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tgmsunmontue · 2 days

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Saga of Solitude 5/?

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. Hangster AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

Updating ~weekly (longer chapters).

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003)

CHAPTER FIVE – 2004

He spends three weeks in a submarine and it helps cement his decision to attend flight school, if they accept his application. There is of course the natural competition between everyone, it’s simply how they function, each striving to be better, make those around them better, but also support them and drag them through it if they have to. His third year at USNA wraps up and he’s facing his summer break. The entire year has gone well, no terrorist attacks, although there is definite heightened security since.

The routine is easy now, he’s an upperclassman, has Natasha and then a smaller circle of people he considers friends, if nothing close to what he has with Natasha. He’s aware that a significant chunk of upperclassmen think that he and Natasha are together, and the one time he checks in with her about whether she’s okay with that she’d just shrugged and said it had stopped the guys expecting her to pay any of them attention. No one asks, and they never correct anyone. When they head out to have leave together no one bats an eye. When they mention having spent some of the previous summer together it’s the same.

He finds out why Natasha doesn’t talk to her family. Teenage pregnancy. She’d refused to get married to the guy, someone she won’t even tall Bradley the name of, and the shame of either the pregnancy, or their daughter not obeying them, they’d kicked her out. Her application with USNA had already been accepted, her place guaranteed and Bradley doesn’t need to ask to realize what her decision must have been. He briefly feels awful about introducing Tamsin and Petra to her, but she seems to take great joy in chatting to them on the phone and drawing and sending them pictures, so he lets that guilt melt away.

They’ve both been asked to return to USNA and assist as upperclassmen for Plebe Summer, something he feels immense pride in, glad to have made a good enough impression that he’s being held up as a role model to the new recruits. Of course it makes their leave almost non-existent and they decide to spend it together, which he knows will only fuel rumors that they’re a couple. They go to San Francisco for five days at the start of their leave, and he finally gets to meet Natasha’s sole family member that has anything to do with her, and the way his eyes travel up Bradley’s body leave him blushing furiously. That he’s hot doesn’t help at all.

“Oh, it is nice to meet you,” Christopher says, shaking his hand and Bradley looks to Natasha with a raised eyebrow and she’s just shaking her head.

“Nice to meet you too. Bradley.”

“Mmm. I have heard a lot about you. She didn’t ever mention just how delightful you looked.”

“Because to me, he isn’t very delightful to look at. There are nicer views.”

“Hey!” Bradley objects, out of principle more than anything, and Natasha is already cackling and pushing past Christopher with her bags but Christopher is looking at him seriously, completely different to the over-the-top flirtation of a moment ago.

“Oh my god. You’re…” Christopher makes a limp-wrist gesture which sends Bradley’s eyebrows up in surprise.

“Uh. Don’t ask don’t tell…” he says, throat tight, wondering where the fuck Natasha has gone.

“Oh honey, I am not part of your weird cultish military shit. And I wasn’t asking, I was confirming. Holy shit. No wonder Tadpole likes you so much.”

“Tadpole?”

“Shut up!” Natasha calls out and Bradley grins.

“I’ll tell you the story later,” Christopher says, voice low and conspiratory and Bradley nods, hitching his bag over his shoulder. Christopher jerks his head toward where Natasha can be heard grumbling. “Sorry, only got the one guest room. She’s already claimed the bed probably, so you’re on an air mattress.”

“That’s fine, not the worst place I’ve slept by far.”

“You’re my guest, I’d like to hope not. I’ll let you guys get settled then we can head out and find some food.”

He leaves Bradley at the door and Natasha is smirking at him.

“You couldn’t have told me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sorry, his sexuality isn’t exactly something I drop into casual conversation. We’re at USNA remember. Repression is being ingrained into us.”

“Okay, would you hate me if I asked him out?”

“No. But his boyfriend might.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

“They can take you clubbing. I’m sure you’ll find ways of enjoying yourself here.”

She’s right, and she’s smug about it. During the days they do touristy things and just spend time relaxing, occasionally working out. In the evenings Christopher and his boyfriend Patrick take them dancing or clubbing. Natasha comes along once, but then tells them she doesn’t want to sit around getting hit on by anyone so instead either goes to the movies or stays at Christopher’s apartment.

He’s spent previous weeks on leave in New York, having sex with strangers, but this is a completely different experience. One he’s not going to forget in a hurry. For a start he has never had so much sex in such a short period of time, and it’s good sex, the guys that Christopher sends his way clearly more experienced and keen to give him good experiences or teach him how to give better blow jobs. It’s like each of the guys has undergone a screening process, and when one slips that he’s an ex of Patrick’s he realizes that maybe they have been. He can’t bring himself to care, not when he’ benefitting and enjoying it all.

… … …

They get to Ice’s house and there’s a welcome home party and he can’t believe how big Tamsin and Petra have grown. It’s a vastly different experience to their brief time in San Fransisco but he’s glad they have two weeks and Natasha seems to take her role as surrogate big sister seriously, the four of them watching movies, or lying around with slices of cucumber over their eyes. Sarah snaps a picture of them like that, gets it printed and gives copies to both him and Natasha, along with a pile of other photos she’s taken while they’ve been staying.

Of course, his birthday comes and he’s twenty-one. Maverick hands over an envelope and a key and he looks at it blankly.

“What’s this?”

“The deed to the house. It’s to go to you on your twenty-first birthday.”

“But… what am I going to do with a house?”

“Live in it?”

“But… I’ll be deployed or away…”

“Bradley, it’s the house your parents bought. What you do with it is up to you. I’d like to still live there of course…”

“Of course! I mean, if you’re not moving in with Ice, then of course you can stay there. It’s just… nothing has to change right? It’s just a piece of paper?”

“It’s just a piece of paper. And we’ll help navigate any legal stuff. And we won’t be moving in together any time soon,” Ice states, voice soft, but his expression is sad and Bradley wishes things were different.

… … …

Tom wants to wrap himself around Maverick and never let him go. The amount he’s been away on deployment makes every moment they have together even more precious, and he’s starting to second guess his own rules, even if they’ve kept them both safe. He has two kids and an ex-wife which is a damned good cover, even if his best friend comes and stays frequently. He isn’t telling anyone that doesn’t already know, and no one is asking him, even if they have their suspicions.

He hates the fact that Pete is now effectively homeless, not that Bradley would ever kick him out of the house, but Tom wants him to have somewhere that is his, and maybe not his alone, but something that would just light Pete up from the inside. The way flying does. He pauses mid-thought and thinks back to a couple of years ago, the Beechcraft and the airstrip, Mav taking Bradley up in the air. Huh. Not a plane, not yet, but there were hangars out there. And a hangar beside an airstrip is probably somewhere Pete would consider living if he thought it was a legitimate option. Not that he himself would want to live beside an airstrip, but this isn’t about him.

He makes a few calls. Then a few more calls. He’s got to consider leases, and taxes and whether it might just make more sense to rent. He doesn’t want to rent though, wants to make some sort of large gesture and present it as a fait accompli that gives Maverick no wiggle-room to turn it down. He feels pretty confident it wouldn’t be turned away regardless, unless Mav was feeling particularly difficult on the day. Then he gets a call, someone had heard he was looking, and it’s an old Navy hangar, located at the very same airstrip and it feels serendipitous and he agrees to come out and have a look.

… … …

Of course, with how much mentoring he’s doing with the Plebes come the questions, and he remembers his conversation with Ice, a couple of years ago now. When they ask him questions about his parents he simply pulls a face and shakes his head, ignores his own peers, fellow Firsts, who he can see from the corner of his eye who were shaking their heads at the Plebes, trying to stop them from simply asking.

“My dad was a naval aviator who died in a Top Gun training incident in eighty-six and my mom died of cancer in ninety-four. I was raised by my step-father after that. Any other awkward questions you want answers to?”

It’s probably why they never ask him or Natasha anything, and another First slaps the Plebe on the back, mutters I tried to warn you off asking but he doesn’t feel upset about it at all. It’s not at all a lie, even if his step-father would be here in a heartbeat if Bradley needed him to be. He knows that both Ice and Mav intend to attend his graduation in formal roles, and while they might night get to acknowledge their roles with each other in such a formal setting he doesn’t care. They want to be there and they’re planning to be there, special leave already requested and granted long ago, considering they’ll be in uniform.

He and Natasha both work hard, both at their studies and also on their physical fitness. Their applications for flight school were submitted months ago, he really wants to go with her, can’t imagine not going without her. They’re both consistently in the top two or five percent, which he knows bodes well for them. Knows that their involvement with extra curriculars and being friendly with pretty much everyone has them well liked and respected. He just has to be patient and wait.

… … …

They both look at the envelopes, slapping them on empty palms. They look identical, but unlike his USNA acceptance letter, this is a single piece of paper and it could be flight school acceptance, or a decline.

“On the count of three?” Natasha asks and Bradley admires her courage.

“Yeah. Three.”

They rip them open.

… … …

“I knew it!” Maverick screams, his joy palpable through the phone for their Saturday afternoon call. “Ice! Ice! He got in! Hold on, let me put you on speaker…”

“Of course he did… well done Bradley. Congratulations.”

He blows out a long breath, because he’s glad they have seemingly unshakeable confidence in his abilities. God, he never wants to disappoint them.

“Thanks. Natasha got in as well.”

“She’s a very capable young woman. Proud of you both. Please pass that on to her.”

“Yeah, thanks. I will.”

“Yeah, we’re both very proud. You can go back to work now. I’m going to go outside and talk to my godson…”

He hears Ice mutter something in the background, not clear enough to make out, but then Mav is telling him off for rolling his eyes and he can just imagine what he said, the gentle laughter between them and he can’t help but smile.

“So. did Ice tell you he bought me a hangar?”

“He did what?” Bradley asks, because such a move seems like something Mav would make, rather than Ice.

“He bought me a hangar. Said that I was obviously always welcome wherever he was, but that he knew I needed my own place and that I now had a space for the plane I’ve been eyeing up.”

“You’ve been eying up a plane? Wait. A hangar. For you to live in? What about the house? You aren’t moving out are you?”

“No. Of course not. But I’m going to be there as often as you are, probably less considering Ice has become a lot more, uh, relaxed about his stupid sleepover rules. The hangar isn’t currently habitable anyway. But there’s this P-51 Mustang I’ve been looking at. It’s beautiful.”

“He proposed to you with an aircraft hangar. Oh my god, that’s so… romantic and practical of him.”

“He didn’t propose.”

“Mav. If a guy bought me an aircraft hangar what would you think about the guy?”

“That he was crazy in love with you, and utterly committed… oh shit. I’ll call you back.”

He is not surprised when he doesn’t get called back.

… … …

He hadn’t expected it.

They hadn’t warned him.

The emotions of the day, coupled with the fact that they’d asked every single member of the 1986 Top Gun class there, along with a few other friends of both his parents. He clearly has the biggest cheering section and he feels like a mess inside, although outwardly he’s all smiles and calm togetherness. Four years of training helps with that at least. Ice and Mav are both up on the stage, part of the VIP section, along with several others who are still serving, and he recognizes them from his birthday a couple of years ago.

“Did you know they were all going to be here?” Natasha asks, and he shakes his head, throat working against the tightness of his collar.

There are photos, Ice agreeing to so many photos with newly minted graduates and Bradley lets them all go, fights his way through the crowds to find Mav. He and Ice can stage photos later, there will always be times when they’re in uniform. Just the fact that they’re here is more than enough and he’s so happy that he has had them supporting him every step of the way.

“Captain Mitchell.”

“Midshipman Bradshaw. Congratulations. Your father would be very proud. I flew with him you know?”

Bradley blinks.

Blinks again.

Hopes his internal dialogue somehow is being telepathically beamed into Mav’s head.

You are such a dick. Hopefully his expression does enough to convey his exasperation.

“Really? I didn’t know that sir.”

Mav gives him a shit-eating grin and Bradley wishes Ice were there to hit him around the head. Not that he would, not in this setting, but damn he sees why he’s always so tempted.

“I’m going to have a photo with all the graduates who are going to be heading off to Corpus Christi for flight school. I think they want us over there.”

It’s chaos. Positive and energetic happiness with everyone feeling the sense that they’re about to begin their careers, that they’ve made it through what is meant to be the hardest part, even if Bradley secretly thinks flight school might be even more challenging, it’s only for eighteen months. He manages to get photos with Maverick, Natasha and Ice and nearly every available combination. Then there are photos with the 1986 class, and he ignores the fact that several of the other men seem to shed a tear.

Then it’s dispersing, the crowd thinning and families are gathering, taking more photos and he can see Sarah pushing through, the hands of Tamsin and Petra clasped and he grins, starts heading toward them, already thinking that Tamsin has grown a couple of inches, can see both his sisters pulling Sarah toward them before she decides to let them go.

“Natasha! Natasha!” Petra screams, and she’s running across the quad, hair streaming behind her with gold and navy ribbons mixed in, running past him and Natasha is grinning broadly, bending down to swoop Petra up in a hug. Bradley stands back up from where he’d been just about to scoop her up himself before she’d breezed past him.

“Wow,” he says to Sarah as she comes to a stop to stand beside him.

“Hurts doesn’t it?” Sarah says, not really asking and Bradley nods, murmuring a quiet yeah under his breath. He doesn’t begrudge Natasha the joy and love of his sisters, love isn’t in finite supply, it’s just a little hurtful to not even warrant a hello. He has to remind himself that Petra is only seven.

“I love you Bradley,” Tamsin says, arms coming around his waist to give him a hug, as if she can tell how he’s feeling and he hugs her back.

“Love you too Tam.”

“You’re dressed up all fancy like Daddy and Papa.”

“Yeah. You look pretty fancy in your dress too. Is that new?”

“Yep. Mom bought is especially for today!”

“We can look fancy together.”

“Congratulations Bradley, we’re all very proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you proud of me? I go to school too,” Tamsin says, and Sarah looks heavenward and Bradley wonders if she’s been fielding questions like this for a while.

“I’m proud of you, going to school can be really hard work somedays,” Bradley says.

“Daddy!” Tamsin says, and then Ice is there, pressing his cheek against Sarah’s in greeting and nodding at Bradley again.

“Bradley! Up!” Petra demands, appearing at his side and Natasha is grinning.

“Hello to you too Miss Petra, happy to be of service.”

There are a few people doing a double take as they see who he is standing with, who he is clearly family with, but he cares less now. He’s finished here, no one can claim he played any favoritism card. He knows flight school will be different, wants to be in the air as soon as possible.

He can’t wait.

#Saga of Solitude #IceMav #Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction

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hunnysnoops · 2 days

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White Teeth Teens

Chapter Five: Mess Around

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

The heat is rising and only getting hotter, ready to blow. I think I’ll pour myself a glass of water, let it flow.

Premise: You’ve practiced all season for this track meet, time to show off your skills.

Warnings: cause language + humour / brief mentions of blood

MASTERLIST

Amidst the chatter of athletes, coaches, and spectators, one figure stood out—you with bruises swallowing your under eyes like Halloween makeup, the bandage covering up the break and the dried blood that stayed beneath your nostrils. You had tried to get rid of the dried blood several times though the swelling kept pushing pressure onto blood vessels and forced it back out leaving you to look like you had gone straight from Fight Club to the track meet.

No matter how many times you raced around the oval track, adrenaline still surged through your veins like an untamed wildfire. You had gone somewhat nonverbal while you reached back to what your PE teacher had taught you about the most successful athletes using mental imagery to win their respective heats.

You stood on the outside of the track, sneakers sinking into the grassy field while you shifted your weight back and forth between your legs, hands on your hips as you stared dead at the track. The rest of the kids from South Park were either catching their breath beneath the shade of the pop-up canopy or they were on the track competing. Currently, speed walking was in session so there wasn't much to watch even if you had been paying attention to anything other than the thought of you winning.

The music blasting through your headphones was nearly turning you deaf, you wanted to block everything out until the time came when you got back on the track for the relay. Your other heats went well though you knew that you wouldn't be satisfied unless all of them were blue ribbons.

The playlist that was spilling out of your headphones was one that Bebe had made for you to listen to before soccer games though you chose to ignore the fact that her absence made her feel even more present in your life than ever.

A boy wearing a maroon Cedar Valley Wildcats uniform had strolled up, saying something with a huge smile on his tanned face. You hadn't assumed he was talking to you until he stood awkwardly, maintaining his crooked smile while he waited for you to answer him. You pulled a headphone out, eyes narrowing at him "What?"

"I asked if you got a nose job," He repeats, pushing his tousled waves of chestnut hair away from the frame of his chiselled jawline.

"No," You answer, face stoic and voice to match. The past few days you heard this question more times than you could keep track of, the first time it was asked you didn't care but the next thirty or so times, it grated in your skull whether it was intended as a blandly unfunny joke or a genuine question.

"Oh," His grin falters for just a second "I'm Hudson,"

"Okay," You move to put your headphones back in but Hudson interrupts the process.

"So, does it hurt?" He gestures at his nose.

"Feels great," You answer with sarcasm dripping from your voice like syrup "You should see the other guy."

"Yeah?" Hudson says this like it's a challenge "Where is he?"

You swerve your head to look for the ginger and after a moment you spot him at a concession stand, he was tasked to buy Gatorade for his friends though two girls in Maplewood t-shirts keep prodding him with questions. One of the girls has her arms crossed as she looks up at him with a smile, the other is on her phone, seemingly bored. Even with a black eye, he was still drawing attention from girls. Maybe it was the black eye and bruised cheekbone that caused the intrigue, he should be thanking you. "Right there," You point at him.

Hudson's eyes widen a little bit before he cracks into the huff of a laugh "Holy shit, I thought you were joking," He's undoubtedly tall though you couldn't shake the thought that Kyle would tower over him with his sky-scraping height.

"Cool," You return to the one-word responses.

You would've thought him to be a surfer if you weren't in Denver, he almost checked off every box with his athletic build, bronze tan, and effortlessly charming smile, all he was missing was a puka shell necklace. "I saw you run in the four hundred, you were really good," He smiles once again, his teeth blindingly white in contrast to his skin.

"Thanks," You press your lips together in a thin line. No matter what Hudson was doing to try and flirt with you, it fell flat and rested in awkward silence before he forced out another attempt at small talk.

"Ayo," Another guy from Cedar Valley rolls around, slinging an arm around his buddy. "My boys got W rizz!" He looks back and forth between the two of you, expecting you to laugh or react in any other way that wasn't cringing so hard you felt the urge to gag.

Hudson slowly turned to look at his friend, silently cursing him for ruining what wasn't great to begin with. "Dude," He says, friendly tone and smile dropping completely.

"He's the rizzler," He gives Hudson a firm pat on the shoulder while beaming at you like he was a good wingman "Rizzly bear," he tries again but is met with unnerving stillness from both you and Hudson.

"Ignore him, please," Hudson turns his attention back to you.

His friend didn't seem to catch onto the fact that poking this dead horse wasn't funny in any manner "He's the rizzard or Oz, if you give him your number you can spend Chrizzmas together."

"I'm good, I think I'll just get a rizztraining order," You say, face contorting into a look of disdain as you turn to leave the conversation, putting your headphones back in until the sound of him yelling after you had gone completely.

You spot Red sitting beneath the canopy, a track and field hoodie thrown over her uniform of a green jersey that read 'Park County High' on the front with a graphic of a cow paired with black shorts, the same thing you were wearing.

"I can't fathom that speedwalking is a sport," She says, eyes focused on the track out of boredom while she soaked up the coolness of the shady grass.

"Fathom it, babe," You pause your music to listen to her. Red's hair had been secured tightly by you during the bus ride, you French braided it then secured all of the flyaways from her shaggy haircut with barrettes and bobby pins then finally pushed any hair that dared to touch her face away with a black headband. Her hair had held out through each heat that she ran, only budging slightly during hurdles.

"What was going on with those two guys?"

"I don't know but I feel strangely violated," You respond truthfully, almost shuddering at the thought of the short smiley wingman.

"Checks out," She nods, looking back to the track.

Absentmindedly, your eyes shift back to the concession stand where Kyle still stands, trying to balance entirely too many bottles of Gatorade while he chats with the same girl from before, her friend had disbanded but the short brunette girl held her ground. Kyle was laughing at something she had said, nearly craning his neck to look down at her.

Red follows your gaze and sees the same sight as you "Why the hell is he getting game with a fucked up eye?"

"I wouldn't know, man."

"I mean, you're getting game and you look like you've been lobotomized."

"Thank you, raggedy Ann."

"You're so welcome," A small grin splits onto her face though you look past her at Kyle instead of focusing on your friend. It was compulsive, really, how your eyes just shifted to the dark bruise enveloping his eye.

Maybe it was because he was laughing at the girl in front of him and in turn she put a hand on his forearm. What you had pulled from your head was that he laughed harder at your joke the night he got that bruise which was already drastically lighter while the pain from your broken nose didn't seem to let up.

"I was joking about the lobotomy thing but you're being more off-putting than usual," Red says, eyebrows furrowing in, a glimmer of light bouncing off the copious amounts of jewelry skewered through her ears.

"I'll off-put you," you say, trying to figure out how that statement made sense as it came out of your mouth.

"Sounds kinky," She shrugs, pulling some grass up from the soil until it's spilling out of her hand. She drops the balled-up blades of grass and wipes the remainder on your arm which left nothing more than a little dampness and a few pieces limply stuck onto your skin.

You brush the grass off your arm, ripping some out to toss it on her lap like you were still a petty kid in elementary school.

Shot put was taking place at the same time as speed walking, a little evil part of you snorted at the idea of one of the balls hitting the walkers. You thought back to the one year when Stan had joined track and excelled at shot put though he didn't return the following year due to a little awkwardness between him and Tolkien.

"How funny would it be if one of the shot puts hit someone on the track?" Red asks.

"Oh my god," Your face softens slightly "I love you so much."

"Where you just thinking that?"

"Yeah, I was," You nod, reaching to snatch up her left hand into your right and clutch it tightly. Using your free hand, you rip up more grass and tuck it into the hood of her sweater, she doesn't fight you over it, all Red does is accept the fact that she'll be finding bits of pasture in her hoodie for the next week or so.

"We look kinda gay right now."

"We usually do," You answer.

"Yeah, I guess."

A figure looms above the pair of you and as you glance up at Kyle you can't fight the reflex of narrowing your eyes at him like he was always about to do something evil. "Here you go," He tosses a Gatorade to Red and to you, a Powerade.

"Thanks, man," Red looks from the bottle to him with a little smile.

"No problem," He says, pressing his lips back together and taking off. You did nothing but study the drink with intensity like it was an ancient code waiting to be cracked. While everyone else got a standard bottle of Gatorade he gave you a Powerade.

"That was nice,"

"Too nice," You glare at Kyle as he returns to his little huddle of friends to distribute the drinks.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"He gave me a Powerade instead of Gatorade because he knows that I like them more," You tell Red, eyes still hyper-focused on Kyle where he stood. You had always made a fuss about preferring one to the other even though everyone told you that they tasted exactly the same, you could always tell the difference and made sure that everyone in your vicinity knew that.

"Okay?" Red raises an eyebrow, she had the sense that you were going to break out into a conspiracy theory.

"This isn't right," you conclude, breaking your gaze away from the ginger to turn your attention back to the bottle he had given you.

"What? You think it's poison or something?" She asks.

"No, it's just weird," You tell her dropping the Powerade onto the ground "It's unsettling."

"It isn't unsettling, it was just Kyle being nice."

"Yeah, and that's unsettling."

"Not really, you're always worse to him."

"Nuh-uh."

"Oh my god," Red cracked the lid of her drink open, the icy condensation dampening her palm as she took a deep swig. "It's so weird that nice gestures make you so squirmy, I could put you in a nice meadow with a gentle breeze and you'd find something to seeth about."

"Maybe I don't fuck with meadows."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," She shrugs, taking another sip.

"And nice gestures don't make me squirmy."

"You're squirmy as fuck right now," Red gives you an up-and-down look, your knees are pulled into your chest while you stare at the bottle of Powerade on the ground. "Is it possible that you're becoming friends?"

Your face contorted into a look of terror and disgust, mouth hanging ajar, upper lip curling in while your shoulders tensed "Jesus fucking Christ, don't say that ever again, I might have to take a couple shots of Clorox."

"Alright," She raised her hands in defence "My bad, dude."

"Yeah, it is your bad," Your eyes shifted over to the girl Kyle was talking to. She was short and had mousy brown hair long even in a ponytail, it was so silky that it almost looked like it was shimmering gold the way the light hit it. "Why do we like pretty people?"

"Isn't it called the halo effect or something?"

"Yeah, but I mean do we find super good-looking people attractive because it's rare to see someone so beautiful?" You ask "Like if everyone got nose jobs, BBLs, filler, and botox would their beauty dwindle in value because what was unique becomes common like inflation?”

"Have you been online? Everyone already has all of those things and they're still pretty hot."

"Am I right though?"

"Maybe," She takes another beat to think it over "I guess, yeah, like if everyone looked the exact same then someone with different features might become the new standard."

"I think we should start celebrating grotesque ugliness instead of beauty."

"Or maybe we should just stop being so obsessed with appearance.”

"Yeah," As much as you pretended to be above picking apart appearances it was something drilled into your head since childhood that you weren't sure you would be shaking anytime soon "Maybe."

In your peripheral, you caught a glimpse of the girl from the concession stand. She was making her way in your direction which you didn't think anything of until she flashed a blindingly white smile "Hey."

Red looks to you for a reaction but you just stare up at the girl with gaping eyes and a crease between your brows so she takes the hassle of answering "Uh, hey."

"I'm Alyssa," She says, briefly gesturing to herself before hiding her hands behind her back.

"I'm Rebecca," A faint smile touched her lips, barely noticeable.

"That's a pretty name," Her lips, softly curved and naturally rouge, formed an easy, inviting smile. She had a litter of freckles over her button nose, faint over her caramel skin.

"Thank you," There was a tinge of confusion in Red's voice, it wasn't often that you came across girls your age that were so forwardly kind.

"So, are you guys friends with Kyle? I saw you talking to him," Aylssa's voice gets quieter towards the end of the sentence as she quickly glances around to see if he's in the area.

Once again Red looks at you like you're going to answer, she takes it into her own hands to respond "Yeah, I guess."

"Great!" The relief is evident on her face "I wanted to ask him for his number but I sorta chickened out, is there any way I could get it off one of you?" She looks between the two of you and her face drops at your expression "Unless he has a girlfriend-

"No, you're good," Red waves her off "I don't have his number but she does," She gently elbows your bicep.

"Awesome, is it cool if I grab it off you?"

"What the fuck is happening today?" You mutter to yourself.

"Mixed *mmph* will begin shortly, all competing *crack* to the track, please," A pot-bellied man with whispy grey and white hair calls through a megaphone, his voice is muffled and staticky through it, though the message is intercepted by a decrepit microphone, you were well aware that this was the announcement of the final relay.

You stood next to Tolkien and Kyle, the three of you watching Red where she prepped herself for the lead-off. She stood a few meters down the track, bouncing lightly on her toes and rolling her shoulders. She shook her hands out in front of her while taking deep breaths to loosen her body. It wasn't often that you saw Red so focused on something, the last time you saw her this earnest was at the soccer tournament last summer where she had to face off against her ex.

The man with the megaphone looked past the three of you to Coach Dawsey, who was chewing loudly on three pieces of bubblegum, from metres away you could hear him smacking his lips. Megaphone man held up a thumbs up and a thumbs down to the coach, a subtle way of asking whether our team was set to go.

"Yeah," Dawsey says through a mouthful of gum "We're good to go Marty."

"Huh?" Marty narrows his eyes and cranes his neck forward to get a better look at you coach.

"I said we're good to go, Marty!" Coach shouts, cupping his hands around his cracked lips.

Marty shrugs, megaphone hanging limp by his side while he uses his other hand to tap his ear "I can't hear ya' Steve."

"We are good to go!" He shouts even louder, causing the crowd of Coaches, teachers and students alike to cast him odd glances.

"You gotta be louder, Steve," Marty addresses Dawsey, ignoring the abundance of spectators silently judging his senility.

“We are good!”

"What?" Marty holds the microphone back to his mouth "Park County, are all of your racers accounted for?"

"Yes!" You shout, holding two thumbs up high to be sure the old man can see them before gesturing to you, Tolkien, Kyle, and then Red "One, two, three, four."

"I don't see the fourth," Marty shakes his head. "Young lady, you cannot count well."

"The girl with red hair on the vaguely empty track, in a Park County uniform, do you think she's stretching to watch the relay?" You point at your friend who seems completely tuned out along with the few other people warming up.

Marty says something to a woman with a clipboard then doesn't address you or your team again. It wasn't your first time running the 4x400 though it was the first time without Adam and that thought made you sway a little on your feet. Adam had always been the finisher and now you had replaced that position.

"Runners two to four please line up with your team, lead runners please find your lane on the track," The woman with the clip board's voice carries effortlessly over the others and almost immediately everyone begins to straighten themselves out. Being behind Tolkien and Kyle you couldn't see directly ahead of you so you awkwardly tilted your head to keep your eyes steadied on Red.

"Hey," Hudson calls from the line beside you. He's in the middle of two other runners, meaning he'll be running third for his team, he was parallel to Kyle. You grace him with a brief glimpse before focusing your attention back on Red "I'm sorry about my friend, earlier."

"Sick," You tell him without even looking in his direction though both Kyle and Tolkien were keen to pick up on this conversation.

"Just pretend that never happened."

"Sure."

You really weren't attentive to what Hudson was saying, your mind was elsewhere whereas the two boys in front of you seemed more interested in the exchange, Tolkien had one eyebrow raised while he regarded Hudson. Kyle was however looking at you for any indication that what he was saying mattered to you, your face was unmoving.

"I-uh, didn't catch your name," Hudson still maintains his crooked smile.

"I didn't throw it."

"That's a good one," He chuckles, rocking back and forth on his heels. You were less interested in him and more interested in the guy behind him who was the one you would be racing against, he was pasty, slim, and tall, maybe a few inches shorter than Tolkien and Kyle though it was hard to tell without him standing next to them. "I just feel like we got off on the wrong foot."

"Yeah," You answer truthfully, asking if you got a nose job wasn't a great opener and bothering you before what you considered the most difficult sprint wasn't aiding his case.

"Maybe I could get your number and we could redo this whole thing?"

"No."

Kyle and Tolkien glance at one another before Tolkien whispers "What's going on?"

"Dude, I don't know," He wasn't entirely sure why this boy was chasing someone clearly uninterested though he may have been one to go for the mean girls.

"How about if my team ranks higher in the relay, you give me your number," He proposes.

"And when my team ranks higher you'll put a shotgun in your mouth while I watch?" You say with ease. Like usual you were teetering very dangerously on the line between standoffish and obscenely confident.

"You're really funny," Hudson smiles and there was not a single speck of evidence that he took any of that statement poorly.

'What the fuck?' Tolkien mouths with furrowed eyebrows, he couldn't tell whether Hudson was truly self-assured enough not to be bothered with your cold regard or if he was stupid enough to consider it flirting.

"So if I win, I get your number?" He presses for confirmation.

"Yeah, sure, stop talking."

When Hudson finally turns back to his group Tolkien looks past Kyle and at you "You're going to give that guy your number?"

You shake your head "We're not losing to him," You and Kyle manage to say in sync, staring at each other and horror. It always scared you when your words happened to match up with Kyle, as rare as it was, it happened more than you would've liked.

"Runners, on your mark," Marty's crackly voice sounded out amongst you. The three of you fell silent while you trained your eyes on Red, her muscles tense and ready for the long sprint ahead. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, and visualized her lap—every stride, every breath, the smooth curve of the track.

She adjusted herself into the blocks, clutching the orange baton in her right hand while tapping her fingers lightly against the turf. You were glad that you had been given the fifth lane, it would prove to be gentler as opposed to the inner lanes and their sharp turns.

"Get set," He announces and Red angles herself on the starting block, eyes narrowing on the length ahead. Marty holds the air horn to the sky and the very moment it sounds the runners take off.

Red launched forward with powerful, determined strides, her legs pumping rhythmically as she rounded the first bend. The cheers of spectators blurred into a distant roar as she concentrated on maintaining her speed and form. She was neck and neck with a girl in a bright yellow uniform who took up her pace and passed her.

You wanted to cheer for Red until your lungs felt like sandpaper but she never paid any attention to the cheering and yelling, just the stretch that she had to cross and the amount she had left. Tolkien shifted forward along with the others taking the second lap of the sprint, the volunteers had been quick to move the starting block out of the way. He took the fifth lane, standing sideways on the curve of the track, he bounced slightly on his feet to stay light.

The final leg of her sprint approached quickly, and Red leaned into it, her body angled perfectly to maintain speed without losing balance. Her breaths were deep and controlled, her focus unbroken. The wind rushed past her ears, carrying the faint cheers of the crowd. She knew the other teams were right behind and ready to swallow her. She neared the handoff zone as two other teams pushed past her narrowly, their bright uniforms a blur past her eyeline. Physically you winced as you watched this.

Coming into the first handoff, Tolkien was already in motion, his arm extended backward. The baton pass was seamless, a fluid exchange born of countless hours of practice that only one of the two had attended. Tolkien took off like a shot, his long legs eating up the distance. He pushed through the first curve with smooth, even strides, his eyes fixed on the track ahead. His determination was palpable, driving him to push ahead.

His eyes flicked to the runners behind him, gauging their distance. The rival teams were close, their presence a constant pressure, but Tolkien thrived on it. It pushed him to dig deeper, to find that extra burst of speed.

The runners taking the third lap were called forward to take their positions, despite not intending to, Kyle looked back at you to see you already staring at the back of his head. "You'll do good," You would deny that you ever said it but in that moment it was what he needed to hear. You let the words simmer between the two of you only for a second before everyone began to inch forward into their new positions.

"You'll do great," His mouth drew into a thin line, curving upwards so slightly that you would've missed it had he jogged his way to the handoff zone a second sooner.

You look to the boy now standing alone a few feet away from you, the lanky pale kid that was allegedly faster than Adam. Your mind recovered the memories of every coach and PE teacher you had ever come across telling you that running was a mental game; they meant you needed to train your mind so you could push past your current physical capabilities and achieve new levels of success, something like that. Though you had something else in mind entirely "My grandma just died."

The lanky boy who stood behind Hudson minutes ago looked around to be sure you were talking to him "I'm sorry?"

"Yeah," You let out a long sigh "She was doing well until she tried to crawl over the patio of her retirement home to buy Fireball at the liquor store across the street."

"That sucks, did she hit her head or something?"

"No, she made it over the railing but tripped and broke her hip so she got sent to the hospital without Fireball."

"Oh, I'm-

"And then she got better and was sent back to her retirement home and snuck out again, she made it across the street but they were out of Fireball so she had to buy Jägermeister."

"Jägermeister's good too," He said sheepishly.

"That's what grandma thought before she got hit by a truck crossing the street to get back to her retirement home," You shook your head, feigning melancholy.

"That's unfortunate."

"No, it's not," You say "She survived getting hit by the truck but it happened to be transporting cashews and grandma's deathly allergic to tree nuts."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding slowly "My dad's allergic to peanuts, that's sad for her."

"Luckily she had her Epi-pen on her and a bystander was able to bring her back from anaphylactic shock."

"Oh?"

"She died a year later from liver failure, she's a terrible drunk, and takes her wig off when she gets tipsy."

"Sorry for your loss-

"Grandma said all she wanted me to achieve in life was to win the 4x400 relay at the Kettle Valley junior track meet," You mustered up your best guilt-tripping look, you weren't sure whether it was working or not but you hoped that your broken nose added sympathy points. Running is a mental game after all.

His eyebrows furrowed "No she did not."

As Tolkien rounded the curve and entered the back straight, he lengthened his stride, his legs a blur of motion. His arms pumped rhythmically at his sides, each swing helping to propel him forward. The strain was building in his muscles, a familiar burn that he welcomed. It meant he was pushing his limits, giving everything he had until he flew past a boy from Northridge leaving two more runners roughly five metres ahead.

The next handoff zone loomed ahead, and Tolkien locked eyes with Kyle, who was already in motion. The coordination had to be perfect. He could see Kyle's hand extended back, ready to receive the baton. Tolkien's focus sharpened, his entire being centred on making a flawless pass.

Kyle felt a surge of adrenaline as Tolkien approached the handoff zone. He began his run, matching his steps to Tolkien's pace, his hand outstretched and steady. The baton was placed firmly into his grip, and without missing a beat, Kyle accelerated down the track. The smooth handoff gave him confidence, and he launched into his leg of the relay with a new determination. As he passed he couldn't help but steal a glance as you stuck up your middle finger to the tall boy beside you who moved on to say he didn't believe your grandma was dead.

"Stop talking shit about my grandma."

"She's not dead," He said bluntly.

"How would you know? Mabel was really sick in the last year of her life."

"Maybe some of that sickness passed to you." He shrugged.

You glared at him "Alright, Slim Jim, I'm gonna kick your ass and then shove peanuts down your dad's throat and make you retrieve his Epi-pen through a saw trap."

"Jesus," He uttered.

While the runners were nearing the midpoint of the track the anchor runners were directed to the final handoff zone. Kyle swung his legs faster than he thought was possible, he was used to endurance running, not the panicky surge of sprints and the anxious feeling of the other teams pulling ahead any moment.

The two ahead were a girl from Summit in a deep blue colour and Hudson, the boy he recognized only as the one who had asked for your number. The one who would be getting your number if he won and that was something that irked Kyle to the point he quickened his strides, chasing down the Cedar Valley boy.

In mere seconds he passed the girl from Summit who was quickly swallowed by another runner and Kyle was feet away from closing the gap with Hudson, His long legs were being put to use. His steady steps pounded in rhythm with the beat of his heart.

Kyle ignored the way his body ached like someone had set in on fire, he kept his mind focused on pulling past Hudson and his smug crooked grin. He thought the muscles flexing in his calves were ready to give out at any second until he said you at the handoff, eyes steady and unmoving on his panting figure. He glanced to the side at Hudson who was paralleled to him, their strides almost fell in complete sync, each time either sped up so did the other leaving them completely levelled.

With a nod of your head, Kyle extended the baton forward, his grip firm but ready to release. Your hand met his with perfect timing, and the baton passed smoothly. Kyle felt the slight resistance of the transfer before letting go, ensuring it was secure before he released it.

His part in the race complete, Kyle slowed his pace, his chest heaving with exertion. He turned to watch you take off, his heart swelling in anticipation. The handoff had been perfect, and now it was up to you to bring them home as he and Hudson had reached the handoff at the same time. Kyle jogged off the track, joining Red and Tolkien on the grassy sidelines of the track.

They were all breathless but exhilarated, their eyes fixed on you. Kyle had no doubt in his mind that you would break the tie and take the lead.

Your powerful strides ate up the track as you took the baton and surged forward. Every muscle in your body hummed with exertion, the focus was entirely on you and you had no intentions of losing to the lanky boy struggling to match your pace.

Kyle watched as you navigated the back straight, your form perfect and pace relentless. The crowd's noise seemed to swell, a thunderous backdrop to the subtle drama unfolding on the track. Kyle's eyes were locked on you, every step pushing you forward seemed like it didn't phase you though your shaky breath displayed otherwise.

The final curve approached, and you leaned into it, your speed undiminished and ever-consistent. Kyle could see the strain on your face, the sheer effort it took to maintain such a blistering pace. But there stood the overwhelming urge to win, the finish line was in sight, and you were giving it everything you had.

With the home stretch before you, your strides lengthened, arms swinging with renewed vigour. The other teams were close, but you had a slight edge with the Cedar Valley boy beginning to pass you. Every muscle strained as you forced yourself to push further, moving so fast you felt like you had broken a record.

The tall boy from Cedar Valley was watching you take the final stride across the finish line, barely passing him but still you did so despite catching the turf with the toe of your runner and tumbling, colliding with the track. Your skin burned with bare friction against the turf as you slid, you had made sure to protect your already broken nose, not bothering to rescue your limbs which were previously fine. It may have not been the mightiest of victories but it was still a victory nonetheless.

You dragged yourself off the ground before anyone could reach you, the skin from your knees and elbows had been scraped a violent shade of red, so raw that spectators visibly watched droplets of blood emerge and pool over the shallow wound. Disregarding the newfound injury, you threw the baton on the ground, sticking the middle finger up to the lanky Cedar Valley boy and then to Hudson "Fuck you!" You smiled brightly. “My grandmas been dead for five years!”

"Yeah, fuck you, her grandmas dead as hell,” Red matched your gesture to the opposing school "Why are we doing this?"

"That's enough," the woman from earlier with the clipboard approached you and the pair of you were quick to drop your hands to your side. Wordlessly she handed blue ribbons to each of you, you slipped yours onto the the safety pin tasked to carry your other ribbons from the day and dangled it in front of Tolkien's face.

Kyle hangs back and watches you drink in the win, unmoved by the stinging of the scrape of the blood dribbling down your shins like juice from a cherry.

The turf burn hurt far worse when the adrenaline wore off. Sally had misplaced her bag and in doing so held up the bus from departure, a little group of volunteers helped her look for it, a group which you had happily opted out from in exchange for a few extra beats of sleep on the bus.

You balled your hoodie into a makeshift pillow and wedged it between your head and the window of the bus. It didn't take long for you to succumb to sleep despite the sun still shining brightly. Between the pain medication you had taken for your nose and the absurd amount of cardio you had performed that day, you were beyond thrilled to put your headphones in and close your eyes until sleep washed you over.

"Found it," Sally chuckled awkwardly, holding up her lavender duffle bag as she scuttled onto the already overfilled bus. The little search and rescue group piled onto the bus, shoving themselves into seats though Kyle paused next to the driver's seat. "Are we allowed this many people on a bus?"

"Yuh," Dawsey smacks his lips together "Legally we are allowed seventy-two kids on a school bus."

"Kids?" He asks "Like children?"

"Yuh, that's right."

"We're almost adults."

"No, you're good, sit down."

"It's obscenely crowded in here," His nose wrinkles as hazel eyes rake over the rows of sweaty teenagers.

"For god's sake boy, sit down or we're leaving ya' here," Coach yanks off his baseball cap to use it as a fan for his sweaty face.

Kyle shuffles through the aisle scanning for an open seat. The first he spotted was next to Emily Marx and the second was next to you. He tried to be quick about the decision, I mean you were asleep and Emily talked too much. It wasn't that he preferred either company in particular, he just preferred the silence and landed himself next to you.

"Anyone missing?" Coach called back, he took the stillness as a no and geared up for the ride. He wasn't the best driver, there were times when Kyle thought he was so upset about Adam's injury that he wanted to drive the remainder of the team off the freeway as revenge for the tragedy.

As usual, Kyle put his headphones on, ignoring the buzz of chatter from the rest of the team. it was quieter than usual as everyone was so beat, aside from the speed walkers. He was sure you wouldn't be the only one to fall asleep on the hour-long drive.

The bus rumbled down the highway, the soft hum of the engine blending with the muffled conversations of the other passengers. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the windows, creating patterns of light and shadow on the seats. In the middle of the bus, Kyle reclined into the leather chair while you sunk against the window. His headphones securely in place, the world outside a blur as it whizzed past.

His body was pleasantly tired from the day's exertions, the kind of fatigue that comes from giving your all in competition and having blue ribbons to show for it. His playlist was a mix of his favourite tracks mixed in with some of the pop-punk stuff he begrudgingly listened to as per Stan's request, the music providing a not-so-soothing backdrop to his thoughts.

He replayed the events of the track meet in his mind, the adrenaline of his race still lingering. His muscles ached, but it was a satisfying ache that mingled with the thoughts of smiles lingering a moment too long.

The bus hit a small bump, jostling him slightly, but he didn't mind. Kyle opened his eyes and glanced around at his teammates. Some were chatting animatedly, still riding the high of their performances. Others, like him, were lost in their own worlds, headphones in, gazing out the windows or dozing off. Coaches sharp turn failed to wake you, only shifting you until you had slumped against him, head uncomfortably digging into his bicep though Kyle didn't dare wake you or shrug you off him.

He had known you too long to be so childish to make a spectacle over it. Not to mention he made the executive decision to sit next to you.

Still and unwavering Kyle looked at your lulled figure, he couldn't tear his mind away from how serene you looked when you weren't tense with defensiveness and challenge or lying about your grandmother. Then he wondered what you dreamed of that had you looking like you were drifting into eternal bliss.

You had the occasional sniffling, little twitches and spasms in your face from what he presumed to be caused by the broken bone in the centre of your face as well as the abundance of padding to keep it in place. In his pocket, Kyles phone abruptly buzzes.

Unknown Number: Heyyy :)

Kyle: ?

Unknown Number: Oh it's Alyssa lol

Unknown Number: From the concession stand

Kyle: How did you get my number?

Unknown Number: ur friend with the broken nose gave it to me

Kyle: oh cool

Unknown Number: Do you wanna go out in the summer sometime?

His eyes shift from the blue light radiating off the screen of his phone and then to you and you and scraps over your knees, the bandage over your nose, and the half-drunken Powerade he had bought you tucked beneath your arm despite your endless murmuring to Red that you would sooner eat a pack of cigarettes before ingesting anything Kyle bought for you.

Kyle: No, sorry

Kyle: I’ll be pretty busy this summer

Unknown Number: Oh

Unknown Number: that sucks

Unknown Number: I thought we hit it off

Kyle: Sorry

A/N: sorry for lack of updates, I’ve been on vacation. Got home from Greece at three am last night! Missed you guys lol

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #tolkien black #token black #tolkien south park #south park hcs #south park headcanons #south park kyle #kyle brovlofski #red mcarthur #red south park

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