked on your nails. One well-kept secret about Phoenix was that she was incredibly talented in nail art; a secret that you regularly capitalized on as her best friend. She often used you for practice, like she was doing right now. Silently, the pilot nodded, used to your ranting about Bradley by now. “He’s just so- so oblivious.”

Unbeknownst to Bradley, you’d had a massive crush on him for months. You had been friends with the mustached pilot for nearly three years. He was an amazing friend, and in that department, you couldn’t ask for more. The only issue that you had was that apparently, Bradley was blinder than a bat. No matter how hard you tried or how obvious you made it, Bradley never picked up on your crush on him.

Normally, you wouldn’t mind that your feelings remained a secret, however; your feelings had reached the point where you knew they weren’t going away anytime soon. The only option left was to try and tell Bradley how you felt.

Painting one of the roses on your nails, Nat weighed in on the situation. “He’s an idiot.” Her choice of words had you stifling a giggle, receiving a playful glare when your hand twitched. You murmured an apology as she continued. “The only way he’s gonna realize how you feel is if you’re straightforward about it.”

A groan bubbled out of your chest. You hated confrontation. Surely if Bradley was smart enough to be in the top one percent of all naval aviators, he was smart enough to realize your feelings for him. Right?

“I know, I know,” You started, “I just wish he could open his eyes for once.”

“Maybe if he shut his mouth for once his eyes would have some room to work,” Phoenix muttered, knowing exactly how stubborn the pilot was. The two of you descended into giggles as Natasha finished off your nails.

Before you knew it, the two of you were in your car, blasting music as you drove to the hard deck. Jake had organized a night out for the group, and the two of you certainly weren’t ones to pass on a fun night out with friends. As Natasha hadn’t hesitated to point out, maybe you would finally get the chance to tell Bradley how you felt.

You pulled into the parking lot and parked beside Jake’s truck. The two of you hopped out and headed into the bar, already plotting what interesting drink orders you could try and get Penny to make this time. The second you stepped into the bar, you were greeted loudly by the group of aviators. With large smiles, you and Phoenix joined the group and were quickly pulled into whatever idiotic story Jake was telling. Unsurprisingly, your eyes quickly found Bradley.

Phoenix pretended that she couldn’t see how your stare lingered on your coworker. While you knew that Phoenix knew, you were oblivious to the fact that Jake and Bob had also figured out your little secret. Natasha forbade them from saying anything or trying to persuade Bradley into doing anything stupid. God only knows that if they told that fool to make a move on you he’d find some way to mess it up.

As Jake rambled on about some hilarious incident from his recent vacation back in Texas, you couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if you told Bradley the truth. Honestly, you were tired of wasting time. You didn’t want to miss out on anything anymore. Even if Bradley didn’t feel the same, you needed to know. At least then you would be able to move on knowing that nothing could ever happen between the two of you.

Natasha’s elbow in your side pulled you out of your depressing thoughts. She fixed you with a knowing look, leaning over to whisper in your ear as the rest of the group dispersed at the end of Jake's story. “Tell him,” she urged you quietly. “We both know that he’ll never figure it out on his own.” And with that, you mustered up all the courage that you could before disappearing into the crowd to find Bradley.

Suddenly, Bob and Jake popped up over Natasha’s shoulder. “Twenty bucks says the dumbass still finds a way to screw it up.” Bob and Natasha hummed in agreement.

By the bar top, you were just about to call out to Penny to ask where Bradley was when you spotted it; a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt and a pornstache that could put all the rest to shame. It took a couple of minutes of maneuvering through the intoxicated crowd, but eventually, you were standing right behind him. At the soft tap on his shoulder, Bradley spun quickly, surprised to find you standing there.

“Hey Bradshaw,” you started, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He nodded for you to continue. “I just wanted to tell you that-” Before you could finish your sentence, you were interrupted by some blonde winding her arms around his shoulders and peppering kisses up the side of his neck. Your words died in your throat as you started at the scene in front of you. Bradley didn’t even try to push her off. You felt sick to your stomach.

Noticing the tears welling in your eyes, the blonde smirked. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” She sounded innocent, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing by trailing her finger across his chest and sucking a mark into the skin of his neck. You could only shake your head, feeling bile rise in your throat. The room suddenly seemed hot; you were desperate to find a way out of there. Before you knew it, you were shoving your way through the crowd and out the door of the bar.

With the blonde still clinging to his side, Bradley looked around the room in confusion. He met Natasha’s stern gaze and instantly knew that he had screwed it up somehow. Bradley huffed and pushed the blonde off of him, rolling his eyes at the scoff she let out. Then he was following after you, leaving the chaos of the bar behind him as he chased you into the parking lot. “Hey!” He called out, hand grasping your wrist. “What the hell is your problem?”

You jerked your wrist out of his hand and spun to face him angrily. Your face was hot with anger and Bradley could have sworn he saw steam coming from your ears. Despite all this, he could see tears welling in your eyes. “My problem?” You seethed, stepping dangerously close to him and jabbing a finger into his chest. “My problem, Bradshaw, is that you’re ignorant enough to let that- that slut hang off your arm without a care in the world!”

It killed you to see him standing there with her, but what was worse than all of that, was the fact that he didn’t care in the slightest. It’s not like she was someone he was seeing; she was just a random face in the bar. Somehow, that made things worse to bear.

Bradley scoffed and dismissively shoved your finger away from his chest. “Why the fuck do you care?” You could only stare at him, searching for the words he wanted to hear. “That chick had nothing to do with you, and you know that so what the fuck is your problem?” He paused, his words cutting deep as you searched for a response.

Behind him, the bar door opened revealing Jake, Bob, and Natasha. They watched silently as you continued to rip into each other.

“You know what, you fucking dick?” You were close to him once more; so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You are the most ignorant, self-absorbed person I have ever met.” With each accusation, you drove your finger into his chest harder, despite his attempts at brushing it off. “You are so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you don’t even notice who you’re hurting!”

You had never spoken to him like this before. Sure, there had been little arguments here and there, but the rage that he saw in your eyes now was something new entirely. A single, angry tear dripped down your face. “You don’t think about anyone besides yourself! You certainly don’t care about them. And believe me, Bradshaw, you have made that more than obvious.”

The pilot in front of you scoffed once more, having no retort for your deep jab at his character. Of course, he cared for the people around him, and for you to suggest otherwise was, in his mind, unfathomable.

However, you didn’t stop there. “You are absolutely unbelievable! You are so oblivious it’s painful, Bradshaw. You must have your head stuck up your ass to miss every single hint I’ve been giving you for months!” You paused for a moment, waiting for Bradley to interject.

He didn’t, refusing to believe anything you said to be true. There was no way that you could have feelings for him. Was there?

He shook his head in annoyance. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out, hating how easily you were able to sidestep it. “Why the fuck do you care who I flirt with?” His voice was loud, even scaring those watching from the front steps of the bar. Bradley figured that you were probably having a bad day and had taken your anger out on him. Even though he hoped that this wasn’t the case and that you actually did care about who was flirting with him. It was wishful thinking; to imagine that you would ever see him as anything more than an annoying friend. He was sure of it.

You could only groan angrily with tears still tracking down your skin. “Jesus, Bradshaw, because I love you, you fucking idiot!” It was as if time stood still. That was what it felt like as you watched Bradley process the reality of the words that you had just shouted at him. No movement came from the pilot in front of you; the only sign of life being the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. There was no way it could be true. There was no way that a kind-hearted, sweet girl like yourself could ever fall for anyone as messed up as him. To Bradley, the mere idea of you having feelings for him was unfathomable.

For months, he had watched you from afar, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. He slowly began to learn what you loved, from your favourite song to sing along to when you were drunk at 2 am to your favourite flavour of ice cream. Bradley learned what made you laugh until your stomach hurt and what made you cry until your cheeks were stained. He knew every little thing about you but he never acted on it, in fear that you would never feel the same. To know that all this time, you had feelings for him as well, was surreal.

The deafening silence grew between the two of you, moving until it encompassed the bystanders waiting in front of the bar with bated breath. Continuing to stare at the pilot, your mind was running a million miles a minute. What had you just done? Sure, the two of you were arguing, but that was no reason to bear your true feelings to the man. What if he didn’t feel the same? You were convinced that this had to be the case when he refused to move a muscle.

“Bradley,” you whispered, nerves showing through the shake in your voice. “Please, say something.” Your mind plagued you with thoughts of the worst-case scenario. You were fully expecting him to turn around and storm off, refusing to ever speak to you again. With tears filling your eyes once more, you pleaded one last time. “Bradl-”

Your eyes widened as Bradley cut you off in a way you would have never expected. In one fluid, sudden motion, Bradley had lunged toward you, his lips moulding softly with yours. His hands cradled your waist, holding you as if you were a delicate flower. You could have sworn you heard yourself squeak but honestly, you were too overwhelmed to tell.

As Bradley continued to kiss you gently, your eyes fluttered shut. You became lost in the feeling of his hand caressing your side. His pinky finger slipped under the hem of your top, drawing a light gasp from your lips. The kiss deepened as Bradley pulled you towards him by your waist and as your hand worked into his soft curls at the base of his neck.

A soft giggle slipped past your lips as that familiar pornstache that you were used to making fun of was now tickling your upper lip. The pilot smiled into the kiss at the feeling, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours lovingly mere seconds later. “Does that answer your question?” He whispered, causing more giggles to flow from your mouth. You could only nod, still starstruck by the actions of the man holding you.

For the second time this evening, you were close enough to the pilot that you were able to smell his breath. While the faint scent of alcohol was still present, you were now able to pick up the familiar scent of your strawberry lip gloss. One glance at his parted lips was enough for you to see the slight pink hue that your lip gloss caused him.

There was a lovestruck smile on his face; a stark contrast to the anger shining in his eyes merely twenty minutes ago. Admiration shone in his eyes as he looked down at you. While he knew that he never stated it clearly, he was in awe of the wonderful woman that you were. As he thought about how perfect you were, guilt for the way he spoke to you before began to eat at him.

He cleared his throat, needing to make amends for his actions. “Seriously, though,” He started, eyes softening as he recalled the events from earlier. “I’m so sorry for how I acted earlier. What I said was completely uncalled for and out of line.” The corners of your mouth twitched up in a forgiving smile as you reached up to stroke the corner of his mustache with your thumb. Bradley wrapped you up in his arms, rocking the two of you softly. “I love you so, so much, baby girl.”

Your hand trailed from his soft cheek to the back of his neck as he shifted the two of you, fingers once again threading through the short curls. Warm, ocean air breezed past the two of you as Bradley held you close. Behind you, the sun was setting beautifully over the ocean. It painted the parking lot with a soft, pink glow. No matter how many sunsets you had seen before, for some reason, this one was the most beautiful. It was almost as if the beauty of the sunset reflected your feelings for each other. Despite the rocky road that it took you to get here, no moment had ever seemed as perfect as this one.

Unsurprisingly, your moment of bliss was quickly interrupted by the other aviators waiting at the steps of the bar. Your friends gradually made their way closer, unable to contain their questions and comments any longer. You felt Bradley sigh into the skin of your neck before he kissed it softly, causing butterflies to swarm in your chest. With your head still tucked into his chest, you felt a blush begin to creep up your neck at the realization that your friends had likely watched the whole event unfold. Despite the flush in your cheeks, you still made eye contact with each of them, dreading the inevitable bombardment of questions that were bound to come.

Even as you stood in front of your friends, ready to explain the rollercoaster of a scene they just witnessed, Bradley’s arms remained wound around your waist. His thumb moved over the bare skin of your side softly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “No need to explain.” Nat offered with a reassuring smile. She could sense that you were hesitant to have to explain it all so quickly. Plus, she knew that she would get the details soon enough.

Together, Bob, Jake, and Nat offered you their congratulations before turning to head back to the bar. With his arm still around your waist, you and Bradley follow your friends in sync with each other. Your still-rosy cheek rested against his broad shoulder.

Jake wasted no time in collecting his winnings from the previous bet, pumping his fist in the air as Bob and Nat each handed Jake a 20. In the back of your mind, you briefly wonder why they handed him the cash in the first place. Once the five of you re-entered the air-conditioned comfort of the bar, Jake turned to you and Bradley, announcing that drinks were on him with that familiar, shit-eating grin on his face. That alone should have been enough to tell you that there was more to the story than you suspected.

Despite the weariness in both yours and Bradley’s minds, if Jake was offering to buy your drinks, who were you to turn it down? Just as you were about to take a sip of your beer, Bob piped up. “He bet you’d screw it up,” He quipped, grinning at the mixture of betrayal and shock written on Jake’s face that instantly took over his previous cocky expression. Within seconds Bradley had smacked his arm. While he was slightly annoyed that Jake had bet against him, he was more upset about the fact that he allowed Jake to win.

Bob and Phoenix continued to laugh at Jake’s dejected expression as you and Bradley watched fondly. The aviator pulled you into his side with gentle movements and your head fell onto his shoulder the second you were snuggled up against him.

In a state of bliss, you allowed your eyes to slip shut. You could only savour the feeling of being held in the arms of the man you loved. Tucked into Bradley’s side, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you would rather be. Turning his head, Bradley pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, which caused a glowing smile to blossom on your face. A giggle escaped you at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, leading to a smile mirroring your own taking over his sculpted features.

Sure, it had been a rocky road to get here, but you would do it all over again if it meant feeling like this for a moment longer. You loved Bradley, and it brought you more relief than one could ever imagine to know that he felt the same for you.

Simply put, you were ecstatic. Ecstatic that you no longer had to keep your feelings a secret. Ecstatic that you could see a future blossoming between you and Bradley. Despite not knowing what that future held, you were positive that you and Bradley would be together for a long, long time to come.

However, one thing was for certain; Bradley Bradshaw was the most oblivious man you knew.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open. I’m excited to be back <3

[running-with-kn1ves]

Sleepy Afternoons

A/N: Teehee ngl I just wrote this as a period comfort fic indulgent for myself. I hope you nerds enjoy it as much as I liked writing it!

CW: AFAB reader on period, jokes of breeding, using a dragon as a heating pad, pretty much just fluff

WC:2000

Synopsis: A lazy Sunday, the perfect start to a week on your period where you'll be constantly pestered by your dragon boyfriend.

A dragon’s hoard in times long before consisted of fine jewels and immense mounds of gold, shiny objects as far as the eye could see. Whether it was stuffed in the depths of a cave or deep in the forest, a hoard barred spikes and “DO NOT ENTER” warnings; whether they were legible or not was never up to the righteous dragon’s responsibility.

Adventurers and bandits never heeded these signs of caution, getting stuck in the narrow holes meant for dragons to shimmy through or meeting their demise through puzzles and endless booby traps-- such monsters were thorough in keeping their treasure safe. Any item that caught the creatures attention could be found in their rich reservoirs, even if they were mere wave-smoothened stones from a lake, an old lover, or a prettily decked-out concubine that was too tempting not to take. 

That however, was centuries ago. Dragons, like the rest of us, must conform to modern society, technology too powerful and people too abundant to go around flying and terrorizing just to get one’s hands on a pretty penny.

Your boyfriend, once a ravenous creature with a cave of glittering gems and fine craftsmanship-- that he may or may not have maimed many blacksmiths to steal-- now resided with you in too big of a bedroom. You had argued before buying the apartment; who would need this much space? But his hoarder tendencies clearly made up for the abundance in space. Gaming consoles, silvery granola bar wrappers, aluminum dollar store trinkets, books with glittery covers-- the floor was almost unseeable with his trash and treasure mixed together. He wasn’t necessarily dirty-- in fact every item had its own spot and preferred place, which is why it killed a piece of him any time you threw away something that should not be “decorating” your shared home. 

Though as you practically took care of both of you, it was hard to keep up being the caregiver in the relationship. Especially, on your period. Sunday, what a perfect day, to realize you had a whole work week ahead of mood swings and lower abdominal pain, all mixed with the gory massacre you’d face every time you went to the bathroom. Your cramps didn’t usually come in this early of a start, but it seemed like nothing was going quite right today.

“T’s wrong, darlin’?” Your draconic, crusty-eyed boyfriend mumbled into your back. “Somethin’ hurting…?”

He had been asleep since noon, ignoring the stream of yellow shining down on him from between the cracks of the blinds. But with those poor eyes and slightly above average listening skills, he completely ignored the sun and heard your groans of pain as you curled into a ball. The aching in your lower tummy was like hellfire, crisp burning and somersaults of your organs unlike any other pain than usual. Nothing was helping, no cold rags or medicine, it was like your infinite headache and body pains were destined to consume you. 

“C’mon baby answer me, I wanna help..” He pouted again.

“Just my stomach..” You downplayed, not sure if you could handle his frantic coddling if he realized you’re period started. The last time you made the mistake of doing so, you had pads stacked to the brim in your bathroom cabinets and tampons in your closets, the mass shoplifting endeavor of his creating even less space in your home. Well, atleast you were set for the next fifty-seven or so cycles.

 “I just need to rest n’ I’ll be fine, soon…” 

Another wave of pain came through, head ringing as soft nails raked up and down your sweating back. 

‘When will this be over,’ you wondered. 

Maybe that horrible breeding endeavor your boyfriend was always obsessed with was worth it if it meant you wouldn’t have to suffer through this for nine months. Yeah, just nine months of morning sickness and bloating and growing a whole dragon-human parasite inside of you. But hey… the making part wouldn’t be too bad, and atleast you would be crotch-pain free. 

Man, now the pain was really talking through you.

“Yer period, right?” Your dragon wonders, scratching the back of his head. He’s more awake now, and you wish he was still passed out grabbing onto you, even through the sticky sweat from his body heat. “I’m sorry baby…I know it hurts. What’you want me to do?”

“How’d you even know..” You groan, almost annoyed at how keen he is. Next thing you’d know he’d be shoving some pretty pawn shop jewelry for you to hold to distract you from the pain.

“I don’t think.. You want to know. And well there’s the obvious, I noticed you changed the bed covers.”

Oh lord, was he talking about that split tongue-nose smell-ability ‘dragon thing’ again? Could your embarassment get any worse?

“Does that mean you’ve… EVERY TIME? Every time you knew?”

He sheepishly fell into the new sheets of warmth, those dark eyebrows lifted in innocence.

“Sometimes before you knew, I think.”

Officially, you wish your boyfriend was asleep again. Maybe you’d just strangle him to end this mind-numbing conversation. 

“What can I do?” He repeated. “Get you more pads?” 

“No.” You shut him down as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“What then? A snack, more pillows? Now’s the time to be babied, you know. Unless you’d be okay with me coming to work with you--” 

You groaned, partly to shut him up and to vocalize the squeezing, contracting inside of you. 

His clawed fingers came to cradle your belly, right below your belly button on your pelvic muscle. He rubbed, just gently, back and forth with a slight pressure as your head buried into the sheets beneath you. 

“Just this.. is fine..” You murmur, feeling hot, humid breath exhale against your neck, emerald green slits baring into your twisted expression. He was watching you, the way your body reacted, the little signals of discomfort. 

You heard a slight flutter of his wings as they adjusted, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece; it was nice to be the small spoon again, rather than cradling your needy dragon lover like a cocoon as he so often desired. 

The dragon slowly pushed a leg between your bunched knees that stuck together, getting easier access to your tummy. His palm was so warm, as the torso flushed behind you kept a reassuring prresence. You almost turned on your back to get his palm farther against your stomach, the slight pressure and warm temperature soothing the ache in your lower back and groin. 

“You know… I could always breed ya, then you wouldn’t have to--” 

“Don’t try to convince me right now.” you spat, turning into him as his hand worked magic, the other brushing hair off of your neck and cheek. “That’s not an option, especially right now.”

“Well, at the very least I can make you feel good. Might ease up some of the pain, yeah?” He laid back down to lean in closer. 

You sighed; he clearly didn’t understand the discomfort and embarrassment that his oh-so keen intimacy would bring you right now. You loved the sentiment, and maybe you’d be up for it if you weren’t solely thinking about your physical misery, but you barely had the fortitude to look back toward him. 

Your dragon buried his flared nose into the top of your head, lined against you like a perfectly shaped heat blanket. 

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything.. I’ll do whatever makes ya feel better.” His other hand snakes beneath your hip against the bed mattress, pulling you back toward his body even closer, if possible. The warm, spiked fingers tapping alongside your pelvic bone made your skin spark, your lower stomach buzzing with numbed pain and a fullness that made you want to sleep for another week. “I don’t like seeing you like this.” He frowns. “Your face.. You look so, uncomfortable.”

“Wow, thanks.” You jab, feeling a heated tail slither up your knee, to your thigh. It almost flicked in apology. “Mm.. Just stay my heating pillow and I’ll be fine.” 

“I can do that.” The confidence in his voice worries you, knowing he’ll do an unnecessary load of more than you asked for. Your fetal position was gently yanked free, a pounced creature on your back as you’re forced onto your stomach. “I’ll be the best spiky heating pad you’ve ever seen.”

The strong, scaled forearms of your draconic spouse come to wrap around your hips, a burning touch ringing from his skin, worming his way beneath your comfortable pajama pants and shirt, skin on skin as his body temperature rises to accommodate your desires. His forearms seem to ripple against you, fingers tickling your sides as his legs trap against your thighs from above, most if not every length of his body pulsating against yours like a live, scaly cocoon intent on making you his personal plush, and he your sweet, warm monster. 

“Feel better baby…” He kissed at the nape of your neck, sandpapery forked tongue popping out to lick away your sweat. “It’ll be over soon.. I’ma make it all better.”

You leaned deeper into the stuffy mattress sheets, the pressure on your abdomen welcomly encouraged as you push as far as possible into his fiery hands.

“I’m betting on it.” You muffle into the pillows, squirming your hips against his his body, warm chest and carved quadriceps surrounding you. The slight pressure of his inner thighs against your hips was welcoming, his mounted position atop of you seemingly odd to an outsider-- but you didn’t care how weird it might’ve looked, as the calm of your gutted abdomen took over. 

You yawned into the side of the pillow as you turned your head, lifting your hips just a little to soak in the heat radiating from behind you. 

“Awe’d, so sleepy huh? Need a little nap?” the dragon behind you poked. 

Who knew a murderous, millenium-old dragon would be sweet-talking you so gently-- just a few centuries ago he was murdering travelers for stumbling just a few steps too close to his prized hoard. 

“But I just woke up.” You protest, upset at the sleepiness of the afternoon that was rubbing off from your draconic lover on you. “Got too much to do, can’t lay in bed all day..like you.” 

You groan into the pillow as a wave of cramps hit you, only slightly set ajar by the gentle massaging of the skin above your pelvic bone. 

“Hrmm.” Your boyfriend thinks, shoving his warmly snout against your neck. “I guess it’s unfortunate that I’m not going to be letting you go then. Not allowed to get up until you feel better.” 

You laugh, taking one of your dragon’s toasty hands to your chest to hold onto. 

“I’ll be here all week, then.”

It was here you felt the safest, the warmest, the most vulnerable and easily devourable-- well, thankfully dragon’s didn’t particularly have a taste for the flesh of humans. Shutting your eyes, you let the guttural ‘hrmm’s’ of your dragon lull you to thoughtlessness. 

“If that’s what it takes..” He presses a deep kiss close to your forehead, relishing in the sweet scent of your hair. The huffs from his nose tickle the back of your ears, such petrichor warmth and humidity so reminiscent of past lazy mornings. “You’re not going anywhere, my diamond.”

[i-tripped-on-a-rock]

Some more TD:WT fanart for the fic im writing :3 one of the drawings has significantly less effort put into it but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Read more for fic excerpt

“Izzy, Owen, and shockingly, Noah, were all piled up in a corner of the loser’s class sound asleep. Alejandro raises his eyebrow in surprise. He’d heard the rumors about Noah’s clingy tendencies from Sierra, but it’s still surprising to see the teen who was always so sarcastic and cold towards a majority of the competitors show such outward affection.

Alejandro watches the pile of sleeping teens with a plethora of mixed emotions. He can’t pinpoint any of the many muddled emotions besides irritation. (He shuts down the faint voice in the back of his mind screaming “jealousy”. He couldn’t care less what Noah does; they’re barely even friends.) Every time he thinks he understands Noah, something throws a wrench in it.

The rest of his team and the other opponents were easy enough to understand, even if some were harder to manipulate than others. Usually, he could bat his eyelashes and flash a smile, (or bribe them with a chocolate bar in Owen’s case) but with Noah, it only served to irritate him even more. No matter what he did to gain his trust, no matter how many false smiles and compliments he gave, Noah still stayed frosty towards him. He just couldn’t understand him.

Noah is lazy and does practically nothing to help if he can get away with it, yet he will fight tooth and nail to keep his friends in the game. Noah dresses like a nerdy character on a Disney channel show in well worn sweater vests and button ups, but he also never takes off his pair of designer sunglasses. Alejandro had asked him about it once, but he didn’t seem to even be aware of how expensive they were. He seems to have some sort of knowledge about the challenges but doesn’t ever try to win. He’s an enigma wrapped in a mystery and tied up with a bow of contradictions. It’s driving him crazy.

Staring at Noah, the rest of the world seemed to fade away as he loomed over them. Why was it that Noah was so much more resistent than everyone else? Why couldn’t Noah do what he tells him to like the rest of them? Why was it that the only times Noah seems to actually appreciate Alejandro’s presence when Alejandro drops the mask and stops pretending-!?

…

…Alejandro clenches his fists at his sides. He inhales deeply and cuts off that train of thought immediately. He can’t think about that, not if he wants to win this game. So what if Noah thinks the comments Alejandro makes when he thinks no one is listening are funny? So what if those are some of the only times that he’s ever seen Noah smile? It doesn’t matter. He’s still useful for now, so he’ll keep Noah around until he stops proving to be useful.

He won’t lose.”

[dannyketch]

I'm doing a raffle. $5 is one ticket, but if you donate at least a number ending in 2 or 7 or higher, I will round up. This set is going to be a great value no matter if donate 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, or 30. If you have already donated, I'll still count that because I'm greatful and nice. This raffle will go on for 2 or 3 weeks, depending, and is only for the contentious United States because of shipping. All items are new.

Items included:

3 paper face masks

Cetaphil gentle skin cleanser

Aveeno eczema therapy daily moisturizing cream

A Colgate 360 toothbrush

Kuromi print KF94 masks from Skater and imported from Japan

John Fried Wonder Drops hair mask

Paris Amor scent room spray

Bath mat flower stickers

Gel cooling eye mask

L'Occitare verbana soap from France

Aveena oatmeal soap bar

Bioré makeup remover

Mini oxi-clean packet

Bath salts

Nieva creme tub

A rubber ducky

Covered toothbrush holder

Vanilla Bean Noel body mist

Winter Candy Apple body mist

Mini lasting fix setting spray

Dermalogica gel massage cream

Dermalogica skin smoothing cream

Dermalogica special cleansing gel

Dermalogica precleanse

Eczema honey oatmeal hand cream

And a giant floral Kate Spade makeup bag

Update: added 3 items

Dermageek gentle facial cleanser

Equate nail polish remover and

Ulta large fingerprint silicone sponge (I tried one, and they work well.)

$5 can't even get a combo at a Dairy Queen, but it can get all of this useful and nice stuff from me. So please donate, join the raffle, and tell your friends.

[lulunothulu]

“A Bullseye to the Heart” Ch. 8

Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Latina Reader

Summary: Flashbacks creep into your dreams, causing you to wake up in a panic…it’s a good thing Jake is there to calm you. Jake finds out what happened to you, what happened with your ex, and why you’ve been getting paid off.

Content: Flashbacks(kinda gory), torture, anxiety attack, talks of suicide, some swearing, DV, will end on a happy note.

Word count: 4,019

A/N: While I think you can assume this is a middle eastern place that she was taken/sent to, I didn’t label the people for obvious reasons. Please be mindful of this and really put yourself in her shoes. Next chapter will be a lot less traumatic. I promise 💗 (Please do go back and read the other chapters, this won’t make a lot of sense if you don’t. All linked in my Masterlist!)

Chapter 8

“What were you sent here to do?” The man asks. His dark hair and even darker eyes bare into yours, daring you to speak. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt, his mouth and nose covered in a mask.

You’d figured out that he was the leader of the terrorist organization whose weapons you were supposed to bomb. You’d been in their custody for a few days, tied to a pole on the ceiling like a slab of meat in a butcher shop.

They did this to weaken you for torture, you knew that. You’d been trained for this.

“Answer me!” The man yells. When you don’t say anything but stare at him, he nods to a man on your left.

This one compared to the leader, was huge—broad shouldered and muscular even under the loose shirt he wore.

The other man smiles, a whip coming into your view. Before you had time to brace yourself, the whip cracks and slams into your skin.

You seethe in pain, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of screaming in pain.

Except, when the whip is pulled away from your back, a chunk of flesh follows. You let out a blood curdling scream at that.

“All you have to do is tell us who you were working for,” the Leader tells you. “Your Admiral must’ve told you something.”

“I don’t know anything,” you gritted.

He sighs. “Fine.”

And again, you’re whipped.

Over and over again.

So much so, you could feel the blood trail down your spine and legs.

You knew you’d bleed out before they could get anything out of you. You almost begged for it to happen.

After a week of being whipped and beaten by a wooden so badly it broke, you knew you weren’t making it out alive.

Day after day, the same questions.

“Who do you work for?”

“Why are you here?”

“Where’s your back up?”

And each time, you’d give them nothing. An occasional spit in the Leader’s face but that would result in him slapping you, followed by the larger man’s fists.

By the end of that week, they’d send you to a medic who would treat you, let you heal for a week, and then it would start again.

Two months into it, you began losing hope that you’d ever be found.

Two months in, you were still being tied up to the bar in the ceiling. Occasionally you’d be sat down, given food, only for them to turn you upside down and dunked in water. They’d ripped out your nails, cut your skin, burned your healing back.

And still, nothing from you except for an occasional “fuck you”.

By the end of the third month, you’d come to expect the lashings. You’d come to expect the beatings.

But that last day, you were taken to a clean room. A surgical room. Fear riddled your body, beginning to expect the worst. When a doctor walked in with the Leader and his torturer, you were tied to the bed, your pants pulled down your legs.

“You are leaving,” the Leader tells you. “But not before we leave you with a parting gift.”

His eyes crinkle in what you assumed was him smiling. Behind him, the doctor walks up to you and marks your hip with a blue marker.

“Here is safe,” he tells the torturer.

You hear a machine whir behind him and when he moves, you see the torturer holding a hot stamp. A skull and bones symbol red as a chili pepper is being heated by some sort of portable hot stove.

“No,” you say, quietly at first but louder the closer they get to you. “NO!”

They only laugh. The torturer comes close, before whispering, “This will hurt. Do not move.”

You feel the doctor and the Leader hold your legs in place as the hot stamp finally makes contact with your skin.

You scream, blood curdling and raw. You scream until you can no longer breathe, the scent of burning flesh fills the small room. You feel yourself falling in and out of consciousness, but the doctor wakes you up completely with some smelling salts.

They pull your pants back up before untying you and dragging you out of the room and into a garage before putting a hood on your head. They throw you into the back of a truck before laughing and driving you somewhere.

“You’re lucky we didn’t do more than that with your pants down, girl.” The Leader tells you. “Thank your God we didn’t.”

You only sob. You were sure they were going to kill you. But when they stop and pull you out of the truck, you have to blink when they pull the hood off.

You were in an open field. The sun gloriously kissing your skin and grass whistling in the soft breeze.

They push you to your knees before you hear the cocking of a gun.

“Thank your Admiral for us,” is the last thing they say before shooting up in the air.

It was flare. They shot…a flare.

Instantly, you hear the whirring of a helicopter coming from behind a mountain in front of you. Behind you, the truck doors slam before the two men leave you on your knees, bloodied all over your body, and tears running down your face.

You were going to be okay. You were going to be saved.

So then why did the man’s words echo in your mind?

* * *

“Thank your Admiral for us.”

You woke up with a jolt, someone’s hand was holding yours and you had to fight to free yourself from their grip.

You were sweating, panting for fresh air.

It was just a dream. You’re home, safe.

You tried reasoning with yourself but it was no use. You were panicking, and hard.

Beside you on the floor, Jake sits up, rubbing his eyes before turning to you.

“Hey, did you sleep–”

Jake stops talking when he sees the way you hold your chest, face frozen in panic and breathing rapidly. “What happened?”

“They’re here,” you breathe, staring off into space. “They want me back. They’re gonna kill me this time.”

“Hey, hey,” Jake soothes, squatting beside you. “Breathe.”

“I. Can’t. Breathe.” you sputter. “It’s–oh my god–Jake I can’t–”

“You can,” he tells you. “C’mon, Sweetheart. You’ve got this, just like me.”

He brings one of your hands to his chest, the warm surface clothed in cotton, heart beating under your fingertips. “Feel my heart?”

He grabs your other hand and brings it to your chest, your heart pounding against your hand. “Match my heartbeat, Y/N. You can do it.”

You feel yourself slow down, the world around slowing. Jake’s green eye is the only thing you’re focusing on.

“Count with me,” he goes on. “One.”

“O-one.”

“Two.”

“T-two.”

“Three.”

“Three.”

“Four,” Jake smiles.

“Four,” you smile back.

“Do you feel better?” he asks.

You nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” he asks, rubbing the hand on his chest with his thumb.

“Yes,” you tell him, feeling yourself fully relaxed. “It was like a movie.”

“How so?”

“I saw what they did to me in a compilation,” you shudder. “I saw every lashing, every cut, everything.”

“Tell me about it.” Jake’s eyes are soft on you, encouraging you to go on.

“I saw them beat me that first week,” you tell him after a few deep breaths. “They had whipped me and beat me with a wooden bat.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with anger before he nodded for you to go on.

“They-they did that for a month. The next month was the same but this time they let me sit instead of being chained to a bar on the ceiling.” You drop the hand on your chest in your lap, squeezing Jake’s hand in yours.

“They pulled my nails out next and cut my back wounds open again,” you went on. Tears form in your eyes again before you tell him, “The last day of the third month, they branded me. Called it a ‘parting gift’.”

He remembered. The skull and crossbones on your hip.

“They told me to be glad I didn’t get…you know, while my pants were down. That I should thank my God.” You were fully sobbing now. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“They told me to thank my Admiral,” you cried.

Jake let go of your hand before wiping the tears that fell with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“That was the only thing I could focus on when the Navy saved me,” you tell him, tears drying. “‘Why would he say that?’, I asked myself. And then it hit me.”

You look up at Jake again before saying, “I think Simpson knew I was going down. Even after I radioed in that I was.”

Jake’s blood runs cold, he wanted to tell you what he knew but wanted you to tell him what you knew first.

“I think that’s why they paid me off,” you continue, tears long gone now. “They must think I know something.”

“Well do you?” he asks, not able to contain the curiosity anymore.

You nod. “I think the weapons they wanted me to bomb were U.S. made and that’s why they sent me to bomb them.”

“Why do it themselves when they can send one pilot to bomb them?” he adds.

“Exactly,” you agree. “That’s why they wouldn’t let Rooster or Phoenix and Bob come with me. They knew I was going down or dying trying to fight my way out.”

“But why keep you for three months?” he asks.

“Who knows why the Navy does what they do,” you sigh. Changing the subject you tell him, “When I got back, I was so broken–physically and emotionally. Maybe that’s what made me an even bigger target to Nick.”

Jake’s spine straightens at his name. “Why’s that?”

“I was a walking target, I had the look of someone who had been through something horrible.” You shake your head and chuckle. “I was so open to wanting someone to show me love and affection, I fell right into his trap.”

You look at him, watching as Jake’s eyes harden before he asks, “What did he do?”

“He was nice,” you start. “At first he was. Asking if I wanted to talk about what happened, then asking if I needed company. He moved in not even two months into knowing him.”

You scoff, remembering how naive you were.

“Rooster hated him the moment I introduced him to him and Nat,” you continued. “He was a lot like you actually.”

“How so?” Jake asks.

“Nice, a ladies man, handsome…” You look away at that last word.

“That’s why you didn’t trust me at first,” he fills in the blanks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you trust me now?” he asks.

You turn to him, a small glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“Why?” Jake asks. “If I’m the same as him, why do you trust me?”

“You never made a move to kiss me the first few times you were with me,” you whisper.

* * *

Jake only stared.

That motherfucker tried to kiss you the first few times he saw you? He was ready to pummel that fucker into the ground if it meant you would never see him again.

You must’ve seen the anger in his eyes because he shakes it away and swallows it down. “I’m you trust me.”

“I am too,” you tell him. “I’ve never told anyone that, about what I suspected with the Navy and with Nick.”

“I’m glad you finally got it out,” he tells you. “I really am. It’s good that you talk about what happened to you.”

“What about you?” You ask. “Has something like that happened to you?”

Jake shakes his head, remembering his old weapon system officer. “Not me, but my old back seater.”

“What happened?”

He’d told this story twice in his life. Once at court after everything happened and the second time to Lt. Addams’ parents.

“We were sent to bomb some important buildings in Afghanistan,” he starts. “They held all sorts of jets and weapons that could’ve comprised the U.S. military that were stationed there. So they sent Lieutenant Addams and I—that was my partner’s name.”

He smiles to himself.

“He was my best friend,” he continues. “I grew up with him and we joined the Navy together and then eventually flight school and so on.”

He looks up at you, watching as you listen so intently, you’re practically holding your breath.

“Well, we got into a disagreement,” Jake tells you. “He wanted to take things slow and I wanted to speed up, elimisome time from our arrival time.”

He takes a deep but shaky breath before looking away, down at the hands he held in your lap. He takes his time, caressing each of your knuckles, examining the small scars on your right hand. He flips your hands over to see your smooth palms, coated in light sweat.

“I went faster and didn’t anticipate the upcoming turn,” he goes on. “It was too late. I was too late. I should’ve died but I yelled for him to eject and I thought he was coming with me. But he—”

Jake’s breath hitched in his throat as an angry sob trickled up instead. He blows out a few breaths before looking up at you with tearful eyes.

“He didn’t eject in time.”

“Oh Jake,” you start.

“I should’ve listened to him,” he tells you. Then quietly he adds, “It should’ve been me.”

“Jake,” you start.

He feels your hands let go of his and move to his cheeks, you tilt his head up to face you before saying, “You are exactly where you need to be. If you weren’t here, I’d probably still be dealing with Nick. Or worse.”

Jake’s eyes glisten with tears, hearing you say that means so much to him. Being able to definitely say that he was a hero for you, meant that his mistake with Addams was paid back in full.

Because it may not have been Addams, but it was someone else who needed his help the most.

“You’re exactly the person I needed when I least expected,” you go on. “I know it hasn’t been long but I do think of you as a good friend. Thank you, for everything.”

He smiles up at you. This beautiful woman before him was a fighter, and he damn well deserved to be here—even just for her.

A knock on the door startles you both out of the mini staring contest you were in, making Jake turn in the direction of the front door.

He checks his watch which reads 2:45 AM.

“Who could be here so early in the morning?” He asks.

Before you even get to answer, you both hear pounding on the door. Jake feels you freeze, terror paralyzing you into speechlessness.

“Y/N!” He hears Nick yell. “Get your sorry ass out here! We’re going home.”

“How did he find my house?” Jake asks himself.

“He must’ve followed us home after we left Hard Deck.” You answer.

Jake looks at you, taking your hands in his again. “Go into my room, there’s a box under my bed. The code is 07-12-89. There’s a gun in there, just in case you need to use it.”

“What about you?”

Jake looks at you like it’s the last time he’ll see you. He tries to memorize your eyes, the way your lips pull back when you smile. He brushes a strand of your hair back before smiling at you.

“I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

When Nick pounds on the door again, Jake points for you to be quiet and go to his room. You obey, running as quietly and quickly as you can.

Once Jake is sure you’re safe, he calmly walks to the front door, opening it just as Nick was about to pound on it again.

“Can I help you?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” Nick says, the smell of alcohol on his breath. “I’m looking for my girlfriend. She’s in there.”

“Girlfriend?” Jake pretends to think. “Wait, I thought you were single.”

Nick angrily grunts before adding, “No, she’s confused. She’s sick in the head.”

“Well if that’s the case, she’s definitely not here,” Jake smiles. “I only allow sane people in my house.”

“Then let me in to look for her,” Nick drawls.

“No can do, buddy,” Jake says, blocking Nick when he makes a move to enter the house. “See, I don’t know you and you w already tried to kick my ass earlier today—well, yesterday. So that’s a hard no from me.”

Nick frowns in anger, face contorting into something ungodly. “Let me in. I saw her go into the house.”

Jake’s heart was pounding.

Not because he was scared, but because he was furious. Why can’t this guy just get the hint?

“Dude, even if she was here,” Jake starts. “She doesn’t wanna see you. So, take the hint.”

“Who the hell even are you?” Nick asks, pushing Jake back a bit.

“I’m just a guy who doesn’t like the way you’ve been treating Y/N,” Jake states. “And quite frankly, I don’t want you in my property so get the fuck off my porch and go home.”

“I don’t think so,” Nick seethes. “I want her and only her. So get her out here or I’m burning your house to the ground.”

“Those are some strong words for someone who’s worked really hard to become a pilot,” Jake smiles. “Do you really wanna throw that all away for some girl?”

Nick seems to ponder his words, brows furrowing in thought.

“Because that’s what? Two years of your life down the drain? And for what? A girl who doesn’t even want you?” Jake continues. “Is she really worth it all?”

Nick’s eyes focus on something behind him and Jake doesn’t even need to turn around to know who he’s looking at.

“Y/N,” Nick says. “Let’s go.”

Jake turns around to see you standing there, head held high, body squared, and feet planted. You look like the woman you once were, the one he’d seen pictures of in the Top Gun classroom and halls.

Strong and bold. Confidence radiating from your glossy bronzed skin.

You weren’t scared, and you made sure Jake and Nick knew it.

“I’m not leaving with you,” you say firmly.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘No’?” Nick bellows. “You’re coming home with me and we’re gonna talk about…us.”

“No,” you say, pushing past Jake and squaring up to Nick. “You’re going home and I’m staying here. You’re not good for me.”

“What? And he is?”

“Yes,” you say simply, catching Nick off guard. “He’s good for me. He and my friends, the ones you tried to keep me away from.”

Nick scoffs at that, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want? My apartment? You can have it,” you say, tossing your keys at him. “But what you can’t have is me. I’m done, I’ve been done for a long time, Nick. From the first time you put hands on me, to the last time you did. You will not hurt me again. So get off his porch and go home.”

Nick stares at you incredulously—Jake does too. He knew you’d finally had a breakthrough and was prepared to do anything to get Nick out of your life. Even if that meant standing up for yourself and doing the scariest thing you could ever do.

Confront him.

With a swipe at his face, Nick shakes his head before slapping you across the face. Your head turns but your body doesn’t move.

“You made a mistake,” Nick says darkly.

“No,” you say. “You made a mistake.”

You point behind Nick, where two officers, Bradley, and Natasha stand.

“Goodbye, Nick.”

* * *

2 months later

It’s been a fairly good two months. You’d been living with Jake since that night. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back to your lonely apartment. And besides, you liked living with Jake.

Every morning since that night, Jake has made a point to leave you notes on the fridge, telling you when to expect him home. Granted, you’d be at work. But it’s the thought that counts.

Nick was kicked out of the Navy and served a few months in jail for the assaults he committed in the week before his arrest. You were also granted a permanent protection order against him.

Life was starting to look up.

You’d been hearing nicely, emotionally at least. You even told your therapist everything you told Jake.

The only thing you worried about now was whether or not Jake was going out on a date on weekends.

You hated to admit it, but I fell for him. And hard.

You didn’t want to, but the way he treated you was so different to what you’d ever experienced, you couldn’t help yourself.

But it seemed like Jake went back to his man-whore ways. You’d be at work and glance over to where he and the rest of the group were to see him all over a new girl each week.

You tried not to let it get to you, but it still did.

You figured you’d use this time to heal yourself—better yourself. You’d get to be as great as you could be so that when—and if—Jake wanted you, you’d be ready.

So now, you’d focus on you. Until the time was right.

Because even though it wasn’t meant to be right now, you knew it was meant to be. Otherwise, why would he leave you flowers and notes everyday? No man who wasn’t fawning over a woman would ever do that.

And yeah, there was a little voice in the back of your head that says maybe he’s just trying to be nice…but why do all that?

Either way, you were doing what was best for you. Because you owed it to yourself to do it.

No matter the outcome.

For now, you would go to work, go to your weekly therapy sessions, and smile at the life you get to live.

But that’s exactly what you get to do.

Live.

* * *

Jake’s date for the week smiled up at him as she attempted to seem hotter than she was. He’d brought her to Hard Deck to meet the group but now, he kinda didn’t want her around.

She smelled too sweet, she laughed a little too loud, and she just felt…wrong.

She wasn’t his Bullseye.

Not his. But his.

You’d just brought over a round of beers and were talking to Natasha when your date tapped on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I don’t drink beer. Can I have a white wine?” She says, rudely snapping at you to hurry. “Chop chop.”

Bradley’s eyes widen and he takes a long swig of his wet before looking at Jake with a wild expression.

“Sure,” you say. Jake watches as you take the beer, glancing his way with a dissatisfied expression.

She’s gonna rip me a new one later.

“Why don’t I get it for you?” Jake suggests. “Just in case.”

“Oh, Jakey,” his date says. “That'd be great. But honestly, we can just leave. This place is dingy and old.”

Behind her, Natasha and Bob’s mouths fall open, Coyote and Payback following suit. Bradley only cackles, making his date turn around in annoyance and Bradley turn around to avoid her gaze.

“So Jakey,” Bradley starts. “Are you leaving or are you staying?”

Jake looks at Bradley, then his date, and lastly you at the bar. You were serving Maverick a beer and smiling at something he said.

You were beautiful tonight. Your hair was curled and half tied up in a white bow, a white linen shirt and jeans your uniform for the night.

As if feeling his eyes on you, your turn just in time to catch him smiling at you before he turns to his date.

“You know what,” he starts. “I think I’m gonna stay.”

Bradley smiles. “Good choice.”

Next part

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me. I had a hard time with this chapter mainly because I wanted it to be sensitive but also raw. So thank you for reading it if you read it. And remember that there’s always someone out there that loves you 💗

Tags: @lonelysoul50 @akilatwt @russopalette @emma8895eb @djs8891

[rottenpumpkin13]

I know we all joke about Lazard being the often-exhausted bleakly resigned wrangler of this circle of idiots, but it's even funnier with the knowledge that Lazard canonically hates Shinra and instigates a bunch of shit behind the scenes in CC

*Tseng rushes into Lazard's office, exasperated*

Tseng: You need to get your men under control.

Lazard, reading a magazine, not looking up: Boys will be boys.

Tseng: Angeal has stolen several company vehicles and is leading a team of Thirds into the grasslands to look for bigfoot. He has not been seen in 48 hours.

Lazard, eating a granola bar: Boys will be boys.

Tseng: Genesis set the President Shinra statue on fire, posed for a photoshoot in front of it, and posted it on his social media with the caption "Some men just want to watch the world burn"

Lazard, using the company card to purchase action figures: Boys will be boys.

Tseng: Zack has freed all guard hounds from the labs and is down there, as we speak, fighting for their rights. He is threatening to organize a riot.

Lazard, painting his nails: Boys will be boys.

Tseng: And Sephiroth found out about his true origins, traveled to the town of Nibelheim, burned it to the ground, and vowed to become a god to take over the planet.

Lazard: Boys will be—HE DID FUCKING WHAT?

[twodogs-twocats]

Sleep Token as Roomates

For whatever reason, my Sleep Token fixation has chosen to lodge itself in my brain in the form of a New Girl-esque scenario…

Translation: You and all four band members are roommates. Annnd there is definitely romantic tension with every one of them.

Content Warning: very little justification for any of this. Just my 🌈imagination🌈

POV: fem reader

Vessel:

- the one everyone thinks is in charge.

- the most fun one to do chores with. he will get them done, but have a good time along the way. car karaoke on the way to get groceries, dance parties in the kitchen while cooking, playing the floor is lava while vacuuming. he will always try to make you smile even during the most boring of tasks

- workout gear everywhere. he’s got a pull up bar installed above his door, where he does shirtless pull-ups every morning. you only watch sometimes…

- honestly, probably always shirtless in general

- the best smelling of the bunch. lights incense and candles on the reg

- always doing little things to impress you. like as soon as you come home, he starts playing piano, or doing pushups. and then will pretend he didn’t know you were home when he catches you watching

- likes to come up behind you. if you are standing at the kitchen counter, he will reach around you to grab something, with his chest pressed up against you. he uses his size to his advantage, and he gets the sense you like how big he is

- paints your nails sometimes. and sometimes wants you to paint his. black polish only

- a very good cook. often cooks family dinners

- a bit unhinged, but I could see vessel borrowing your clothes and jewelry. like going to bed in your tshirt or stealing some of your rings for his shows

- honestly, I just picture roommate vessel as a generally soft goof

II

- the one who’s actually in charge

- very clean and organized. keeps everyone else in line (if you know the show new girl, to me, II is a quieter, scarier Schmidt lol)

- he’s the best listener. when you have had a rough day, he will listen to you vent for hours. or if you need help making a decision, he will help talk you through it. he gives 100% attention to everything you say

- he will surprise you with finishing little chores for you. you’ll come home to a freshly washed car, or your laundry already folded

- a plant guy. always brings home plants and takes very good care of them. runs your little family garden

- morning person. this man is up at the crack of dawn and has already accomplished about a dozen things before anyone else is even up

- enjoys learning about your hobbies. if you are a reader, he wants to know what you’re reading. if you’re trying to learn something new, he will help you practice

- toxic trait is that he would be the most jealous if you ever brought someone home. like very openly hostile

- light touches. like he tries so hard to keep it platonic, but you’ll feel his hand on your back when he walks around you, or his fingers will linger on yours just too long if he hands you something

III

- the messiest of the bunch. like he will help out with cleaning, but if anyone is leaving laundry or dirty dishes around, it’s this man (often causes little spats with II)

- loud and fun. he is always singing, dancing, playing music. when you get home he will greet you with a big hug. his goal in life is to make you laugh

- likes to braid your hair. and you help him with his space buns

- takes the longest in the bathroom for sure. He enjoys regular bubble baths, and often teases you that you are welcome to join him

- when III’s energy has come down a bit, he is a master at chilling. Im talking movie nights with popcorn and candy, building blanket forts with lots of pillows. (he will sometimes try to sneak an arm around your shoulder. Not unusual for you two to end up *platonically* cuddling on the couch)

- the best dancer. You always bring him when you go out dancing or to a concert.

- the most openly flirty. will always compliment your outfits and tell you how beautiful you look.

- he will also find any way possible to touch you, even when it’s completely unnecessary — hugs when you come home, putting his hand on your knees when he’s talking to you, and occasionally even kissing you on the cheek. he especially loves to see you blushing and flustered

- tinkers with his guitar into the late hours of the night. the sound often puts you to sleep

IV

- the most “bro”-y of the roomates

- like the only one of you who will ever put sports on tv (and you all complain and tell him to put on something else)

- the house barista. makes great coffee and is very particular about his process.

- you like to take naps with IV. You both will pile on the couch and fall asleep watching some stupid comedy. you often end up with your head in his lap and his hand resting on your waist.

- has a bit of a staring problem. he is the most obvious one about checking you out, and he does not seem to care if you notice. when you get dressed up, he will give you a full head to toe scan, and then proceed to stare at you like he wants to eat you (and he probably does, of course)

- enjoys going on walks with you. might not say much, but he always has a good time

- adds lots of artistic touches to the home. buying art or cool knickknacks to add around the house. this man has excellent taste

- the most protective of you. makes sure he knows where you are at and who you’re with. installed a lock on your bedroom door so you could have some privacy. (but he kept a key for himself, you know, just in case)

Etc.

- you definitely have a black house cat, and II is definitely the cat’s favorite

- your living room has been taken over by musical instruments. there is always, always music playing in the house

- all the boys are great at comforting you when you are sad. I could see any one of them holding you while you cry

- big family movie nights. all the boys love movies, so you will all regularly get together to watch something

[omgthatdress]

On June 28, 1969, patrons were gathered at The Stonewall Inn to mourn and commiserate over the untimely death of Judy Garland. To many there, The Stonewall was more than just a bar and a gathering place, it was the closest thing they had to a home, and a place where they could be safe among other people like them.

In the early morning hours, police began a raid of the Stonewall with the intention of shutting it down and dismantling it. The raid began routinely enough, but as it dragged on, the patrons started getting angry and fighting back. They were fed up with constant police harassment and the everyday discrimination they faces as queer people, and were willing to fight for a place that was theirs.

People began throwing mugs, rocks, bricks, and anything else that wasn't nailed down, and soon it turned into a full-on riot. The police had no choice but to withdraw.

Although this wasn't the first time gay people as a community had instigated a riot, it was by far the most significant. For the first time, homosexuals who had previously been seen as passive and un-threatening were ready to not just plead for their rights, but to actually fight for them.

The Stonewall Riots brought in a new era of gay political activism. The one year anniversary of the riot was declared Christopher Street Liberation Day, which was one of the first gay pride events in the US. Before long, every major city had a gay rights organization, and the cause started getting mainstream political attention.

[mollywog]

Roommate

Part 1

“He’s like my age, you know that right?” She says as she disinterestedly picks at her nails.

“Yeah, so what… four years? That would have mattered back in high school, but we’re both adults and now it’s just kinda hot.”

Katniss looks up to watch her sister apply lipstick through the mirror from her perch on the bed. Damn it. Why doesn’t she wear lipstick? It’s a futile thought, even if she did, she could never look like that.

Her sister catches her stare, raising a brow at her reflection, “look alright?”

“Red’s a little cliche, don’t you think?”

Prim smirks, “So’s green. Just admit it; you’re jealous. Say the word and I’ll call the whole thing off.”

Katniss had gone home the week prior, having convinced herself that Prim would drop the idea.

She hadn’t.

Finnick had organized Trivia on Tuesday and Katniss on as Prim approached Peeta at the bar alone. How she’d put her hand on his shoulder to lean in and speak close to his ear, and how he smiled and nodded at whatever she was saying. Her sister later confirmed they had made plans to grab drinks on Friday.

This morning Katniss had woken with a migraine and called off work. The headache is gone, but she’s still feeling nauseous as she watches her sister primp for her date.

Katniss ignores the taunt, “so what are you wearing?”

Prim stands from the vanity and pulls out a black dress. Katniss wishes there was something to object to, but it’s a classic so she gives her sister a pinched smile. The smile quickly falls to an open mouth gape as Prim shrugs off her robe, revealing a muted orange bra and matching underwear.

“Like it?” Prim says, batting her lashes in fein innocence, “It's new.” and Katniss knows the color is not accidental.

“Prim! You aren’t planning on sleeping with him, are you?!” Her voice is shrill and she can feel the headache returning anew.

“Planning? No. But you always taught me to be prepared for anything.”

“I meant like a flat tire, or a global apocalypse. Not fucking my roommate!”

“Which part bothers you more? Me having sex? Or me having sex with Peeta?”

Katniss snaps her mouth shut. “Nevermind,” she grumbled, “just make sure you have a condom.”

Prim pinches her lips into a tight line, before turning away. She shimmies into the dress and slips on heels with just the right height to accentuate her calves. She pivots in the full length mirror to get a side view, checking her ass.

She’s gorgeous. Perfect really.

Katniss adjusts the hem of the oversized shirt that lays limply over her flat chest and ass and wonders what Mendel would make of the pair of them: as different as two sisters can be.

She’s never been jealous of Prim; always wanted the best for her, even when it meant sacrificing herself - it hadn’t felt like much of a sacrifice at all when it came down to it. But this is different, because the thought of giving up Peeta, even to someone who might actually deserve him, finally feels like a real sacrifice. She’s jealous. She can admit now, if only to herself. The realization horrifies her and is quickly eclipsed by guilt of her selfishness.

“I’m leaving,” Prim eyes her expectantly, “Speak now or forever hold your peace,”

What before she would have said in defiance, is now said in shame and defeat, “Have fun.”

Part 3 | Ao3

[mostmagical]

Pairing: Stranger/Stranger (Adrinette, but they don't know that) Words: 4k Summary:

“Can I kiss you?” It's costume theme night at the local bar, and Marinette finds herself a bit entranced by a pretty stranger wearing cat ears. She thought she would be content just watching, until Alya suggests she asks for just a little bit more.

Marinette chewed on the edge of her fingernail, trying not to be too obvious as she peered across the bar at the stranger on the corner.

They had met on the dance floor not too long ago, and she had been having trouble looking away ever since. He was attractive, despite the obnoxious cat-eared beanie tight over his blond hair, drawing her towards him in a way she really hadn’t felt in, well, ever. At least, not towards someone she barely knew. Not since the breakup.

The liquid in his delicate cocktail glass was dyed pinker by the spotlight he stood under, so she couldn’t tell if he was actually drinking anything as passion fruit-flavored as the color, or if it was just straight liquor. Her breath caught as he removed his hand from the water-beaded surface, lifting it to adjust the thick-rimmed specs he wore and reminding her of the sparkling green eyes she’d spied earlier.

Blond hair. Green eyes. 

She wondered if it was some cosmic joke that this always happened to her.

Even the cat ears were suspect, but she was trying her best not to acknowledge that.

A hand landed on her arm, and she jumped before realizing it was Alya returning from the bathroom.

“Still staring?” Alya asked. She had forgone her eye glasses that night for the sake of ‘accuracy,’ providing Marinette a clear view of the humor glittering through her friend’s hazel eyes.

Marinette sputtered, readjusting the skewed heart-shaped sunglasses over the bridge of her nose. “Wh– What? Staring? Staring at who– I mean— Staring at what? Because obviously I’m not staring and even if I was I wouldn’t be staring at anyone, certainly not anyone handsome and charming and—”

Alya interrupted Marinette’s spiral with a laugh. “Right, right, right.” She shook her head, the red curls bouncing across her bare shoulders. “You weren’t staring at the guy you danced with earlier, and you haven’t been nervous and jittery ever since. I imagined all of it.”

“Yes.” Marinette nodded sagely. “Thank you, exactly. It was all in your head.”

Alya simply hummed, turning to get the bartender’s attention and ordering the two of them another round. With her friend distracted, Marinette couldn’t help but let her eyes wander again. The stranger was now scrolling through his phone. Oh no. Was he calling a taxi? Checking train schedules? Was he leaving?

Pain blossomed over her thumb and the taste of metal hit her tongue as she bit down just a bit too hard.

“Marinette!” Alya hissed, pulling Marinette’s hand away from her mouth and quickly wrapping it in a cocktail napkin. “What are you doing to yourself? Do you want to get kicked out?”

She was sober enough to feel the embarrassed flush cover her cheeks. “Sorry.”

Alya’s barely concealed eye roll was colored with humor. “You should just go over and talk to him.”

Marinette blinked owlishly. “And say what?”

“Ask him for a kiss.”

“What?!” She knew her shriek was loud enough to disturb the patrons on either side of them at the bar, but all she could hear over the pounding of the bass was the blood roaring in her ears. “Why would I do that?”

Alya just laughed. “Look at you” —she waved a hand at Marinette’s napkin wrapped finger— “biting through your nails because you can’t stop thinking about how hot you are for him.”

“I– I–” Marinette faltered, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton the more she tried to move it. “I am not.” At Alya’s raised eyebrows, she tried and failed to come up with another reason why not. “I– You know I’m not like that!”

“Normally, yeah,” Alya replied, shrugging, “but there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, just this once.”

Marinette swallowed.

“And have you ever been so attracted to a stranger in your life?” Alya continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up. Not since Adrien, or Luka, or– actually–” She stuck a finger in the air as if the thought had just struck her from above. “No, not Luka; it’s more like with Chat N–”

“Stop stop stop!” Marinette cut her friend off, throwing a hand over her mouth to stop up the words.

Alya licked her palm in objection.

“Ew! Hey!”

“You are so silly, M,” Alya laughed as Marinette pulled her hand away and dramatically wiped it on her shirt. “It’s not weird to have a crush on a superhero.”

Marinette chewed her lip, traces of the watermelon drink she’d had hours ago still tasting in the corner of her mouth. “You know it was more than that.”

A hand patted her shoulder. “Of course I do, but the point still stands.” Alya grinned, as sly as her own superhero persona would imply. “You deserve one night to not care. Treat yourself. You need to cut loose after, well, you know.”

Marinette couldn’t deny that since she had presented it, Alya’s idea was sounding more and more appealing. Though maybe that was the vodka talking. Or the desperation.

“He sure seems like your type after all,” Alya pressed, squinting her eyes as she studied him. “Tall, pretty, charming... blond.”

“Green eyes, too,” Marinette added, despite herself.

“What?” Alya laughed. She reached out a hand, flicking the frame of Marinette’s sunglasses playfully. “You could tell through these bright pink abominations?”

Her face warmed in embarrassment. “I may have, sorta, practiced discerning colors on my posters of Adrien with them before,” she admitted. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “His eyes look the same.”

Alya laughed again, full and delighted. “Marinette! Oh, there’s no one like you,” she said, grinning. “Now you really have to do it. I’m convinced it’s fate.”

It did feel almost divine.

Alya squinted once more, and Marinette wished her friend had listened to her when she told her to wear her glasses anyway. “He even kinda looks like—” She cut herself off with a hum, shaking her head. “You deserve to get out there again anyway. It’s been ages and I kinda think you need a rebound.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if she fully agreed with that statement, but she wasn’t exactly in the mood to broach the subject and down the mood.

“What if he laughs in my face?” she asked instead, sticking her lip out in a pout. It was meant to look cute, so maybe Alya wouldn’t push so much, but the fear was very much real. Sure, she and the stranger had had an amazing conversation, and their chemistry had been more intoxicating than her drink, but he was still that— a stranger. There was no telling what might happen if she walked up to him and asked for something so daring as a kiss.

“Marinette, look at me,” Alya said, placing both hands on either of Marinette’s shoulders. “You are hot. You are cool. And he is totally into you.”

Was there any explanation for the way her heart leapt straight out of her chest?

“Into me?” Marinette repeated. “What makes you say that? Are you sure?”

Alya smirked dangerously. “Well, don’t look now, but I may have caught him taking a few glances over here while your back was turned,” she explained.

Marinette, of course, looked. Her head turned at just the precise moment to catch his gaze in her own, and sure enough, the stranger’s jaw momentarily dropped upon making eye contact. He recovered quickly with a sweet smile, raising his glass in a cheers motion from across the bar.

Alya sighed, shaking her head. “Well, at least there’s another sign for you,” she said, amused. Grabbing Marinette’s shoulders again, Alya turned her back around to look at her face-to-face. “See? Repeat after me: I am hot.”

A bit dazed from the encounter, Marinette could do nothing else but exactly what Alya asked. “I am hot,” she repeated.

“I am cool,” Alya continued.

“I am cool.”

“He is into me.”

She choked, the last phrase a little rougher on liftoff than the others. “He is, guh– into me.”

“One more time, all together.”

Marinette closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She regretted it, as the smell of sweat and hops stung her nose. But the intake of air managed to ground her, all the same.

“I am hot. I am cool,” she chanted. “He is into me.”

“Yes!” Alya cheered. “Good job!”

The mantra was like a magic spell. Marinette opened her eyes, suddenly energized. Her stomach pitched a little, but it was full with excitement.

“Two cognacs,” the bartender announced, jolting Marinette from her reverie.

“Merci!” Alya picked up a glass, pressing it into Marinette’s hands with cool insistence. “Drink this, and then get over there!”

Marinette obliged, downing the drink in two big swigs. The alcohol no longer burned the back of her throat, settling in her stomach with a pleasant warmness. She replaced the glass on the bar with a firm clink, then sucked in another deep breath, wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand.

“Okay,” she said under her breath, hyping herself up. “Okay!”

“Go!” Alya gave her one more push, spinning Marinette around and pressing the heel of her hands into her shoulder blades. “Your prince charming awaits,” she sang.

Marinette stumbled forward, unsteady from Alya’s shove, but she quickly regained her bearings. Her blood pumped faster in her veins as she approached the other end of the bar. She swore she could feel every fingertip throbbing with her own pulse as she got closer.

Just a little kiss.

Plenty of people did that.

(Although, it wasn’t something she had ever considered doing herself.)

It wasn’t... weird to ask.

And like Alya had said, he was into her. The stranger probably felt the exact same magnetism she had. He would want to kiss her.

Right?

Steeling her nerves, she stood behind him, watching him swirl the liquid around in his glass. His head tilted towards where Alya stood by her lonesome on the other side of the bar, and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as she wondered if he might be looking for her.

She smoothed down the synthetic purple wig as best she could, and adjusted the collar of her leather jacket. She almost wished she could dart off to the bathroom for a final appearance check, but she knew she would lose all her built-up confidence if she did. With butterflies brushing the insides of her tummy, she reached out a hand, tapping him twice on the shoulder.

The stranger turned, and she thought she might let herself believe his face really brightened when he saw her.

Nervously, she waved. “Hi.”

“Hey, Clara,” he said in a soft voice, somehow still audible over the loudspeakers. His smile was sweet and reserved. Her throat tightened up. “I was hoping you’d want to talk again.”

Marinette felt like the breath was stolen right out of her lungs. “You– You did?”

A hand reached behind the back of his neck in what must have been a nervous tick— yet another similarity to more than one of the loves of her life, oddly enough. “Yeah, I mean—” Was that a hint of red on his cheeks, or were her glasses fogging up again? “You– Uh, I loved dancing with you.”

The smile pinched her cheeks. “I loved dancing with you, too,” she said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Wait a second,” Marinette said, her mind finally catching up to the last 60 seconds. “You called me Clara. I didn’t—?”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “Your outfit,” he pointed out. “Inspired by Clara Nightingale, right? From the ‘Heartbreak Disco Baby’ video?”

“You recognize it?”

The stranger’s face seemed to light up, even in the darkness of the bar. “Of course!” Marinette watched agape as his eyes scanned up and down her body, dare she say, appreciatively. “I’ve only watched that video about a million times and this is a perfect recreation.”

Pride swelled in her chest at the praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “I do take my costuming very seriously. My best friend even dressed to look like Sonia Auclair from that video.” She gave her loose hair a flip over her shoulder as she took the moment to seize up his outfit as well. “And you are—”

“Dressed at the very last minute,” he supplied bashfully. “I wasn’t exactly planning to come out, but luckily I had this beanie.”

“It suits you.”

His smile seemed genuine at her compliment. “You really think so?” he laughed, playing with the edge of the material. “Thanks.”

He was adorable. She bit her lip against the rising heat on her face.

“Heartbreak Disco Baby,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That doesn’t mean you’re a little heartbroken, are you?”

Adorable and considerate.

Now or never, she thought.

“Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her chest seized up. She said that. Oh god. She really said that.

The stranger’s face blazed a delightful shade of red, and Marinette wondered if they would match or clash were someone to compare the two of them. “Sorry,” he coughed. “I think I might have misheard you?”

She could run away. Back out right now, and save herself the mortification. Unfortunately, a flash of movement on the other side of the bar caught her attention, and she was met by Alya fluttering her fingers across the way. Marinette forced down a swallow.

“I asked to kiss you,” she repeated clearly.

When he only continued to stare at her, face crimson and eyes wide, Marinette slipped dangerously close to panic mode.

“Forget it!” she practically screeched. “You don’t have to do that—” She cut herself off with an awkward laugh. “I just— whew! Is it hot in here? I just— My friend over there told me I need to cut loose, and she told me to just go for it because I, well, I mean you’re very pretty— and we had chemistry…? Oh god, I said that— I mean, no, I stand by that, we do—” She covered her mouth, eyes wide in horror over her spew. “I swear I haven’t had that much to drink,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, I’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Marinette froze, slowly drawing her gaze away from the floor and back to the stranger’s face. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, the redness of his face having faded to a lovely pink that blended with the colored shades of her glasses. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll kiss you.”

“You- You– uh. . .” Words didn’t seem to want to come to her rescue.

Luckily, the stranger did. He eased off away from the bar, facing her fully as he took her limp hand in his. With a gentle tug, he guided her to step closer towards him. “Is this okay?” he asked, his warm tone sending her heart fluttering.

She nodded almost too vigorously before she finally managed to rouse her tongue. “Yes, yes, it’s okay.”

This close, she could smell his cologne, a cluster of warm linens and nutmeg that sent a pang of recognition down her spine. His chest was firm and radiated a comfortable warmth that Marinette felt she could fold into. She followed his eyes as they dropped down to her mouth and back up again. Goosebumps raised over her skin as his hand glided up her arm, his face an image of patience. Until it changed to panic.

“Wait, oh no,” he gasped. “You’re not–”

“What?” She tilted her head in confusion, not really sure where this reaction had come from.

His mouth was a worried line. “Have you been drinking?” he asked. “Because I’m sober, and I don’t want to be taking advantage of you–”

Marinette cut him off with a snort. “I promise you, I am completely of sound mind, when I do this.”

Riding the sudden wave of confidence, Marinette mirrored his earlier movements, allowing her hand to trail up his arm and over his neck, warm skin beneath her fingertips. As she gently cupped his cheek with her palm, she pressed up on her tiptoes, rocking forward to sear her lips to his.

His breath fanned her mouth as he gasped into it, truthfully without a hint of the taste of alcohol, and his lips were pleasantly warm and plush against hers. She found herself quickly sinking into it, especially as a hand landed on her lower back and held her steady. Her other hand dove into the hair at the back of his neck, teasing the soft strands in rhythm with the glide of their kiss.

It was more than sparks and explosions and fire— all things she never expected she would feel while kissing a complete stranger.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something achingly familiar— comfortable, her mind supplied— about the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the little hums she could feel vibrating over her skin. Despite herself, she cracked open her eyes and studied his face as he continued to kiss her.

Green eyes. Blond hair. Cat ears, puns, those lips. Her heart almost seemed to stop as she realized she knew exactly why the sensation was so familiar. She had felt this kiss before. It could only be Chat Noir, she realized, warmth flowing between her shoulder blades.

She pulled away, just a centimeter to breathe between them. “Mon Chaton?”

He blinked open dazed eyes, blinking at her as if waking up from a dream. “Chaton?” he repeated. His eyes widened. “My Lady?” His voice was breathier than she was used to hearing it, and it sent a thrill up her spine.

“It’s you.” She almost wanted to laugh. “No wonder we fit so well together.”

It only took a few seconds for her partner to recover from his dreamlike state. He grinned his cat-like grin. “We’ve always been the purrfect team, after all.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, pressing her lips to his once more to shut him up. However, his mouth remained shockingly slack against hers. She pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Seemingly dumbfounded, he replied, “You kissed me again.”

Oh god. Oh, god. He didn’t want to kiss her now that he knew. She was such an idiot.

“I’m so sorry.” Hastily, she tried to push away from his chest, only for him to grab her wrists and prevent her escape.

“Wait, no. I just–” His mouth worked wordlessly, endless green eyes searching her own. “Are you sure you want to be kissing me? What about—”

“Adrikins!”

Marinette froze in place, the familiar voice sending a chill up her spine— one that was cold and bruising, rather than warm and thrilling tingles that her partner had sent up and down her back all night.

Her hands went limp, still caught in Chat Noir’s hold, as the spray-tanned arms of Chloé Bourgeois wound around his neck.

Chloé, dressed in a flowing gown that did not at all match the whimsical costumes in the bar, immediately launched into complaints, current company left unnoticed, or rather ignored. “Thank god, I finally found you,” she cooed. “I can’t believe you left me there with that cousin of yours and Tsurugi. Ugh.”

A pained expression flashed Marinette’s way before her partner turned his head to meet Chloé’s powder blue eyes. “You had Zoé, too, didn’t you?” he asked her.

“Ugh, you know I would rather it be just us two.”

Marinette was rooted to the spot. It felt as though her brain was misfiring in about a billion directions. And yet, somehow all those directions ended at the exact same destination: the stranger before her.

A stranger, she was realizing, that was not so strange after all.

In fact, this was probably a person she knew better than she ever thought she had.

Because if she added everything she knew up, carried the two, and multiplied by three, well...

It seemed like Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste and the two (three...?) loves of her life were actually just one.

Nervous green eyes peeked at Marinette, as if to check that she was still there. The redirection of his— Adrien’s, oh god— attention finally drew Chloé’s eyes east, and if Marinette thought she could make it out of this easily, she was quickly corrected when an appalled groan filled the air.

“Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé stuck her nose up in the air, somehow glaring at Marinette through only the corner of her eye. “What are you doing with her? I thought you two broke up.”

“It’s complicated,” Marinette said, at the same time Adrien burst out “Marinette?”

She took one look at his face before immediately casting her eyes away again, an angry red blush overtaking her cheeks.

What the hell what the hell what the hell.

She found herself almost wishing for an akuma alert to save her. Except, no. No, she didn’t, she realized, because she would still have the same man right there with her.

“Marinette?” Adrien repeated again, voice sounding almost far away, even in a room where her ears were already blocked from the loud music.

Shyly, she met his pleading eyes, pushing her sunglasses back up and onto the top of her head. His jaw all but dropped open as he watched her, recognition flitting through his eyes.

They were quite the pair, weren’t they? Marinette could have laughed. A pair of glasses and neither realized that they were talking to their own ex. And the fact that she had recognized Chat Noir’s kiss, but not Adrien’s... No. Nope. Not going to unpack that.

Chloé glanced between them, a look between disgusted and bored plastered across her face. “What’s with that reaction?” she asked. “Listen, if you’re getting back with this weirdo, I–”

“Chloé!”

Marinette had no idea where Alya had appeared from, but she had never been so happy to see her best friend throw an arm over the other girl’s shoulder. Chloé physically recoiled under Alya’s touch, attempting to lean away, but to no avail.

“Césaire,” she grunted.

Alya grinned, unbothered by the less-than-enthusiastic response. “Oh my god, it really is you! I could barely tell; forgot my glasses, silly me. How’ve you been?” she asked. “I want to hear all about the new campaign.” Over her shoulder, she threw Marinette a wink.

The realization that Alya was providing her a way out burst across Marinette’s skin. In a flash, she had wrapped her hand around Adrien’s wrist, bodily dragging him through the crowd and away from their classmates. He came along willingly, only slowing down to dodge around drunk patrons that stepped between them.

Eventually they found themselves comfortably alone in a quiet hallway leading to the bathrooms. The hallway was much brighter than the main floor, illuminating all of Adrien’s features in a way that she couldn’t believe she had missed before. Marinette looked up at him in question, squeezing his wrist tight between her fingers. “When did you get back?” she asked, too desperate for the answer to pretend like she wasn’t.

He looked worried. “Just tonight. I– I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I did,” she murmured. She realized she had said it too quietly to be heard over the speakers when Adrien kept going.

“Everyone was asking questions.” He pressed a hand against his forehead, twisting her heart with it. “And just talking so much about my dad and England and... I don’t know. I– I had to get out.”

Her breath caught. She began running her hand up and down his arm to try and soothe him, saying, “I know, kitty, I know.”

“Zoé mentioned you and that’s when I realized I had to make a break for it.” He ducked his head shyly. “I should have figured I’d run right towards you.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh, her earlier conversation with Alya about fate and divinity seeming oh so relevant now. She let her hands rest on both his cheeks. “Yeah, seems like we’ll always be in each other’s orbit, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I just can’t seem to ever let you go.”

His eyes went shiny, and she wondered if he was about to cry. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, covering her hands with his own.

Her shoulders dropped with the tension she had been carrying. “Of course I do,” she replied, running her thumbs over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry about that night. I just didn’t want you to leave and I didn’t know how to say it.”

“I didn’t want to leave either,” he said with a watery smile. “Are you disappointed you didn’t get to kiss a stranger?”

She used her thumb to brush one errant tear away from his eye. “Considering I’d rather be kissing you, anyway?” she teased. “No, I’m not disappointed at all.”

His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Not even about...?” He glanced back and forth down the hallway, as if checking for any listeners, only to look back at her with just an eyebrow waggle to voice his concerns.

Marinette giggled again. “Come here, kitty.” With a gentle tug, she guided his face down to hers, kissing him all over again.

If you enjoyed, consider dropping a kudos or comment on Ao3! <3

[paxarsenal]

Organic Music, Organic Love

As requested by @mx-jester, I shall write another Wavewave fanfic! This time, Soundwave gets a bit tired from working...

~~~

Another solar-cycle passed into another mega-cycle. After Shockwave’s initial return, the work within the Nemesis grew tenth fold. Project Predicon as dubbed by Shockwave resumed continuation. The scientist’s underground project not only sucked numerous supplies and resources from the flying ship, but management became desperate and demanding. Not to mention draining every contributing bot’s Energon tank into oblivion. Recharged wasn’t a choice either.  No Transformer could escape this, not even the notorious workaholic communications officer among them. 

Soundwave limped through the hallways. He hadn’t had a dose of Energon since last 48 breems. His engine tank hissed and churned. The HUD visor screen flashed uncontrollably as a desperate call to restock his falling system. Megatron began countless affairs of servitude to the Decepticon cause while Starscream occupied himself with other tasks. It left Soundwave starved and meek, his chassis armor heaving in weight from exhaustion. His digits couldn’t even lift a rusting nail after he finished the final round of code. 

Fortunately, what seemed to be a “mess hall” came to view. Mess hall was an overstretched definition. A large hall with unordered stacks of random trinkets and tools laid in corners as numerous Vechicons crowded the space. Soundwave immediately begrudged his decision. He didn’t want dinner disturbance from the terrible gossips and chatters, no less the own voices of meddling lower mechs. 

Nevertheless, the violet bot turned to the supply table and took out a fresh Energon cube. Soundwave settled into a corner where the light won’t reach and opened his visor, quickly chugging at the drink before slamming the empty shell down. One wasn’t enough. Eventually, Soundwave found himself surrounded by ten high Energon between his desire and hunger. At the end of the cycle, two refreshments were left unscathed. 

Groups of Vechicons suddenly burst into shouts. It perked Soundwave’s attention, turning to the crowd where the one and only Knockout stood in glowing scarlet paint. That particular mech always had something to ‘go on about’ and this solar-cycle wouldn’t be his last. 

“Ah ha,” Knockout jolted slightly in barely controlled excitement. The sports car bot moved out of the way to reveal a small unfamiliar device sitting on the table. It was rusting and dull. A small antenna and loudspeaker stood out from its design. Soundwave titled his helm curiously, signaling Knockout to continue his discovery. 

“I found this machine that organics love to use as entertainment. It’s called a radio!” Knockout announced, “It isn’t like our own radio transmitters, but plays music or news! Listen and watch!” 

The red medic pressed a few buttons and static began to roll over the radio until a coherent tune played. A few Vechicons ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ while others clapped along to the music. Knockout even began to sway his metal hips as he hummed the melody, almost as if he knew the song by spark. Soundwave didn’t know what to say; he was speechless for once, even if he never said anything at all. Words couldn’t describe how much he wanted to convey… 

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like on

A-Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

It brought him back to Cybertron. There was a refill shack down the barren streets of Kaon; Shockwave and Soundwave idly pass around and about at the bar counter, bland conversation after the next. With diluted Energon in servo, their night held up. The hangout was a few from the first, and both mechs struggled for words. It wasn’t until Shockwave introduced him to a new discovery. 

“Organic music, have you heard of it?” Shockwave said, his voicebox rough from venting in the planet’s particles of land-waste dystopia.

“Negative: Soundwave… intrigued.” 

Shockwave went on. “For mega-cycles, our scientific team detected some wave signals in search for surplus Energon. However, unlike ours, it played organic tunes and sung songs from planet Earth.”

“… Songs,” Soundwave replayed with Shockwave’s audio. 

Shockwave shock his helm. “Exactly, a worthless find but nevertheless entertaining,” he hummed. His red lens burnt a bit bright as he looked towards the violet gladiator. “Care to listen when you’re available?”

There wasn’t a next time.

~~~

The radio continued to play as it lulled to a soft jazz. 

Between the commotion and music, Megatron strode into the crowd with Starscream behind him. The Cons immediately scattered, shifting to precarious position in the mess hall whereas Knockout straightened up his gears and bowed to the warlord. Brief exchanges of information and duties were made as the mech with a bucket for helm scorched the floor. Starscream looked unequally pleased, towards Megatron or to the various Vechicons horsing around, it didn’t matter. The trio of light and dark grey plus a hint of red set forth to the control room. Soundwave assumed he wasn’t needed; Megatron would have called him over since the two exchanged brief eye contact for one another. With the three gone and most of the Vechicons returning to their initial work, it left Soundwave to temporarily freedom. He spotted the lone radio; Knockout must had forgotten it with Megatron’s unexpected visit. 

With the bots gone, Soundwave removed himself from the seat and picked up the two remaining Energon cubes. His footsteps slowed and reached for the device before disappearing out of the exit.

Soundwave strolled down the hallways towards the end-most area of the Nemesis. Unexpressive yet knowing, he thought to himself: Did Shockwave ate today? Time seemed to have past but there were no implications to how much went on. Could be solar-cycles until now. The thought only made him squeeze the Energon cube until it pulsed with glowing blue liquid.

At last, he was outside of Shockwave’s laboratory. 

“Soundwave?” His partner said upon seeing the mech enter his chambers, “What a lovely surprise.” Soundwave nodded his helm and placed the neatly stacked Energon on the lab table and slide them towards the Empurata. Shockwave gave a quick thanks before heading back to work. However, another metal click alerted the violet bot to look the rusting item.

“Ah, a radio,” Shockwave mused, inspecting the musical machine with delicate digits. “It’s a delight to see in front of me.” Soundwave nodded to his statement. He trotted to Shockwave’s berth before sitting on it. Both had became familiar again after Shockwave’s return, and to sit on his personal recharge station was another pastime for Soundwave. The action itself stood pure among the other intimate activities they did behind closed doors. 

“I’m impressed, you remembered,” the Empurata hummed, “How long ago was that? Do you recall?” 

“Negative.”

“I’m not surprised.” Soundwave chuckled at that.

Shockwave pressed a button on the device as it played, almost like it was filled with genuine compassion. He motioned himself to Soundwave where he sat quietly and obediently. 

Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true

In other words, I love you

Both idly listened. Their visors gazing over the other for an answer. Shockwave was the first to avert his gaze, Soundwave followed. A heavy wave of exhaustion suddenly occurred within Soundwave’s frame. His helm drooped before tiling back up. 

Shocked noticed.

“Soundwave… Comms to Soundwave,” Shockwave said softly, his large figure hovering over Soundwave’s fatigued body. A gentle sharp servo cupped his helm as Soundwave swatted it away embarrassed. Of course, Shockwave didn’t know that. 

“You seem exhausted.” 

His partner fought to say no, yet his protoform betrayed his mind as he swayed once his pedes attempted to get up. Just in time, the scientist caught him in his gun arm. Perhaps he was, Soundwave concluded.

“Rest, you can borrow my berth for tonight,” Shockwave insisted. It took a few seconds before he added: “I won’t be too nosy.” 

Soundwave measly laid on the berth as told. He listened to Shockwave work. The soft music took any tension left unscathed and that helped him rest. Soon, the mech felt at peace for the first time. No code, no war, and no annoying Starscream buzzing to keep him awake. His HUD visor turned to Shockwave, his back facing him yet the purple con recognize that silent treatment.

“Soundwave… do you think this war would end?”

“…” 

“Is that a ‘Stand By’?”

“… Affirmative.”

“How illogical of an answer, but I suppose as a scientist—not a time traveler, your answer is most definitely logical.”

Fill my heart with song

Let me sing forevermore

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore

In other words, please be true

In other words

In other words

I love you