#fuck those gold arm bands though

[jeeaark]

Never seen an illithid recoil so fast when trying to give it smooches. Turns out there's a very good reason for it!

Wanted to draw my guardian boi one last time. First time the Emperor suggested it, got a lil affronted

Like, Squid bud, you don't think Greygold 'gets it'? You don't think Greygold had a bit of the 'don't belong's? the not-be-yourself-to-fit-in? Greygold gonna accept the shit out of you, buster. Gonna figure out dat squid biology one comedic lesson at a time.

Also. dat hair. I like to imagine when the emperor saw what would instantly gain Greygold's trust, the illithid was like-This is....Way too dreamy. Had to tone it down, Clark Kent dat Hunk-orc up with a hair-bun.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon, poverty & debt, gun violence, organized crime, death threats, arranged marriage

fem reader

Thinking about owing the mob…

Not you specifically, but your family – debt you weren’t aware of before you’re being cashed in to settle it.

You imagined several terrible things before the arrangement was explained to you. 

One of the sons needs a wife with a clean reputation. 

It’s a simple equation. You’re eligible, and he isn’t picky.

And though it leaves you in mourning for a life yet lived, it still comes with a sense of relief. It’s one of the better deals you could’ve gotten. At least you wouldn’t need to witness or partake in any crimes, nor act as a scapegoat for the likes either.

Besides… though you’ve yet to meet your fiancé, you’ve been explained that he only plans on treating you like a wife on and for the camera – that his tastes otherwise lie in the gentlemen’s lounge. 

All you ever have to do is smile. He isn’t interested in anything else.

That’s what you were told, and yet…

“It’s funny.” Your husband says after the wedding ceremony. 

You’re back at the mansion you’re meant to call home. The grounds are about twice the size of the block you come from. Marble, gold, and diamonds – it’s so outrageously excessive it’s shameless. 

“I was told your brothers run routes for us to make ends meet.” He continues, looking at you and the expression on your face as you stare up at the chandelier – it’s clear you’ve never seen anything like it. “Fuck, I mean, I can’t imagine risking my life and still end up needing to pick between food or rent at the end of the day.”

Your gaze falls down to him at that. 

Clad in lush wedding expense – white gown and silver tiara – you still stick out like a sore thumb. Something in the way it wears you and not the other way around. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable with it all. It’s probably worth more than your family's ever owned.

He steps closer with a chuckle.

“Then, the poor suckers go and fuck up so bad they end up needing to sell their own sister.”

He spots your fists ball at your sides. But you keep your cool. Only a slight grimace curling your lips along a tiny furrow between your brows. It all smoothens into something else when he reaches out to grab your chin.

“What’s even more funny…” He tilts your face in his hand – jaded eyes assessing you like he’s found a coin on the ground. “You don’t look like street trash like I expected.”

Your frown returns, and you try pulling back – but he grabs your arm before you can.

Tsking, “Ah-ah – Remember,” His smile sharpens. “You’re property now. When I touch you, you let it happen.”

You weren’t that easily convinced. He bet you’ve had to fight off a lot of unwanted attention back where you come from. But he isn’t some back-alley thug. When he wants something, he expects it not only to be served on a silver platter but to be hand-fed to him with a silver spoon.

He pulls the gun out from behind him. Slotted in the band of his dress trousers, it had stayed hidden beneath the coverage of his suit jacket during the ceremony.

Your throat dries up, and any protests you had died of thirst along with it – eyes wide as you stare at the piece.

You can’t believe he’d carry that thing into a church with vows upon his lips – now pointing it at the very same wife he’d made those vows to. 

“Make me spend a single bullet, and your family will share the rest.” He taps the barrel’s mouth against the quiver of your lips. “I’d rather not it come to that. It’ll ruin the carpet…”  

You quiver, feeling weak with a shudder – your eyes slip closed with a shivering tear.

“Not to mention this…” He strokes the pitiful droplet off your cheek with the weapon while eyeing the way you quake with grinning eyes. “Pretty little body I’ve only just acquired.” 

BNHA – Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

BLLK – Reo

HxH – Illumi

[tojigasm]

do you know what i wanna do? fuck felix in those gold wings. and like FUCK him. he jst looks so prettyyyyyy 😭😭😭

It's intoxicating. The way the gold and glittery wings flex and pulse under the warm light of the small room Felix has crammed the two of you into – they seemingly breathe back against him when he thrusts into you.

"Stop staring at 'em." Felix presses a sloppy kiss against the collum of your neck, and you moan.

"They're pretty though," you pout, and a hand comes up to turn your head towards him.

"You're pretty." He places a peck to the corner of your lips, making his way to meet your own.

You both smile into the kiss, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, and the speed of his thrusts become quicker when you bite at his bottom lip.

Felix sighs against your lips, groaning when your gummy walls tighten around the girth of him.

The shimmer of the gold wings catches your eyes again, and you shiver beneath him.

"Fucking got you up against a wall and all you can think about is those damn wings." He pulls back to nip at your jaw.

"Haa, Lex," your head falls back to rest against the wall and you feel like you could fucking sink into the drywall and drown.

He whispers something against the hot skin of your neck, something you can't quite make out.

"Lex," you grip at the bands connecting the wings over his shoulders, cunt quivering and pulsing around him.

"Y'gonna cum, baby?" He deepens his thrusts, adjusting you around his hips as the length of him strokes a new angle within you.

You nod feebly, watching the tilt and shift of shiny wings. A soft whine falls from your lips, and Felix groans.

"Look at the wings, baby." His grip on your hips, bruise your soft skin, welting in the rough heat of him. "Y'feel good?"

Sobbing, your cunt spasms around him and you let out a choked moan – pulling tighter at the bands of the wings.

Felix cums with a broken groan, thrusting into you and holding himself there with his forehead tucked to your shoulder in soft pants.

When he pulls out of you, it's nearly enough to make you cum again with the warm glow of the lamp shadowing his features.

He towers over you, the shadow of his costume's wings flutter out as if they're a part of him.

And for a moment, in your fucked out haze, you question whether or not he actually fucked you to death.

"Lex," you mumble, and he's quick to ease with a thumb pressing past your swollen lips.

"Mhm," he hums, still hidden by the shadow of his height.

The sight is biblical in every sense of the word.

You mumble something you can't quite catch as it falls from your brain and tumbles past your lips.

Felix chuckles, though, and you're half aware of the way he gathers you in his arms and makes his way back to his room.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Needs Must — Rhysand x Reader

While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!

Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.

Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Enjoy! 💕

It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.

Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.

And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.

And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.

Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.

For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.

Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.

The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.

The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.

So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.

With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.

They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.

So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.

And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.

And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.

You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—

But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.

For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.

You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.

You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.

But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.

A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.

“What the fuck?”

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.

He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.

And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.

And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.

His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”

Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.

But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.

And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.

But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.

So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.

But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.

He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.

You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”

“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”

“Don’t call me that. Go away—”

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,

Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.

But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.

“Pix, what the fuck?” he blurts.

[honeysimagines]

viva las vegas

pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

plot: after finally confessing his true feelings Rooster and you are ready to take the next step... and the dagger squad is along for the ride

warnings: drinking, references to parental death and past trauma, inaccurate portrayal of he military

notes: this is a part 2 of home, for the readers that stuck around, for the anon that requested this, and for K ♡︎, thank you for letting me bother you with this for months

words: 21.6k

It was almost scary how normal life felt.

Rooster knew it wouldn’t last forever but for now he was more than content to just cuddle up with you in his arms. Sickeningly sweet domesticity had been so easy to fall into. One minute he was pouring out his heart to the love of his life and the next he was moving his belongings from his childhood bedroom to the master. 

Even though he had spent every leave of the past decade waking up with you in his arms he never let himself get used to the feeling. He still wasn’t used to it now but he was also already dreading the end of his leave. If it were up to him, Rooster would pack you up and bring you along with him but even after everything he was scared to ask. You had your own life and he didn’t want to ask you to put everything on hold to follow him, especially since he still had to finish up his last deployment from before the mission. After his leave and the rest of his deployment were over he would immediately request a transfer though. Virginia hadn’t been bad while he was stationed there but it was never his home. And if he was able to be stationed closer he’d also be able to see you more. 

Rooster told himself that he didn’t want to bring it up with you before he got everything taken care of. He’d hate for you to get your hopes up only to be let down if things didn’t work out in the end. But now, holding his mother’s old jewelry box in his hands, Rooster wondered if maybe he could do more than just get your hopes up. Maybe he could get his own hopes up just a little bit too.

The two of you had stayed cooped up in the house for a week when he had first come back home but at some point you had finally gotten a little too sore from fucking on every available surface so you asked him if you could take a break and go through some of his belongings together. Now that you were finally officially dating it only made sense to move some of his things out of the attic and down into the house. 

His dad’s old record player and their record collection had found a place in the living room and framed Bradshaw family pictures had found their way back onto the walls but there had been some things Rooster couldn’t bring himself to share with you yet. One of those things being his mom’s jewelry. 

Carole Bradshaw had never been one for flashy jewelry, she preferred flashy dresses instead. A firm believer in “dressing happy” his mother had never found a bright print dress she didn’t love. It was something his parents had in common and passed on to Rooster as well, even though he didn’t have many opportunities to dig out his fun shirts on the Naval Base. 

His mother had never owned much jewelry. Her collection encompassed a couple of gifts from his father and a handful of family heirlooms. As a teenager Rooster once spent an entire summer running errands for anybody in the neighborhood that needed a hand just so he could save up enough to buy a nice necklace for her birthday. In the end Mav had chipped in as well but he had felt so proud of himself for getting his mother something nice. She had worn the necklace every day and after she passed they buried her with the slim gold chain and her engagement ring. Not her wedding band though. That was carefully tucked away in a little drawer of the jewelry box with a note he had found the day before while going through it, after bringing it down from the attic.

Truth be told he had never given much thought as to what happened to it. In the back of his mind Rooster had been aware that it was a family heirloom and that one day it would be passed down to him to ask the love of his life to marry him but he had been so young when his mother joined his father that the ring and marriage had never even crossed his mind.

And now he had the ring.

And he finally had you.

It felt ridiculous to consider marriage after only a week of dating but then again had it only been a week? The two of you had been dancing around each other for fifteen years by now. Nevermind the fact that he had almost asked you twelve years ago when you did barely more than fuck for a week before separating for months at a time before reuniting and fucking again. 

With a sigh Rooster closed the box and tucked it away under his side of the bed again. He’d bring it up with you first. Ask if marriage was something you could see yourself doing in the future. 

The moment he opened the bedroom door Rooster could hear soft music drifting through the house. It didn’t take him long to find the source of it—an old Elvis record was spinning on the record player in the living room and a scented candle was burning on the side table. He could hear you before he saw you, humming along with the song as you entered the living room holding two mugs as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Something about the fact that he had only been home for a week but it already became part of your routine to include him just made his heart race. It was so perfectly easy to see that he belonged here with you and in a split second he changed his mind.

Rooster watched as you placed the mugs down on the couch table and turned around, not surprised at all to see him standing in the doorway just leaning against the doorframe and watching you. The beautiful smile he loved so much hadn’t left your face all week and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you again and again just for a chance to feel it against his lips one more time. Neither of you said anything as he took a few steps into the room only for you to meet him in the middle. Your arms were open for a hug and as much as he wanted to tug you close and hold you until the world collapsed around the two of you the soft music playing gave him a better idea. 

Instead of hugging you he used one of his arms to pull you closer, the other coming up to hold your hand as he started to sway with you. It only took you a few seconds to catch on to what he was trying to do and before you knew it you were moving along with him, letting him lead you around the living room.

“What are you…” You began, cutting yourself off with a laugh as he twirled you around before pulling you back in. “Okay.”

The rhythm of your dancing didn’t match the song playing at all but having Bradley twirl you around while Elvis crooned about falling in love felt like a dream. A sweet memory you would cherish forever. 

As the song started to come to an end Bradley gave you a soft smile before taking a step back and spinning you around again until you felt all dizzy from the motion and love. Laughing and a little lost in the moment you almost missed him whispering as he tugged you against him again.

“Marry me?”

Had it been any other person, any other moment, you’d think that you heard him wrong or that your mind was playing a cruel joke on you but with him you felt nothing but safe. Cared for. Loved. 

It didn’t feel like his question was rushed or insincere, instead it just felt right. Like it was meant to be.

Bradley had started speaking again, rambling on about a box and the Navy but you couldn’t follow it all, too caught up with his question. It didn’t matter if it had only been a week or an entire lifetime because deep down you knew Brad and you belonged together. In the most simple way possible.

Leaning up you interrupted Bradley’s rambling with a kiss, all too eager to give him an answer. “Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes.” 

Pulling away you just looked at each other for a second before you started laughing again, holding each other and stealing kisses until you were left breathless.

“I love you so much.” He murmured against your lips.

His hands rested on your hips and held you just a little tighter as you responded. “I love you too. So much.”

The words had just left your mouth before you were suddenly lifted up. All but thrown over his shoulder, carefully, as Rooster turned around and started to walk out of the living room. Towards the stairs. Towards the bedroom upstairs.

“I… the tea is gonna get cold.” Was your only protest as you let yourself be carried. If your view of his backside didn’t serve as a good enough distraction, one of his big hands on your ass definitely did.

“Do you want to drink tea or do you want to go have hot engagement sex? And I still need to put a ring on your finger so I think we should do that right away.”

You didn’t protest as he continued on his way.

Tea and record player long forgotten.

The blissful giddiness of your new engagement lasted for a day before the reality of wedding planning set in. With Rooster being gone so much, the end of leave, and the rest of his deployment looming over everything he was starting to get a little lost in his head. 

When you had woken up in the morning after with your head on your pillow, entirely on your side of the bed without him wrapped around you it had been a bit weird but you hadn’t felt concerned yet. Rooster had still been in bed with you except he was sitting up against the headboard on his side, illuminated by the soft glow of the rising sun falling through the window from where you had forgotten to close the blinds last night and the light from his phone screen. He had frowned down at the screen before shutting it down and tossing the phone onto the blanket between you two before pulling you into his arms and giving you a proper good morning kiss.

When he was occupied with it during breakfast as well it made you a little curious but you were as occupied with the ring on your finger as he was with his phone so you let it slide.

It had only started to worry you when he was still frowning down at the screen by the time lunch rolled around. You were curled up on the couch, albeit on opposite sides. Bradley had pulled your legs into his lap so you could sprawl out, holding them in place with one hand, his thumb rubbing up and down the soft skin on your ankle while the other was holding his phone.

Nervously twisting your ring on your finger you watched as he typed away on his phone, a frown still etched into his face. It wasn’t in your nature to be jealous, after all you had let him go again and again until he had come home to you, so it wasn’t like you feared he had a secret affair hidden away. Still you were scared.

“Do you regret it?”

His head snapped up so fast it made you flinch just as the prospect of him potentially hurting himself with the fast movement. If the frown had made you worried, the poorly hidden devastation that graced his face now just made your heart hurt.

“No!” He dropped the phone into his lap and grabbed your lower legs with both hands as if he was scared you’d pull away. “I… I don’t regret it.” 

Bradley fiddled with his hands too, eyes fixed on where you were still twisting the ring around on your finger. “Why? Do you regret it?”

“No.” You told him, seeing the tension fall from his shoulders. “I love you and I want to marry you. But you’ve been frowning at your phone all day and it just makes me feel like maybe you’re not as happy as I am.”

“I am happy. It’s just ” Bradley answered quickly before trailing off. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“Can you tell me anyways?”

He took a deep breath before leaning back, looking at the ceiling instead of meeting your eyes. “We have less than three weeks left before I have to leave again. I’ll be overseas for a few months and after that I’ll have to report back to Oceana and even if I request a transfer now there’s no telling how long it’ll take to be approved or if it even gets approved. I like flying with the Golden Warriors but there’s no telling if other squadrons have spots open. Weddings take forever to plan and I’m scared that if we don’t get married before I leave you’ll change your mind. That’s why I’ve been staring at my phone so much. I was trying to figure out all the things we need to plan but the list is just… endless.”

It takes a few seconds to fully take in his words, his worries. Part of you is relieved that he thought about things so much. Bradley tended to be carefree most of the time, a real go with the flow kind of guy unless he really cared for something and then the worrying and overthinking started. The way he was so lost in his own head not even 24 hours after he asked you to marry him just spoke to the fact about how much he cared for you and your future together but that only made you frown. You wanted Bradley to be happy, not worried.

“I won’t change my mind.” You stated, trying your hardest to reassure him. “We’ve been apart before and we’re still here.”

He didn’t look at you until you leaned forward and took his hands in yours, holding them almost delicately before changing your mind and really holding on. “It’s never been like this before.” He said quietly.

Sad eyes. That was the first thing you noticed about him when you met and it’s the first thing you focused on now. Bradley was never able to hide his emotions. 

Sitting up straight you asked him as if you didn’t know the answer. “Three weeks you said?” 

Bradley nodded.

“Alright, we can go to city hall next weekend and sign the papers.”

He just stared at you as you continued.

“We just need to make an appointment beforehand and… why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You’d really be okay with that? Just going in and signing some papers?” He never dreamt about his own wedding but in every rom com he ever watched the women always talk about how they’ve been thinking about their weddings since they were little girls. He’d seen his parents’ wedding pictures with his mom in her poofy white dress and his father in his uniform smiling at the camera. The last thing he wanted was for you to settle on a quick five minute signing of a document instead of the dream wedding you deserved. “No big flower arches or harpists playing as you walk down the aisle or signature bride and groom cocktails at the reception?”

“Signature what? No. All I want is you.” Pulling his hands closer you pressed a kiss right at the spot his ring would sit before looking at him again. 

“I don’t need a big fancy wedding Bradley. All I need is you and me and somebody to sign the papers. Besides…” You trailed off just a little bit melancholic, “Who would we invite anyways.”

Your last words made him pause just a little bit. Neither of you had much family and friends to speak of. If his squadron hadn’t been deployed at the moment he’d probably invite them as well as some superiors out of courtesy but there was nobody he desperately wanted at his wedding except…

“I should probably introduce you to Mav.” 

Planning to surprise Mav with a visit turned into a surprise for him in return when he asked the older man for the address of the hangar only to be directed to the address of one Miss Penelope Benjamin instead. 

Just until the higher ups are done with me, Mav had said, Sarah offered to let me stay with her and the kids but Penny’s house is closer to the base. Rooster didn’t comment on the unspoken fact that Penny’s house is closer to Penny as well. 

Rooster was glad that his godfather was finding love again but he felt just a little bit uneasy showing up to a practically stranger's house so he opted to just get a room at a motel for a few days. He didn’t want to impose and that way you could still meet while also going your separate ways at the end of the day.

He wanted to mend the relationship with Mav, he really did, but he was also scared of moving too fast. Their day trip out to the hangar was one thing but spending nights in the same house came too close to living together. Rooster could only imagine sitting across from him at the breakfast table like they had done twenty years earlier when Mav lived with them and his mom was still alive, flitting around the table refilling coffee mugs and juice glasses because Carole Bradshaw was a morning person through and through whereas him and Mav were decidedly not. It would be easy for his thoughts to spiral, getting lost in what ifs and regret. His mind was already filled to the brim with things he had to do before the wedding and he’d rather not add to the chaos.

Checking into the motel had been easy enough and soon he was pulling the Bronco into the parking lot of The Hard Deck. It was early enough in the day that the area surrounding the bar wasn’t packed but late enough that they were the only ones in the parking lot. As he got out of the car and walked around the Bronco to open your door for you he spotted Mav’s favorite Kawasaki, parked in the corner closer to the back of the bar. 

Holding the door for you, Rooster felt his heart beating faster. He didn’t know if his hands actually started to get sweaty or if he was just imagining things but he gave them a cursory wipe on his jeans anyways before he held out a hand for you to take. Walking into The Hard Deck holding your hand made things just a tiny bit easier. 

The front doors were still locked because the bar wouldn’t open until later in the day but Mav had texted him that they could use the backdoor to enter the building. Apparently the older man had been spending a not insignificant amount of time at the bar as of late, with full permission by its charming owner of course.

Rooster had never been in The Hard Deck while it was still completely light outside and he had to admit that the bar looked just a little different. The lights that got turned on once it got darker definitely added a small level of coziness. If he could concentrate on anything besides the immediate meeting he would have looked around to better see all the hidden details but right now nothing mattered as much as reuniting with Maverick and introducing you two.

Penny stood behind the bar, wiping the counter with a rag in a way that seemed just a little bit too nonchalant for it to be coincidental. He wondered just what Mav had told her about their past when she looked up and their eyes met. Yeah… she definitely knew too much.

“Hey Penny.” He squeezed your hand just a little as he tugged you along, smiling as you gave the older woman a shy little wave with your free hand.

“He’s at the table by the big window if you want to head back. Amelia’s there too but just send her to the front.” She nodded her head in the direction Mav was sitting and smiled at you as you walked past. 

Mav was indeed at the table by the big window and by the looks of it he was also more than halfway to a mental breakdown. Rooster has seen this man nearly die three times in one afternoon and he came out looking better than he did now. Amelia was sitting next to him and they were looking over a piece of paper although she didn’t look as rough as Mav. 

They both looked up as you approached, a smile immediately coming to his godfather’s face as he spotted you next to Rooster, holding hands. Expecting exuberant hugs so soon after everything might be a stupid idea especially since he was all for agreeing to take their reconciliation slow but it still hurt when Mav jumped up only to give him a shoulder squeeze as a greeting. He then moved on and politely shook your hand but if he noticed the ring on your finger he didn't comment on it. 

Amelia was still sitting at the table and for a moment Rooster debated greeting the young girl. They had met once before at Mav’s hangar but he still felt lost. How does one even greet teens nowadays? Were fist bumps still cool or would he out himself as an oldtimer with the simple gesture?

In the end he gave her a little headnod as a greeting, feeling relieved when she gave him one back.

“Sorry Amelia, you two looked busy but your mom told us to send you to her at the bar.” 

She just shrugged and started to gather up her things. “It’s okay. Mav tried to help me with my Calculus homework but he has no idea what he’s doing.”

Rooster was able to suppress a laugh just until he heard a soft giggle by his side and joined in.

“Hey! A lot of things have changed since the 70s.” Mav sputtered out as an excuse, only making them laugh more.

“Whatever old man. I’ll just google it.” There was no tone of malice in her voice and Rooster knew that they’d get along well in the future. He might have had to ask Penny if he can leave his number for Amelia later, he had a feeling that they could both benefit from an exchange of information on Mav.

“He was just as bad with homework twenty years ago.” Rooster told her, still smiling wide. Mav wasn’t actually all that useless with homework. He knew that the older man had a hard time in his youth which reflected on his grades but as he sat down with him in the afternoons and went over the problems with him he always managed to encourage Rooster to try and do his best. Even in his rebellious teenage years he sat down with his uncle Mav and did the work just to spend the time with him. He was glad that Mav still wanted to help even if it hurt just a tiny bit to share their tradition with the young girl. 

“I’m just bad at it because you never took Calculus or else I’d know what was going on.” Mav defended himself.

“Calculus? She looks like she’s what? Thirteen? Why is she taking Calculus?”

“I’m turning sixteen soon.” Amelia pouted. “And I took some classes during the summer so that I can finish up my reqs sooner so that I’ll qualify for some college level courses during Junior and Senior year. If I’m gonna be an engineer I can’t waste time on AP Calculus during Senior year.” She said as if all that made sense. 

Jesus, at her age Bradley only cared about baseball and getting his license but she had apparently her whole life planned out. 

Before he could tell her how cool that sounded Penny’s voice carried through the bar over to them. “Amelia!” she called and Amelia sighed.

“Coming!”

They watched as she left to go to her mother, silence falling over them for a few seconds before Mav motioned for them to sit. Rooster didn’t miss the proud smile on his face as he pulled out a chair for you, making sure you could sit down comfortably before plopping himself down on the seat next to yours. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Captain Mitchell.” You broke the silence. “Bradley told me so much about you.”

“I wish I could say the same thing but uhhh… Thank you. For being there for him when I couldn't.” He said, leaning forward until his forearms rested on the table in front of him. He was fidgeting with his hands, the nervous gesture almost foreign to Rooster. “And please, call me Maverick. Or Pete if you’re not a fan of callsigns. Not uhhh… not gonna be a Captain for much longer.”

Had Rooster been paying attention to his godfather he might have caught the small smirk gracing his lips at the end of the sentence but instead he was looking between you eagerly with those big puppy eyes of his. “What?!” 

He slammed his hands down on the table, halfway jumping out of his seat and leaning across the table in rightful indignation.“Mav you just saved our asses during the mission they can’t just… Are they grounding you?  Discharging you?”

“Worse. They’re promoting me.”

That left Rooster dumbfounded, slowly sitting back down. “What?”

“They’re making me a one star. Reluctantly, but… they’re keeping me around for now.” Mav admitted, as if the news hadn’t lifted a weight the size of a carrier off his back when Cyclone broke the news to him two days prior. “Just don’t tell anybody yet. Everything is already decided but they won’t announce it for a few more weeks. So far only Cyclone and Warlock know because I’ll be reporting under them. And Hondo. And Viper. I don’t know if you remember but he was my instructor at Top Gun back in the day and still lives in San Diego so he invites me over for tea when I’m in the area. Penny knows too which means that Amelia probably figured it out. Oh and I kinda texted Slider to make fun about the fact that I outrank him now but that’s it. And now you two know.” 

Rooster barely listened as Mav rambled through name after name, pulling your hand into his lap and absentmindedly playing with your fingers.

“That’s great news, Mav.” He said, eyes moving between you and his godfather as he continued. “So many good news. We should celebrate.”

“Oh, yes. You… you came all the way so we could meet and here I am going on and on about myself.” Mav said, turning towards you slightly. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“Now, the boy hasn’t updated me on anything since he texted me that he made it home safely. Did he finally get it together and asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Not exactly.” Rooster said while you wordlessly held up your left hand, wiggling your fingers a little as the ring caught in the light. 

For a moment he was too caught up in your smile to notice his godfather’s reaction but once he looked over Rooster saw him tearing up. It wasn’t shocking to see Mav cry, Rooster had half suspected it would happen at some point during the day but he also didn’t want to worry you. He was lucky enough to grow up with adults that didn’t subscribe to the “boys don’t cry” idea and he knew he was allowed to let his emotions flow but Mav had always been built a little closer to the water than him or his mom.

Reaching out he took your hand in his, pulling it closer until he could kiss the back of your hand before bringing your joined hands down until they were resting on the table in front of you. 

“Congrats. I’m… I’m sorry.” He used the back of his thumbs to wipe away the tears in his eyes before they fell, still looking at you. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you two.”

“That’s actually part of the reason we wanted to meet up with you.” Rooster said.

“We’re not planning on having a big ceremony. We just want to go sign the papers at city hall back home but… we wanted to ask if you would be our witness?” You spoke softly as you asked him, almost as if you were afraid he would say no. 

Rooster was scared too even though deep in his heart he knew Mav would not turn them down. He was still working on trusting his gut more than the nagging negative voice in his head but in this case he was so sure.

Mav just looked at them for a moment, looking like he was tearing up again. “I’d be honored.” He wiped at his eyes again before smiling. “Of course. I’d love to. Do you two have any plans yet? You said you wanted to just sign the papers?”

“Neither of us has enough people to warrant a big wedding so we’ll just do the legal part…maybe go get something to eat afterwards?” He looked at you for the last question, wanting to see if you approve of his tentative plans, smiling when you nodded.

His eyes stayed on you, even as you turned to address Mav again. “We just want to do it before Bradley’s leave is over. It usually takes a few days for the paperwork to be ready but we could do it next week if you have time.”

“Oh so soon?”

“You don’t think it’s too soon, do you?” Rooster really hoped that Mav wasn’t judging him. Didn’t think he was jumping the gun and rushing into things.

“No, no. It’s just…You remind me so much of your dad right now.” He paused for a moment, glancing at the ring on your finger. “Did your mom ever tell you the story of that ring?”

“No, we never talked about it.” Rooster admitted. There were a lot of things he and his mom never talked about.

Mav exhaled deeply, shaken his head a little as if the motion would shake loose old memories and he had to suppress a chuckle. “God it was… it was 1982. Your dad and I had only been flying together for a handful of months. We were still in training but you know how it is. Sneaking off base, going out. That was back before the drinking age was 21 and man did we take advantage of that fact. One night your dad was sneaking back in from a first date and I was still up and he just looked at me and said I’m gonna marry her Mav. After the first date. I helped him pick out that ring three days later.” He paused, shaking his head again. “I thought he was crazy until I met Carole. Everybody could see that they belonged together. And when I look at you… It just makes sense.”

Rooster could feel you squeeze his hand and squeezed back. Yeah. The two of you just made sense.

“Next week? Yeah, that works. All I do at the moment is stock shelves and get embarrassed by homework while I’m waiting on the officials to get everything in order so I have time.”

Rooster immediately felt lighter, glad that they would have somebody with them. He might not be able to give you a fairytale wedding but at least they wouldn’t have strangers as witnesses. 

“You could just go to Vegas.” A voice piped up, causing all three of you to turn your heads. 

Penny looked a little sheepish but Amelia looked nothing but pleased.

“Were you eavesdropping the entire time?” Mav asked.

“No.” She said with a hand on her hip. “The voices just carry in the empty bar.”

Looking at his godfather’s face Rooster knew he didn’t believe her but nobody challenged her.

“You want to get married quickly and Vegas is only like a 5 hour drive. We can go there tomorrow and be back before dinner.” 

“We?” Penny asked. “You, young lady, have school tomorrow.” 

They continued talking but Rooster wasn’t paying attention anymore. You wanted to get married quickly but in all your planning neither of you had even thought about the place most famous for shotgun weddings. The more he thought about it the more sense it made. 

He had proposed to an Elvis song, you could get an Elvis impersonator to officiate, get a few pictures, and by sundown tomorrow he would be able to call you Mrs. Bradshaw. It seemed like an ideal plan.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

Rooster shrugged. “We could go to Vegas.”

Mav jumped on the idea of a Vegas wedding, casually appointing himself wedding planner. It wasn’t hard to hand over the reins and relax, one less thing to worry about. In the end you departed the bar with an agreement to wait with the wedding until the weekend and an invitation for dinner at Penny’s house the next day and headed back to the motel.

Making concrete plans just solidified the idea of marriage in your mind. Just looking at things from the outside might make it seem like you and Bradley were rushing into it, but it felt right.  

After Bradley had told you about the Elvis connection you had immediately agreed. Vegas would be even easier than the courthouse especially with his godfather offering to organize everything. All you had to do was show up, say ‘i do’, and look pretty for a picture before dragging your husband back to the nearest lockable room.

“We should get a dog.” Bradley said from where he was laying on your chest. When he had first picked you up and thrown you on the bed after coming back from the bar you had assumed he had ulterior motives but he had only wanted to cuddle, blanketing your body with his and burrowing his stubborn head into the valley of your throat. His curls felt soft under your hand and you wondered how he managed to keep them so silken even though they were regularly locked away under a helmet and only saw conditioner when you showered together. 

“Why should we get a dog, Brad?” Using your hand in his hair you tugged just a little until he lifted his head to look at you. 

“I don’t know. I just always thought every family needs a dog. It could keep you company when I’m gone. Protect you, you know? And once we have kids they’re gonna love running around with it in the yard.” 

Your heart ached at his description of the future. Whereas you had never really allowed yourself to dream it seemed like he had everything already figured out. “Kids?”

“Yeah, two or three. So that they have somebody to grow up with. I always wanted a sibling or a cousin when I was younger.” He said wistfully, looking at you with wide eyes. “Unless you don’t want… We don’t need to have kids to be a family.” 

“Two or three? Alright, we can do that.” You continued to run your fingers through his hair, almost petting him like the dog he talked about. “What kind of dog are we getting?” 

“Don’t know yet. Maybe we can go to a shelter when we’re back home. I just remembered that Coyote sent a picture of his dog in a little sweater in the group chat and thought about us getting one too.”

“And putting little sweaters on it?”

“If you want to. I don’t know if it’ll like sweaters. Javy’s dog looked happy in his. Hold on, I'll show you the picture.” Bradley reached back to grab his phone, pulling up the group chat. 

Ever since he had come back to you after the mission he had been talking about the group chat one of his buddies made. 

You continued to run your fingers through his hair as he looked through his phone. He looked so happy looking at the messages his friends sent, you couldn’t help but feel happy too. Neither of you had many people in your lives and you were glad that he was reconnecting with old friends and making new ones.

“Here it is.” He held out his phone so you could see the screen properly. It was a nice picture, an attractive man holding a dog and smiling into the camera. They were wearing matching sweaters and Bradley had been right, the dog did look weirdly happy in its sweater. A notification popped up at the top, quickly followed by several others. 

“You’re getting a lot of messages in the group chat. Might be important.” 

He turned the screen back to himself to check his messages. “Bob sent a picture with his family and the others are roasting him for it.” Bradley said, turning his phone towards you again until you could see the screen. It was a nice picture of a family with some horses but you could understand the roasting, maybe the matching flannels were a bit much. 

“I can’t imagine their reactions when I send a picture of our wedding.” He smiled up at you. “They’ll curse themselves for missing it.”

The two of you hadn’t discussed guests at all after your first conversation about asking Mac to be a witness. Then after talking to him and changing your plans to Las Vegas it seemed natural that Penny and her daughter would tag along as parts of your growing family. But these people were family too, in a way. Bradley refused to tell you the details of his mission —if he was more scared of his higher ups finding out he disclosed confidential information or of your reaction should you find out the whole truth you didn’t know— but it was clear that their little group had bonded in a way few could understand. 

“You could always just ask if they want to come.” 

It wasn’t like you would know what to do with a bunch of aviators on your wedding day but you just wanted for Bradley to be happy. To be as happy as you were right here in this moment with him laying on your chest in a random motel in San Diego.

“I can’t. They’re all back home with their families or back on deployment. I can’t ask them to give up their leave to watch a five minute ceremony.” He just looked down at his phone, tumbling at the case. 

You didn’t tell him that maybe his friends would love to give up a day of their leave to support him. If somebody were to tell you the same thing you wouldn’t believe them either. “Well… at least I’m not the one that will have to listen to them complain that they didn’t get an invite.” 

Bradley looked at his phone. 

Then you. 

Then at his phone again. 

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” You watched as he typed a quick message before turning his phone off before throwing it away from you onto the bed. It disappeared between the folds of the sheets somewhere, out of sight out of mind. 

“Did you tell them?” 

He just rested more of his weight onto you, the pressure calming like your own little weighted blanket. Breath steady and soft against your skin. “Told them I’m getting married and to bother Mav for the details.”

Using a hand you tilted his head up a little until you could press a kiss to his forehead, chuckling as he scrunched up his face. “You are unbelievable. You can’t just put all that on him without a warning.”

“Eh, it’s fine. It’s Mav. He can handle it.”

Mav could definitely handle it. 

Bradley had woken up to a text message inviting the two of you to breakfast and somehow gotten you up and ready long before reasonable for a relaxed Thursday morning. Thankfully your fiancé was nice enough to stop and get you a giant coffee on the way to the diner Mav had picked, all while you tried your hardest not to fall asleep in the passenger seat. You didn’t really pay attention to the road in front of you, doing nothing but occasionally lift the cup high enough for Brad to take a sip of the obnoxiously large and obnoxiously sweet concoction.

It was a nice looking place, aged but clearly loved. Mav was already sitting at a window booth and Bradley led you there by your hand. The woman behind the counter gave your cup a pointed look and any other time you’d apologize for bringing outside food into her diner but today you really needed this. 

Mav greeted you with a warm smile and you did your best to reciprocate while sliding into the booth and settling down on the worn seats. At least he waited until Bradley had sat down as well before he pulled out a notebook, still smiling, and set it down on the table hard enough for the slam to echo through the room. “Alright let’s get to it. Fanboy’s flight lands at 7am so we’ll send him straight to the hotel for a nap before the ceremony. Payback and his wife come in at 11am. There were no direct flights from Cheyenne to Vegas at a reasonable time so we’re sending Bob to San Francisco first and then he and Phoenix are flying in together at 11:30. Hangman is last at 12:15 but we won’t fit everybody in one car so we either drive down with two or take a shuttle. Speaking of driving we can either leave here at 4:30am or I have a buddy that can get us a charter flight out at 8, that would give us enough time to bring our things to the hotel and get to the airport before the others trickle in. We’ll have a late lunch and then a few hours to get ready. Wedding is at 6 and you guys can hit the strip while I take Penny and Amelia to see a show. Sunday we’ll do brunch at the hotel around noon unless somebody gets arrested or ends up in the hospital then we’ll just do lunch at 2pm. Any questions?”

“I have one. You guys ready to order?” A voice chimed in from the end of the table. The woman you had seen behind the counter was standing at your booth, notepad in her hand, ready to write down your orders. Mav already knew his order but when she turned to you there was nothing that came to your mind, you didn’t even need to look at the menu to know you didn’t want anything.

“Oh I don’t want anything, thank you.” 

She gave you another look, this one a little more concerned. “You okay sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just a little too early for food.” 

“Ah. Military men, am I right? Always up at the crack of dawn. You’ll get used to it sweetheart.”

Beside you Bradley rattled off his order but you only half listened to him talk. On the table in front of you you could see Maverick’s open notebook, messily filled up with all kinds of information, sentences written then scribbled out, arrows drawn and words circled. He had really put a lot of thought into this.

When you looked up again the waitress had left so you took a sneaky sip of your coffee. Everything was happening so fast yet not fast enough. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since Bradley came home and now you were about to get married. A wedding Maverick had somehow planned in one day.

“I can’t believe you managed to put that all together so fast. It’s been, what, 12 hours?” Bradley asked, resting his arms on the table leaning over it to look at his notebook.

“A little warning would have been nice.” The older man grumbled, thumbing at the edge of the notebook. “But keeping up with the text messages was the hardest part. I don’t know how somebody can type that fast. The actual planning took less time than you think. I’m uhh I’m pretty good at that part. Just don’t tell anybody or else they’ll have me play secretary for Cyclone.”

Him and Bradley laughed a little and you watched them, enjoying this moment. 

“Thank you.” You told him when the two had stopped, reaching out over the table to take his hand in both of yours. “For arranging everything and telling Bradley’s friends and just… thank you.” So much has been happening in such a short time and you just wanted him to know how much you appreciated everything he did for you. 

Maverick just gave your hand a squeeze, looking at Bradley and you with a fond look. “It’s what family is for.”

When the waitress arrived with the food you pretended not to notice the amount of food Brad had ordered. It was easy to reach over and steal a piece or two while he talked with Maverick about the messages he had gotten last night. It seemed like everybody was happy for you which only made you even happier in return. Even if you didn’t know them they meant a lot to Bradley and knowing that they were supportive of him was simply a good feeling.

“We can just talk about the rest at dinner tonight.” Mav said before finishing the last of his coffee. “It would be nice if you two can decide on how you want to get to Vegas until then though. We’ll get you there either way and I don’t mind driving the 5 hours but I’d like to give Wolfman and Hollywood a heads up so they have time to schedule the flights properly if you want to take the plane.” 

“We’ll think about it.” Bradley answered as if you didn’t already know he’d want to take a plane. He belonged up in the sky and who were you to try and stop him. 

“Awesome. Now.” He set down his now empty mug and flipped his notebook to a blank page. “What is your address for the wedding gifts and do you have a registry somewhere because I have a list of people that want to know.”

Bradley is looking out of the window when you pause your unpacking to check in on him. The sight of Sin City below gives him just enough of a distraction to leave you battling your small bags on your own but you didn’t mind. The short flight in a fancy little private jet had been an exciting adventure but you were grateful to be back on solid ground. You simply weren’t drawn to the sky like Bradley was.

Maverick had gotten everybody rooms in a hotel fancy enough that it made you question how you’re supposed to afford it before quickly shaking those thoughts off. He seemed like a good man and the last thing you expected from him was to leave you and Bradley with a bunch of debt from your not so spontaneous not so elopement. After checking in he had pressed a hotel room key into your hands and told you to be back down in 20 minutes to head to the airport and you intended to stick to his schedule even if your fiancé did little more than throw his bag into a corner before going straight to the window. 

“You can’t see the airport from here but you can see the planes.” His voice carried through the room even though he spoke at a normal volume. 

You put the item into the closet before turning around and walking over to where he stood, snuggling into his side as Bradley put his arm around you. “Are they nice?” 

“Eh…” You felt him shrug. “They’re alright, I guess.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you could feel him laugh.

He had told you about the other daggers before and you knew of his time at Top Gun with Natasha and Jake but you had never met them before. Part of you was just worried if they’d like you. If they’d think you were good enough for Bradley.

“Ready to go?” Bradley’s voice interrupted your thoughts before you could overthink it more.

“Yeah.” You answered, smiling up at him before ducking under his arm to get your bag. “Let's go!”

Brad managed to behave on the elevator ride down but once the doors opened and you started to step out into the lobby he not so discreetly gave your butt a squeeze before resting his hand on the small of your back, steering you in the direction of Maverick and Penny who were already waiting.

If they saw they did a great job at pretending they didn’t. Instead Maverick checked the time on his phone before putting it away, smiling at Bradley and you. “There’s a shuttle to the airport leaving in 5 minutes so we should probably get going.”

It was easy to follow him through the hotel to the shuttle and then later through the airport. Even though you hadn’t known Maverick for long it was easy to see the natural leader in the man, making his way through the airport with purpose, while the rest of you were following behind him like ducklings. He knew where you had to be at what time and once again you found yourself being grateful that the older man had taken it upon himself to organize this trip. A quick visit to the courthouse could never have compared to the glitz and glam of fabulous Las Vegas. Even the drive to the airport had been magical, it being the middle of the day doing little to hide the power of flashing lights and inebriated fun-seekers.

“Just in time.” Maverick announced as your little group walked up to the gate as the arriving plane started to deboard. 

Bradley’s arm laid heavy over your shoulder but you didn’t mind, leaning into him until you could rest your cheek against his chest and winding your arm around his small waist to hook your thumb through the belt loops of his jorts. You just stood there waiting for a few minutes while the people made their way out of the plane and into the airport. You had seen a few pictures of the other aviators Bradley and Maverick had flown with during their mission but while it seemed enough to recognize them should they stand somewhat close it seemed far from possible to be able to pick them out from a crowd like the one in front of you. 

It got louder around you as the mass of people made their way through the terminal but Maverick didn’t have to raise his voice to get the attention of somebody. Raising his arm just above his head he waved once, twice, before lowering it again. Following his line of sight you could see a man and a woman heading your way. They were both wearing sunglasses and the man was carrying a bag over his shoulder although it started to slip as he excitedly made his way over to your group with the woman following behind. 

Withdrawing your arm from around your fiancé slowly, taking a step back so that Bradley could greet his friend. Payback was a little taller than him which didn’t become too apparent until he released Bradley from a hug and proceeded to pull Maverick against his chest after. 

“You must be Carmen. It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“It’s great to meet you, Rooster. My husband told me so much about you.” Payback’s wife seemed to be a hugger too judging by the way her and Bradley were embracing. 

Unlike her husband though she didn’t move on to greet Maverick next, instead focusing her attention on you. “And you must be the wife-to-be. Oh what a gorgeous bride. Thank you so much for letting us share this day with you.” You found yourself being pulled into an enthusiastic hug, barely getting the time to reciprocate the unsuspected affection before Carmen pulled away again, moving to greet Maverick and Penny.

You were only left standing for a second before Bradley swooped in and guided his friend the two steps over to you. “Hi. Payback.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake, a gesture you gladly accepted. 

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled back, hoping the man wouldn’t recognize how nervous you felt. Bradley going back to standing by your side, arm casually slung over your shoulder like it had been before, helped a little. 

It didn’t take long for your little group to move. Your guests had checked a bag and by the time you had collected from the baggage carousel and made your way to the next gate enough time had passed that you could watch the plane land. 

Truth be told you had been a little nervous meeting Payback and his wife but you were downright terrified of meeting Phoenix? Natasha? Phoenix! Sure, Bradley was friends with the people that were coming to watch you two get married but him and Phoenix went back almost as far as Brad and you did and you couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen if she didn’t like you. It was obvious that Bradley cared about her and her opinions a whole lot and you wanted nothing more but to get along with her.

Before you could get lost in your own worries the passengers made their way off the plane and into the terminal. This time you didn’t have to look for the people you were picking up, instead they came straight to you as if they had spotted your group of fearless aviators plus partners from the moment they had stepped out of the plane. 

Phoenix made her way through the masses, a tall blond who you assumed to be Bob following half a step behind her. People parted out of their way left and right, stepping aside like being in her way would be the absolute last thing they wanted to be. She didn’t look as intimidating as you had imagined her to be from the pictures Bradley had shown you. Dark hair hung loose over her shoulders and she was wearing a simple shirt and jeans but the way she carried herself almost made you want to take a step back as well. 

“Bradshaw!” 

You weren’t the only one that jumped at that. Beside you Bradley went a few shades paler even though his nonchalant expression didn’t change. Phoenix was still a few yards away but her voice carried through the noisy building, it didn’t sound all too happy. So much for trying to make a good first impression. 

She bridged the last of the distance between you but her whole demeanor seemed to change once she spotted you. “Future Mrs. Bradshaw!” Phoenix gave you a quick once-over but it didn’t feel like she was looking at you trying to find flaws, she was simply looking at you, a little half-smile on her face. “I can’t believe he managed to hide you away for so long.”

She didn’t try to hug you but when she went to stand beside you your shoulders touched a little too often to be accidental, a little too soft to be malicious, and you felt glad about that small sign of fondness. 

Her WSO Bob was an absolute sweetheart with his soft little pleasure to meet you ma’am and you could immediately understand why Bradley spoke so highly of him. 

Your little group stood together for a few moments. Just catching up and introducing yourselves. It felt nice to be surrounded by people your soon-to-be husband cared about, people that you cared about by association. That warm familiarity growing while you talked.

“Shouldn’t we head back to the hotel? The itinerary Mav sent us said something about lunch.” Payback said during a lull in the conversation.

“An itinerary? What-” Bradley started before Maverick interrupted him.

“Hangman’s flight won’t get in until 12:15 but if you want to head to the hotel that’s fine. I can come with you on the shuttle and then back here once you’re there?”

He continued to say more but Bradley leaned down to talk to you so you were focused on him. “He sent them an itinerary?” He whispered, getting a shoulder shrug in return. Maverick hadn’t said anything about the plans to you since your breakfast meeting in the diner. 

“Oh can we head to the hotel? I’d like to get ready before we eat. Shower off all the airport and plane germs and change into real clothes.” Carmen said, tugging on her shirt. Her clothes looked nice to you, cute but definitely comfortable plane clothes, and you could understand why she didn’t want to wear them to lunch in Las Vegas.

“Alright.” Maverick said, pulling out his phone to check the time. “There’s a shuttle leaving in like 7 minutes at the end of the terminal. If we leave now I’ll make it back in time to meet the rest of the group before heading back.”

After he stopped talking Penny reached over to rest a hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll head back with them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Need to make sure Amelia isn’t secretly raiding the mini bar or trashing the hotel room. I’m telling you getting her her own room is a recipe for disaster, I swear that girl never puts away her clothes. See you back at the hotel?” 

After Payback and Carmen left with Penny you were left alone with the remaining aviators. They had trained together. Flown together. Braved death together.

And then there was you.

Bradley’s fiancée.

You stood there in silence for a moment before Maverick spoke up again. “We should probably head to Hangman’s gate. It’s not far but it’ll give us something to do in the next few minutes.”

Bradley took your hand in his, swinging your connected arms between your bodies while you slowly walked towards the gate. Maverick led the way and the rest of you followed in what you assumed to be pairs before Phoenix popped up next to you, scaring you just a little. She sure was stealthy.

“So you and Bradshaw have been dating for a while, huh? Got any dirt on him?” 

Bradley hadn’t told you if his friends knew about your slightly unusual relationship but the way she said dating made you think that she knew. You didn’t care either way and her just casually saying it like this made it seem like she didn’t either. 

“Because I have so many stories from our time at Top Gun.” She continued when you didn’t immediately respond.

“I’ll do you one better. I have albums filled with all his awkwards teenage photos.” 

That made Bradley jump in and speak up. “She really doesn’t need to see those.” 

“Oh yes, she does.” Phoenix fired back.

The two of them playfully glared at each other before you leaned over to her and loudly fake whispered. “I’ll send you copies once we’re home.” 

That earned you a healthy hand squeeze but you just giggled. Oh yeah, you were going to get along great. 

In the end you didn’t have to wait all that much longer. Phoenix and Bob were talking to Maverick about getting reassigned and flying together again while Bradley and you stood a little separate from the group, not talking, just standing there with his arm around you, watching the others. Occasionally he turned slightly, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before turning back.

The flight from Honolulu landed a full ten minutes early but you didn’t question it. Of all the people that would be coming to celebrate with you, Hangman was probably the one you knew the most about. Bradley had been complaining about him for a long, long time, yet you were still looking forward to meeting him. 

“People are just starting to get out of the plane.” Phoenix said, a little loud so that Brad and you could hear her. “There’s still time for us to go and to leave him here.”

Bob muttered something in response but from where you were standing you couldn’t understand what he said.

“Good plan but I can already see him.”

It was easy to spot him in the mass of passengers. People didn’t part ways like they had for Phoenix but he just… stood out. Looking sunkissed and ready to rock and roll.

“Oh he’s hot.” You said, looking up at Bradley. “I can totally understand why you used to have a crush on him.”

“I didn’t-” He protested, weakly.

Giving him a little shoulder shrug you continued. “Hmmm. Sure. And I’m not thinking about leaving you at the altar and running away with him instead.”

Thankfully Bradley took your little joke lightly, quipping back. “Good luck with that. You’ll come back ten minutes later begging us to take him off your hands because he’s so annoying.”

You were just about to respond with a playful please, I could handle him for at least 20 when the man in question reached your little group making you keep quiet. 

“Pops.” He nodded at Maverick, and you had to suppress a laugh at the look on his face. “Phoenix. Bob.” 

“Hangman.” Was all Phoenix said back.

It was obvious that there was some kind of tension between all the aviators but it didn’t feel hostile. Maybe just leftover feelings from the mission?

“Rooster.” He finally said when he stood in front of your fiancé and you. “Mrs. Rooster.” 

“Hangman.”

They just looked at each other, head tilted, mischievous look in their eyes, before they broke. 

“It’s good to see you, man.” 

“Good to see you, too. Wasn’t sure if you would come.”

“Can’t leave my wingman hanging now, can I? Besides, I come bearing gifts.” He gave the bag he was carrying over his shoulder two pats. “Now on the schedule pops sent it said something about lunch?”

It was a little weird, sitting at a table where almost everybody but you knew each other. At times it was hard to keep up with the conversation. Carmen seemed to have no such problem, talking and laughing with her husband and his WSO. Fanboy had met you all at one of the hotel’s restaurants with a bright smile and enthusiastically introduced himself. It was easy to get along with him, not even 5 minutes into the conversation you had discovered that you were both fans of the same shows so you spent a while talking about those before somebody else caught his attention and you were left sitting there, trying to listen to what everybody was talking about in the hopes of finding a conversation you could join. Beside you Bradley was recounting the story of your love to Phoenix and Bob, turning to you every so often and asking you for your opinion on things that happened but it was easy to get lost in everything happening around you. 

Hangman was laughing with Payback and Carmen. 

Fanboy seemed to be in deep conversation with Maverick and Penny. 

Amelia was typing away on her phone.

Around you there were other patrons talking and laughing, the faint sound of people crying out in joy over casino wins flowing in from somewhere mixing in with the ambiance of the restaurant. Everything was so quintessentially Vegas. Part of you didn’t want to wait a few more hours. You just wanted to take Bradley and run away to the nearest chapel and get married. Something about the Las Vegas air made you want to be reckless and wild.

“So…” Hangman began after everybody was mostly done eating. Fanboy and Bob were savoring the last bites of their desert while Maverick had slipped from the table a few minutes ago and you just knew that the older man had gone to settle the bill. Another kindness you weren’t sure you’d ever repay him. “What’s the plan for the bachelor party? It didn’t say anything on Maverick’s schedule.” 

It seemed like everybody at the table stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Bradley and you. 

“You have something planned don’t you?”

Bradley just looked at them for a moment, his pretty eyes wide and his cheeks turning pink. “I- uhh. Not really, no.”

“Rooster, I love you man, but please don’t tell me we flew all the way to Vegas for no party.”

“I thought we’d do something after.” He said, gesturing around to support his words. “Go out and celebrate after the wedding, not before.”

“There’s still a few hours before the wedding. You can go have a bachelor party if you want. Just don’t go all Hangover on me, okay?” 

Bradley was looking at you with his sad puppy eyes and you couldn’t help yourself from reaching out and running a hand through his short curls. They had grown a lot since he got home and part of you felt jealous that it grew fast enough for you to notice a difference after only a few weeks.

“Alright, since I’m the best man-” 

“You’re not.”

“-I’m letting you decide where we’ll go first. Casino or strip club?”

As soon as those words left Hangman’s mouth the atmosphere at the table changed. Everybody was paying just a little bit more attention to what Bradley was going to say.

“I’m not going to a strip club. Why would you even suggest that? My girl is literally right here.” He gestured to you as if everybody’s eyes weren’t on you.

“It’s just a strip club, Bradley. Just go with your friends, look at some hot girls…” You gave his hair just a little tug before pulling your hand back so that you could hold his. “And then you come and marry me.”

Your little moment was broken up by Hangman’s voice again. “Alright. Now-”

“If the boys are going to a strip club I want to go too.” Carmen interrupted him, leaning back in her chair. 

All the attention turned to her as you took a moment to think about what had been said so far. Sure, it was a little unconventional but how bad could it be? “I've never been to a strip club before. That could be fun.”

Maverick chose that moment to return to the table, pulling out his chair and sitting down, taking in the table. “What are you guys talking about?” 

“We’re going to a strip club.” Fanboy chimed in. 

You hadn’t known him for long but you wanted to take a picture of Maverick’s exasperated face and hang it over your fireplace or on the wall that housed all of Bradley and your family pictures. He was silent for some time, his face going through a journey of surprise, contemplation, settling on defeat in the end and letting out a deep sigh.

“I’m not going to a strip club with my… with Rooster.” He finally said.

“Oh come on pops.”

Maverick just shook his head a little. “Not really my thing. There are better ways to get a woman's attention than throwing money at them.”

 “Yeah? Like what?”

“Extremely reckless and dangerous behavior, for one.” Penny answered for him. “But he is right. I don’t think we should tag along with you for that, as tempting as that sounds. Well just explore the area a little while you go out and have fun.”

“Alright, now that everything is cleared up,” Hangman reached down to grab the mysterious bag he had brought downstairs and placed under the table for lunch. “I brought a little something for everyone.”

Hawaiian shirts. Hangman had brought a whole bag of amazingly colorful and crazy Hawaiian shirts for everybody to wear. Although he didn’t say anything you saw the look in Bradley’s eyes as he looked over his friends rummaging through the shirts. There was nothing but unfiltered affection for his friends, for them joining you on this adventure, and proudly wearing something that means so much to him so that they could match. 

“Dibs on the one with the dolphins!” Fanboy shouted, volume entirely unfitting for the middle of a restaurant but so immensely fitting for your little group. 

You couldn’t wait.

As far as he remembered he had never been in a strip club before so maybe he should savor the experience but instead he found himself looking for the bar almost as soon as he stepped foot in the club. 

Hangman had led them here, walking into the place with a purpose, and Rooster really didn’t need to know whether or not he had called ahead to reserve the velvety looking booth in front of what looked to be a side stage or if it was coincidentally conveniently empty and just waiting for them to walk in and claim it. He watched you walk towards it, arms interlocked with Fanboy, animatedly chatting about something. You were beautiful like this, joyful and carefree. 

He was second to last to walk in, trying to stall just a little longer before entering with only Bob behind him. That didn’t prevent Hangman from noticing them taking a little longer to follow the rest of their group though. He moved over to where they stood just past the entrance with big strides, walking around them before putting an arm around each of their shoulders, walking them further into the club as if to make sure neither of them turned around and ran for the hills. An easy assumption. Probably a correct one. 

“Come on guys. Party is this way.” 

He let himself be moved along and just tried to take everything in. He was in Vegas. He was in a strip club. Hangman was wearing a pale pink Hawaiian shirt. He’d be married before the day was over. To you.

“Atta boy. Come on.” Something must have shown on his face because soon Hangman was releasing him from his hold with a pat on the back, instead focusing on Bob who was still on his other side.

“Don’t worry, Bobby boy.” He gave him a hard pat on the back, jostling the younger man’s shoulder. “I checked everything online before coming here. The dancers don’t take off their tops here so your innocence will be preserved.”

With that he turned his back to them, following the rest of the group towards the booth and leaving them standing there on their own. Rooster watched as he squeezed into the space between you and Phoenix, leaning back against the velvet cushions. You were laughing along with the others, cheering on Payback’s wife as she made it rain on a blonde girl on the stage. You were having fun so why shouldn’t he try to have some too.

“Bar?” Bob suggested, and Rooster knew it was more for his sake than the WSO’s but he found himself nodding along regardless. 

"Yes, please."

The bar wasn’t far from where they stood so they walked over, settling on one of the stools in front of it with Bob sliding into the seat next to him, close enough that their elbows knocked into each other as they talked. “Don’t tell Hangman but this isn’t my first time in a strip club.” That wasn’t at all what Rooster was expecting him to say. He knew Bob was more than just an innocent library dweller if the snarky remarks he was allowed to witness and the stories from his family’s ranch were anything to go by but he wouldn’t have pictured him as the kind of guy to go to clubs like these. 

“Really?” He said and hoped that it wouldn’t come across as too judgemental. Him and Bob didn’t talk a lot outside of the group chat but Rooster liked him. He was a very likable guy. 

A bartender came to take their order, temporarily interrupting their conversation. He hadn’t even thought about what he would like so he just took a quick glance at their menu while Bob ordered a simple Coke, as a treat, and then ordered a fruity little cocktail for himself based on its ridiculous name. Hangman was definitely going to tease him but that didn’t matter. It was his bachelor party, damnit. He could drink whatever he wanted.

“My ex-girlfriend from high school is a dancer.” Whatever he had been expecting it wasn’t that. “A year ago when my cousin got married he wanted to do this big bachelor weekend so we drove down to Cheyenne because let's be honest there’s nothing to do in our town except get drunk in a field. I drove because I’m the only one that didn’t drink so they dragged me along when they wanted to go to a club. Found out she was working there because she was dancing on stage when we walked in.” 

The last place he’d stare at in a strip club was Bob yet here Rooster was, eyes glued to the younger man’s face so he wouldn’t miss any little detail of the story being told.

“I grew up in a small community so obviously they recognized her and next thing I knew they had pooled together 400 bucks so they could pay her to give me a lap dance.” Bob said, breaking off into a small laugh before taking a sip of his drink.

The pause in the story was just long enough for him to contribute at least a little bit. “Wasn’t that awkward?”

“Not really. We sat in one of those backrooms for hours and just talked. She and her girlfriend have two really cute cats. And you want to know the best part?”

He nodded, the straw in his drink bumping against his lips with the motion.

“My cousin and his friends got so drunk that they forgot all about it and did it again the next day.”

He couldn’t hold in his laugh after that. Bob joining in. It took a while for the two of them to calm down but when they did it was to nothing but comfortable silence. Another song started to play in the club but when he looked it was still the same blonde on the stage. A different woman was putting down drinks on the table in front of the booth their friends were sitting in. She shook her chest playfully as she leaned forward and then laughed when Fanboy put a bill into her cleavage. 

“Want to go join the others?” He asked, already sliding down from his perch.

“Why not.” Bob answered and then they made their way over to the group.

He wasn’t quite sure how he ended up sitting almost entirely in your lap with your arms wrapped around his waist but he wouldn’t complain. A new girl was dancing on the stage but all Rooster could focus on was the warmth of your body and the coolness of his drink. 

He tried to make himself smaller, pull in his long legs so that Phoenix could squeeze past on the way to the bathroom and fit himself into your lap better until you could put your chin over his shoulder. 

Rooster didn’t quite know how long they had been sitting there, a few songs and a second round of drinks at least. At one point you had switched positions and he sat reclined against the velvety backrest with you perched on his lap, nodding his head along to the beat of the music. 

Nothing good could last forever though and you soon stood up, slipping from your comfortable throne and standing before him. “I’m going to head back to the hotel, okay?” 

He wanted to ask why but he could probably guess. Something about the way that he looked at you must have conveyed his thoughts though because you leaned forward, cupping his face with both of your hands. 

“I have to go get ready, Bradley. So that I can be pretty for our wedding.”

“You’re already the prettiest.”

That earned him a little laugh and a kiss. “Stop trying to be cute.”

“I’ll walk you back to the hotel.” He said, making moves to get up. Rooster wasn’t scared you’d run away, leave him on your wedding day, but he was worried of you making your way back to the hotel on your own. 

“I already texted Maverick and he’s picking me up so you can stay here, have some more fun.” You ran your fingers through his hair and he wanted to stay right here forever, looking up at you while you touched him oh so gently. “I’ll see you later?”

You said it nonchalantly but he knew that you were feeling the same kind of underlying anxiety viciously clawing at your heart that he felt. That tiny little leftover doubt not that he would decide to desert you but that something would happen and you’d be alone again. It was the reason you had called Mav to pick you up. It was the reason you had told him about it. An unspoken I’ll stay safe please stay safe too hanging between them.

“I’ll see you later.” He said with as much certainty he could muster. 

You smiled at him again and he knew that you understood each other.

Rooster watched as you walked towards the exit, vaguely recognizing Carmen talking to her husband before getting up and hurrying after you but he was still only focused on your retreating form.

Yeah. He’d be seeing you later.

Now this –Rooster thought– this is Las Vegas. In front of them rows and rows of slot machines stood, flashing bright lights in all the colors of the rainbow. Further back he could make out several tables crowded with people but the casino was kept so dark he couldn’t make out the other end of the room. An older man at a machine close to them won something and the loud noises of rattling coins and music filled the space around them.

“Alright.” The others turned to him as he spoke. “We’ll meet up back here in an hour. Don’t be late.”

They got maybe two steps in before he remembered something. “We’re doing a buddy system. Everyone picks a wingman and sticks with them. Friends don’t let friends develop gambling addiction, alright?” 

Maybe, just maybe, he should have thought about his words before speaking. Payback and Fanboy put an arm around each other's shoulders, grinning from ear to ear as they walked towards the tables in the far back corner with long strides. It wasn’t until Phoenix reached out to take Bob’s hand and lead them towards some stairs leading to more tables that he realized his mistake. He was stuck with Hangman. 

The excited blond threw an arm around his shoulder just like Payback and Fanboy had done moments ago. “Come on, wingman. Let’s win some!” 

Great.

Even though he and Hangman had more or less changed out their antagonistic rivalry for an amicable competitiveness following the latter saving his and Maverick’s lives they had yet to spend time together without any of the other daggers supervising them, as Phoenix liked to call it. Rooster wasn’t sure what to expect from the —he checked his phone— 58 minutes they’d be stuck together but the least he could do is try his best. They were friends now. They could spend an hour together without things escalating.

“You any good at poker?” He tried, immediately seeing the other man’s eyes light up.

“Oh you’re on, Bradshaw.”

Hangman was, admittedly, good at poker. They left the table after one round though, wanting to look around a little more. He had more luck than the younger man at roulette but they both sucked equally at the slot machines. It was fun to just fool around a little. Even after he had run out of chips they continued to walk the floor. He felt no desire to run and exchange more money, content with the small amount he had allocated for this being used up. 

“Hey.” He tapped on Hangman’s shoulder to get his attention. “I have to head to the bathroom real quick. You okay waiting here for a moment?”

“Just don’t forget that we’re supposed to meet up again soon.” He nodded so Rooster excused himself. 

The last person he had expected to run into when exiting the bathroom of the casino was Phoenix. Her hair looked messier than an hour ago but Rooster wouldn’t have thought any of it –maybe she had gotten frustrated about a game and ran her hands through it, messing it up– had it not been for a familiar looking woman stepped out right after her and the poorly hidden hickey at the base of her neck.

“Please tell me you didn’t just hook up with a stripper in the casino bathroom.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you that.”

Sighing he hid his face in his hands. “Nat...” He started, before thinking better. “Actually nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

He started to walk back to where he left Hangman, wanting to give Phoenix a little more time to collect herself before the group met back up, but she caught up to him so he slowed down a little for her to keep pace.

“We just made out a little.” 

Silently he raised his hand, not breaking his stride or turning his head to look at her but she understood regardless. Her smaller fist connected with his and he smiled. Nice.

“Hangman!” He called out as soon as he could see the blond standing at the side of some table near where he left him. Some other people turned around too but then went back to ignoring the three weirdos in Hawaiian shirts. “Guess who left her wingman?” 

Rooster didn’t tell him the reason, wouldn’t tell him the reason, but deep down Phoenix would know and accept that he needed to tease her for this just a little, even if it earned him a pointy elbow to the side of his ribcage.

“Phoenix leaving her wingman? Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Yeah well keep talking and you won’t see the night.”

They just stood there, glaring at each other before a familiar cocky smile made its way onto Hangman’s face. “You think he can find the way here on his own or do we need to send out a search party?”

“Send out a search party for who?” Fanboy asked from behind him, making Rooster jump just a little bit. He hadn’t heard the two men walk up.

“Bob.” Hangman answered, a little bit too smug. “Phoenix left her wingman.”

“Ooooo.” Fanboy cheered, his joyful expression noticeably different from Payback’s gloomy look. “Maybe we can go and ask an employee to shout him out over the intercom. Tell him to meet us at the front desk, you know, like they do with little kids that get lost in stores.”

He could see the glee on Hangman’s face so he quickly stepped in. “Or we can just wait a little longer and see if he shows up?”

“Wait for whom?” 

This time Rooster didn’t jump, secretly feeling good about the small win. How had all his friends managed to get so good at sneaking up on people? Bob didn’t look like he just lost his entire life savings during the time Phoenix reconnected with the dancer from the club in the casino bathroom though, so he counted that as a win.

Beside him he could see Hangman getting ready to say something again so he quickly jumped in, saying something first before the other man could make a comment about the situation again. “You guys ready to head back to the hotel?” 

“Might as well.” Payback answered, looking down at his shoes before looking at him. “Your wedding better be a fantastic one because it’ll be the last thing I see before Carmen kills me.”

“Why would…” 

“I bet our entire vacation found on the last game and lost, okay? That’s why. I’m dead, man.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the aviators. The pattern of the casino carpet was kinda funky, Rooster noticed. Beside him Phoenix shifted on her feet. Nobody really knew how to respond until Bob spoke up.

“How much did you lose?”

“Nearly 7k.” Payback answered.

Fanboy winced as if he hadn’t watched his pilot lose everything at the table just shortly before. This was exactly the reason why Rooster wanted them to stick together instead of wandering off alone yet here they were.

They stood silent again, not speaking, watching as Bob shoved his hand down the front pocket of his jeans. His face looked almost cute, the tip of his tongue sticking out just a tiny bit between his lips as he rummaged through the pocket. It only took a few seconds before his hand resurfaced, a whole bunch of colorful casino chips gripped in his fist. Another few seconds to flatten his palm and dig through the small pile. Finally he found what he was looking for, holding out a few of the chips for Payback to take.

“Here. You can have those.” 

“Thanks Bob, that's really sweet, that's… that’s 7 thousand dollars worth of chips.” 

At that everybody’s eyes got wide, staring at the quiet WSO and the amount of chips left in his hand.

“Yeah.”

Nobody said anything for a moment but just as Rooster saw Hangman open his mouth to comment on the situation Payback let out a joyful whoop, grabbing the shorter man and pressing a soundly smooch against Bob’s cheek. “You’re amazing, man.” Turning back to the group he motioned for them to get a move on. “Come on, what are you guys waiting for? Let's get back to the hotel. We have a wedding to get ready for!”

The knock on his door came after he had almost finished getting ready. There was still a good amount of time left before they had to head out to the little chapel so he tried to go through the motions slowly and not rush. For some reason you had decided to not see each other before the wedding and it was killing him. It felt like you were miles and miles away even though Rooster knew realistically you were only a few doors down from him. 

He also knew you wouldn’t give him the sweet satisfaction of freeing him from his torture by knocking on his door to see him before the altar but that was okay. He waited 15 years before he allowed himself to have you. He could wait a few minutes more until he would have you for the rest of his life.

Taking a few seconds to put on a shirt he made his way over to the door, being conscious of the fact that maybe he should have put on some pants as well but not enough to look for one just to open the door.

“What are you gonna be wearing?” Was the first thing Hangman said, before he had even passed the threshold of the hotel room. He was dressed in a light blue dress shirt and fucking khaki pants and with a jolt Rooster realized that he would be dressed fancier than him at his own wedding. Judging by his face Hangman must have seen his carefully laid out jeans and come to the same conclusion. It wasn’t even a fresh pair, he had worn it to dinner at Penny’s house while they were in San Diego and then just carefully put it back into his duffel bag because they were virtually untouched. They were also the best available option he had packed for what was originally a short trip to ask his godfather to be a witness and then ended up as an overplanned elopement.

“You’re wearing jeans?” 

“Yup.” He didn’t explain himself further. 

Apparently that was enough of an answer for Hangman because the younger man just shrugged. “Makes sense.” He said as if Rooster getting married in jeans was the most normal thing in the world. “Hawaiian shirt?”

“Yeah.” 

He hadn’t decided which one he would wear yet. There were two options hung up in the closet at the other side of the room but Rooster hadn’t been able to decide yet. He wouldn’t ask Hangman for help deciding though. He’d wait until Mav came by later and ask him then.

“Great. I have something for you.” He held out another bag like the one he had brought to lunch that had all of the colorful Hawaiian shirts but when he looked into the bag Rooster wasn’t overwhelmed by a brightly patterned rainbow of fabric. Instead he pulled out a more muted shirt, soft and off white in the way it could almost be cream but without the harsh yellow undertone some of his other shirts had. The pattern wasn’t delicate by any means, big red hibiscus flowers and smaller yellow ones stretched across the fabric, but to him it felt precious. He didn’t know what was different about this shirt, he had a similar patterned one hanging in his closet at home, but it just felt special.

“What?”

“You’re a pretty predictable guy, Rooster.” His usual cocky smirk adorned his face as he raised his chin a little higher. He was as arrogant as ever but for the first time Rooster found himself admitting that maybe that was part of his charm.

“There’s care instructions in the bag. And you better spring for dry cleaning on that one, a shirt like that deserves special attention.”

“This isn’t just one of those cheap tourist shirts, is it?” He’d blame the impending wedding for the emotion in his voice but thankfully Hangman didn’t call him out on it.

Maybe it was because he sounded similar when he responded. “Nope. Small kānaka owned business, handmade, one of a kind.”

That was not what he expected. He thought that maybe Hangman had popped into a slightly better shop on his way to the airport–where he had bulk bought the entire inventory of the first souvenir shop in sight–not that he went out of his way, really went out of his way, to find a meaningful gift for somebody he was taunting not even two months back. This side of Hangman surprised him but he found himself looking forward to the future of their friendship.

“Thank you, Jake.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stood up a little straighter, rolling his shoulders back until his posture looked annoyingly perfect again. “Couldn’t let you walk down the aisle in one of those hideous shirts of yours.”

And Hangman was back.

“I’ll uhh I’ll leave you to it.”

Hangman hadn’t been out of the room for a minute before there was another knock on the door. Mav and him must have run into each other in the hallway but the older man didn’t mention anything as he made his way into the room. 

Mav looked at him, looked out of the window, looked at him again. 

“You getting ready?” 

“Yeah. Just have to get dressed.” 

The silence that fell over the room wasn’t uncomfortable. It simply existed. He went through the motions of straightening out the shirt that Hangman had given him, carefully placing it next to the jeans he had laid out across the bed.

He knew why Maverick was here. He also knew why he didn’t start the conversation he wanted to have. Rooster didn’t necessarily want to have the conversation either but he knew that they both needed it. 

“Are the girls getting ready?” He asked instead, internally cringing at the fact that he has inadvertently called a woman old enough to be his mother a girl in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then again his mother would have loved it.

Judging by the way Mav exhaled and his stance relaxed that must have been the right thing to say. “They’re all dressed up already. When I checked in on them Penny was helping your girl curl her hair and Amelia was on her phone.”

He let out a noise that might have been a sigh but could have also been just a general old person noise. Rooster watched as he walked to one of the chairs arranged in one corner of the room in a little seating area, elbows immediately coming up to rest on his knees, holding up his head in crucial support. 

“Mav.”

The older man wouldn’t bring it up on his own. Hell, he still had to visibly fight with himself to talk about the topic, to remember, but he knew what was coming and Rooster granted him a few more seconds to prepare himself.

“Do you think they would have liked this?”

There it was again, that lost look Mav got when he didn’t quite know what to say.

“I know they’re proud of me. I know they would love her. I know they would be here and smile and cry and support us but do you think they would have liked this? Vegas? I’m going to get married in fucking jeans, Mav. Jeans! There’s no way this is the wedding they would have envisioned for me.”

Rooster didn’t even notice that he had gotten up until he felt Maverick’s hand on his shoulder.

“They would have loved it.” He said, and Rooster didn’t dare question his truthfulness. “Maybe not the jeans part but I’m not going to take you shopping 30 minutes before your wedding, Bradley.”

He didn’t look at him with pity, but for Rooster that look of commiseration hit just as hard. 

“You’ve thought about it a lot.” 

It wasn’t a question.

“After mom.” He pretended he couldn’t feel Mav tense up. “I… I knew that there would be a lot of things they couldn’t be there for. It wasn’t easy and it took a long time. It’s…it’s barely even reluctant acceptance but it’s something. Usually I can tell myself that they’re up there, watching over me, and it helps because I know that they’ll love me no matter what.”

The unspoken ‘but’ hung heavy in the air between them.

Rooster really hoped that Maverick wouldn't ask him to elaborate but when he looked up and saw his godfather looking at him he couldn’t help but let it all pour out.

“I’m never sure if they like how I turned out, the choices I made. Mom never really talked about things like that and dad…” He trailed off a little but quickly took a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t even know dad long enough to get to know him. And no matter how much I tried to model my life after him I’ll never be sure if I’m living a life they’d like. When we…” He paused again, staring at the floor, almost begging it to open up and swallow him whole. Anything to stop himself from speaking. “After we stopped talking it felt like I lost my last connection to him, to them. Before I could always rely on the fact that you were there to guide me–taking care of me like they would have wanted–but then that suddenly stopped. Everything I’ve ever wanted in life was suddenly ripped away from me and it just felt like I had lost a third parent on top of that. I don’t need to know if they’re proud of me or if they love me. I just need to know if they’d like me. I don’t even know if you like me.”

He didn’t know if the wedding had anything to do with him snapping like this, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself to a man he didn’t trust a few short weeks ago. Sure he had heard about weddings making people lose their minds but he had been fine every step of the way until now. A breakdown right before one of the most important events of his life was nothing but an inconvenience. A horribly annoying inconvenience. 

He was still looking at the floor, not daring to look up at the older man. He needed the reassurance, craved it almost, but he knew if he looked up and saw that sorrowful look in Maverick’s eyes…

“They’d like you.”

He said it so quietly that for a second Rooster thought he had imagined it.

“They would like you, kid.” Mav repeated. “Your dad would be jealous that you can grow a better mustache than him and your mother would  kill me for letting you join the Navy but they would… they would absolutely like you. All your parents ever wanted was for you to be happy and I admit that I haven’t been around so I can’t know how you have been all these years but when I look at you looking at her… You look so happy, Bradley.”

A hand landed on his shoulder and he knew he couldn’t avoid looking at the older man anymore. 

Rooster allowed himself two more breaths before he looked up. Mav had that look in his eyes again but it didn’t sting as hard as he thought it would.

“Go wash your face, kid.” Was all he said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before turning away, eyes locking in on the carefully laid out clothes on the bed. “You should finish getting ready too. We should leave in the next 20 minutes if you don’t want to leave your bride waiting at the altar.”

Rooster hadn’t planned on spending much longer in the bathroom. After all, he already spent a significant amount of time in there before Hangman had interrupted him, getting ready and attempting to tame the growing curls you adored so much but now as he looked at himself in the mirror it felt like all the time had gone to waste. He didn’t look wedding ready. He’d barely dare to go back out into the room the way he was looking. 

Going through the motions a little more hurried than he did the first time he scrubbed his face with one of the soft towels the hotel provided and water cold enough to shock him back into reality. It took less time to fix his hair and even less to fix his mustache. None of the other aviators could ever find out about the tiny comb he kept around for emergencies like this but at times it really was a lifesaver.

When he came back out Mav was still hovering in the room. He justified it to himself by reasoning that the older man was simply there to make sure he’d make it to the chapel on time. It wasn’t until after he had already put on his jeans and was reaching for the shirt that he noticed the addition on the bed. Metal caught rays of sun from the window, shining between the folds of the sheets and the folds of the shirt. He recognized what it was but that didn’t help clear up his confusion. Rooster’s hand came up, touching the base of his neck to make sure he was still wearing his dog tags. They weren’t new, that much was obvious. The metal was worn but clearly taken care of. 

Rooster hadn’t placed it there but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who did. Mav was busy looking out of the window again, trying his hardest to avoid any attention falling on him. 

He picked up the dog tags by the chain, listening to the metal touch ever so slightly while being lifted in the air until he could use his other hand to hold the tags in the palm of his hand. 

Looking down at the small metal tags, the letters stared back at him. 

B R A D S H A W

He ran his thumb over the name–the name they shared–feeling the letters under his skin. 

Front to back. 

Back to front. 

Front to back again.

The metal wasn’t cold to the touch and part of him just knew that Mav had spent a while turning them over in his hand just like he was doing now. 

Without saying anything he slipped the chain over his head, carefully tugging his father’s dog tags into his undershirt alongside his own. 

It wasn’t until he had put on the shirt Hangman had gifted him and nearly buttoned it to the top that Mav spoke again. 

“Your mom kept them.” 

A simple statement, nothing anybody would question, yet he felt like there was more to it. Only feeling validated when the older man continued. 

“I didn’t even know they gave them to her after… They gave me a pair too and I always thought those were the only ones, the ones he was wearing when… I threw them into the ocean after the MiG encounter and it felt good for a second, letting go of the guilt, but then I came back home and he didn’t. And I got to see you grow up but he didn’t. And I couldn’t even give you his dog tags to remember him by. Carole… your mom gave them to me when we started working on your pilots license—told me to keep you safe and give them to you when you’re ready. I’m sorry I didn’t give them to you earlier, kid.”

He had that look on his face again and Rooster could feel the telltale heat of anger-shame-sadness welling up inside of him. 

“Truth is you’ve always been ready. It was me who wasn’t.”

Swallowing the past he stepped closer to the shorter man, pulling him in with both arms and hiding his head in his shoulder like he had done on the carrier after the mission, like he had done a million times as a child. Forgiveness was a bitter meal but one he had to eat. If not to grow then at least as a way to not starve to death on resentment. 

He stepped away, fixed the last remaining button on his shirt, and then nodded towards the door. 

“Let’s go.”

The little chapel your wedding would be held in was everything you could wish for and more. It was painted a bright white and decorated with every cheesy, cliché, remotely-related-to-love item. Heart motifs and intricate, almost over the top, details adorned everything from the ground to the fencing to the top of the small steeple yet it didn’t feel overwhelming to look at. A sign proudly advertised “Sweetheart Chapel” in large bubblegum pink letters next to a pair of ring-carrying-doves. 

It was absolutely perfect.

You could see at least five more chapels just on your side of the street but this one was special and not just because it would become your chapel. It simply felt right. You didn’t know if it was something about the way the setting desert sun tinted everything golden or if it was some kind of weird Vegas magic but something in your heart just told you that this was far from the rushed elopement some random people would view it as. This was exactly how it was meant to be.

“There’s still time to run away.” Phoenix looked gorgeous in her glittery dress and you felt glad that you managed to convince her to wear it. When she had shown up to Penny’s room with wild eyes while the older woman was helping you fix your hair you had feared the worst. All kinds of disasters came to your mind, from the guys being arrested to your Bradley getting lost and nobody being able to find him Hangover style. In actuality she was just worried about her dress, afraid of accidentally upstaging you at your own wedding and validating every bad stereotype about men’s female best friends. It was true that she looked absolutely stunning but you didn’t mind. You could both shine–her a little more, literally, with the way she was reflecting the lights–without any issues arising. 

“I don’t think I can run in these heels but if you know how to hotwire a car we can get a maybe 20 minute head start before they’ll notice we’re missing.” You joke back. 

The little smirk she gives you tells you exactly two things–there is a great possibility that she actually knows how to steal cars and that if you needed to leave for any reason she’d have your back, despite her loyalties to Bradley.

“Is everybody inside yet?” 

“I texted Bob while you were looking at the sign.” Phoenix said. “He said they’re all set up and ready to go. According to him Elvis looks just a tiny bit tacky but not in a bad way and Rooster looks like he might pass out so we should head in and end his suffering.” Taking a deep breath you took one last look around before walking towards the church you managed to walk exactly four steps until you stopped, coming to a horrible realization. “I forgot to borrow something.”

The look she gave you made your cheeks heat up but you explained away anyways. “I have something old and something new. Even something blue. But I forgot to borrow something. I was going to ask Penny for something while we were getting ready but I completely forgot about it and now she’s already inside and I can’t ask her and-”

“Here.” She interrupted your little freak out, hands coming up and to the back of her neck to undo a delicate chain that was previously tucked under her dress. “Just be careful please. My abuela gave it to me after I told my family I wanted to become a pilot.”

The chain was simple but the three medals on it were intricate. “It’s beautiful.” 

“St. Thérèse, St. Joseph of Cupertino, and Our Lady of Loreto. They’re the patron saints of aviators.”

“Thank you Natasha. I promise to take good care of it and give it back to you right after.” It was easy to pull her into a hug, her dress scratchy against your skin but a sweet and gentle gesture nonetheless. 

“You have everything else?” 

“Old.” You said, gesturing towards your hand where your engagement ring sat on the ring finger. “New.” This time you gave the fabric of your dress a tug. 

“And something blue?” Phoenix asked, looking you up and down. 

For all she knew you could have painted your toenails navy blue or hidden a tiny blue object in your dress but something about the way you looked, the way your cheeks were heating up again, must have silently exposed your truth to her. 

“Oookay, I don’t even want to know. Let’s go. Wedding time. Come on.” She thankfully brushed it off. 

Just because the two of you were at the beginning of a beautiful, beautiful friendship didn’t mean you had to share details about the royal blue surprise you were wearing underneath your dress.

The chapel was roomier than the outside suggested, leaving you enough space to duck into a corner where Maverick was already waiting while Phoenix slipped into the room where the rest of your group was waiting for you to make your grand entrance. 

“Ready?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He attempted to joke back, but you could tell he was nervous. 

While you didn’t know the full story of Bradley’s family and how it broke apart you knew enough to see how the wedding was affecting the older man. The pictures of him at the Bradley’s parents’ wedding hung among many other memories on the family wall at your and Bradley’s house. You couldn’t imagine what it must feel like for him. Seeing his best friend—his brother—get married, tragically lose him, then being there for Bradley and his mom until they’re ripped away from him too, only for him to be here at your wedding. 

As much as you wanted to help Maverick—your own nerves temporarily forgotten at the sight of the man—you felt just a little lost, unsure on how to help. 

“I’m good. Weddings just make me emotional.” He was quick to deflect, speaking up before you could ask him what was on his mind. “Ready?”

You were more than ready, longing to see Bradley after only such a short time apart. Usually you were able to keep your yearning under control, going months without seeing him, sometimes just as long without speaking to him or any contact at all. Loving Bradley from a distance was manageable but with him being so close you could hardly control yourself. All that was separating you now were a door and a few short steps. 

Taking the arm Maverick offered, the two of you got in position in front of the door, ready to walk towards your forever. 

“Thank you.” 

For what you were thanking him you weren’t quite sure. Everything. Being there for Bradley in the past. Being there for Bradley and you now. Maybe even causing the rift between them that ultimately led to you two meating. It felt a little wrong but you didn’t know how else to say it.

Maverick looked at you but your gaze didn’t waver from the white painted wood in front of you. Soft piano music started to play as the doors opened, all eyes turning to you as you stepped into the room. 

Somebody from the chapel must have closed the doors behind you because there was a soft clicking noise but you didn't pay it any mind. You didn’t look back. Only forward. Only towards Bradley. 

You slowly began walking down the short aisle while Elvis sang about love. His smooth voice blended into the background as you walked through the empty rows of pews, closer and closer to your love one step at a time. 

Bradley looked so beautiful. His dark eyes shimmered in the warm light of two crystal chandeliers framing the end of the aisle. Big bouquets of flowers behind him. An Elvis in a glittery costume—the same bubblegum pink like the sign in front of the chapel—stood beside him, watching as you walked towards them. 

Of course he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. You wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. A beautiful one too. One you hadn’t seen before. The thought of him going out and getting a new shirt for today made you feel all warm inside. 

His head moved slightly as he looked you up and down. It was as if his eyes alone weren’t enough to take you in—his whole head had to move just so that he could properly look at you.

The dress hadn’t been planned at all. You had brought a few normal outfits with you on your trip to San Diego and at first you had planned on just wearing one of them today. It was Penny that had asked you about your plans during the dinner at her place and it was Penny that took you and Amelia out the next day while Bradley and Maverick were occupied with getting greasy working on the latter’s bike and catching up some more. 

You’d never been a confrontational person and had let yourself be whisked away to a day of pre-wedding pampering, getting your mani-pedi and window shopping on your way back. The dress—your wedding dress—hung in one of the shops you passed. It wasn’t marketed as a wedding dress, it was probably meant for other occasions like a birthday or dressing up to go to a club, but something about it made you stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Amelia had bumped into you because of your abrupt stop but after she followed your view and saw what you were looking at she understood why you stopped. It was only because she called her mother over and all but dragged you into the store that you ended up buying the dress. 

It was perfect. 

Slides long but sheer. Bodice hugging your curves but the skirt flowing. It was a little on the shorter side but the way Bradley was eyeing your legs as you made your way down the aisle just showed you that he didn’t mind one bit. 

You vaguely recognized your friends standing in their pews, watching you walk closer, but all you could focus on was him. Bradley shifted the way he was standing a bit –unable to stay still– and it took you a lot of willpower to not abandon Mav and sprint to the front to be near him again.

Beside you Maverick was starting to breath noticeably differently and when you glanced over it looked like he was tearing up. He wasn’t crying but you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, coming dangerously close to running down his face.

“Penny has tissues in her purse,” you whispered, still facing Bradley and the bubblegum Elvis in front of you. 

Emotions would be running high and she liked to be prepared –at least that’s what she told you as you watched her stuff several packs into her small purse, putting Mary Poppins to shame– just in case they’d be flowing over. 

“Got some in my pocket,” he whispered back. “Knew this was going to happen.”

“Smart.”

Maverick didn’t respond for the next step, or the one after. Finally –once reached the end of the aisle– he turned to look at you.

“Take care of him?” 

You didn’t know if it was a plea or a request but you made a promise to him nonetheless. “I will.”

One more step and you had reached the end of the aisle, standing in front of Bradley and the officiant. He took a step towards you, wrapping Mav into a quick hug. The older man hugged him back, echoing his words from before except this time they sounded more like an order. “Take care of her.”

Bradley nodded against his shoulder before they separated and Mav stepped back to join your other guests and sat down in the front row, leaving you and Bradley standing at the altar. Without having to be prompted he reached out to take your hands in his, his thumb caressing the engagement ring on your finger the second it was within reach. 

It was so easy to get lost in his warm eyes. You were certain that the music changed or maybe even stopped at some point but it didn’t register to you. Only a few more minutes and you would call this wonderful man yours for all eternity. No take backs. 

Bradley gave you one last smile –the kind of soft, closed mouthed smile that made the ends of his mustache dance over his full lips and made you wish you were allowed to kiss him this very second– before the fake Elvis began your ceremony with a wonderfully loud “Ladies and Gentleman.”

The second the pink Elvis announced the two of you husband and wife Rooster dipped you so deep he worried about falling over with you in his arms for just a moment before his lips landed on yours and it was all he could think about. 

His friends hollered and whooped, loud enough that he was sure it could be heard from outside. Bradley brought you back up until you were standing up again before turning to face them all. 

He was pretty sure Mav had cried just a little bit but he’d been subtle about it. Hangman hadn’t. Phoenix looked at him like he lost his mind and Bob tried to reach around her to pat him on the back to comfort him. 

“Weddings just make me emotional.” He said, trying to wipe his eyes.

Congratulations flooded them from all sides, long enough that the chapel attendants had to come in and shoo them out to make room for the next lucky couple.

They stumbled out of the chapel in a big bundle, playfully shoving each other while talking about the ceremony. He was careful to shield you so that you wouldn’t get knocked around by his enthusiastic friends. Payback was ribbing Fanboy for failing both his tasks as unofficial official ring bearer –take exactly two steps (he had stumbled) and hand over the rings (he dropped them during his stumble)– while Amelia made comments about the suit print shirt he decided to wear but Fanboy was taking it with humor. That wasn’t what he was focusing on while their little group was standing in front of the building.

While he had vaguely noticed that Bob had brought a hat with him to the chapel he didn’t think about it until they got outside and the other man moved to put it on. Bob had clearly dressed up as well but Bradley didn’t feel the same emotions as he did when he saw Hangman’s get up. Still the hat confused him. “What’s up with the hat?” 

“Oh. It’s my formal hat.” He could see Bob’s face heat up beneath the wide brim of his hat –a proper cowboy hat– and the frames of his glasses. He was still wearing his Navy issued ones, even though Rooster was pretty sure he was free to wear any style he wanted while on leave. “My mom packed it for me before I left.”

There was a second of silence during which Bob’s embarrassed blush deepened before Hangman chimed in. “You should’ve said something man, I would have brought my Stetson.”

People talked all over each other in response to that and he was pretty sure he heard Carmen say something about a cowboy hat rule but he turned his back to them in an attempt to drown them out for just a moment. It felt wonderful to be surrounded by his friends and family –ridiculous suit print t-shirts and cowboy hats and all– but part of him just wanted to take you and run away.

To spend time with you alone as husband and wife in the most innocent ways possible. And maybe also the not so innocent ways. The way you looked would be burned into his mind forever but just because he could never forget the way you looked right now –looked at him right now– didn’t mean he shouldn’t whisk you away and make sure that there was evidence of tonight.

While he never took up photography to the extent his father did, Rooster did have a soft spot for physical pictures. He would bring you to the Bellagio, put you right there in front of the lake, then take your pictures right as the fountains went off. He wouldn’t get the chance right now though because as if Hangman could read his mind he broke free from the mass of aviators and pointed at them accusatory.

“No. I know what you’re thinking and you’re not sneaking away from the celebration so that you two can fuck.”

It was a little crude but it made you laugh in Rooster’s arms so he bit back an equally cutting response.

“Hangman!” Phoenix scolded him instead. “There are children present.”

She meant Amelia –who stood grinning wildly, leaning against her mother with wobbly legs because she insisted on wearing heels despite being inexperienced in walking with them– but the other man took the chance to tease Bob again.

“Sorry Bobby. I meant you can’t sneak away from the party to consummate your wedding. That better?” He turned to look at Phoenix when he said the last part but she just rolled her eyes.

“We weren’t plan–”

“I did.” You smirked up at him with a smile that told him everything he needed to know about what you had planned for him. 

“You know what? Maybe we could–”

“Celebrate?” This time it was Payback that interrupted him. “Good plan.”

He was about to protest again when Mav stepped into the middle of their little huddle. “You should go and celebrate, just don’t go too crazy, you hear me? Get a few drinks, make some memories, enjoy your night in Vegas, okay?” 

When he gave in and nodded Mav grinned at him so he probably made the right decision. A few hours couldn’t hurt. He’d just steal you away once the others were distracted.

“You coming with us, pops?” Hangman asked but Mav just shook his head.

Rooster already knew that he wouldn’t be joining them. He didn’t know what exactly Mav had planned, or what kind of show he would take Penny and Amelia to, but he knew that they’d hear all about it tomorrow at lunch. He made a little mental note to put out painkillers and something to drink before going to bed later, fully aware that he had reached an age where excess drinking and early plans the next day did not mix well.

By the time he tuned back in to the conversation going on around him Penny was in the process of pulling a pair of flats out of her remarkably small purse. You were leaning against him so he wrapped an arm across your shoulder to pull you closer to his body. Beside you Fanboy and Carmen were trying to talk you into booking a party limousine and although they weren’t coming up with the most convincing arguments a part of him just wanted to go wild and live up to every single bad Vegas tourist stereotype.

“Alright.” Rooster raised his voice a little to catch everybody’s attention. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You” –he pointed at Carmen and Fanboy– “get us one of those limos, you” –he gestured from Mav to Penny and Amelia and back again– “go enjoy your show, and you” –Hangman looked just the tiniest bit offended at being pointed at– “undo at least the two top buttons and untuck your shirt. You look like you’re taking your grandma to church, not living it up in Vegas.” 

The other man just smirked as he untucked his shirt and then moved to undo a button, then the next one, then another. Beside him you started to holler but even the glare he sent Hangman from moving on and opening a fourth button. 

“Okay alright you made your point.”

Thankfully Hangman stopped after the fourth, leaving you to stare at his exposed chest and Rooster feeling just a little bit jealous. He knew just the way to deal with it though. “First round’s on Hangman.”

Before the blond could protest he was sandwiched between Fanboy and Payback, being shaken while they laughed.

“Let’s party!”

“I’m never drinking again.” 

Bradley’s voice was rough but sexy so you didn’t shush him to ease the throbbing pain in your head. Instead you pressed your thighs together under the table and wordlessly took off the sunglasses you’d stolen from him earlier and held them out for him to take.

The bright sun wasn’t pleasant but you suspected that Bradley needed them more. You silently cursed yourself for leaving your own sunglasses in the room but you had wanted to be punctual for lunch, even after your wild night out. Your wedding night. 

In the end Bradley had let himself be dragged out of bed early enough that you even beat Maverick and entourage there by a few minutes. He had laughed at your state loud enough for Bradley to groan but Penny had slipped you another painkiller and ordered mimosas —or in Amelia’s case orange juice in a champagne flute— for the table with the exception of Maverick who stuck to water. 

It didn’t take too long for the rest of your group to join you, all in varying states of exhaustion. Bob arrived at 12:14, steering a groaning Fanboy into the restaurant and depositing him in one of the chairs before sitting down himself. The two WSOs made a funny pair. Bob looked almost unaffected, maybe a little tired but overall he seemed fine. Fanboy on the other hand looked like an absolute mess. Keeping your eyes open for too long made your headache worse but from what you could see it looked like Fanboy had some kind of paint tinting his short dark hair different colors and he sat hunched over the table, resting his head on his arms. 

Payback arrived next, wearing last night's outfit with the addition of dark sunglasses he had pushed all the way up the bridge of his nose. Carmen was nowhere to be seen but he assured you that she was just sleeping off her hangover. “There’s no way I’m waking her up.” He said, voice low and gravelly. “I’d like to live, thank you very much. I’ll just bring her some food up to the room later.”

Satisfied with that answer you turned your attention back to your drink, leaning against Bradley’s side for support as you sipped on your mimosa.

By the time Hangman and Phoenix joined your group you had finished your second glass and were debating ordering a third. They were dressed in similar ways –Phoenix in a pair of short shorts and a big shirt, Hangman in basketball shorts and a less tight shirt than he seemed to prefer– both with matching expressions on their faces. 

The only places left at the table were on either side of Bradley and you but instead of sitting down next to each other in the two seats next to your husband –your husband!!!– Phoenix rounded the table to pull out the chair between you and Bob.

It was easy to guess that she had a rougher night than you. Her hair was a frizzy mess and from where you were sitting so close you could see the dark remnants of make-up she wasn’t able to remove clinging to her skin.

“You good Nat?” Bradley leaned over so he could look at his friend better.

She just hummed in response.

“Maybe I should have checked in with you more but you seemed fine last night.” Bob said next to her.

“Didn’t you two bunk together?”

“How much do you remember from last night?”

Bradley thought for a moment, giving you time to think it over yourself. You remembered your wedding but the time after that was a bit blurry until you were back in your hotel room. You remembered that part clearly.

“The important parts.” Was Brad’s answer. “Why?”

“After you two left, Fanboy over here” –he pointed at the slumped over WSO– “decided he wanted to go on a solo mission. By the time I caught up with him he was pretty drunk and about halfway through getting a tattoo done so I didn’t want to leave him alone. I stayed in his and Hangman’s room making sure he didn’t throw up or ruin the tattoo but I went back to my room after Fanboy fell asleep to check on Phoenix and tell her that I won’t be there. You seemed fine.” He addressed the last sentence to her.

“I am fine.” She croaked out before turning to Fanboy. “What did you get?” 

He was fumbling with his pocket before pulling out his phone and opening up his photos, sliding it over so they could see without saying anything. It didn’t look bad, at least. A large knife sat between his tan shoulder blades and you just knew it must have hurt to get it done along his spine. 

Hangman was the only one that said something. “Aww, you got a dagger? That’s cute.”

He got a handful of “Shut up Bagman.” in return but you could swear that you could hear Fanboy mumble about how his abuelita was going to kill him under his breath.

“Hey Hangman, where were you last night? I was with Fanboy but you didn’t come back to the room all night.” 

You watched as Hangman stretched in his seat before flinching and settling back down. But not before showing off the impressive hickey he was sporting over his hip bone. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

He winked at nobody in particular but beside you Phoenix covered her face with her hands. “Oh my god.”

She said it quietly and you were sure most of the table wasn’t able to hear her but Bob, who was right next to her, did not have that problem.

“No! You and Hangman? Is that why you didn’t want me to come into the room last night and just yelled through the door.”

It seemed smarter to stay out of it. Fanboy was still slouched over the table. Bob looked like he was losing it just a little. Payback, Maverick, Penny, and Amelia were all captivated by the drama playing out in front of them. Hangman had at least the decency to look embarrassed while Phoenix just kept repeating “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

You leaned back, half against your chair and half against Bradley, and raised your hand to stop one of the passing waiters. You needed that third mimosa.

Bradley just put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him before pressing a kiss to your temple and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“We should get married more often.”

[blacklegsanjiii]

•°♤°• Any Zosan Fic Recommendeds?

Here's some! (And one ZoLuSan because i'm me) Some are unfinished, some are classics. Either way these are the ones I always go back to!

Learning to Listen by three_days_late

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

For as long as Zoro's felt his soulmate echoes he's hated them. He doesn't know why Sanji, or the rest of his crew mates, care so damn much.

Broke the Yolk by 3oClockSnacc (TobiSterling)

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Sanji has a nasty habit of denying himself little luxuries. Sleeping in, hot food, the unconditional love of his crew. He's used to it though; used to getting up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast, used to working on an empty stomach to ensure everyone else is fed, used to serving up pieces of himself and getting nothing in return. He can't afford those luxuries. Not even on his birthday.

Digital Footprint 100 Miles Wide by yellowrubberboots

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

[Profile Picture Description: A MS Paint drawing of a cartoon skull. The skull is wearing a yellow straw hat with a red band around the base.] TheStrawhats Last live 2 days ago video games and other random shit // we stream when we stream. 6.2M followers

Unwritten Recipes by aririnas

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Ingredients 2 fat garlic cloves, crushed 2 red chillies, deseeded and finely chopped 150ml white wine (not optional) 175g dried spaghetti 140g mussels, washed and beards removed 140g clams, washed chilli oil or olive oil, for drizzling ½ small pack parsley, roughly chopped (..) or Sanji writes everyone's favourite food in a recipe book

You'll Whisper Lies to Me (and One of Them Will be True) by Veto_power_over_clocks

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Sanji introduces Zoro to Two Truths and a Lie. He only ever plays with Zoro, and all his lies are shit. (Alternatively: Sanji subjects himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known by Zoro. He does everything in his power to ensure Zoro doesn't realize that's what's happening.)

Green with Envy Blues by adietxt

General Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Zoro thinks he’s a pretty loyal person. All things considered, he’s a faithful crewmember and swordsman of the Strawhat Pirates. Zoro looks up just in time to see Luffy launching himself at Sanji, wrapping his stretched limbs all over Sanji’s body. Sanji has just walked out of the galley carrying a plate full of fancy-looking drinks and he’s extending his arm as far away as possible from Luffy’s grasp, and Luffy leans over his shoulder, their cheeks pressed against each other’s, their lips almost touching — Zoro is seriously considering mutiny.

Switching Places by TranqilChaos

Mature

Graphic Depictions of Violence

All it takes is one desperate battle in the jungle for Zoro to finally be on the other side. For him to be the one worrying at a bedside. For him to be the one waiting hours for the slightest sign of anything. For him to be the one missing meals and skipping showers and sleeping in the infirmary chair. Or Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji fight a tough battle in the forest that leaves all, but Zoro, horribly injured.

Your Eyes are Liquor, Your Body is Gold by Astauria

Not Rated

Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

It was a stupid idea, Zoro had known it all along and now he was really wondering why he had accepted such a proposal. No amount of alcohol in the world could ever be worth the decomposition he would see in Sanji's eyes when he learned the truth. Zoro had bet on him, for one fucking drink.

Rewind (Be Kind) by donutsandcoffee

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

What should be a run-of-the-mill skirmish with a devil fruit user turned Sanji into an eight-year-old, and the Strawhats are suddenly faced with a version of Sanji they have never met before: a Sanji before the Strawhats, before the floating restaurant, but after—something. Zoro observes, learns, and relearns.

[msfcatlover]

Moonbeam Dick

I probably had too much fun with this one, but Dick's had so many iterations & costumes over the years, so much cool lore, and is one of the heroes we can actually track real-world influence on his designs! (Whoever came up with the idea to take the Doyalist reasoning of superhero costumes being based on circus performers & wrestlers, and retconning it into Dick's backstory to make the Robin costume based on the Flying Graysons' performance outfits: I see you, and I love you.) So this has been a wild, whirlwind trip through the real-world evolution of gymnastics outfits, acrobatic costuming, and comic history (paying special attention to the different costumes we've actually seen in the various flashbacks/retellings of Dick's origin over the years,) while getting way too many design ideas along the way.)

Now here's a hurdle, because Dick's not going to start with a past Moonbeam costume as his base and alter it to reflect himself. Dick Grayson is going to start with his acrobat costume, and alter it to become Moonbeam. So we're starting with a bodysuit. Skin-tight, full-sleeve, the type that loops around your middle finger to stay in place. Neckline like this fucking fantastic redesign by mabychan.

(Gods, every time I see this picture, I need to stop & stare for like... at least 3min.)

Next: the colors. Dick likes bright colors & high contrast; you barely need to glance at even one of his costumes to realize that. I, personally, really love the version where the Robin suit was a tribute to his family, but red & green really aren't "Moonbeam" colors. Fortunately, the Flying Grayson's costumes have also been shown as potential inspiration for Dick's Nightwing suit, which seems to me like a great way to keep that tidbit in without defaulting to the Robin colors! So the new color scheme is sky blue, dark blue, and white-gold (which would probably be either more silver or gold, depending on the artist.)

So the suit is predominantly light blue, with a larger the dark blue triangle like his Lost Carnival costume on the upper chest, the shoulder-points of which partially run down his upper arms. While some artists might have them go all the way to his elbows or even the finger-loops on his hands personally I don't see them going further than about halfway down Dick's biceps (at first), where the very tips of them disappear behind golden arm-bands which can be used to store gadgets. Matching bands around his thighs, too, though those are larger, for bigger pockets.

(While I am trying to evoke how some people draw the 90s Nightwing gold stripe as separate bands lower down the arm, it's probably easiest to imagine Steph's leg-bands to explain this. Also, the bands on this absolutely delightful bedazzled Nightwing by rinpin that I cannot get out of my head are a good reference for placement.)

The triangle also does a great job of framing Dick's Moonbeam symbol: a crescent moon that covers most of his upper chest, filling the triangle from side to side.

(It's another subtle tribute to his parents. Also, the green & gold "All-Star Batman and Robin" costumes are the best look the Flying Graysons have ever worn, don't @ me.)

Like with Cass, I actually found my inspiration for this when I realized what Dick would use to hide his identity: a "colombina" masquerade mask.

(These two specifically inspired me while I was doing research.)

The legs are dark blue, cut at an angle where they meet Dick's torso to evoke Tim's original Robin costume (and, to a lesser extent, the Earth 2 grown-up Robin costume) and make the bodysuit look even more like a classic leotard. Dark blue or black gloves underneath the finger-loops to protect Dick's hands & keep his fingerprints off of things. Black boots with a lighter hem on top (either the light blue or white-gold, I don't really care which) with the V top we see on the Earth-2 Robin's boots, echoing the triangle on his chest. The soles of the boot are light blue.

(The boots will, almost certainly, end up being drawn as just part of the leg, colored the same dark blue as the legs and just having a lighter stripe around his shins as well as the band around his thighs. This is not at all the intended design, but I've been looking at comic costumes for months now, and I know how details get fudged.)

So. That's the acrobat angle with enough details to make it at least passable as Moonbeam. I feel like it needs some more armor. Looking at what I've got so far, how about something like these gauntlets I used as a reference for Shadow!Steph and some simple pauldrons, both in white-gold?

Finally, while Dick's "utility belt" is more of a waist sash with hidden pockets inside, I keep going back & forth on whether or not to give him a scale-mail skirt for the extra protection & flair. It makes sense, but I worry it might be a bit much...

(Styled much like the one on the left, but closer in length to the one on the right. Color could be either light blue to extend the line of his torso & keep the colors balanced or white-gold to keep all the metallic bits consistent.)

This one has been, despite how much fun I had brainstorming, the biggest pain pinning anything down on. I'm so glad I'm done with it now.

[resident-gay-bitch]

a steddie modern au idea that i probably won’t write because i just Don’t have the time or energy for another wip but i’m putting it out here so i remember it, and if anyone wants to write this or gets inspired Please tag me so i can read it <3

okay so imagine this right, rockstar eddie & popstar steve - on complete opposite ends of the music spectrum, forcibly brought together by their label to collaborate on an album!!

read more under the cut :)

( i basically wore the fic lol )

okay, eddie’s in his band right with CC, and they’ve come so far and are doing so well in the metal industry. eddie’s made quite the reputation for himself as the loud, bash, pushy, stuck up, bitchy rockstar who makes his own rules, parties fucking hard, and is a certified sex symbol across the globe.

once on stage, playing out under the stars, a bat flew down onto stage and it was freaking gareth out so eddie Caught it with his hands and held it up simba style, named it ozzy, sent it back off into the night sky and dubbed the bat the bands - and eddie’s own - personal mascot. this was way earlier on in their career so metal snobs started calling him an ozzy osbourne wannabe - the prissy Princess of Darkness. untill he started making way and then the name stuck and one time eddie came out onstage in full pink princess dress and crown and played their gnarliest show yet.

steve harrington though? he’s an angel. the youngsters drool over him and have pictures of soft sweaters and stawberry lipglossed steve on their walls, middle aged women look at him and wished their husbands could be the kind soul that the world knows him to be. the “men” call him a queer and pathetic, and when people ask steve about it in interviews he just smiles and shrugs and says in his soft voice “if that’s how they want to perceive me, that’s okay. i know who i am, i’m just steve. why should we spread hate when we can just be nice?”

girls from highschool started posting about their own experiences with the soft boy sensation that is steve, saying he was the kindest boy they’ve ever dated, he brings girls flowers and kisses them on the doorstep and Holds Their Hands during sex. gen z start calling him a “king 💅” whenever Anything comes out about steve because he just Can’t do anything wrong, and eventually he gets dubbed the King of Pop.

eddie munson is best friends and living with five time gold medalist olympian chrissy cunningham, the gymnast young girls look up too. they’re often speculated to be dating, and half the world thinks they’re actually married concidering they have a cat together, often wear matching outfits when out, and hold hands when walking around. one time eddie was captured giving her a forehead kiss when standing in line for smoothies. but concidering eddie is also seen leaving venues with girls under his arm, and chrissy following behind him with a couple of guys, the rest of the world says they can’t be. who knows, maybe their open or polly, it’s the twenty first century everybody! (but in truth eddie’s walking with chrissy’s hookups under his arms, and chrissy’s chatting away with the guys eddie plans on ruining for the night, and they’ll swap once sage inside the trailer)

steve has a house right next door to up and coming actress robin buckley, and they took down the fence between their homes and built a corridor combining them. they’re as close as chrissy and eddie seem to be, but after robin was seen making out with one of her female costars at a red carpet after party, and wearing a lesbian flag pin on her jacket in paparazzi pics, those rumours have died significantly.

chrissy cunningham is in love with steve harrington, she thinks he’s the perfect man, “if i had to date a guy, eddie, it would be that one and that one Only. i’ll excuse the penis if he looks at me with those pretty boy eyes.” she has posters of him on her wall, listens to his music on the regular, and eddie knows way more about him than he’d like to admit. not that he pays much attention, just when chrissy plays his latest single on an endless loop and quotes things he says on the daily, a guys gonna pick up on stuff.

robins little sister, max, who by platonic-soulmate-law, is steve’s little sister is Obsessed with CC. she listens to them all the time, along with a bunch of other metal and punk bands, and has a poster of him shredding on her wall. her boyfriend lucas gets jealous about it all the time and even took to learning one of his solos on steve’s guitar.

the thing is, though, eddie and steve are perceived the way they are because their label actually Sucks and they’re signed in for too many more years to find a way out.

queer aligations got shot around about Everyone in CC. people think they all fuck guys, people think they all fuck eachother, people think so many things and the label twists and turns those stories to make them “acceptable”.

the thing is though, they’re all so fucking gay… and they all have fucked eachother. eddie and gareth were boyfriends back in highschool, jeff and grant have been together for the last couple of years and they’re talking marriage. they’ve all hooked up with eachother separately, they’ve all gotten together for a few foursomes, they’ve all gangbanged a bunch of groupies of Multiple genders together, so eddie Knows where the rumours come from. he wants to be out, hates hiding, thinks it’s stupid and backwards and Who Cares if they loose a few followers? those aren’t the kinds of people eddie wants listening to his music anyway.

it’s only when gareth settled down with his new wife and popped out kid number one that the rumours about him started to die out… even though, before the kid came around, gareth and his wife would sleep with eddie, jeff, and grant like… all the time.

the only queer speculations about steve are the ones coming from the “alpha males” and younger queer boys that connect with him and want someone like steve to look up too and say “he’s queer too, we’re the same, and it’s okay”. but his label hasn’t given steve a voice… like at all. he got signed because of his gorgeous voice and soft lyrics about losing love and being alone, and being conflicted in your sexuality, and then they signed him and his contract states that he’s Not allowed to write Any of his own lyrics. not a single one of his own songs have been published, to this day.

the label tried to restrict eddie like that too, saying his lyrics were too controversial, but CC refuses to be fake. they agreed to only write songs about death and drugs and sex and satan and blah blah blah metal. eddie’s never really published much from the heart, but he sneaks metaphors in there all the time, that only hardcore fans can pick up on.

the labels getting bored of steve. it’s just the same music, the same tours, the same questions in every interview. he’s Boring them. it’s only a small amount of time before the world gets bored of him too, plus, it’s not like he’ll stay this pretty forever. they want to discard him - he’s locked in by contract though, has to release one more album and tour before they can be done with him.

and then grant dies. it’s a horrible accident, car crash, some drunk driver t-boned him and flipped his car off the road. it Breaks jeff. it breaks all of them, but mostly jeff. he’s distraught, turns to drugs, ODs and it’s then that gareth and eddie send him to rehab.

there’s no corroded coffin without grant, the band breaks up. the three of them Won’t play stadium tours and write albums together without him, and- “are you fucking CRAZY? of course we’re not Replacing him, get a fucking grip.”

it takes Months for any of them to get to a point where they can be seen in society again. it’s then that the label says they Have to bring one more album an to the table. but they’re willing to drop CC if eddie goes solo. he’s the face of the band anyway, the voice, “he’s who the women want, guys.”

eddie agrees, because he’s legally obligated too. and he writes the most dumbfuck album anyone’s ever heard. it’s all preschool-esque lyrics and about farm animals and potty training and it’s also just fucking Gay - like there’s one song that just goes on and on an on about some guys ballsack. he records a demo to go with them, has his guitar perfectly out of tune and sings so terribly his voice cracks, if singing is what you can actually call it. the label gets So fucking mad at him.

so here they are, newly solo artist eddie munson, the fucking prick, stuckup rockstar, entitled rich as Princess of Darkness, and steve harrington, the sweet soft boy turned boring, King of Pop; both locked in for another album, and tour, and Useless.

they’re going to Lose the label money at this rate.

so they try something. something that will bring in Buckets.

CC and steve harrington are the labels two biggest musicians. they’re constantly fighting to be top of the charts, shooting past eachother with every new album, new single, new tour, new pap photos, new relationship spectacle, each red carpet appearance… evetything. They are who everyone’s obessed with, they are who have the Biggest markets. every woman on the globe has to be obsessed with at least One of them.

why not pool those two fanbases together? get them to collaborate on a song together, the fans will go crazy and it will surely break the charts. the company will get So fucking rich.

but if they can make buckets off one song… than why not a whole album? why not make them Tour together.

which is how eddie and steve find themselves nervously sitting in a recording studio together one afternoon, going through introductions and contracts and provosos with the label and blah blah blah boring rules and legal shit.

eddie’s dreading working with this guy. he’s a total Phonie! King of Pop? who does he think he is, this harry styles wanna be. sure he writes poetic shit about love and making soft love to women, but it’s all so vapid. eddie Knows music, and he knows when lyrics are bullshit. i mean Sure, eddie knows a good handful of his songs on guitar, but that’s Only so he can play them to chrissy because it’s special to her. doesn’t make his music Good - and that’s not even eddie being a snob, he can vibe with pop, taylor swift is a lyrical goddess, he is an all too well girlie and he and chrissy scream the ten minuet version in the car together late at night.

he’s also dreading the clear over kindness. steve’s meant to be this darling angel, and sure that’s why the girls and gays love him so much, but eddie doesn’t think he could Handle someone being so fucking nice up in his face like that because he’ll Know it’s fake. he won’t be able to tell if the guys actually being nice because he actually gets along with eddie, or if he’s being nice because it’s his job.

and steve is dreading working with eddie because eddie is supposed to be one of the Hardest people to work for. he’s stuck up and dickish and Snarky and so fucking confident and a Rockstar for fucks sake. steve is way too tired to deal with a cunt right now - let alone Tour with one.

everything about this meeting and collaboration is Completely under the blanket. the label doesn’t want to announce Anything until they have a good album from them, because they know how hot headed and temperamental eddie is - given the last thing he gave them, which was immediately scrapped.

so they meet, sign a bunch of non disclosures. they’re not even allowed to tell robin and chrissy that they’re Meeting eachother - they do, though, but it doesn’t go past those two.

they’re left alone, once everything is signed. they’ve been standoffish, haven’t said more than ten words to eachother. eddie’s all glares and attitude, steve’s all soft smiles and bats of his eyelids.

they both want to be sick - this is torture.

everything’s signed. everything’s legally a secret. they’re behind closed doors in a recording studio to themselves to “get creative”. and so the masks come down.

turns out, steve is Not nice. three minuets into their alone time, eddie kicks his feet up onto the desk by steve and steve… he picks up a pen and uses it to push eddie’s shoes off the table and away from him with a bitchy glare.

steve’s Bitchy. he’s got bite and he’s So fucking sarcastic. he keeps looking eddie over and scrunching his nose, he keeps making snide comments about eddie’s over sexual behaviour and drug culture. he even goes so far as to insult eddie’s hair, “the eighties called, van halen wants his wig back”.

and eddie’s… we’ll, he’s a little turned on by it.

to the world, steve’s this perfect little soft boy who sings about love and sugar and spice and all things nice, but when there’s a contract saying eddie’s legally obliged to shut his trap about Anything steve related, he lets his true colours show.

and steve? well, once he sends out a Bunch of snarky remarks eddie’s way, he’s realising that eddie’s not reacting the way he’s been conditioned to believe eddie would. he’s expecting mean quips back, jabs at his career and “queerness” and pastel colour pallet, maybe even a meltdown. but eddie just sits there slack jawed and actually.. encouragers steve’s insults and bitchy nature. and eddie’s kinda sweet, when steve tells him to keep his shoes off the table, eddie complies and actually apologises. he even pulls out a random compliment, telling steve he actually has a really nice voice.

and he’s making steve nervous… he’s getting butterflies.

they talk for a little while longer before eddie conducts a plan. they have to go home and listen to each others music and pick a few favourites or memorable things, stuff they think they can get behind mixing with their own style. they need something with Both of their sounds combined.

steve only has a few albums out, so eddie says he’ll listen to them all. corroded coffin though? they have Heaps of music out, so eddie writes down a list of their top albums and some of His favourites from other albums that he thinks steve might be able to get behind.

steve goes home and recruits robin to listen with him, gets max to send through all of her favourites and Why. he writes down a little list with his top five songs and a couple quotes and times where solos fucking rock. by the time he’s done he’s got about an a4 page worth of notes.

eddie goes home and he and chrissy spend the night analysing All of steve’s music. they print out the lyrics to every song and scribble all over them, listing to his two albums, one EP, and a single, on an endless loop. chrissy is Always happy to spend hours talking about Steve Harrington, and eddie is the biggest fucking nerd and loves analysing music and figuring everything about it out. he learns chords, flips some of steve’s songs to make them a little rougher so he can show steve and give him a taste of the stuff they Could create.

steve feels so embarrassed with the lack of shit he’s got when eddie slams down a Folder full of notes. but eddie hurriedly stops steve’s apologising and looks at his notes and Actually awes at them “you like this song? it’s your favourite? i wrote that secretly about my fuck off dad and missing my mamma- you really like it? gosh, not many people do… this is so cool, i can’t believe you listened to it”

eddie starts talking about - and dissecting - steve’s music, telling him things about his lyrics He didn’t actually know. eddie tells him they’re all kinda… vappid. like steve doesn��t sing them with Emotion. they don’t come from the heart, they’re just stories. steve tells him he’s not allowed to write his own stuff, even though he has books full of lyrics at home.

eddie has an entire wall of his house turned into a bookshelf filled with journals for lyrics and writing music, different shelf’s are for different moods and different journals are for different themes.

they start to jam and eddie plays a few of steve’s songs. they figure out some stuff and eddie declares they’re going to make “the most outer worldly album that’s ever graced our mortal plane, king stevie, i can promise you that” - he gives steve a mission. he has to go home and find One song he’s written that he’d like the world to know about, and text pictures of it to eddie - and eddie will make sure it’s label appropriate (if it’s not, he’ll sit down with steve and they’ll tweak it to hide controversial themes behind metaphors) and tell their boss he wrote it so they can put it on the album; steve will sing it of course, and it will come from the heart.

they talk about their experiences over the next few weeks. it’s basically paid fucking therapy. eddie talks about grant, talks about CC, talks about highschool, talks about chrissy. steve talks about robin, talks about highschool, talks about the mall fire he got caught in, he talks about his abuser billy hargrove. eddie opens up about his own abuser, reefer rick, his old supplier. steve opens up about getting cheated on with the first girl he loved. eddie opened up about getting cheated on by reefer. steve opens up about neglectful parents and eddie opens up about his time through the foster system and having a druggie mother and a dad in jail.

that’s what they write music about.

steve finally sends eddie a song. it’s a song about learning to care about yourself. he wrote it when robin stepped into his life, when she conditioned him to gain his self respect back and love himself. it’s about how fucking Important loving yourself - no matter your difference or your experiences may be.

eddie cries when he reads it, he thinks it’s perfect just the way it is. the few undertones of queerness he’s picking up on from deep analysis will go right over the labels heads.

eddie suggests he write a song completely on his own for the album too, one without steve’s imput. then they both have one song that’s completely Theirs. he writes his song about grant, it’s an ode to him, a goodbye, and hidden behind metaphors and poetic tear stained lyrics, it’s about having your true self hidden by masks and flashy cameras and men in tight suits; it’s about jeff, it’s about their love, it’s about the love eddie had for grant, it’s about the love they all had for eachother, it’s about the bandanna they all wear in their back pockets from time to time.

steve reads it and he… he gets it.

he knows eddie’s queer, eddie let it slip the second time they met, when he was talking about another of his songs about the first guy he had sex with. so it’s not a shock to steve to read this kinda shit.

but when eddie’s reading steve’s lyrics, it’s kinda shocking to him. steve hadn’t come out, even though he’s given ample opportunity, hadn’t mentioned anything about men and talked plenty about women, so eddie just fairly assumed he was straight.

on the last day of recording the album, they’re in the studio together. all the backtracks are done and they’re just recording lyrics. they’re both there in the sound booth with headphones on, and eddie’s singing his ode to grant, steve backing up his vocals, but letting eddie take centre stage. eddie cries and takes a good break before they can record steve’s song - steve’s song that they think eddie wrote.

they record steve’s song, eddie eddie backs up his vocals occasionally when asked, but it’s Steve’s song. its litterally titled steve’s song, because eddie felt sick with the idea of Actually taking credit for something steve created. he’s only doing it for legal reasons and because he Needs steve to get his lyrics out into the world. they worked on all the other songs together - the label doesn’t know that - but this is Steve’s. it should have been on his first album.

steve cries whilst singing it, because it comes from the heart. he sings it with raw fucking emotion and.. oh jeez, it makes eddie cry too. steve finished singing and eddie pulls him into a tight hug and whispers to steve so no one else can hear “that’s the best you’ve ever sounded, stevie”.

what they didn’t know was that their manager snapped a photo of their hug and sent it to rolling stone along with an announcement of a new album and upcoming tour.

the internet goes bazerk! “the King of Pop and the Princess of Darkness? what an odd pair… someone write me this fan fiction rn.”

eddie and steve go home that night feeling a little useless. they just spent weeks crammed up in the recording studio together, making music and talking about things they are too scared to tell the world, and now they’re… no where near eachother.

they both sit there in their houses and come to the realisation that they Don’t just think the other is only adorable and totally their type… that maybe they were falling in love and feel kinda empty without eachother.

they start texting, chatting, keeping eachother updated on their lives - mostly on their platonic soulmates. steve prints off a selfie he and eddie took together one night a few drinks in, guitars on their laps, cheesy grins on their faces, and signs it for chrissy - she Freaks Out.

eddie sends over a CC sample hoodie he had lying around that ended up getting discontinued before selling at all, and he signed the spot over the heart with fabric pen for max.

the single drops - steve’s song - and fans go crazy. steve’s fans And eddie’s fans have collectively come together to Scream about it. it reaches top of the charts in under a week. who knew a bunch of teenage girls could be so powerful?

the tour gets announced - tickets sell Fast.

the rest of the album drops and the label hosts a party for it. steve and eddie bring their other half’s and robin and chrissy hit it off immediately, and they start dating at a lesbian pace. steve and eddie get plastered and wake up cuddling - fully clothed, but cuddling - in… chrissy’s bed? they barely even remember going back to eddie’s place, but when they go out to the kitchen they find out that they ended up keeping the party going here - robin and chrissy are curled up together half naked on the couch.

they keep texting. they can’t stay away from eachother. they know the flirting is bad and helpless, but they Can’t Help it. they’re both smitten and falling more and more each day.

the tour starts and there are strict rules they have to oblige by, via steve’s original contact. eddie breaks half of them.

one of the rules happens to be Zero queerness - but that’s the same for eddie’s contract. they’re also both talked too about acting too “gay” on stage, they’re not allowed too. whatever that means.

the tour is fucking amazing. they both love looking out to the crowd and seeing all the different people. there are teenage girls in pastel skirts and sparkly dresses with bedazzled glasses and friendship charm bracelets, there are girls with dark eyeliner and ripped stockings and chunky silver jewlery and an obscene amount of leather, there are boys in lightwash jeans and crop tops, and boys in black ripped jeans and the wrong band tees with jewlery all over their faces, their are middle aged mothers wine drunk, there are older men with goatees, there are father there with their daughters and mothers there with their sons, and So, So many more different people. it makes them both emotional.

after show four of their massive tour, they’re both having a few drinks in eddie’s trailer and listening to music and continuing the game of truth or dare robin and chrissy started before they got distracted and wandered off to steve’s trailer. they get drunker, and gigglier, and closer, and more lose lipped, and steve tells eddie he’s bi, and eddie tells steve he’s the most beautiful (inside and out) man he’s ever met, and they kiss.

they spent the rest of their tour keeping their relationship VERY secret. steve’s trailer is now permanently robin and chrissy’s, and he and eddie share eddie’s. no one suspects a thing, they’re both used to keeping their queer relations under wraps.

they say i love you in the last month of their tour. when they get home, they want to move in together. they’re going to buy their own mansion with all the fucking money this albums made them, and they’re planning what their room will look like, and their kitchen, and their garden, and their future. steve wants kids, always has. eddie’s scared to be a dad, but he thinks he’d like to try with steve, just not for a few more years. they both think marriage is stupid, but they’re also both hopeless romantics who have each pictured and planned their own weddings so they think they might even get married one day. they get matching tattoos, a little crown on eddie’s ribs under his heart for steve, and a tiara in the same place on steve for eddie.

the label asks to sign them both on for a few more albums, another tour. they’re bringing in So much money.

eddie says no, straight away. he’s not letting steve get suffocated by these fuckers anymore. there’s nothing here for him anyway. he’s already working with gareth and jeff on creating their own label, it’s almost up and running.

for steve’s birthday, three nights before the tour ends, eddie tells him he’s now the co-ceo of his own production company, named after grant, to carry on his legacy. eddie slides over a wad of paper and tells steve he wants the first artist they sign to be steve - he works on his own conditions, writes whatever music he wants, sings from the heart, writes them one album and then once that’s done (when steve is Ready for it to be done) they’ll draw up another contract, if that’s what steve wants. steve signs, starts working on his first album right away.

he lies in bed that night with eddie’s head on his chest, and they’re scribbling down lyrics about sex in satin sheets in the dark of a tour trailer, and falling in love.

they perform their last show, and they cry hopelessly.

that’s it. they’re done. their no longer signed to the label, evetythings Over.

eddie’s wearing the tiara steve put on his head on their First show, he’s also wearing leather and stompers and no shirt. steve’s wearing lightwash blue jeans and a flowey shirt made of lace and a crooked crown on top of his perfect hair. they’re both heaving, and crying black mascara and eyeliner tracks down their cheeks, and sweating buckets. but they both think the other is so fucking beautiful and they can’t resist it

it’s not like they’re locked in by the label anymore anyway.

eddie shoved his guitar off and lays it very neatly on the ground before full pelt running for steve and just Kissing him. the crowd goes fucking crazy. they loose their shit and it breaks the media.

“i love you…” eddie pants into his mouth and kisses him again “i love you so fucking much baby”

“i love you too.” steve says and then he swiftly drops to one knee, pulls a ring box out of his pocket and asks eddie to marry him

it’s there in stage, with a the most diverse and random crowd in the world, sweaty and hot and in love, that eddie and steve break history. not only did they Just come out to the world as queer… and dating, they’re also the first famous queer couple to get engaged on stage like this.

so yeah… that’s my “little” fic idea :)

and then they obviously get married and get their mansion or whatever and adopt a kid a few years into the marriage, when eddie feels stable enough to be able to responsibily raise a little gremlin. she’s totally a little menace like eddie, but she’s for sure got his pure sweetness when she’s with people she trusts and loves but holy shit is she steve’s kid, because she’s gotta be more snarky and more bitchy than steve was during their first meeting… and what’s worse is when they gang up on eddie with double bitchy glares.

[softagenda]

drunken dance (ais)

ais x reader(f) (mature)

alternate universe / dancer!mc / assassin au

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

His gaze soon returned to the prima, inspecting her with fresh eyes.

She was panting slightly, her face turned upward as her arms slowly dropped to her sides. Gold magic continued to exude from them, the fine mist now cloying and viscous, drooling from her veins like honey.

The prima then glanced up, searching for a moment before finding him in the crowd. She held his gaze for a moment, a flicker of something sharp awakening in those pretty eyes.

Ais tilted his head back, his mouth curling.

Interesting.

_________________________________________

The Red Banquet ebbed and flowed around you in a roiling, scarlet ocean of silk and sound. 

You watched over the early embers of the party as Eridia’s elite mingled, sparkling jewelry swinging as they danced, laughed, sneered, and drank themselves to oblivion. Soon the ceremonial dance would begin, and you would be called to the stage - for now you hid in the shadows and explored the palatial inner sanctum of the temple. 

“The night’s still young, yet some are already getting sloppy.” 

You glanced over your shoulder as Mhin approached, slinking through the shadows of the wall until they had reached your side. 

They were already dressed for the dance, in the ensemble that the troupe leader had painstakingly chosen for the occasion: the silk top hooked around their neck in a glittering chain of pearls, descending in a shimmering garnet swath to a matching band across the hem wrapped above their waist, the tiny beads bouncing against bare, pale skin. Two gossamer shawls hung from their arms, cinched at the shoulder, a golden cuff around the bicep, then once more at the wrist. Trousers of the same fabric billowed down their legs to golden anklets that sparkled and chimed with tiny bells.

Mhin moved silent as a ghost despite the jewelry dappled across their frame. A veil of silk hung across his nose and mouth, masking his expression.

“The more, the better,” you said. Drunk people were easier to manipulate.

They braced themselves on the banister, lilac eyes trailing over the crowd. “I always knew their kind never gave a fuck about the common folk, but this is… beyond even my imagination.” Their eyes narrowed on the massive fountains of white wine, tables full of enough fine food to feed ten times the guests present. “Throwing a party, wasting so much money and food, while hordes of Soulless terrorize the villages. Disgusting.”

You crossed your arms and leaned your hip against the pillar. “We’ll have to remember to circle back round to the kitchens after…” you trailed off, sharing a look. “With Leander’s help, we can haul back some of the food for the kids.”

Though the mask hid their expression, you could tell exactly how Mhin felt at the idea of eating the noble’s leftovers - in a word, homicidal - but the thought of Fenrir, Silvia, and the other troupe children stalled that infamously sharp tongue. 

“They would certainly appreciate it more than this lot,” Mhin scoffed. “I doubt a single one of these prissy noblewomen will eat much, even as their pig partners gorge themselves.”

Hoping to lighten the mood, you nudged them with your foot and smiled when they met your gaze. “Silvia would be beside herself at that mountain of fruit.” 

The corners of their eyes crinkled as a reluctant smile likely formed beneath the veil. “Huxtly would stick his whole head in the chocolate fountain. Make himself sick, probably.” 

“Fenrir could eat a whole one of those pheasants by himself.”

“If he could snag one before Yulia devoured them all.”

Grinning, you pushed off from the pillar and leaned on the banister next to them, your shoulders bumping. For a moment, you both enjoyed the idea, the banquet and all its glamor falling away amidst this pocket of peace. Your heart lurched wistfully in your chest. 

“Soon.” At their sideways glance, you continued in a hushed tone, “Soon we’ll be able to give them that. To see the look on their faces, when they have so much food they can’t possibly eat it all.”

Mhin stared for a long moment, before they sighed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. One wrong move, and our heads will stand on pikes outside the temple gates.”

You frowned. “We’ve swam through far more dangerous waters than this,” you said with a nod toward the party. 

“Don’t be flippant. Monsters roam these halls, the likes of which we’ve never seen.” Their hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, their words a fervent whisper. “Don’t trust anyone. Never let your guard down. 

You huffed and stood up, tugging your wrist back. “This isn’t my first performance, Mhin. Don’t you trust me to handle this?”

“You, I trust. Them… him ….” They shot a seering glare at the stage. An empty throne sat in prime of place, a behemoth crafted from snow white, glittering Abaranth silver. A priceless treasure, bought with the brutal culling of the Abaranth people. Mhin’s people. “Never.”

Seething hate burned in their eyes - an enmity born of extraordinary suffering and loss. They had never spoken in detail about the massacre of his village, but you had noticed the remnants of that pain all the time: in the way he gripped his dagger in his sleep, the way he flinched at a campfire that flamed too high, the viciously protective way he guarded you and the troupe members, especially the children.

You looked over the party again.

These people had rejoiced. They had clothed themselves in jewelry hewn from that purest silver and danced on the mountains of corpses they had wrought to attain it. Thousands killed to slake that insatiable lust.

All of it made possible by the god of this temple. 

The Vessel of the Seaspring and his army of Soulless.

“I’ll be careful,” you reassure them softly, your gaze on that empty throne. Determination to see this through burned white hot in your chest. You would succeed. And with this victory, the futures of so many would be saved. 

Spurred by that thought, you glanced at the entrance of the hall and immediately caught the eye of a man lingering in the doorway, his arms folded over his thick chest. Leander’s mouth lifted  into a smile, his chin jerking toward the interior. 

“Looks like it’s time to get dressed,” you murmured before rising and heading toward the staircase. After a moment, you felt the shift in air as Mhin caught up and walked at your side, their arm brushing against yours.

_____________________________________

Ais hated shit like this.

When he reluctantly strode out of the shrine gate and took his place on the thick cushions of the throne, the crowd of nobles cheered and toasted their glasses, spilling wine onto the floor. They didn’t seem bothered at all by his lack of response, too caught up in the drunken revelry to care if he watched them all with utmost apathy. 

With a pointed look at his man by the door, Ais enacted his plan to hurry along the events of the night and return to his rooms to laze about in solitude. Well, mostly solitude - he’d probably invite Princess to join him, maybe one of the dancers if they excited him.

Much as he’d like to, Ais couldn’t abstain from the entire banquet altogether - Ocudeus demanded his due from the horde of bloodthirsty humans - but he could decide how long and when. He figured, if he came for the dancing and ceremonial offerings, he’d at least be somewhat entertained and fed well.

Then, he could leave and sink into oblivion once more.

Chin propped on his palm, one leg thrown over the arm rest of the throne, Ais sat through two performances. The first was an instrumental ensemble with a variety of horns he’d never seen before. The second had dancers, but the kind that put on a theatrical performance, with exaggerated drama and a scene where one person was tragically killed by another. 

The crowd dabbed the corners of their eyes. 

Ais yawned. 

He’s contemplating the swirling red wine in his goblet, contemplating leaving early regardless of Ocudeus’ wrath, when the third performance swept into the room.

Near drowsing, he watched the dancers glide into position in the center of the room, draped in fluttering red robes and glittering pearls. A cluster of musicians set up close to the stage, their instruments polished and primed. He paused as a familiar face appeared just behind the musicians: short dark hair, emerald eye, a winsome smile on his handsome face. Leander.

Ais tilted his head, curiosity peaked. The mage rarely made an appearance in the palace of the Seaspring - before Ocudeus had swarmed his influence over the kingdom, Ais had been a frequent visitor at Leander’s pub. They used to be something close to friends.

Leander’s attention was riveted to the center of the hall. Ais followed his gaze.

The dancers had formed two rings around the stage, fixed in place with their arms out and curled artfully around them like the blooming petals of a flower. They waited, eyes bright and smiles hidden beneath silk veils, for the music to begin.

At the center of the formation was a single dancer - the prima. 

Even at a distance, she shone brighter than the rest. 

In addition to her ceremonial garb, she was draped in an additional robe, this one as delicate and transparent as sea foam and embroidered with the tiniest glittering gems that caught the light like a river of stars. Her long hair was swept high on her head and fixed with a crown: its frame comprised of curling, golden tendrils, cresting in the center around a massive garnet, each tentacle fixed with dangling pearls that danced with every turn of her head. The tail of her hair flowed to the small of her back, a long silky length that curled like rolling waves and gleamed under the torchlight around the hall. Her hands were the color of summer storms, in which rivers of gold branched across the dark sky.

A feast for the eyes.

Ais rose from his slouch and leaned forward on the throne. 

At some unspoken signal, the musicians began to play. An eerie, seductive melody began to fill the room, a string instrument singing through the sharp beats of a drum. The dancers began to turn in place, slow and winding, before curling toward the center and rolling together, their robes forming the waves of a shore. 

They twirled and writhed to the music, twining around each other, the two rings weaving together, separating, leaping around the floor as one. At their center the prima rose and fell with them, her lithe form undulating, each stroke of her arms through the air prompting an ensuing wave amongst the other dancers, as though she were the moon commanding the tides. 

The lethargic tempo gradually grew more passionate and alive. He’s reminded of the insidious curl of clouds that grew in strength and torrent, until a hurricane descended from the heavens - only this particular tempest, wrapped in red silk and gold, burned like an inferno. 

The prima leapt recklessly through the ranks of the other dancers, the glitter of her crown and robes parting the sea of fire like a lightning strike. At one point she danced to the front of the stage, as close to the throne as she could, and her gaze caught his over her veil.

Bright, burning eyes encircled by thick lashes and red paint. Pearls had been fixed in clusters around her temples, then scattered around her taut stomach and back, gleaming against her skin.  This close, he could watch the undulation of muscle and sinew in each curl of her body, each movement graceful, effortless, as smooth as the silk clinging to her frame. 

She spun back to the center of the formation as the music rose to a crescendo, her dancers all around twisting in a frenzy, and then lifted her arms. Every dancer but the prima paused, then fell to the ground like dolls whose strings had been cut.

The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. 

The gold veins across her hands and forearms suddenly flared. An aura enveloped them, golden mist issuing from her skin, and then a single ball of light formed between her palms. 

Ais sat up as the ancient magic welled from within the dancer’s body. 

He tensed, claws gripping the armrests, as her hands molded the sphere of magic, radiating light like a miniature star, before twisting sharply. 

It burst across the air like a firework. Sparkling comets of magic flew through the air, delighting the crowd into shrieks and screams of delight. He flicked a finger as one shot toward him, redirecting it with ease, and watched as it merrily spun in the air before crashing into a statue and dissipating in a last, popping spark. 

Ais eased back onto the throne, surveying the crowd. The magic hadn’t harmed any of the humans, from what he could tell. They continued to clamor rapturously, some even chasing after the last few rays of magic and grasping with their hands to try and catch it. 

His gaze soon returned to the prima, inspecting her with fresh eyes. 

She was panting slightly, her face turned upward as her arms slowly dropped to her sides. Gold magic continued to exude from them, the fine mist now cloying and viscous, drooling from her veins like honey. 

Ancient magic presented amongst beings - humans and monsters alike - rarely but on the chance that it occurred, it did so in unique ways. He’d never seen magic quite like this, in all his centuries of existence. 

The prima then glanced up, searching for a moment before finding him in the crowd. She held his gaze for a moment, a flicker of something sharp awakening in those pretty eyes.

Ais tilted his head back, his mouth curling.

Interesting. 

_________________________________________________

When the servant had arrived at the guest quarters of the troupe with a summoning from the Vessel, he was met with little surprise or fanfare. 

Mhin had answered the door and, after a moment, nodded tersely. “She needs time to prepare. Wait out here.”

“The Vessel will not be kept wait - “ the servant tried to stop them, only to jump back as Mhin slammed the door in his face. 

Grimfaced, Mhin joined you in your corner of the dressing room. Fischa was dabbing the sweat from your body with a couple cotton pads, taking special care to refresh the makeup around your face and apply fresh glue to any pearls that slipped on your skin. “It worked.”

“Oh!” The other dancer gasped, her cheeks flushing, before she lunged for the box full of perfumes and essential oils. “How long does she have? Oh, but it’d be best if you could bathe - you can’t service the Vessel with a sweaty body. A wardrobe change, at the very least?” 

A nerve in Mhin’s clenched jaw jumped, but they said nothing as Fischa was soon joined by the other dancers, who dithered around you and argued how best to prepare you for a night with the temple god. 

After much debate, they bullied you into changing into a fresh ceremonial outfit - still vibrant red and accentuated by pearls and garnets, but clean, dry, and embroidered with gold sparrows and delicate blossoms. 

“Just a dab of this, and you’ll be ready to go!” Fischa beamed, her fingers dipping into a lotion compact. She rubbed circles into the crook of her neck and wrists, the scent of honey and clover brushing against your senses.

You wondered whether they would be as excited preparing you for a night with the Vessel, if they knew what you intended to do with it. Still, you would never return their kindness with anything less than gratitude. 

“Thank you, sisters,” you murmured, clasping her hands and offering a slightly wan smile. 

“You know, I can’t remember whether we’ve had a talk about… intimate relations,” Rukia chimed in, wrapping an arm through your elbow. “Have you been with a partner before?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, shutting down that frightening prospect before the other dancer got any further. “I’m aware.”

A series of knocks banged impatiently on the door to the quarters.

Fischa shared a look with Rukia when something seemed to occur to her. She hurried to a small dresser and dug around inside before returning with a small compact. She handed it to you with slightly pink cheeks. “Take this. Surely the Vessel won’t be… too passionate, but just in case.”

Confused, you opened the lid. A clear, viscous salve sat inside. You stared at it for a moment before her words sunk in. 

Your cheeks burned.

Clearing your throat, you screwed the lid back on with clumsy fingers and tucked the compact in your pocket. “Thanks, Fishca,” you said, avoiding everyone’s gaze and turning toward the door. 

Mhin grabbed your arm and pulled you to a stop just before the door. In their hand was a thin, ornate dagger, the blade purest white.

You tucked it within the folds of your pants, strapped to your hip with a leather belt. The drape of your robes should hide the slight bulge - it might cause a bit of trouble unsheathing the dagger, but you’d make it work. 

Mhin leaned close and murmured in your ear. “Don’t hesitate. If anything seems off, do whatever you have to to get the fuck out of there.” 

You nodded. 

“I’ll be nearby.” Their hand brushed across the bracelet at your wrist. It was enchanted with a spell that, when activated with magic, would signal the matching one on Mhin’s wrist to vibrate.

“If you need me.”

You nodded again, this time grabbing their hand and squeezing for a moment, before lifting your chin and striding toward the door. 

The harried servant, clearly both irritated and panicked to have been kept waiting, hustled you through the palace at fast as he could. 

Despite having an excellent sense of direction, you soon found yourself struggling to remember the turns you’d taken, as each hall looked identical with its blood red walls and black marble floors, when the servant guided you around one last corner that opened up to a larger room with a vaulted ceiling.

You paused on the threshold, sucking in a gasp. 

Amongst the luxurious velvet walls, the towering, worn mahogany doors set at the top of an equally ancient set of stairs looked unnatural. Around the circular room, grotesque statues lined the walls - no, not just statues.

Soulless.

Your stomach lurched. 

“Come, this way,” the servant ushered, hovering and gesturing insistently but apparently unwilling to touch you. “Please. He’s been waiting for so long now.”

You swallowed around a dry throat and followed on slightly shaking legs, your eyes darting around the room, trying to keep as many of the monsters in sight as possible. Still, even as you reached the bottom of the stairs, not a single Soulless had so much as twitched in your direction. 

Hell of an entrance. Literally.

“Up the stairs, through the doors. Go, go.”

You’d ascended halfway when you realized the servant hadn’t accompanied you. You looked over your shoulder. 

The servant was gone. 

Only the Soulless remained in the room. Where before they had remained as still and lifeless as statutes, now every red eye in the room opened and fixed upon you. 

Terror shot like fire through your body.

Sprinting up the steps, you burst through the old doors and slammed them shut behind you, your heart pounding in your head, your chest. 

Fighting to calm down, you forced your breath to slow and let your hands fall from their panicked barricade on the door. You sighed as your body cooled, a drop of sweat racing down your spine. Fischa’s anxious attempts to blot your sweat were all for nothing. 

Once your heart had stopped racing, other sounds began to filter into your senses. The soft whistle of a breeze through a cavern. Gentle, bubbling movement of still water. Groaning wood beneath your feet, the faint creaking of hanging metal.

Steeling yourself, you turned around and faced the inner sanctum of the Seaspring palace. 

__________________________________________________

She was a cautious thing, for sure.

From atop the rafters, Ais watched as the dancer took short, quiet steps further into the sanctum. 

She drew her robes closer, the chill of the room drawing goosebumps across the bare skin of her stomach and arms. She stopped at the edge of the water, taking in the vast temple encircled by the aging pier, the torii gate that towered above, the lanterns and talismans swinging idly amongst the mahogany pillars. Sweat cooled on her brow, her eyes bright and calculating. 

“Hello? Venerable One?” she called out into the room, her voice echoing to the depths of the cavern. 

He rolled his eyes at the title. The humans found something new to call him every decade or so, each more foolish than the last. 

She waited but, upon receiving no response, began exploring the left side of the pier. When she reached the tea pot and cushions, she hesitated before lifting the lid and peering inside. Searching for poison? Or just curious what the Vessel drinks?

Ais smirked as her nose crinkled. 

She stood up again and looked around. Her curiosity led her to the closest pillar, covered in white paper talismans. For several minutes, she read their contents, a furrow in her brow. 

“What would you wish for?” he asked.

The dancer jumped, her hand reaching instinctively to her hip as she searched for the voice. Soon, she looked upward, finding him amongst the rafters. Her eyes narrowed above the veil. 

“Your Excellency,” she demurred with a bow, even as her sharp eyes held fast on his form. 

He tilted his chin, resisting the urge to smile. “Answer.”

She considered him, that quick mind working behind those bright eyes, before she replied, “I would never dare to wish for anything, without a full understanding of the terms.”

Now, he smirked. “Smart.”

He could tell from the spark in her gaze that she held a sharp reply on the tip of her tongue but kept silent. “Speak freely,” he said, bracing his arm on his bent knee, a pipe hanging from his fingers. “I prefer honesty to pointless pleasantries.”

The dancer bowed her head in acknowledgement. “As Your Excellency wishes.” After a moment of silence, she asked, “For what reason has Your Excellency called for me?”

“Good question. Not sure yet.”

Her brow furrowed again. Her hands twisted in the silk, the many folds of her robes flowing over her arms. During the performance, the other dancers had reminded him of flowers, but she was too animated to remind him of such a staid thing. No, more than a flower, her movements - the way she dove and soared, leaped and tumbled through the air, reminded him of a sparrow flitting through the many bows and trees of a forest, carrying the light of the sun on her wings.

She looked around the room for a moment before turning back to the tea pot. “Shall I prepare a fresh pot then?” 

“No need.”

He watched as she moved to the tea pot and prepared to remove the leftover grinds, then hesitated. Where moments before the pot had stood cold and empty, a full, steaming pot of tea awaited her. Her gaze darted toward him in question.

Ais pulled from his pipe and said nothing, curious what she’d do.

After a moment’s deliberation, she lifted the handle and poured two servings into the nearby cups, her brow furrowing at the deep red color of the tea.

A short laugh escaped him.

Affecting an air both graceful and ever so slightly annoyed, she settled on a cushion and held her cup in hand, her nose poised over the steam as she tried to subtly smell the batch. 

“Is this wine?” she finally asked, after failing to place the flavor.

“Something like that.” 

He blew out two long furls of smoke from his nostrils before rising from the rafter and dropping down onto the pier beside her. She stiffened briefly but recovered well, her head dipping in a chime of clinking pearls and gold, as he approached and took the cushion opposite her. 

Ais leaned back on the pillar and whistled. 

Soon enough, the scratching of claws across the ancient wood grew closer until Princess turned the corner of the temple gate, her many tails wagging behind her, the handful of wet, amber eyes around her head rolling as they surveyed the room, the dancer, and himself. She trotted toward him, her snout prodding into the side of his face, before curling up at his hip.

Ais dropped a hand on her back, his fingers brushing her fur. 

The dancer had stiffened, her back ramrod straight, fear mixing in with the lovely scent of honey and spice around her. Bemusedly, he realized the addition didn’t put him off in the slightest.

After several moments, she relaxed again, hiding her eyes behind the thick rim of lashes. She lifted the cup to her mouth, took a delicate sip, and then set it back on the ground again. “How can I be of use to you, Your Excellency?”

“Use?” He took a long drink of his own cup and savored the burning down his throat. “What do you think?”

Ais watched the quicksilver calculation flash through her eyes. Then, her posture shifting, she seemed to settle into her determination. 

Her robes loosened, the sumptuous weight falling down around her elbows, pooling around her hips. The smooth skin of her shoulders were bared, her head tipping forward to allow her long hair to spill over them in soft curls. Her eyes narrowed again, not in calculation, but in sleepy, languorous seduction. 

Ais let his bent leg fall to the side, opening his lap. 

She took the invitation without hesitation, all curves and silk as she crawled across the distance and settled on top of him. This close, he could sense the brimming magic swimming in her veins, the golden branches across her hands and arms shining with power. 

Her hands smoothed across his chest, the tips of her fingers teasing beneath the folds of his clothes, before sliding around his shoulders and settling at the nape of his neck. She curled into him, those bright eyes inches from his own, the veil hanging between their mouths. 

He could sense her breath on the air, could taste it across his tongue. 

The smirk that spread across his face was an evil thing, even to his own mind, but still she did nothing as he tugged the edge of her veil from its fastenings and took her mouth.

______________________________________________

He kissed like a demon. 

His tongue invaded in a hot rush of teeth and breath, his mouth working with a fervor at complete odds with his attitude thus far. You’re swept in the tide, hands seeking purchase on his thick shoulders as his hot tongue found yours, each brush of rough wet muscle a torrent on your senses as you struggled to keep your wits about you. 

He tasted strangely spicy, the thick mulled wine from the teapot seeping across your palate. Each shallow swallow of the taste burned a line down your throat and settled in your stomach like whiskey.

Countless times, you’d lured targets just like this. Honeypot was something of a specialty, for all that you’d rarely engaged in true intimacy. You could separate the sensations from your head, your thoughts always focused on the mission, dissociating the physical from the mental. Missions just like this were a dime a dozen - entice, approach, distract, execute. Simple. Straightforward.

Nothing about this felt simple. Never before had the pleasure been this strong, this mind-numbingly good - never had it been this difficult to just think when a target laid hands on you.

Heat flooded your body, pooling in the pit of your stomach. When his hands braced your waist, scorching palms a brand on your skin, mischievous thumbs stroking along the dips and plateaus of your stomach, every nerve in your body seemed to perk up and come alive with tingling pleasure. 

You broke the clasp of his mouth, panting as his tongue swept across your lip. 

Red eyes bored into you, their weight intense and all-consuming. The Vessel pulled you against his chest, his hands guiding your hips down into the valley of his lap, and instinctively they began to grind against him, as though called to dance by a lewd melody you couldn’t hear. 

A stifled moan rose in your throat as the hard jut of him notched against your sensitive mound and rose to meet you, rubbing deep and slow against your clit through the perilously thin fabric. God, he’s big. You felt yourself growing wet, your arousal dampening the silk further, heightening each brutal brush against your folds.

Sweet, heady fog began to slip into your head, teased and tormented on the precipice of that perfect, elicit friction. 

The air between you felt cloying, humid and hot. You tossed your head back, fighting for breath and swallowing a moan as his eager mouth found your throat and proceeded to nip and suck. 

The mission. Don’t forget what you’re here for - oh fuck, that’s good . 

You struggled, searching your memories for the fuel to keep on trick. Mhin’s face, the glimpse of hollow grief on his face at the mention of his village. Fischa and Rukia. Huxtly, Fenrir, and Yulia, playing out in the fields around the tents, the breeze carrying their laughter.

Gritting your teeth, you dragged your hands from around his neck, down the firm planes of his chest and covered his where they sat on the curve of your waist and guided your hips in their lazy, exquisite dance against him. 

You held his wrists and drew him upward, until his palms smoothed over the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers teasing along the hem of your top, pearls on thin gold chains slipping over his knuckles. He took the invitation eagerly, roaming beneath the silk until his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, testing the firm points as those terrible red eyes watched your face, devoured your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. 

Your pleasure seemed to feed his and vice versa, a conduit forming as riotous heat and lust charged the air between you. 

Your hands left him to his devices, namely torturing you with flicks and pinches and hot handfuls of skin, and then returned to your waist, gripping your own hip bones as though bearing down on the thick ridge of his cock. Your right hand slipped within your pants and found the handle of the dagger. 

His tongue licked a hot swath up your neck, his mouth lingering by your ear, his breath puffing against your jaw. You turned and caught his mouth again, sucking his tongue inward, your head swimming even as you fought to think.

With a quick jerk, you pulled the dagger out of its sheath, cutting through the fabric of your pants, and lifted it into the air, poised above his neck. Your grip tightened, prepared to tilt and plunge the blade into his jugular, when - 

Your body froze. 

What - what’s happening . Every single nerve in your body continued to sing with pleasure, your mound aching like an open wound, your skin tingling with the heat radiating from his body and touch.

Your mouth gaped, paused in the middle of a deep kiss, as he sighed and leaned back, his gaze tracing the blush on your cheeks, the dawning horror in your eyes. His hand slipped out from your breast and cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip and dipping inside to tease your still tongue. 

“Should’ve known not to drink from my cup, sparrow,” the Vessel said, his red eyes narrowed in satisfaction, before inspecting the raised dagger with interest. “Looks sharp.”

Then he withdrew a couple inches, just enough to bring his face closer to the weapon. “Oh…?” He met your paralyzed gaze over the blade. “Abaranth steel?” He tilted his head thoughtfully before a smirk spread across bruised lips. “So it’s personal.”

You watched, terror quickly replacing the fading pleasure in your body, sucking the warmth from your veins until sweat lay cold and dry on your skin, your heart racing furiously.

The Vessel dragged his hand down your neck, across your shoulder and down your arm in a mocking caress, fingers cupping your elbow teasingly, before reaching the thick gold veins embedded in your skin. “Wanted a closer look at these, but… turns out there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You fought against the unnatural paralysis with all your might, those same veins he traced with his thumb lighting up with stifled magic - but to no avail. His words bubbled to the surface of your panic. You glanced down at the mug you’d taken barely a sip of. 

The wine?

The Vessel hummed low in his throat, his gaze pausing on your face, before a slow smirk spread across his mouth. 

Checkmate, sparrow , he whispered, but not once had his lips moved to form the words.

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic building to a crescendo, your body vibrating as though struck by lightning. What is this? What did you do to me ? you thought feverishly. What did I drink ?

His scarlet eyes flared, their malevolent glow burning like banked embers in the gloom of the temple. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the tea pot’s lid spun off the frame and onto the ground nearby. He hooked his fingers over the rim and lifted the pot until the chamber was level with your eyes.

Thick, blood red water sloshed from within, dribbling down the side of the pot.

The same water that ebbed beneath the pier.

You stared, a scream echoing from the distance. 

Now , he mused, his voice almost bored even as it invaded your mind, let’s see what secrets you’ve got tucked away in this head of yours. 

_____________________________________

a/n: comments and likes are appreciated!

[dirtbag-linecook-kyloren]

apparently we're all posting smut for thanksgiving, and I wanted to join!! this is an excerpt from my Pornstar AU, for context in thix au it's basically benarmie bc i couldn't find a way too add enough trauma to kylo's backstory to justify a change (because this is really a story abt hux) and Ben's ace in this story, so their sex life is basically just things I find interesting as someone who is also ace? im really playing with the definition of sex here in a way i find super fun.

anyway have 2k of porn, and then after you should all read jayne's fic private demonstration because it's amAZING

OKAY PORN UNDER THE CUT

As strange as it was adjusting to mornings with someone in his bed, Armitage is having more trouble right now reaching over and finding only rumpled blankets and a long cold pillow. The scent of Ben's shampoo still clings to the fabric when he pulls it into his arms, buries his face in it and takes a deep breath. The blinds are open, no doubt done by Ben long before the sun rose, before he climbed out of their bed, before he left Armitage to sleep away another day of retirement aimlessly.

While the garden has proved a useful distraction, some days are harder than others. Each first light brings with it the reminder that he doesn't have anything to do, besides keeping three plants alive and taking care of himself. Having never been skilled at the latter, Armitage can feel himself fraying at the edges. He twirls his wedding ring idly with his thumb, runs the pad over smooth metal, and watches how light reflects off the gold band. For a moment, Armitage remembers that day in the Trader Joe's, dreaming about taking a man home and doing something for himself, fucking someone without a camera involved.

Some might consider it a betrayal to explore this line of thought, Ben's made it clear that Armitage is allowed to imagine whatever he wants, and do with those thoughts whatever he pleases. Though his morning wood is fading, Armitage reaches a hand between his legs, buries his head deeper into Ben's pillow and cups himself, relishes in the pressure. He imagines an alternate world, one where Ben took him home, laid him out on the couch, slotted between his thighs until clothed erections pressed together, layers of fabric adding to the friction.

Ben would have gasped into his mouth, still shy, and Armitage would have whispered encouragement at the shell of his ear, nipped at the lobe before kissing his way down Ben's neck. His fingers would have popped the button of Ben's jeans, his hands pushed down his joggers, and following along with the daydream, Armitage pushes his briefs down, propping Ben's pillow against the headboard so he can sit up and lean into it. 

Eyes closed, Armitage circles his hole lazily. He's not willing to move and grab lube, so the most he can do is toy with himself, but imagining Ben's hands make even that exciting. Ben's voice, husky from lust, stuttering with nerves, asking if Armitage is going to be good for him, open for him, scream for him.

"Yes," Armitage whispers to the empty room, moving from his hole to wrap around himself, pressing under the head with a finger while his free hand toys with a nipple. "Always, Ben."

"Good morning."

His eyes snap open, his neck jerking as his gaze shoots to the door and his hands freeze. Ben's there, leaning against the frame, shoulders loose and a smile tugging at his lips. Does he move his hands away? And when had Ben gotten home? What time is it? Armitage hasn't checked the clock yet, hasn't even taken his phone off the charger.

"Short day," Ben says, coming further into the room. He takes Armitage's dressing chair and picks it up, moves it to face the bed and leans against the back. "Keep going."

A decade of fucking on camera, and this is what makes Armitage blush. With stilted motions, Armitage strokes his cock, torn between looking Ben in the eye and pretending he's not there. Ben moves as Armitage hand slides up and down, comes to his side of the bed and opens the drawer where his toys are.

"Ben-" he starts, but he's shushed, one hand raising a finger while the other rifles through the drawer.

"I've been thinking," Ben says. His hand withdraws from the drawer, a bottle of lube and a dildo both fitting in his grasp. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to try something." His mouth opens, word Armitage can't find the words, listens instead to the click of his throat as he swallows, the hitch of his breath as he reaches up to take the items from Ben. "I'll need you to use your words, sweetheart."

"Yes, god," Armitage gasps. Ben is well aware what the pet name does to him, has seen more than once how he flushes at the smallest bit of affection. One of his hands stills, just holding himself, and the other sets everything he’s been handed next to him on the sheets. "Yes."

"Good." There's a laughter to Ben's words, even as he sits in that chair at the foot of the bed, legs spread, facing  Armitage and watching him with warm eyes. Sat like that, Ben's slacks do little to hide him even soft, and Armitage has to stop himself from staring. "Are you going to do what I say?"

"Ben-"

Ben clicks his tongue.

"Call me 'love,' dear. We don't want you to wear my name out." Armitage’s flush moves down his neck, turns his chest red as his head tries to hide in the pillow. "None of that. I want to see how much you enjoy everything."

"Ben-" Armitage winces, looks forward and forces himself to hold Ben’s gaze. "Love, please."

"Hands off."

Armitage groans, but he listens, grips the sheets and looks at Ben, from his eyes, warm and calm as always, to the rise and fall of his chest, even and slow.  Ben chuckles, leans forward in his seat as his elbows rest on his thighs.

"What were you thinking about when I came in?" he asks. "When you said my name."

His head twitches, and Armitage wants desperately to hide, bury himself in the blankets away from intense brown eyes. He feels exposed, flayed open. Instead his own gaze traces Ben's jaw, wonders how his stubble would feel against Armitage's chest.

"The day we met," Armitage says, breathes almost. His hands clench in time with his jaw, and Ben's silence bids him to continue. "Imagined you spreading me out on the couch, didn't get much farther than that."

"Half-fucked out, and still all you could think about was more," Ben says with a laugh. "I want you to stretch yourself, sweetheart. Just one finger for now, I'll decide when you're ready for more. Do you understand?" Armitage nods. "Out loud, honey. I need to hear you."

Armitage's breath stutters as he uncaps the lube.

"Yes, Love," he says. His hand shakes as it moves down his body, as he shifts down just enough to bare himself to Ben. His legs spread on habit, knees drawing up towards his chest, the muscle memory of camera angles burned into the motions. He hasn't shaved in a few days, but Ben watches with rapt attention as Armitage circles his hole.

"Don't tease yourself," he says. "That's my job."

Armitage groans as he slips inside, takes a deep breath and relaxes as best he can. His cock is weeping against his stomach, head red and precome spilling from the slit, and Armitage wants to take it in hand, give himself relief. He keeps his hand in the sheets instead, flexes his fingers. "Can you keep a slow rhythm on your own, or do you need me to set it for you, dear?"

He can't think, let alone keep time, but his throat is dry and his head foggy, so Armitage shakes his head, watches as Ben's brows furrow.

"Armitage?"

"You, please," he manages.

"You're with me?"

"Yes." After another breath. "Wanna be good."

"You are," Ben says. "You're doing so well."

Standing from his seat again, Ben comes around the bed, sits next to Armitage and leans into him as the mattress dips. His dress shirt is rough against Armitage's heated skin. He's pulled into Ben's chest, and his head falls back to rest in the crook of Ben's neck, panting breaths against his collar.

"Is this better, sweetheart?" he asks, words vibrating through Armitage. One of his hands is on Armitage's waist, and the other runs slowly up and down his arm. "Can you keep that pace?"

It will be glacial, Armitage knows, work him closer to the edge inch by inch and still maybe never get him there. But it's what Ben wants him to do, and Armitage wants to be good.

"Yes," he mutters, nodding. He pulls out as Ben's hand drags down his arm, hissing as he thrusts in when the motion moves upward. Minutes pass with the slow push and pull, hours, maybe. Armitage's world has narrowed to the warmth of Ben at his back, the hand on his arm, and the catch of his rim each time he pulls out to the tip.

"Add another, honey," Ben says, words whispered into Armitage's hair. "You don't have to be quiet. The world would be lucky to hear you."

His stomach twists as Armitage lets out a noise, a gasp, a moan, a sob. Even with thin fingers, there's a stretch, a strain. When his fingers are fully seated, Ben has him scissor them, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head, his temple, the skin behind his ear.

"Tell me how it feels," Ben says.

"Not enough," Armitage groans. "More, please, Love." The dildo rests on the sheets to their left, and Armitage looks to it. "Please."

"Another finger first, sweetheart." His eyes squeeze closed, and Armitage tries to focus, slides into himself even as he loses the rhythm for a second, his wrist stuttering. "Do you need to go faster? Tell me what you need."

"Ben- Love." He drawls the words, turning his face up blindly, mouth open. His unasked plea is answered as their lips meet, kiss chaste despite the depravity of the situation. When Ben pulls away, Armitage whines, an aching in his chest.

"I want you to fuck yourself now, honey. However you want, you've been so patient, exactly how I pictured." Both his arms are wrapped around Armitage now, pressing them close enough the buttons of Ben's shirt dig into his skin. Armitage doesn't grab the lube, can't think beyond lining the dildo up with his entrance and sliding it in slowly, inch by inch until the base is flush against his rim. He can't bear to pull it fully out, can't suffer through the feeling of emptiness, so Armitage fucks himself with shallow thrusts, his shoulder straining to angle just right.

His prostate is just out of reach, and Armitage sobs, hides in Ben's neck again as he sits just on the edge. It's so much, and still it's not enough.

"Love," he gasps, chest heaving and breath hitching. "Please."

"You need help, don't you, dear?" Ben asks, and one of his fingers pinches at Armitage's nipples. "Can't think enough to get yourself off, so you need my help." He does, god, Armitage doesn't even know what to do, can't collect his thoughts enough. "Sweetheart, you have two hands. Wrap the other one around yourself for me."

Armitage does, holds himself loosely. If he slows down the thrust of the dildo inside him, he can manage weak strokes, twist his wrist at the tip and runs his thumb over the slit. Armitage moans, settles for just squeezing his cock to thrust deeper as his stomach coils tighter, as his toes flex, as his breathing grows shallow.

"Close," he mutters. "Please, Love, I'm so close."

 Ben's teeth close around the shell of his ear, worry the cartilage and nip at the skin.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks. "You've been so good, honey. Let yourself come." His movements stutter as he pulls out and pushes back in, and Armitage lets go of the dildo, leaves it seated inside him and thrusts up into his own hand. "Are you picturing me inside you, sweetheart? We'll need to get you something bigger next time, let you really imagine how I'd split you open."

Mouth gaping, pushing back into the body behind him, Armitage comes. He spills over himself, over his hand, come warm on his fingers and sticking to his skin, and even with closed eyes, he can imagine Ben's gaze, eyes hooded and focused. Armitage pumps himself through his orgasm, smears his cock with come and hisses through the overstimulation, chasing the feeling despite the pain.

"Gorgeous," Ben whispers in his ear, pulling his hand away. "Look at you, how ruined you are. I'll be right back, dear, I need to get something to clean you up."

Ben climbs out of bed then, settles Armitage back onto the pillows as his breathes even out and he floats on the aftershocks of sensation. The tap in the bathroom, feet on the wooden floor, and then a warm, wet towel is wiped gently over him, careful against the sensitive skin of his cock.

"Sit up, sweetheart," Ben says, guiding him up with a hand at the small of his back. His eyes flutter open, and Ben hands him a glass of water. Armitage takes it in weak hands, glad that Ben doesn't let it go, but instead brings it up to his lips. "You did so well, Armitage. God, I hope you liked that."

Armitage chuckles, pulls the glass away from his lips.

"Understatement," he mutters. "Loved it, Ben, just-" The water is set on the bedside table, and Ben opens his arms. Armitage climbs in, settles across Ben's legs and rests his head on Ben's shoulder. "You said you were thinking about it?"

"You always-" Ben pauses. "During the-" He winces. "During, you seemed so happy, just listen to instructions. I wanted to try and give that to you, somehow. Googled a few things, came up with this."

"You should Google things more," Armitage says. He's in Ben's arms, but he's also back on that set, surrounded by bodies and meeting Ben's eyes through them, watching himself be watched. "Just you, though, right? Only want you."

Ben presses a kiss into his hair, pulling him closer.

"Just me, and just you."

I can't find the like line break thing so this is just a line break

Also the during ben's talking abt is a gang bang hux films for work before he retires, this scene makes a little more sense at the beginning and end in context of the fic but mainly it's just porn and @moondyad was my one yes vote to join in the porn fest that I needed bc i literally only ever need one other person to encourage me

[daughterofthereaper02]

We... We Got Married?

Summary: You were just as reckless as him, but you were younger then him. You two fit together so perfectly though but you knew it could never be... That was until you woke up with a hangover in a hotel bed in Vegas, both of you wearing pretty matching gold bands

Pairing(s): Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x younger! female! Reader, Hangman x Rooster

Warnings: Mentions of sex, cursing, mentions of drinking

Callsign: Sparky

There were constantly stolen glances, you were Lt. L/n and he was Captain Mitchell, it never could be. He was much older then you but you couldn’t help but be attracted to him. Ever since the mission, it grew worse. He could see your short temper when random guys flirted with you and always wanted to step in but never had the chance, Rooster and Hangman were like you’re extremely over protective big brothers, Bob and Phoenix were like protective siblings but nothing near those two. Everyone decided to take a trip to Vegas, you knew something was going to go wrong but you took your captains advice of ‘Don’t think’, so that is how you ended up to now.

Your head was pounding, you knew you had one too many to drink last night but the others convinced you to let go for once. Suddenly, you realized how warm you felt and then the strong arm wrapped around you a little tighter. Then is when your blood ran cold, you opened your eyes and immediately slammed them shut again as your head pounded, the room was extremely bright. You felt whoever it was, pull you closer then before and you could feel the toned body. ‘God please don’t be Rooster or Hangman’ you thought to yourself. Prying your eyes open again, you brought a hand up to your face to rub your eyes. You suddenly felt sick and said out loud “Jesus Christ” as you spotted the gold band resting on your left ring finger. “What?” was mumbled behind you, your eyes widen “Fuck! Maverick! Wake up!” you said in a panic. His eyes shot open and you both stared at each other, you couldn’t help but take in his body still. “What?” he asked, clearly confused until he realized you were both naked. In his hotel room. In Vegas. With pounding headaches. That was when he noticed the rings, both of you wearing identical bands “Fuck” he said, color draining from his face. “We... We got married?” you phrased the statement as more of a question. He nodded and then the memories started to flow back in, causing you to fall back with a distressed moan.

 ****Flashback****

You held Pete’s hand as you stood at the alter, despite you both being very drunk, you could feel the love you felt for each other. “Do you Pete Mitchell take y/n l/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiant asked. Pete nodded, bringing a hand to gently stroke your cheek “I do” he murmured. “And do you y/n l/n take Pete Mitchell to be your lawfully wedded husband?” and you nodded, a big smile on your face “I do!” you said. “I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Pete Mitchell, you may now kiss the bride!” the officiant said. You two had passionately kissed and you looked at Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix drunkenly cheering for you.

****Flashback over****

****Next flashback****

This one was very brief but you remember Pete kissing you gently in bed, his dog tags dangling above you and you pulling them slightly to pull him closer.

****Flashback over****

“I don’t regret it” Pete broke through the silence finally. “I have been in love with you for a long time, Spark” He told you. You looked at him, meeting his eyes so he knew you were being serious “I don’t regret it either Mav” you smiled, you looked down at his lips then back into his eyes, not sure if you were able to kiss him. He leaned in and kissed you deeply, moving on top of you when you two heard banging on your door. “Y/N! GET UP!” Came Roosters voice from the other side. You shared a confused look with Maverick but got up, putting on Mavericks button up that laid on the floor. You heard him groan behind you and flushed, knowing you made him feel that way. Making sure you were covered, you opened the door and Rooster flashed his hand at you “I married Hangman last night!” he said in a panic. You were the only one to know he was in love with him, “Congrats?” you offered weakly, running a hand through your hair as you remembered witnessing the wedding. He caught your arm and stared at the wedding band “You.. You actually married Maverick? It wasn’t a dream?” he asked and you nodded, “Why don’t you get showered and dressed and we’ll talk on the way to the airport?” you said. He nodded and ran off, you turned back to Pete and saw him smirking, “You should wear my clothes more often” he said, making you blush.

Two hours later, all of you had talked and Phoenix and Bob found the situation hilarious. But you all went back home a little happier and different people then when you went there.

A/N: Let me know if you guys want a part two or to continue on this relationship sorta

Okay here is Part 2

[chapitre7]

eye of the beholder

แฟนผมเป็นประธานนักเรียน | My School President fanfiction

Tinn Tinnaphob Jirawatthanakul/Gun Guntaphon Wongwitthaya

8k words

Rated M for sexual content

Crossdressing Tinn

An ode to queerness, beauty, freedom, truth and first love

For @silverquillsideas ❤ Happy birthday, beloved

Read on AO3

Gun thinks he misheard at first. Suddenly everything around him is too loud, both the sound coming from the speakers around the massive hall and the sound coming from those surrounding him. It’s Tinn that grounds him to the present; his hands on Gun’s neck and his lips covering his face with kisses.

He can only hear Tinn’s giggles because they share no space between them. He sees the joy reflected on Tinn’s face, radiant and honest and full of admiration and love. There’s no one Gun can read better than him, and among all the people that Gun has known and loved all these years, there’s no one whose thoughts and feelings are as transparent to him as Tinn’s. He feels like a winner for that smile alone, for the pride that Tinn so easily carries for him. He loves him so much. But he can only look at Tinn for a few beats, before his bandmates are pushing him off his seat and towards the stage.

“Um,” Gun starts at the microphone, but for the first time in many years, he’s at a loss for words. There are so many people he knows in the audience, and so many other people that he has only heard of, but doesn’t know personally. All the other artists in the category are also there, looking at him, waiting for his speech.

Desperate for an anchor, Gun searches the crowd until he finds Tinn. He’s smiling broadly, his beautiful teeth in full view, unlike the shy smiles so characteristic of him that Gun can see even with his eyes closed. The one dangling earring he’s wearing catches the stage lights in the single gem that balances at the end of the thin, gold chain that tickles down to his neck. His hair is tousled to the side unlike his usual style, and he fits right in with the artists in the room, charming and expensive. He’s mouthing something that seems like “Speak,” but Gun can only look at him, trophy in hand.

Gun thinks he might do something embarrassing like cry. Sound has an arm around his shoulders before that emotion is realized, and he’s lightly pushing Gun aside to talk into the mic and start their thank you speech.

Gun gazes back into the audience, his eyes naturally falling back on Tinn, as if magnetized.

He tries to think of who he wants to thank, of how to put his whole trajectory into just a few precious seconds without forgetting a single thing, but his whole mind is an ecstatic blank.

***

Singing had always been a passion, yes. Inherited, like the best of passions, the type that lasts longer than a teenage dream. Passion enough to make him ditch university when he started getting more gigs, and enough to last several changes in the lineup of his band. “I’m sorry, Gun,” so many of his friends had said before leaving to pursue more regular, tangible dreams. Some of them didn’t even apologize, but those weren’t his friends. Sound stayed, though. Despite his dreams being bigger than the stage Gun could provide him, Sound stayed.

And that’s how, on one night that had everything to go wrong, Gun met Tinn. Because Tinn wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for Sound, and Tinn wouldn’t have gone to Gun if Gun wasn’t a massive fucking idiot.

Who trips over their own equipment? Who sprains their ankle on the way down a stage?

Sound had already been drilling him about how little sleep he got every night, and the incident would make him no kinder. If he somehow had broken his neck on that fall, Sound would probably have looked for a way to resuscitate him just so he could kill him again. Gun was doing his best, but between anxiety, fatigue, too much caffeine and post-performance buzz, it was only a matter of time before something stupid happened. And like a self-fulfilling prophecy, it did. But then there was also —

In the middle of his embarrassing incident and cries, there was Tinn running up to him, all nerdy glasses and ironed clothes with angular patterns, saying, “Let me see, I’m a doctor.”

Sound had helped Gun sit down on the steps down the side of the stage and stood hovering around like an overbearing mother. Gun didn’t know where the rest of the band was, but given the bad mood they were in all evening, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had left altogether. Tinn was probably the first person Gun ever saw Sound look relieved upon seeing.

Tinn removed Gun’s right shoe delicately, and then his sock. His hands were cold but kind, moving Gun’s foot from one side to the other. He looked up when Gun made a pained sound, and that’s when Gun took a proper look at him. He didn’t think Tinn fit very well in that bar. He seemed too... neat for it.

“It doesn’t appear to be broken, but it’d be better to take an x-ray,” Tinn said then.

“But what if it’s broken?” Sound said, hand on Tinn’s shoulder. “It could be broken, right?”

“Nothing’s broken, I can stand just fi— ah!”

It’s interesting how memory works. More than the first touch between them — Tinn’s grip on his arms, keeping him from falling ungracefully back down — what comes to Gun every time he thinks about that moment is Tinn’s scent. Something floral, fresh but not extravagant, that Gun had never smelled before. The girlfriends he had had before had always smelled too sweet, and his bandmates all smelled identical, possibly the same brand of cologne.

Caught between pain and a boy who smelled really good, Gun’s mind was white noise. He looked up at Tinn but Tinn was looking at Sound.

“Help me take him to my car,” Tinn said, and Gun frowned, protested, but Sound sounded remarkably like Gun’s mother when he was nervous, so it was a battle lost before it even began.

Minutes into a car ride with Tinn, Gun said, “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm? What for?” Tinn asked him, while slowing down to a stop at a red light.

“For ruining your night. It’s still early but instead of enjoying your Friday night, you have to take the band’s stupid singer to the hospital.”

Tinn gave him a pretty smile and shook his head.

“I was only there for your band anyway. Sound invited me, I’m— Oh I’m sorry, I never introduced myself, did I?” He grimaced, and Gun couldn’t look away from all of Tinn’s little expressions that he could catch with the city night lights. “My name’s Tinn. I’m a friend of Sound’s.”

“Sound has friends?” Gun quipped, partly genuinely impressed and partly to see if it would make Tinn laugh. It did.

“I’m the only one, I’m afraid.”

“Sound has a doctor friend.”

“We go back to a time when I hadn’t made such big life decisions and he was a little cuter.”

“Must be before I met him then.”

They both laughed at that, the car shifting back into gear as the light turned green. Gun’s phone rang with the ringtone he set just for Sound, as if he could hear them. He picked it up and sent Sound short replies, quickly ending the call, and then muted his phone. He didn’t want to get stuck in a back-and-forth with Sound and get himself motionsick, but mostly, he wanted to focus on Tinn.

“I’m Gun,” he said after putting his phone down on his lap.

Tinn smiled before he said, “I know,” and Gun didn’t know why it made him feel shy. Gun was the leader and singer of the band Tinn had come to watch, and Tinn was friends with Sound, so it was only natural that he’d know who Gun was. Plus, Gun had been singing for many years at that point, so he had already met people who recognized him before. He could look at so many different people every day and not see them, but he was seen. Perhaps he even meant something to them, which was something he dreamed of.

But something about the way Tinn said it — confident and a little proud — made Gun pause. He wouldn’t really be able to put into words why.

Gun’s mother always said he was perpetually stuck at five years old when he got sick, and injured Gun wasn’t much different. He would have preferred to cling to Tinn as they entered the hospital so he could smell his perfume again — a normal thing to do to a guy you just met — but Tinn got him a wheelchair. Maybe Gun did pout about it, or maybe something else showed on his face as the wheelchair gave him an unpleasant, queasy feeling, because Tinn crouched beside him and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t be your doctor but I’ll stay here, okay?”

The LED streetlights cast Tinn in much clearer light than the neon lights at the bar and the partial darkness inside his car. Now that he didn’t have to move, that he was being so kindly gazed at, he could look at Tinn. At his dark hair styled away from his face save for a few strands falling near his left eye; the beauty mark under said eye; the touch of pink dusted high on his cheeks; and the sheer gloss over his lips when he smiled at Gun.

Why the fuck did Sound never introduce Tinn before?

***

“Ow, fuck, stop pinching me, Gun!”

Sound deserved it, even if he did help Gun into his apartment after Tinn dropped him off, and even after he helped Gun shower and dress back up. He rolled his eyes when Gun still glared at him from the comfortable bundle he made under his bed covers.

“Look, Gun, Tinn is— It’s annoying, okay!”

“What is? He is?” Gun frowned, having seen exactly zero things annoying about Tinn.

“No— well, yes, he can be, I just mean—” He huffed and Gun raised a perfectly skeptical eyebrow at him. “Look, Tinn was very quiet in middle school, and then in high school it was like— everyone wanted to talk to him, to whisper about him and get his attention. They’d leave him letters in his notebooks and backpack.”

“So you’re saying he’s too hot.”

“I’m saying he doesn’t like it,” Sound said, rummaging through Gun’s wardrobe for worn-out pieces he could wear. “Having all that attention, I mean. He ran for school president so it’d look good on his curriculum and he had girls following him home. And guys.”

“Oh.”

Gun liked attention, but he wouldn’t like anyone following him home.

“Yeah. So he doesn’t get out much. I’m taking this, by the way.”

“So how did you get him to come to the bar tonight?”

Gun picked at his cuticles on his left hand, curious as to why the question made Sound pause.

“He asked to come,” he said. He held Gun’s gaze for a few seconds before finally leaving with a, “I’m going to shower, good night.”

***

It turned out that Tinn, who didn’t like attention but wanted to watch Gun’s band play, was not so bad at texting. A few exchanged messages with Gun asking about his condition and then offering to accompany him to the hospital for another check-up turned into whole conversations, which led Gun to see him again.

“I can’t believe you just want me for my body,” Gun joked out when Tinn inspected his ankle himself, even though Gun had told him he was feeling much better and didn’t need another trip to the hospital.

Tinn’s response was a much more amused smile than Gun had expected, but Tinn couldn’t maintain eye contact without blushing.

“It was the music, at first, but I didn’t think you’d fall for me so easily.”

Gun could never really anticipate Tinn’s responses, it seemed. Sound had led him to believe that Tinn was just a shy nerd, but he was the one who initiated contact and kept it going. By all means his flirting was silly, but still Gun couldn’t help letting out a startled laugh, louder than he had anticipated, and it, coupled with Tinn kneeling before him in a simple neighborhood café, rendered them more than a few stares. He paid it absolutely no mind when he had Tinn at ease around him. Perhaps because he hadn’t met anyone new in a while, or perhaps because Tinn was so naturally charming, but he found that Tinn was a company that he wanted to keep.

He also wanted to kiss him senseless.

“Why didn’t you tell me Tinn was so cute?” he’d ask Sound.

“Don’t say that shit to me,” Sound would reply, making sure to increase the volume in his headphones, loud enough for Gun to hear, which could not be healthy but Gun valued his life enough not to comment on it.

And Gun did know Sound since he graduated high school and formed his first fraught band. Though Sound still had odd acting jobs during the day, he still met Gun for band practice during most of his evenings and he took every opportunity seriously. He wasn’t afraid of talking Gun out of slumps, because their drive to carry on, despite their difficulties, matched like letters in a scrabble board. Years passed, Sound stayed, they knew the code to each other’s homes, and still it took so long for Gun to meet Tinn.

Not that he blamed Sound for being as reserved as he was. Sound had plenty of colleagues, all with his modeling, acting and singing careers, but he didn’t have many friends. If Gun himself was a reference for Sound’s friendships, then they would be steadfast and loyal to him and Sound to them. Of all people Gun knew, who’d lie to please him or simply take him for an idiot, Sound was the one no-nonsense bastard he trusted above all. However, the longer he spent with Tinn, the more Gun wished he had met him sooner.

Midnight walks with him weren’t boring or awkward, but rather occupied with the serene sound of footsteps and unimportant questions such as, “Did you have a pet as a child?” or “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” or even “What place would you like to visit?” They would walk side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally, fingers drawing close to each other like magnets eager to find their opposite. Gun would talk about obscure Japanese bands, Tinn would talk about dishes he wanted to try, and though they both needed to rest before long days, neither wanted to admit the night had to end.

Did kisses before Tinn taste as sweet? Gun remembered liking a girl in the student council back in high school, and he remembered writing music about her, of the way she could make a rainy day sunny when she walked into the room, of the lighter color in the tips of her hair, and the freckles that looked hand-painted on her cheeks. He more or less remembered his first kiss, because he was nervous, afraid of going at it wrong and becoming a joke in someone’s story.

And yet, the story of his first kiss with Tinn was a funny one.

Tinn had been sick at the time. A yearly cold, he had said, looking every bit like a soaked dog, miserable and sad and with eyes that begged you to pick him up. “Leave, Gun,” he told Gun from his sullen spot on the couch when Gun entered his apartment.

“You know how I am with authority, Tinn,” Gun said, taking the containers of food he had brought to the kitchen to arrange them in Tinn’s perfectly matching kitchenware.

“I’m serious, Gun.” Tinn’s voice from the living room barely carried over. “You know you can’t get sick.”

“You know my mom used to be annoyed at how I never got sick?” Gun said as he walked back into the living room, and Tinn looked at him every bit like he was an idiot. Gun was immune to it. “No, I mean, like, she would get sick and have to stay in bed and I’d man the shop and wouldn’t even get a runny nose. I’d wake her up to give her her meds and she’d call me a butt.”

Tinn cracked a laugh at that, which instantly turned into a coughing fit. Gun rushed to get him some water, which he took, looking deflated and flushed and extraordinarily adorable.

That was precisely why Gun leaned in to peck him on the cheek. Tinn, for his part, sick and probably not even especially aware of his surroundings, turned to talk to him, and the kiss landed on his lips instead, just like in a scene from a drama. Gun was surprised and Tinn was a little scandalized, trying to lean back from him and actually making whiny sounds in his throat, which was honestly a bit too much, so the only thing Gun could do was cup his face with both hands and lean for a kiss he actually meant.

It was brief and unromantic. Tinn’s face was hotter than usual, not in the pleasant way, and he was supposed to lean into it, which he wasn’t keen on, but still — still his lips were plush and soft against Gun’s, moving ever so tentatively as if it were a first kiss. Gun didn’t know if it was Tinn’s first kiss, and he wasn’t going to ask Tinn, because he didn’t want to know and it didn’t matter. He could ask him later if he had dated anyone before, or kissed, or slept with anyone, but those were faraway thoughts to Gun. There were only Tinn’s warm hands resting on his chest, his hair tickling Gun’s cheek, and his sticky, sweet lips.

When Gun broke the kiss, he licked his lips and touched them with the tip of his fingers. Tinn seemed to flush darker.

“M-My lips were chapped, I just—”

“Strawberry?”

Gun gave him a quick peck again and Tinn did a little jump in his seat. Gun wanted to eat him.

“I like it,” he said. Before Gun could kiss him without warning again, Tinn pushed him away and picked up his bowl of Tom Kha Gai, mumbling something unflattering about the guy he had just kissed.

But despite how much of an idiot Gun was that night, despite the nasty cold he got afterwards, despite Tinn’s whining about how their first kiss was supposed to be different and under the stars or something equally sappy and planned down to the phase of the moon, he always seemed to wear the strawberry lip-gloss after that. Like his perfume, Gun found himself developing a strong preference for it. He liked how it matched Tinn’s words and gestures, so caring and sweet. The scent of gardenias, as he learned was the predominant fragrance of his perfume, soothed Gun’s insomniac nights, filled his lungs as Tinn leaned over him, his strawberry lips leaving trails down his neck and chest, before Gun demanded to taste them again.

All the intricacies of Tinn delighted Gun. His straight posture and pristine white coat; the tilt of his head when he was noting something down. If Gun stayed out of town for a few days, he liked visiting Tinn at his clinic upon his return, completely unannounced, just to see his benevolent doctor smile turn into the Tinn smile that Gun liked to see directed at him, pretty like a star on a summer night.

No one seemed to notice but Gun, why was that? Gun could recognize Tinn from the back just by the way he walked, elegant and poised but not aloof, not putting on airs. There was the way he would have to bend to hold Gun, and the look in his eyes when Gun looked at him from above, from his stage, the two of them pretending there was only them under the stage lights; or when Tinn was on his knees, between Gun’s legs in the living room of his blue apartment, the lamp casting shadows on his red cheeks, his red lips. No pretense in his eyes, in his fingers that closed around Gun’s wrists and brought them down to kiss his pulse there, leaving heart-shaped lipstick marks there.

Tall and reliable, timid and shy, eager and passionate, all so easily given. Was Tinn just like this, terribly and achingly open, or was Gun just so damn lucky?

***

Gun was standing in front of his mirror, eye pencils and powder puffs on the bed close to him, wondering if he should attempt a rocker look for his next performance, when Tinn walked in.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. Gun’s chest filled with countless emotions upon catching Tinn gaze in the reflection. Years of sharing dorms with people he could barely call acquaintance or sleeping by himself, and now his moments between events were graced with homemade food again. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about being a rock star,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, just to make Tinn laugh.

“You’re already a rock star though?”

“I’m thinking of early 00’s rock star,” he said, waving an eye pencil at Tinn, and Tinn hummed.

“Let’s see,” he said, moving towards Gun, sitting on the bed and motioning for Gun to sit with him.

Gun had noticed light make-up on Tinn before. Not just the healthy red of his lips, but a hint of brown eye shadow when they went out, his well-defined eyebrows and the thin outline of his eyes. Tinn’s hand held the pencil like a fine surgical instrument, firm and precise, with just the right amount of pressure. Gun liked his breath fanning on his face, and opening his eyes to Tinn’s focused expression. He was ruined for any future make-up artist. He should just snatch Tinn away and take him on every tour, his patients be damned.

“Where did you learn this?” Gun asked, his hands comfortable on Tinn’s knees.

“My mother taught me,” he said.

Gun hummed and closed his eyes, feeling like a flower basking under the sun of Tinn’s attention.

“What else did you learn from her?”

He felt Tinn’s huff on his face, and it made him smile.

“How to debate,” he said, and Gun grinned.

“Is that so? Why do you always lose arguments against me then?”

Like when he said he wanted to see Tinn, and Tinn would apologize, tell him he couldn’t make it, but he showed up late anyway.

“You have very strong arguments.”

“Can I call my old class president so you can tell him that? It’ll be just a minute—”

Tinn tapped him gently on the shoulder and Gun opened his eyes to see him giggle and shake his head. He wanted to kiss Tinn then, but he was reaching for the lip tint, and Gun held off.

“My mom should get along well with you,” he said. Gun looked at him in a way that seemed to amuse him. “It’s true. She’s strict but she loves authenticity. I... There were some things in high school that made her really sensitive to lies.”

Gun’s grip on the fabric of Tinn’s pants tightened slightly, and he scooched closer.

“You’re... wholly you, though,” Tinn finished, hesitant, as if unsure his words truly conveyed everything he was thinking.

It was funny. That was the one thing Gun would always think about Tinn.

For his gig, he did wear eyeliner, and Tinn’s red lip tint, and a red jacket tied around his waist. His sleeveless shirt showed off his arms, and there was glitter in his hair and rings on his fingers. Tinn was there, looking up at him in a way that reminisced of their first meeting, but Gun was more aware now. He could see the awe in Tinn’s eyes, the slight parting of his lips, and Gun would sing the bridge on one knee, looking straight at him. The whole concert house sang along to his song, and that should thrill him, but it was Tinn, legs crossed, eyes barely blinking, that gave him energy to sing himself almost hoarse.

“Tinn used to get bullied,” was a confession Sound made not many days later, after one too many of Gun’s inquiries. “I told you he got too much attention.”

“What? Wasn’t he—”

“He never told his mom.” Sound wouldn’t look him in the eye, but he could see the anger set in his jaw. “And it was never physically violent, not too many people knew about it, it was just... Mean.”

Mean.

Tinn would squirm when Gun touched his sides while they kissed, so Gun would do it all the time. He would break into giggles, and Gun would kiss his neck and cling to him as he tickled him more and Tinn would laugh and say his name breathlessly. He preferred to make love to him face to face, so he wouldn’t miss the way Tinn looked at him, open and direct and a bit unbelieving, his hand firmly gripped in Gun’s, mouth opening but he was never loud. When they finished, he liked to lay still for a bit, still connected, his breath in sync with Gun’s, and his hands, tired and awed, traced the lines of Gun’s face, the fast beating of his pulse on his neck, before he pulled Gun down for a new kiss, one that lingered, like a blessing and a promise and grace, all at once.

People were mean. To Tinn?

Tinn with messy hair and Gun’s red satin shirt on him, lipstick smeared on his lips and cheeks and neck, sleepy but not asleep, hands in Gun’s hair as Gun bit a new bruise on his collarbone and his hand moved down to fully awaken him and continue the dance from the night before. Tinn, who looked at him like he could see all of him and wanted him more for it, as if he could reach into him and pull from Gun a lifetime of longing finally fulfilled, as if Gun didn’t understand the meaning of the songs he sang until he talked to Tinn that first night in his car. “I’m a friend of Sound’s.” He had been so close and Gun had never seen him and now Gun didn’t want to look away again.

How could they be mean to him?

Gun didn’t have to ask anything of Tinn. Just like in their early conversations, where they could talk about anything to chase the loneliness away, Gun didn’t have to gather the courage to tell Tinn his worries about recording his first album, or how he missed his mother after going months without seeing her. Tinn could see his tells as clear as day. In return, he tried to take care of Tinn as much as he could. Carrying him to bed when he fell asleep in the living room, reading. Cooking for him, because he so often forgot. Singing to him as he dried his hair, or as he called from two towns over and Tinn had to stay home.

Mean for what? None of the answers he could easily think of could justify it. He knew exactly how teenagers were, he remembered them well. Because he was too smart, too soft-spoken, non-confrontational? Because he was the principal’s son and the school president? For completely arbitrary reasons, for petty reasons, just because?

It was an unremarkable day when he came home and saw Tinn preparing dinner in a dress. It hadn’t been any harder than any other day, and the sun hadn’t set completely, not a cloud in the sky. The skirt was long and pleated, unpatterned, and the cuffs were white, carefully pulled up as to not get in the way of his cooking. The color was just like many of his shirts, a familiar lavender.

Seeing the color pulled Gun from any pause he might have felt. It was Tinn. It was just Tinn, the man he had been living with and whom he had known for so long now. They had shared more than one anniversary. His hair was still the length Gun enjoyed — not too long that it looked unkempt, but long enough that Gun could run his hands through it. Artist-like. When Gun circled his arms around Tinn’s middle and breathed in, he smelled the familiar gardenias, and nothing had changed. Nothing except his heart, falling in love again at being trusted with something new.

“You stink,” Tinn said, but didn’t make any movement to pull away from Gun’s grasp.

“You smell good,” Gun said, knowing Tinn would roll his eyes at him.

“You should shower.”

“Hmm. Five more minutes.”

“Did that ever work with your mom?”

“Yes.”

And it worked with Tinn too.

After dinner, there was no rush to the bedroom. They walked in, hand in hand, and laid in bed, facing each other. Gun let his hand touch the collar of the dress, sharp and long and elegant, down the buttons at the front, and then rested his hand on Tinn’s waist.

“They didn’t like me,” Tinn said, because he knew. He barely saw him talking to Sound, but he knew they talked all the time. “They didn’t like what they saw, but I don’t know what it was.”

“They were fucking stupid.”

“There was a teacher who didn’t like me either.”

He pulled Tinn closer, grip firm. Tinn smoothed a thumb over his frown.

“He didn’t do anything to me.”

“But also didn’t do what he should have done.”

Protect you. Shield you. Support you, when you needed.

“Sound was there. We knew each other for a long time. It wasn’t so bad.”

There was always a reason why Gun liked Sound even though his bandmates kept getting in conflict with him. Perhaps he also saw something that others couldn’t see.

Tinn turned shy, hid his face on his pillow.

“I... had a crush.”

Gun frowned.

“On your teacher?”

He shook his head.

“Someone from a different school.”

Gun tried to tickle him, but Tinn protected his sides. His long skirt spilled on the bed, showing off his legs, and Gun reigned his hands. Tonight, he just wanted to know Tinn. Know what he had missed this whole time.

“Who was it? Was it a girl your mom didn’t approve of? Was it a delinquent boy? Who...”

Tinn turned to look at him again and Gun stopped. He tried to remember which high school Tinn went to, and he recalled... The international school his own school would compete against. The principal had been a beautiful woman with long hair, but Gun couldn’t remember her face. Boys in blue pants and red ties. His music club performed to them during cultural fairs, and he would face them whenever he helped in sports events.

“Tinn,” Gun said, voice weak, unbelieving, “that was over ten years ago.”

Tinn’s hand played with the collar of Gun’s shirt, and for the first time, he was incapable of holding eye contact.

“The music... It didn’t make everything better, but... There was so much honest joy in it, that it made me want to feel it, too.”

Gun understood why Sound seemed so reluctant to allow Tinn to meet new people, and especially himself then. There was in Tinn a desire to be good that surpassed the bad that had been done to him. Or perhaps, now that Gun knew him better, it was in spite of it. When Gun sang, when he looked straight at Tinn, Tinn looked back at him like he was a guiding light. Gun wasn’t, couldn’t believe he was such a thing with all his failures and rejections through the years, but for a few minutes, all those years ago, he meant something to Tinn. Something that carried over, that stuck to his character, that resonated within him. He had always seen Tinn as someone similar to him, incapable of being anything but authentic, and maybe Tinn had seen that, too. Maybe he had drawn from Gun’s love for music that wish to inspire, to be there for others. And if Gun sang for an audience that looked at him the way Tinn did, then who inspired who first, really?

How much could have been dispelled that first night, if they had not been compatible? When Tinn picked him up when he fell, when he looked at Gun out the corner of his eyes in his car, carrying in his lingering gaze a number of words unspoken that Gun felt compelled to hear? Gun was not good at flirting. By every account, Tinn was out of his league. Sound couldn’t have known that it would work. Gun didn’t have a record of keeping relationships, of fighting for them. He didn’t know what he wanted out of them, just some form of — peace. Of delight, like his mother spoke of his father. Something that felt like he didn’t have reinvent himself for, just to please them.

Something like hugging Tinn in the kitchen, eyes closed, listening as he hummed a song Gun didn’t know yet. Tinn helping him with his make-up, unhurried, soft brushes and softer touches. And waking up to his lavender dress, the fabric cool and light as water against Gun as they tangled together, Tinn’s hair on his pillow.

***

Standing on that stage, with a trophy in his hand, his bandmates by his side, all of the words of thanks that Gun can think of are for Tinn, clapping for him from the audience, his earring shining like a tiny fallen star. Gun wears the other earring, matching him. When Sound finishes his speech, Gun takes the microphone, and he says, “Thank you everyone who believed in me when I was just a kid singing at school fairs. Thank you for what you saw in me then, that helped me get here today.”

Gun sees a screen with his face, his smile big and eyes so small, and he laughs when he sees the red lipstick stains on his nose and cheek. It’s too late to wipe them away, so Gun only shakes his head, and waves at Tinn. His band is led off the stage and towards a different spot for pictures and more speeches. He catches sight of Tinn in a dimly lit corner, but it’ll be hours before he can touch him again. They’re winners now. It’s the happiest Gun has ever seen Sound, and the others look happy enough that they might want to stay for a few more years.

When he has time to check his phone, he sees notifications not just from his mother, but also from his old school friends. His first little band of misfits, the ones who believed in him the most. He can’t cry. Not right now.

The night carries on in bright flashes and indistinctive chatter. Gun stays for the after-party, buzzing with an energy that feels a little manic. Every once in a while, he’ll look around to find Tinn, to ground himself. So he knows that at the end of this night, he’ll still be the same man with a home to go back to. Not just Gun, the frontman, but the same Gun that Tinn once met. The one who got grumpy and unsociable when he got writer’s block and couldn’t write a good song. Whom Tinn called “difficult” when he was sick and refused to rest.

“Are you proud of me?” he asks Tinn on the ride home, tipsy, unable to look out the car window without getting sick. He keeps his head on Tinn’s shoulder, Tinn’s arm secure around his waist, and he can only see blurry details of Tinn — the red of his lips, his long bangs framing his face, so close, too close but at the same time, not enough.

“I’m proud of you,” Tinn says, kissing his forehead, and Gun will not cry, not yet, even though he can’t name a single feeling he’s experiencing right now. “I’m always proud of you, Gun.”

“Even when I get mad at you for not replying to my texts?”

“Hmmm.”

“Even when I forget to do the laundry?”

“A little less then.”

Gun whines but he’s also laughing into Tinn’s neck, where he kisses Tinn, just because he can. Tinn tries to argue, to push him back a little, saying something about “Not in the car,” but Gun doesn’t care about his surroundings or the time or anything at all at that moment. The car jolts, running over some irregularity on the road, and Gun clings to Tinn. Always his safe port. He breathes in and out, through his mouth, and Tinn’s perfume fills him. City lights flash outside, a reminder of the night and the outside world, but Gun thinks only about Tinn’s skin, soft underneath his touch, underneath his lips. How long has it been since he kissed Tinn? Hours.

It’s so long still until they’re climbing the steps to their home — a home that is technically only Tinn’s but that has Gun’s shit everywhere. His favorite guitar, the clothes he’s been wearing since college, shampoo from a brand that’s sponsoring them, alongside Tinn’s things. Gun’s boots are in the same wardrobe Tinn keeps his dresses, some of which Gun bought himself, because now, he sees Tinn in everything beautiful. Not high heels, no, Tinn doesn’t like those, but discreet rings with a single gem; dangling earrings like the ones they wore that night, that suit Tinn’s hair nicely; and red lipstick, with all different kinds of finish, none of which Gun understood until he applied them to Tinn himself and ran his thumb over his lips.

Gun pins Tinn against their front door as soon as they’re inside, asking, “What do you want?”

Tinn’s breath leaves in a surprised huff. Gun can see him clearer now that they’ve stopped moving, the entrance light shining above them until the timing goes off and they’re left in the dark. Still, Gun sees him, and he brushes Tinn’s hair away from his face. He leans closer, lips close to Tinn’s ear.

“Should we find another house to live in? Open a new clinic for you?”

He kisses a trail down Tinn’s neck, his hands pulling Tinn’s shirt from inside his pants and going underneath, fulfilling his desire to feel the skin there. Tinn’s arms circle his neck, fingers tangling with his hair, making Gun latch onto his skin, right where his shoulder meets his neck, lips and teeth and tongue and a pressure that steals Tinn’s breath.

“Come to Milan with me next month,” he says, and he feels more than hears Tinn say his name. “Tinn.”

He takes a step back and the light goes on again. Tinn’s pupils are blown wide, and his eyes are round and dark and seeing only him. Good.

“I want to give you everything,” Gun says.

“You’re drunk,” Tinn says, and his smile is a little weak, a little uncertain.

Gun shakes his head, not because it’s a lie, but because it’s not the whole truth. He wants to say it. He’s wanted to say it for a long time.

He steps closer again. Nose to nose, lips millimeters apart. Tinn leans down to touch his forehead to Gun’s and Gun smiles at that.

“I want you to be there for me, and I want to be there for you,” he says as the light goes out. “Whatever you need, would you tell me what it is?”

All this to say, I want you to tell me all about you. All this to say, I want to know your dreams. All this to say, talk to me about anything and everything. All this to say—

Tinn’s kiss falls on him like an unexpected downpour. It’s not usual for him, who’s timid, always setting the pace when they make out. Maybe he’s drunk on whatever it is that takes the inhibitions out of Gun tonight, that makes them stumble on the way to the bedroom, tripping over discarded clothes. They’re giggling and kissing and falling askew on the bed. Gun should be holding his weight away from Tinn as he falls on him but they’re not graceful tonight. Tinn has lost his jacket but Gun kept his white shirt on, though fully unbuttoned, because he liked the way the silk felt to the touch. They’ll probably find lipstick on it in the morning, but it would be far from the first time it’s happened. Gun’s not even embarrassed to bring Tinn’s clothes to the cleaners anymore.

He finally stops kissing Tinn long enough to pull himself up, hands on either side of Tinn’s head, to look at him. Hair mussed, lipstick smeared, eyes shining and dark. His hands lay on the bed, just beside Gun’s, palm up and waiting. Open. Trusting.

Tinn once told him that he decided to become a plastic surgeon not to take up expensive jobs for celebrities, but to help those who wanted to feel better about themselves. He always chose every job very carefully, working together with the patient for a healthy mindset, and he said there was a special type of joy about looking in the mirror and liking the person you saw there.

Gun was so proud of him. He wished he could go back and meet Tinn in high school, to hold his hand, and call his name there. He wanted to give him happier memories on his own stage. He wanted Tinn to see how Gun saw him, inside and out.

“You’re so beautiful,” is all he can say.

He sees Tinn’s eyes water before Tinn pulls him back down to kiss him again. That’s when he lets himself cry, and laugh, and touch Tinn all he wants. His mind is still hazy, and Tinn is overwhelmed, so it’s far from being their best night. But Tinn keeps his legs wrapped around him, and Gun takes them both in hand, trying so bad not to fall into Tinn, wanting to make him feel good. He whispers nothings that are everything, and he hopes Tinn believes them all, because even if he’s a little drunk on alcohol and very drunk on happiness, he means it when he says, “You’re good, you’re so good, you’re perfect, I love you.” The sleeves of Tinn’s shirt feel like being touched by seafoam, and the bed dips as he thrusts. Tinn hands on his back feel like dragging him down and down, falling into his kiss until they’re both struggling to breathe.

When they climax, one following the other, Gun falls heavy into Tinn, and Tinn catches him. It’s like coming back to the shore after the tide has receded. Finding the way back home, after swimming in the dark sea. But it’s only the night, giving way to the morning, and kisses that have regained their calm as dawn approaches.

***

Gun wakes hours later, with the sun already high in the sky. He can tell Tinn cleaned him up, but there’s still too much of the party the night before in him, so he takes a shower before he looks for Tinn.

He finds him in the living room, his tablet in his hands, and silver glasses on his face. His skirt is a deep navy, and Gun knows he has a tie that matches it perfectly. He can see his own marks on Tinn’s neck, imperfections on the otherwise smooth skin that Tinn makes no attempt to hide with a scarf or a high collar. The button-up he wears has the first few buttons undone, showing the marks off. It’s just the two of them, after all. Just like he can be messy and forgetful and capricious sometimes, Tinn can also show his flaws, his temper, bare it all. When they disagreed or had fights over banal things, Gun could never be mad at him for more than a couple of hours.

Gun looks at those marks, at the column of Tinn’s neck, all of it calling for him like a mirror of Gun, of their mutual desire. But he also looks at Tinn’s eyes and sees him squinting at the screen despite his glasses. He’s still sleepy, even though he’s usually the one who wakes up early between the two of them. He tries to suppress a yawn, and Gun doesn’t even know if he’s making a sound or not for how endeared he feels. Intimacy felt really fucking good bathed in sunlight.

“Milan is on the fifteenth, right?” Tinn asks, taking his teacup from the coffee table.

“Yeah,” Gun answers, walking towards him. Tinn frowns.

“Do you think they can get me a seat in your flight? I don’t think— Gun, I’m still talking!”

But Gun only gives him more sniff kisses that evolve into pecks that evolve into him sitting on Tinn’s lap, arms around Tinn’s neck.

“Are you really coming?”

“Hmm,” Tinn acquiesces, setting the tablet aside on the couch in favor of holding Gun back. “That’s what you— I mean.” He gives Gun a smile that makes him look younger, full of light. “That’s what I want.”

How could anyone be mean to him, ever? All Gun can see is a beautiful boy, putting himself in Gun’s hands.

“You two are so gross, I’m never staying in the same room as the two of you ever again,” Sound had said once when they went out on a double date, Sound’s boyfriend laughing silently, and what Gun heard was, “You’re perfect for each other.”

He takes Tinn’s glasses off, folds them and places them on Tinn’s tablet.

“Okay,” he says, cupping Tinn’s face, void of any make-up but flushed and radiant all the same. It’s the sun, shining on the couch from the open window. But Gun hopes he can be that light, too. “Although I’ll probably have to hide you or they’ll think you’re a celebrity.”

“Aren’t I?” Tinn asks, tilting his head to the side and adopting a contemplating expression. “I am your boyfriend, after all. Isn’t that a kind of celebrity?”

Gun hums, nodding.

“I should dress you up and show you off,” he says, but freezes, thinking well about what he just said. His eyes must show his sudden panic, because Tinn is patting the back of his head and kissing him before he’s saying,

“Okay. Speak well of me, will you?”

It gives him pause for a few beats. He looks between Tinn’s eyes, as if expecting him to take it back, but he doesn’t. Gun has wanted to talk about him publicly for so long, but he didn’t know the right timing. He didn’t know where, in the long time he had been dating Tinn, their feelings had finally aligned perfectly. He’s admired and loved Tinn for some time now. Was it enough, for all the years Tinn had liked him before he was even in Tinn’s life? Would Sound hate him for exposing Tinn, who kept so much of himself to just a few select people, of which Gun has been so lucky to be included in?

But the night before, with Tinn’s gaze on him as he finally felt at the top of his world, Tinn’s earring clipped on his own ear – a part of Tinn always with him – he understood what it was like to speak of someone like they’re the world, just like his mom would do for his dad. It came out of him every time he thanked those that supported him, his eyes on every camera but his heart set on Tinn. Did it reach him?

Gun looks at Tinn until his vision gets blurry and Tinn’s smile fades, replaced with concern. Tinn asks, “Are you okay?”, but Gun only hugs him, hiding his face on his neck. He breathes in the scent of gardenias, and with the sun and Tinn’s warmth covering him, he doesn’t think about Milan, he thinks only,

“Mom is going to love you.”

Perhaps it’s time to plan a different trip.

[mrsarnasdelicious]

House Full of Heathens

Slightly Fix it and Very Poly. Reader x Sihtirc, Reader x Finan, Reader x Osferth, Reader x Leofric, Sithric x Uthred, Sithric x Finan, Sithric x Osferth, Finan x Osferth.

Ch 1: No Oaths

You have found yourself in the company of Skorpa of the White Horse, though you are not sure how. They are a fragtag band, only fortunate enough that the people of Cornwalum are no fighters. There is no silver in the plunder and the livestock is skinny. No worthy sacrifice for Loki or Tyr.

Skorpa does not know who you are. That your father is Harald Finehair, a great King among Danes. Nor does he know you ran away to escape that life. To be free and anonymous.

You have half a mind to leave Skorpa behind and strike out on your own. Find a comely man to fuck and a nice fat bull to dedicate to Loki.

This opportunity is presented in the guise of Uhtred Ragnarson. His ragtag band of Saxons strikes a deal with Skorpa, though you know Skorpa is lying, you see it in those piss coloured eyes. Fucker. You have no time to warn Uhtred of the deceit, though. Things escalate quite quickly. And before you know it, King Peredur is dead. His silver is ripe for the taking. Sadly, there are no comely men to be found., only Peredur’s shadow queen. And she is looking at Uhtred like his cock is made of gold.

And of course, Skorpa makes off with the silver. You don’t follow him out of Peredur’s timber keep. You have long since had your fill of his band of poxy whoresons.

“Oi, Uhtred, one of Skorpa’s men is still here.” Says a tall man, who is in Uhtred’s company. You take off your helmet, throwing it at his feet. Uhtred looks up from Iseuld and begins to laugh. “That, Leofric, is no man. This is a Shield Maiden.” He says. The man gapes at you. You smirk at him. “Yes, Leofric, I am no man.” You purr. “But! The Battlefield is no place for a maiden!” Leofric protests. “Don’t you know some of the fiercest warriors are women.” Says Uhtred. Leofric opens his mouth, but Iseuld shakes her head.

“Come, I will help you to the rest of the silver.” She says, The men follow her out of the keep.

The men dig up the dungheap with their hands and the last of their dignity. You and Iseuld stand by and watch. “The gods have it in for this one.” You say. “Utred?” Asks Iseuld. You nod. “They will test him, time and again. They will reward him for his labours, but gods will he have to fight. Especially with Kings.” You say. Iseuld nods. “Are you a seer?” She asks. You shake your head. “I am sometimes given dreams. I had dreams of Uhtred and his companions. I dreamt of glory and I dreamt of death. And maybe those death’s don’t have to come to pass.” You reply

The silver is swiftly divided and you approach Uhtred. “Son of Ragnar, my sword is yours.” You tell him firmly. He gives you an up and down. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “I will gladly accept. What is your name?” He asks. “I am called Y/N.” You reply, extending your arm. He clasps you by the elbow. “Just Y/N?” Leofric asks. “Y/N Haraldsdottir.” You reply. “Harald? You mean Harald Finehair?” Uhtred furrows his brow at you. You nod in answer. “Is that someone I should know?” Leofric asks. “He is one of the greater Dane Kings.” Uhtred replies.

Leofric bodily turns to you. “Princess.” He gives you a stiff bow. You burst out laughing. The Saxon looks at you, obviously startled. He casts his gaze to Uhtred, utterly nonplussed. “Something I said.” He mutters. Uhtred smiles widely. “I think this shield maiden has not been named heir to her father’s realm. This is not uncommon, even for sons.” Uhtred replies. “I am not a princess.” You add. “Very well, not a Princess.” Leofric concedes.

You ride out with Uhtred’s little band. Back to Wessex. For them at least. You have not yet been in Wessex before. It is just heading into the next adventure.

Uhtred parts from the group. To do what, you cannot quite make out. “Stay with Leofric.” He says to you, before he leaves. You have half a mind to just leave and find another useless band of Danes. You swore Uhtred no oaths. But you stay with Leofric anyway. He smiles so charmingly and he has a sharp sense of humour. You decide you quite like him.

You ride beside him on the trek back to Winchester. It is a hard ride and by the time you arrive, you feel like your arse is made of wood, but at least you got somewhere substantial.

“You go find yourself an inn or an alehouse. I will come find you and tell Uhtred where you are.” Leofric says. “Where will you go?” You ask. Leofric looks down and chuckles gently. “I am going to have to see the King.” He says. “Find me after that?” You smirk up at him. Leofric ponders on the answer for a little while. But then he grins widely. “If you have yourself a room at an inn, I will.” He says. “I got silver enough for it.” You answer. “So you do.” Leofric agrees.

He takes his leave and you are left to your own devices for a few hours. You explore Winchester on your own, wandering the narrow streets and take in the houses and people and the animals in the streets.

There is a cart selling meat pies, and you buy one. You enjoy the rich flavours as you walk and eat your pie. Then you find yourself an ale house to have a pint. And Leofric finds you there.

“There you are.” Says the Saxon. You look up from your drink. “I’ve been looking for you for a good while now.” He sits down beside you. “I have been trying to enjoy the piss water you Saxons call ale.” You retort. “That is called ale because Alfred wants people to be able to work come morning.” Leofric gestures to the barmaid. She nods and pours him a pint, too. “It sucks. I’d rather have water next time, but clean water is likely not an option in a place like this.” You reply. Leofric nods and pulls some silver from a pouch at his hip.

“You Saxons are so dirty.” You say. Leofric looks at you, mildly disgruntled. “There is shit in these streets, I have seen you bathe only a handful of times and by the gods, clean water is harder to come by than gold.” You tell him. Leofric scoffs, but he can’t tell you you are wrong. “So that means you won’t take me to bed?” He asked with a sly smirk. You ponder on a reply for a while. You know he has no opportunity to wash. He’ll smell of horse and sweat. His mouth will taste of ale and old blood, but so will yours. You suppose you’ll just not suck his cock.

“I’ll find an inn.” You say, draining your ale and getting up. Leofric follows your example. He throws a few more coins on the table, for the barmaid. “Come, I know a good place.” He says. “A clean place?” You ask, with a wicked smirk. “Woman, you sure are something.” Leofric scoffs. But he takes you by the hand and leads you from the alehouse to a three story, timber built inn. It is a very good looking building, less run down than the alehouse.

“Is this to m’lady’s liking?” Leofric asks. You look up at him and smile. “Yes it is. Also, I am not a lady. I am a shield maiden.” You tell him. “I doubt you are a maiden. I won’t be the first man you hump.” He sounds very convinced. You chuckle and pull some silver from your coin pouch. “My pay.” You tell him. “Very well.” Leofric agrees.

It takes you only a handful of minutes to be given a key to a room and head upstairs.

Once the door shuts behind you, Leofric shoves you against its wooden surface. His eyes are dark and full of desire. “Go on then, take me.” You hiss. Leofric chuckles and cups your face with his huge hand. He does smell of horse, but not as bad as you expected. You close your eyes and hear Leofric make an approving little sound. Then he leans in to kiss you slowly. It is almost experimental. Not like he does not know how to kiss, but like he is trying to find out what you will like best.

You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him back greedily. Leofric groans loudly. He is not expecting you to be so forward. But you are a Dane, not a Saxon. You know how to please a man for true. And this most certainly does not include meekly doing as you are told.

You start shoving him backwards, to the bed. Leofric grunts against your mouth, but puts up no fight. It is not easy, Leofric is absolutely huge, but slowly you manage to shove him to the bed. Leofric falls down on the bed, looking up at you. He grins and pulls you down on top of him. “Come here.” He growls. “Gladly.” You murmur.

You renew the kiss, bracketing his hips with your legs. Leofric groans and his hands slide to your ass. He grabs wickedly at your leather clad flesh. You moan into his mouth. You begin to rock your pelvis against his. Leofric swears against your lips and tries to keep you still. But you won’t let him hold you back. You will ride him! You will show this Saxon how Danes do things properly. You lick into his mouth, letting him know you are fully going to assert yourself. It does not matter that he is bigger. You have a lot of underhanded tricks up your sleeve. Leofric groans, not at all of a mind to complain. His tongue flicks out at yours and he tugs at your tunic. He is not taking this slow. You don’t want him to take it slow. It has been a while since you last had a man.

You break the kiss to sit upright and pull your tunic over your head. Your leather armour has been discarded hours before. Leofric licks his lips and gazes up at you. His fingers bunch in the cloth of your light undershirt. “Take this off.” He growls. You smirk and shake your head. “I hear no please, Saxon.” You cooe. “I don’t have to beg you, Dane.” Leofric growls. He helps you out of your undershirt. Once it is off, his hands go to your breasts right away. His palms are warm and his fingers calloused. You lean into his touch.

Leofric massages your breasts and pulls at your nipples. You close your eyes and revel in his ministrations. Soft, sweet moans pour from your lips.

And then he starts to grind up at you. He is hard in his breeches. You press back down on him. Leofric groans deeply and his hand slips down to the rim of your own breeches. His thumb trails slowly from your navel to your lacings. You shudder a little at how tender the ministration is. But then Leofric makes quick work of the laces of your breeches. “Take this off.” He growls. He’s quite demanding in his tone. “Ask nicely.” You purr. But Leofric shakes his head, beginning to tug down your breeches, as far as he can manage. This bares the better part of your arse and your womanhood.

“I smell you.” Leofric growls, grabbing you firmly by the arse. He growls and digs his fingers into your flesh.

You slide off of him to wriggle out of your breeches.

Leofric hurriedly sheds his clothes as well.

And then he is on you. His large body eclipses yours as he kisses you greedily. You moan against your lips, dragging your nails up his back. Leofric groans in answer. He presses his cock down against your folds. You roll your pelvis up at him. Leofric bites back a groan and grinds back down on you. “Gods.” You hiss into his mouth. “You want it?” Leofric growls. “Yes, hump me.” You whisper.

You don’t have to tell him twice.

He lines himself up and pushes into you. You moan loudly. Leofric adds a wordless moan to yours. You tilt your pelvis a little, to give him a better angle. “Go ahead, hump me.” You encourage him. A thing you won’t have to tell him twice, of course. Leofric pounds into you as though he hasn’t had a woman in weeks. And this might be the truth of it, though you have no way to make sure, bar ask him. And know better than to ask a man about when he last had sex.

Leofric presses his face into the nape of your neck. “You feel so good.” He growls against your skin. He slams his pelvis against your, over and over again, without holding back. The sounds rising from it are obscene. You moan and claw at his back. “Feisty little heathen.” Leofric murmurs. He nips at the lobe of your ear. You moan and rock your hips into his thrusts.

And then you judge he’s had his fun. It is your turn.

You grab him by the shoulders and topple him over. Leofric grunts, not expecting you to be this strong. Shoving down onto the bed, you straddle him. Your folds press down on his cock, which is wet from your cunt. Leofric groans darkly, squirming below you. He is not accustomed to a woman on top, it would seem. “Don’t struggle, I won’t hurt you.” You tell him. “You could not hurt me even if you tried, Little Heathen.” Leofric chuckles dryly. You reach out to grab his throat, quick as a snake. Leofric’s breath hitches. “I am a shieldmaiden, Saxon. I can hurt you.” You hiss. You press your fingertips into his skin. Leofric grabs your wrist, trying to get you to leave off. He is strong, but you are no meek little girl. You resist him. But with your free hand, you line up his cock with your wet core. “God, you are something else.” Leofric rasps. “I know.” You affirm, sinking down on him.

You ride him, your fingers still at his throat.

Leofric groans and tries to trash below you. But you know by now how to keep an unruly mount in check. “Make me cum.” You hiss at him. “Wh-what?” Leofric gasps. You finally let his throat go and instead taking his hand. You bring his fingers to your clit. “You know how to give a woman pleasure, don’t you Saxon?” You purr. “Of course I do.” Leofric huffs. “Then do it.” You order. Leofric rubs his thumb at your clit. You moan and roll your pelvis into his touch. “That is what you like, huh?” Leofric rumbles. “Any woman does, as you keep your touches gentle.” You reply.

He keeps rubbing you. And you keep riding him.

Your muscles tense and your inner walls clench down on Leofric’s cock. Leofric groans loudly and his ministrations begin to falter. “N-not yet.” You whimper. “I ca-can’t.” He grunts. “Just a little more.” You hiss.

You are so close.

“A little more.” You order. “My God, woman-” Leofric snarls. “Make me cum, Saxon.” You tell him firmly. “You will be the death of me.” Leofric growls. But he obliges. He keeps rubbing unsteadily at your clit. But it is enough. The tension inside you peaks and your core clings onto his cock. Lightning blazes down your spine and sets you ablaze. “Oh Gods.” You moan. Wetly, all tension gushes from you and your inner walls contract on Leofric’s cock. “Christ!” Leofric grunts. He bucks his pelvis up at you. He spends himself deep inside you. “Goddamn.” He groans. You smile down on him. “Well done, Saxon.” You smirk.

Slowly you get off him.

You lay down next to him, panting slightly. “Not bad, for an unwashed Saxon.” You smirk at him. Leofric chuckles hoarsely. “Not bad yourself, you heathen.” He replies. “It is always better with a Dane.” You tease. Leofric scoffs in reply. “You are awfully full of yourself.” He says. “I know myself well.” You reply with a wicked smirk. You roll over and kiss him fiercely. Leofric groans and pulls you close. He is not truly cross with you. He is just bruised in his pride.

The next morning you wake up with your face pressed against Leofric’s bicep. He is snoring lightly.

You decide to let him sleep and slip out of bed. You put your clothes and boots back on and head out. First to make your water and then to get yourself some breakfast. Your mind is barely on Leofric. He is not your future. He is Saxon and you are Dane. You need a fellow Dane to grow with, not a man like Leofric, as much as you enjoy him, for now.

You break your fast in the inn’s common room, on your own. You notice how people are looking at you. They know you are different, they know you are not of their god. And that makes you bad. Horseshit, of course. There are plenty of Gods to go around and worshipping some over others says nothing about someone as a person. It says only anything about which Gods they look to for strength, hope and comfort.

You try to ignore the whispers and the looks. You have better things to do than to get into a discussion with Christians today. Winchester is a big settlement and you have exploring to do. You gotta learn the secrets of this place, partly for the hell of it and partly because secrets give you a power over the people who might want to harm you here.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Cinnamon Rolls

Set post-game. As she waits for her treats to bake, Agnes Dekarios (formerly Wildheart) enjoys yet another evening with her beloved Gale. SFW.

It was another beautiful day in Waterdeep. Agnes Dekarios (formerly Wildheart) sat next to her husband on his favorite chair looking out over the water from his tower at sunset.

No Agi, our tower. This isn’t just Gale’s home anymore. It’s yours. And every day I add a few more touches to make it feel like home.

“You seem lost in thought, Mrs. Dekarios.” Gale teased, glancing at her sideways as he balanced a book in one hand and a quill in the other. “What tempest of thoughts are swirling in your beautiful head, my dear?”

“Flatterer.” She said with a wink. “Oh, just how the tower is quickly becoming home for me.”

He hummed, writing something down in the margins of the book. “Ah yes, the little hints of color throughout, your cast iron pan and wok becoming favorites in the kitchen, the painting of Baldur’s Gate in your…what are you calling that room again, darling?”

Agnes grinned. “My hobby room. All my little trinkets, books, and piano.” And unlike my handsome wizard, I can actually play the piano. Most nights after we’re done on the terrace I’ll play a song or two for him while he sits next to me, his hand always on my thigh. Horace and Scratch have their beds in there, and sometimes even Tara will nap with them…when she isn’t napping on Gale’s tummy.

“My sweet wife’s hobby room, of course! It’s coming along nicely, though there’s a distinct lack of a chair or small sofa for your husband.” He’s teasing me again.

Giggling, she swatted his arm. “Pick one out then, love, and I’ll have it put in there. Until then—”

RING! RING! RING!

Agnes’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck, those are the cinnamon rolls!” She pressed a kiss to Gale’s cheek (his beard is much more substantial than we first met but still well-groomed) and then hopped off the chair to get those very tasty cinnamon rolls out of the oven. She made at least a dozen every week. My darling loves to have two mid-morning with some more coffee. She smiled to herself as she iced them. I should bring some up right now. They smell so damn good. Maybe I’ll grab a few for me too… As she prepared a plate, she thought about her trip to see Halsin earlier in the day. She had been feeling unwell for a fortnight with nausea in the mornings. Gale was, of course, worried sick about her and insisted on a healer right away. But I can be a stubborn dwarf sometimes and thought it would go away. She could not help but grin. And it will be going away…sort of. A few more weeks hopefully. When she returned to the terrace with five cinnamon rolls, she found Gale staring dreamily at the horizon, the book and quill now on a side table. “I come bearing cinnamon rolls, love!” Agnes said, her expression as light as air.

Gale rubbed his hands together, the gold band on his left ring finger shining in the remaining daylight. “How fortunate am I to have such a talented, beautiful, thoughtful wife!” He patted the spot next to him. He took the plate from Agnes and put it on the table before hugging her. “Come here, my love.” Helping her back on the chair, he brushed her freckled cheek with his knuckles. He always looks at me with such love, such fondness…I’m the lucky one. “You know, I would’ve gotten those for you. You need to—”

She shook her head as she grabbed a cinnamon roll. “I’m alright, Gale love. In fact, Halsin said I’m not sick at all.” Taking a large bite of the roll, she practically moaned as she chewed.

Gale, for his part, laughed heartily. “Goodness me, madam! The only time you make sounds like that is in the bedroom.” He took one for himself as he kissed her red curls. “It is very heartening to see you so thoroughly enjoying this, my love. You’re always so nauseous in the mornings now. Wait,” he stopped before taking a bite. “Halsin says you’re not sick? Then, it is my theory of allergy-related sinus issues?”

Not even close. She swallowed and shook her head. “Erm, no. The nausea should subside within a few weeks, and then…” Oh dear, how much should I tease him? “Other symptoms of sorts will be presenting.”

Gale’s brown eyes widened, full of worry. “Other symptoms? Darling please, if you’re—”

She shifted next to him, the cinnamon roll already gone, and took his free hand. “For a man so brilliant, Gale love, you sometimes miss the facts in front of you.” Agnes kissed his knuckles and nuzzled his hand. “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

For a few moments, there was silence.

I…I thought this was what we wanted? Why isn’t he saying anything?

Her fear evaporated when he let out a cry of pure joy and kissed her soundly. When he broke the kiss, tears were in his eyes and a hand rested on her belly. “A child. Our child. By the gods, our child.” The hand on her belly was now rubbing his beard. “I’ll get every book I can on pregnancy and birth, especially ones on half-dwarves. Must find a midwife as well…unless you want Halsin, since you’re comfortable with him? Or perhaps Shadowheart, though who knows if she even deals with this. Must plan and design the nursery. Oh, and I should find books on what music to play for the baby—”

Oh no. No. No. No. No. NOT NOW, GALE LOVE. Agnes wrinkled her nose and giggled, patting him on the arm. “Gale, I love you dearly, but how about you make your lists tomorrow?”

“Oh! Right! Of course, my dear.” He took both her hands in his, and Agnes was reminded of their conversation in the astral realm. The night I finally convinced him to drop all notions of using the Crown for godhood. That he is enough just as he is. That I want him just as he is. “Forgive me, I’m elated. Quite nervous. But so very excited! What a beautiful adventure we’re on, my love.” Gale pressed kisses on each of her hands. Gods, he can’t stop smiling. He’s so happy. “An adventure I never even considered, blinded by ambition as I was. However, I believe the feeling of being an omniscient, omnipotent god cannot compare to the pure and utter joy I feel right now. Gods, it feels as if my heart is going to burst from my chest. There’s so much I want to teach them, show them, tell them…” He shook his head, still smiling. “No, not just me. Us.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Oh, fuck it. Agnes blinked away tears. “Us.”

[srorgana1]

Into The Reverb (Kylo Ren/Reader)

Chapter Forty

“Kylo?” Kylo grunts and shakes Trudgen’s hand off. “C’mon, we have sound check soon. Are you ready?” He shrugs as he heads back to the bunks to get cleaned up a bit. He throws on a random t-shirt as he brushes his teeth. Spitting into the sink, he sighs. He feels so hollowed out. The tour continues and even though he gives a stellar performance each time, he feels nothing.

He runs a hand through his wild hair and exits the bus, following the trail of stage hands and techs. He can hear Kurak and Ushar warming up over the hum of activity. He follows the sound, nodding in response to hellos and other questions thrown his way regarding tonight. He walks onto the stage to see Vic walking the stage testing the microphones and Hux on the side talking.

He sighs, thankful he can hide behind his rock star persona because he feels like a broken man. He has been plagued with nightmares since the night he spoke to you. It’s always the same. It starts at the party and Bazine and then switches to you walking away from him. He begs and screams in the dreams, falling to his knees but you don’t respond and just fade into the darkness. Each time he wakes up in tears, his chest tight with anguish. Once he composes himself enough, he goes and sits in the lounge behind Poe, watching the world go by until the day starts again.

He flinches as he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. The media backlash was cruel, digging up every misdeed and issue he has ever had. Hux made a statement stating Kylo’s side of the incident as well as addressing the fan situation. D’Kar also made a statement stating their continued support for him and the band. While he was appreciative, people were vicious, calling for his removal for violence against women and his fans. Vic addressed those people online, calling their statements and requests “stupid and based on inaccurate information”.

Even with his name all over the internet, their numbers continued to grow. The next four shows were sold out, and they just received word the Miracle and the album both just hit Gold status. He is happy at least that even with his bullshit, they continued to be successful. He runs his hand down his face as he turns, taking the guitar from the tech with a small thanks. Checking the tuning, he zones out, his fingers working on autopilot.

“Hey Kylo, how ya feeling?” Vic says walking over. He shrugs and keeps playing. “You didn’t sleep did you? Ky that’s why we gave you the bus this afternoon, you need to sleep or you will get sick” Vic says running his hand through his hair. “Vic is right Kylo” Hux says, joining them. He growls, annoyed at their intrusion. “You know I tried. I just can’t” he mumbles, handing off the guitar for another one.

Vic looks at Hux and then back at Kylo. “Have you talked to her since then?” he asks crossing his arms. “She doesn’t want to talk to me and honestly why should she” Kylo grumbles, hoping his surliness will deter them. “I wouldn’t be so sure Kylo. You were the victim in this situation and we have addressed it. I feel she would be more understanding then you think” Hux says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Huffing, he shakes him off, tired of people touching him. “I fucked it up and now I gotta live with it. She asked for time to decide what she wants and I’m respecting her wishes” he growls, officially annoyed now.

“C’mon, this is Y/N we are talking about” Vic says, eyes full of determination “she loves you man. She was just shocked by everything, if you just called her…” “Vic just stop!” Kylo yells, making everyone look in their direction. He tries to a breath trying to get a hold of himself. It hits him that this must be how you feel when you have an anxiety attack. His heart breaks even more knowing this is what you live with. “I…I just can’t” he says tightly, handing off the guitar and walking off the stage.

Hux shakes his head as Vic watches Kylo leave. “I’ll give you an A for effort” he says, patting Vic’s back. Vic takes a deep breath and looks out the empty stadium. “I wish I could tell him. It hurts to watch him like this” he mumbles. “We have to trust in their plan Vic. It’s already in process and it’s our job to keep him in one piece until the fourteenth” Hux says, pulling out his phone.

Vic knows if the plan works, it will not only reconnect Kylo and the love of his life, but it will also expose Snoke and Bazine’s past abuses and illegal activities. It will benefit them all. But he just has to make sure that surly idiot of a guitarist doesn’t do something foolish in his self-loathing.

He shakes his head in agreement. “I think I’m good for tonight. Let the others know I’ll be in the dressing room if they need me” he says. “Sounds good, say hi to Damien for me” Hux says with a smirk. Vic smiles back and nods, turning and hitting a contact on his phone.

---

“Here we are boo” Rae squeals, opening the door for you. Why you let yourself get roped into this you have no idea. All you did was text Rae simply asking her where to find lacy body suits, and after a very enthusiastic phone call, you were here. You look around, eyes widening at the risqué outfits adorning the mannequins. You look at her, quirking a eyebrow. She smiles wickedly and walks away.

You take a breath, telling yourself this is worth it. Kylo is worth it. Cassian had texted you this morning letting you know the first media drop was happening today. You were nervous to see the response. You knew the information was valid, having seen and read the evidence yourself, but it still scared you. It was massive bomb you were dropping even though it’s being done through safe anonymous pathways.

You phone buzzes as Rae walks back up to you with an arm full of clothes. “Okay here’s the first couple ones” she says handing them off the you. You nod, excited yet nervous. Walking into the posh fitting room you slip off your shorts and blouse and get to work. As you struggle with a leather skirt, you hear Rae gasp. You stick your head out see her staring slack jawed at her phone.

“You okay?” you say walking out to her. She looks up and then does a double take. “First off, wow but holy fucking shit look at this?!” she says, showing you her phone. There in front of you is a TMZ article with the head line Trouble at the Top? Accusations of employee abuse and labor law violations made against First Order.

You school your face as you read the first two paragraphs. Cassian did good from what you could quickly read. He focused on the big hitters: minor labor laws, wage theft, and illegal contracts. All things that with the documentation he has will stand up in court.

You hand her phone back. “Wow, those are some big accusations” you say as you fix your sleeve. “I’ll say” she mumbles, her eyes quickly taking in the rest of the article. If this is how someone in the business responds, you can only imagine how people on social media will. You won’t admit it but you did follow Kylo’s media storm, your heart hurting to see people’s hateful comments and their calls for his cancellation. It’s not fair for him to be crucified and forced out of something he’s put his heart and soul into for lies and gossip.

“From what Kurak said, these accusations sounds pretty legit” she says into her phone. Your eyes snap to her, interested to hear what Kurak had told her. “What did he say?” you say sitting down next to her. “Not much” she says shrugging “but it defiantly makes sense the comments they made when making the album.” You nod, remembering the same thing. “They were taken advantage of there” you say “I hope they get some retribution and closure from this.”

She nods as she puts her phone back in to her purse. “Okay back to you, now why the fuck have you been hiding all this sexiness? Girl you are banging” she says as she appraises you. She hums as she fixes the low neck. “You look beautiful but it’s not you” she mutters, getting up to walk to her pile.

You shift, grimacing as the tight leather pinches at your hips. “I’m not a big fan of skirts” you say, slightly embarrassed on giving your opinion. You can feel your anxiety spike a little as you hope she doesn’t take it as you being difficult.

She looks over at you and smiles softly. “Girl, this is for you. I want you to feel sexy. The secret of all of it is you can only be a sexy confident bitch if you are in an outfit your comfortable in” she says giving you a giggle and wink. You let out the breath you were holding, feeling better already. “Okay how about this one?” she says, holding a couple hangers.

You assess it quickly and see it contains a pair of leather pants. You have a pair yourself so you are already feeling better with this option. “Yeah lets try it” you say, standing up and taking them from her. “Once your set, come on out” she says as she fixes her shirt, smoothing her hand over her growing belly. You nod and enter the room again.

You slide into the next body suit. This one is better. The details and lace aren’t as itchy. You look in the mirror and fix the button behind the back of our neck. It’s more demure then the previous one but still sexy, the bandeau style built in bra giving you the support you needed. You turn to assess the back, it’s open back cuts showing a bit more skin than the front. You fix the cups one more time and then smooth it out before reaching for the pants.

As soon as your hands touch the smooth material you know these are an expensive high quality piece. Your heart quickens. You make yourself not look at the price tag as you put them on. They are perfect. They feel like butter on your skin and they fit your curves perfectly. “Wow” you whisper as you turn, trying to take in all angles.

“You good?” you hear Rae say, pulling you out of your reverie “Yeah, I’m coming out” you say opening the door. “Holy shit girlfriend” she yells, pulling you up onto the platform in front of the mirrors. “I knew the pants would work, damn girl” she says circling you “how does the body suit feel with the pants?”

“Good” you say fixing the band again. She stills your hand. “Okay I have an idea. I am really liking this body suit pant combo but now seeing you in it I saw something out there that I think will be perfect” she says. You nod, putting your trust in her. She smiles widely and quickly exits the dressing room.

You look in the mirror again. You really do look beautiful. It fits your professional role and soon your new station as Kylo’s public significant other. You thoughts float to him. You wonder how he is doing today.

Vic had told you he hasn’t been sleeping well and had been sullen. Your heart hurts knowing it was because of you. You want to reach out, to alleviate his pain but if you do it will ruin the surprise. You promised Cassian you would be strong and wait.

It'll be worth it, you say to yourself as Rae enters again. She is holding a lingerie style bodysuit. Your eyes widen at the thin straps and intricate details. She smirks as she hands it to you. You don’t know why but you are excited to try it on. You enter your dressing room again and disrobe, quickly sliding on the new one.

Holy fucking shit. It’s perfect. The sexy mix of silk and lace dances on your skin. Your breasts fit perfectly in the soft holders and the straps are supportive while looking dainty and feminine. You pull up your pants and button them. You feel like a dark queen, ready to conquer her kingdom. You open the door and strut out, standing back on the platform.

You smile as you hear a quiet “Fuck” leave her lips. “Girl you may actually make me interested in women for once. Holy shit” she says. You turn as you fix the straps. “I love it” you say, pushing your hair back. “Kylo will die when he sees you like this” Rae says, laughing lightly. “I need to show him I’m all in Rae, and doing this show will hopefully do that” you say hoping down. “Y/N, even if you don’t go on that stage, you being there waiting for him will do that” she says, eyes soft.

You fight back a sniffle. “I miss him so much, I just want this to work so we can be together again” you say softly. You jump slightly as you feel her hug you. “Y/N, I know you miss him and you doing all of this will make your reunion that much sweeter” she says as she rubs your back. You are so thankful for Rae. You smile and squeeze her tighter.

“Okay okay, no crushing the nugget” she says letting you go. “Is he behaving himself today?” you ask as you go change back into your clothes. “Somewhat. He’s so active in the mornings after breakfast. Guess he is gonna be a foodie like me” she says.

You smile at the memory of when Rae found out she was having a boy. She asked you to come to her ultrasound with her because she was nervous and didn’t want to be alone. You both cried seeing her healthy baby boy thrash around on the screen. You remember giggling when the doctor mentioned that he was an active one and Rae grumbling just like his father under her breath.

You lay your new clothes over your arm and meet Rae out in the show room. She beams at you as she juggled multiple accessories and a black front tie crop kimono style top in her hands. You smile back as the both of you walk up to check out. The woman behind the counter was quick and courteous, wrapping your items delicately in black tissue paper. Thanking her, you follow Rae out into the dying sunlight.

“I would kill for a frap right now” she says as you place your and her items into the back of her Prius. “Sure as long as decaf” you say shutting the door. You hear her groan as you look at your phone. You see texts from Vic and Cassian.

Part one is a go mi amor. You smile and respond I saw, looks like already there is a big response. Are you still good for coming over Thursday night for part two? He responds quickly with a thumbs up as you move on to Vic’s text. Song set for LA show is done. Hux just got the okay. BTW damn fine work, I bet Snoke is shitting his pants right now. Cant wait to see you <3

“Who are you texting?” Rae says as you pull into Starbucks. “Vic and Cass” you say as you respond to Vic. “Sweet” she says grabbing her bag. “He said they just confirmed the set list for the show with our little surprise included” you say holding the door for her. “Oooh I’m so excited” she squeals, clapping her hands.

“Are you still okay with coming with me? I know you and Kurak have okay right now, but I don’t what to make you uncomfortable” you say, putting in you and her order into the app. “Girl chill, there’s nothing that will keep me away from seeing this” she says as she side hugs you.

Hearing your name, you go grab the drinks as Rae takes a seat and sets up her laptop. “You ready?” she says, clicking into her documents and the browser. You smile and nod, so thankful for all the support you have in this crazy endeavor.