#there was actually a mirror across from the neon sign

[you-will-return]

The past two weeks:

2/3

[cupidcures]

When Tulips Kiss | Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

CHAPTERS: 𝜗𝜚 two | three | 𝜗𝜚 four

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

CONTAINS: alcohol consumption

LOVESTAY NIGHTCLUB!!!

Applying a pink shade of powdered blush on the apples of your cheeks, you finish your look off with a subtle highlight on the bridge of your nose, your inner corners, and finally, your cheekbones. Spritzing a fine mist of setting spray on your face, you open your eyes to see your roommate staring at you from the mirror, and you can’t help but let out a short laugh.

“Is there something I can help you with??” You asked the starry-eyed girl as she blinked herself back to awareness, smiling shyly.

“Actually yes!! I needed help to zip up the back of my dress, but wow… I got distracted by your beauty, seriously! It’s unmatched. I really do have the most beautiful friends ever.” Chuu smiles at you in complete fondness as you stand up with a smile to match hers, turning her around to zip the back of her dress.

“You are what you surround yourself with! You are so incredible, inside AND out. Are you ready to go?” You question as you sit back down on the vanity bench to put your pink heels on to match your outfit. Chuu nods her head and playfully curtsies before stretching out her hand for yours.

“Shall we go, M’lady?” She drops her voice an octave to imitate that of a man as you laugh at her antics, giving your hand into hers.

It was no wonder why Chuu was so popular and loved by everyone she came across. Ever since you had known her, she had always been the type of girl to see the best in everyone and somehow help bring it out of them. She was always so open-minded about everything and was always encouraging others to do whatever they please and not let other people drag them down. You wrapped your arm around hers while the two of you walked in the direction towards the nightclub since it wasn’t that far away from campus anyway, and money was tight for the both of you right now to spend it on a cab. LOVESTAY Nightclub was, and still is, the buzz around campus. Pretty much every university and college within 30 miles of the vicinity went to this specific nightclub, so to say you were a little excited is an understatement. You and Chuu walked down the street in comfortable silence, occasionally pointing at stray cats and small birds on the road, squealing over them. You’re not sure how much time passed by, maybe ten minutes? Or was it fifteen? Until you arrived at the front of the nightclub. The vivid glow of the neon sign painted the duo’s skin with a red gloss.

“You just gonna stand there and look at the sign? Let’s go Y/N!!” Chuu tugged and led the way inside the club as your eyes looked around, admiring the atmosphere. There wasn’t much you could see due to the dim lighting paired with the blaring lights, so you were thankful that Chuu’s grip on your hand was secure. Otherwise, you would have undoubtedly gotten lost in the crowd for sure.

“Do you want to sit down at the bar for some drinks first???” Chuu questioned in a yell, as the music made it difficult to hear each other even within arms distance.

“Yeah!!! I haven’t drunk alcohol in a hot minute though, so I’ll just take it easy tonight!!!” You yelled back as she nodded in agreement before taking the both of you to the bar, taking a seat on the stools. The music was a bit quieter on this side of the club, much to your relief. It’s not often that you go to places like this, so it’s still not something you’re used to, but it’s almost always a fun experience. Maybe not the brightest idea to go when you have to go back to class the following day, MORNING even. As if on cue, Chuu taps your shoulder as you turn your head to face her, only to be greeted with a sheepish grin.

“Maybe we should have just gone on a Friday night, now that I really think about it. If you change your mind about being here, I’m not complaining!!” Chuu laughs a little as you laugh along. As much as she’s an amazing person to be around, her decisions are often impromptu, but you believe that’s just one of the many reasons why she’s an incredible friend. There’s never a dull moment whenever you’re with her.

“It’s okay, I wanna stay! We don’t have to do a lot of dancing or drinking tonight, honestly just hanging out with you is enough.” You teasingly flirt with your close friend as she playfully rolls her eyes and nudges your side. You share your laughs for a little bit before a good-looking bartender approaches the two of you.

“Hey! Can I get you both anything to drink?” The handsome young man, seemingly in his early-mid twenties, questions with a small smile. You both look at each other with a look before bursting out into giggles. Chuu knew you too well, this guy was your type. While she isn’t attracted to men, she can most definitely tell when a man is handsome, and the bartender definitely was.

“Nothing for me, thanks. But this girl right here?” Chuu points at you before winking, “She’ll have a drink. Y/N I’m gonna go on the dance floor!!!!!!” She blows you a kiss, and before you could have protested, she dashes off to god knows where. You shake your head at your friend’s outburst before turning back to the man with a smile, who then returned it.

“So then, what would the pretty lady want to drink for tonight?” He asks once more, waiting for your answer as you stop to think about it. You’re not much of a drinker, so you’re not really educated on all the kinds of drinks. The only drink you know and enjoy is the- “Midori Sour, please.”

He lets out a small chuckle and nods at you. “Cute drink for a cute girl. I’ll make it right away.” He goes to mix up the drink, leaving you there a little dazed at his comment. You take this time to turn your body around and scan the crowd in hopes of seeing Chuu, but sadly she was nowhere to be found. You heard the glass clink on the table in front of you, causing you to direct your attention back to the bartender.

“Your Midori Sour.” He slides the glass over to you as you thank him for the drink.

“It’s on the house, I’ll pay for it. My name’s Minho, it’s a pleasure meeting you….?” The man, who you now know as Minho, trails off, presumably so you could tell him your name.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you too! How long have you been working here?” You tilt your head and rest your chin in the palm of your hand. His eyes widen a bit at the mention of your name, but it goes unnoticed by you.

“Y/N, huh? I’ve been working here for a little over six months. How about you? Do you work? Or are you just focusing on college right now?” His demeanor stays as smooth as before like nothing had happened. You nod in acknowledgment before going on to answer his question.

“I work at my grandma’s floral boutique, Song of the Flowers. Have you heard of it? It’s a little ways down the road from here!” You mentioned with noticeably more energy than you had before. You love to talk about the family business whenever it’s brought up, as it’s something you’re proud of and something you plan on continuing, so you hope to promote it as much as you can, whenever you can. Minho laughs at your sudden burst of energy and pats your head.

“I haven’t, but I’ll definitely come by to check you it out.” He remarks and grins at you. There’s a bit of silence between the two of you and you take this time to intake his beauty. Wow. He’s fucking BREATHTAKING. The black button-up shirt that isn't buttoned up all the way, the rolled sleeves exposing his muscular forearms. Holy. Shit. Your eyes travel back up to his eyes. He’s got long eyelashes too, what else does he have?

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look?” You blurted out without thinking, your face turning red. You grab your drink and chug it halfway as you hear his melodic laugh echo in your head. He has a pretty laugh too? What the FUCK.

“I wouldn’t say beautiful, but handsome yes. You think I’m beautiful??” He teases and flashes you a cheeky smirk.

“I- uh. Yeah, I do. Sorry I need to look for my friend, it’s getting late. Thank you so much for the company tonight! I hope I see you around, maybe at the boutique? Anyways bye Minho!!!” You rushed your words out of your mouth in a panic, and before he could even respond, you dashed away just the same as your friend did to you moments ago. You take your phone out of your pocket, only to find text messages from Chuu, saying that she went back to the dorm room, but that she called a cab to wait for you outside the nightclub, and you couldn’t be any more thankful.

Minho chuckles to himself while shaking his head. Was that really the same Y/N that his friend despises so much? Minho had only met Hyunjin this year so he didn’t know as much as the others did, but he hoped that it was a different Y/N. He’s almost sure that it was a different Y/N, because there’s no way this is the same backstabbing girl he described. He continues on with his shift, images and thoughts of you fogging his mind.

A/N: yes, this is still a hyunjin x reader smau LOL. just wanted to add a little drama before we get there🤔 i wasn’t kidding abt the slow burn! not proofread, sorry if it’s a little messy hehe…

𝜗𝜚 WTK series masterlist

TAGLIST (OPEN)! @jeonginplsholdmyhand @jeonginsgirl @mlrroh @mafiulaputaama @seungzsmin @hannie-bees

if your blog was italicized, it means i wasn’t able to tag you :’(

[bigfuckingdudes]

Jet's Been Cursed!

Have you met Jet? He's the ugly guy in the corner, with the mop. You probably used to know him.

Jet was handsome. It was his whole thing and always had been, that he was gorgeous, conventionally speaking. He had golden hair and blue eyes, perfect skin, toned muscles and a bizarrely glorious dusting of facial stubble, just enough to look rugged and masculine. And so he was a model and an actor and a spokesperson and all that hot, rich guy shit he's now totally unable to do.

If you looked like he used to, wouldn't you be a model too? Unfortunately, Jet was also a bit of a rude fucker, always yapping away gossiping even in front of the targets of his disdain, always treating his support staff like actual servants, and always showing up late to set. His looks carried him throughout life as if upon an enchanted breeze and he loved both said looks and said life.

One Friday, his coffee order was late. The air conditioning wasn't broken, but it wasn't exactly working either. And the photographer didn't smile at Jet when he walked onto set! Jet was FURIOUS. He stormed back to his dressing room and fumed like a little kid, whining to nobody, texting on his phone to anyone who might reply about how awful his life was.

A PA came to grab him for the last shot of the day, and Jet SNARLED like a villain from a cheap movie at her, making her cry immediately. He sat in his steaming rage for another hour or so and eventually went back to set, having made everyone stay late without pay. Everyone, unsurprisingly, had lost interest in his beauty and just hated the guy.

When Jet eventually went home, he of course didn't notice the hex bag affixed to the bottom of his car. No one would. He was so exhausted from being a brat that he crashed into bed immediately, into a dark and dreamless sleep.

The next morning, he woke up, belched like a trooper and then paused. He didn't burp. He didn't even drink sparkling water, for god's sake. So he was surprised when he let out a rancid fart too. Clearly yesterday's shitty coffee disagreed with him? Maybe they'd used oat milk instead of his requested fresh macadamia. He stumbled out of his silken bed and went over to the mirror, itching his face slightly. He felt oddly heavy, really drunk on sleep or hungover with it.

Ew!

There was a stubborn...beard appearing all over his face and his neck! What the fuck?! It was hideous and he felt like throwing up just seeing the unkempt mess spreading across his face, obscuring his features. Jesus! And he... He... His tan had faded into pale, spotty looking skin. He looked at the blotchy pockmarks of his face and felt deep fear. He looked both ten years older and ten years younger all at once. He let out another fart, this one a faint squeak of panic. He looked like some fucking nerdy creep, not like the hunk he'd been the night before, the hunk he'd been for his entire life.

And, dear god, he was hungry. He ran downstairs, oddly aware that his gait wasn't quite right, and, feeling out of breath, he ate an entire packet of "health" cereal. It tasted like dirt. It wasn't enough. He finished everything in his cupboards and literally listened to his stomach gurgle like an animal. It still wasn't enough. He needed to get out. He pulled on a coat over his t-shirt and underwear and stormed out of his apartment and across the street, where a neon sign announced "DINER". He'd never really noticed the place before.

He stumbled into the diner, breathing heavily, feeling yet more hair burst from his chest, his face, even his toes. It was like a forest was emerging from his body, and with the hair came sweat and a thick scent of body stench. He was like a hog under the hot sun. People waiting, queuing for a table, dodged out of his way, given him a clear path to a booth which he slammed down into, feeling himself itch and moan uncontrollably. He howled like a wolf upon seeing nearby food, scratching his now incredibly hairy genitals.

"BURGERS!" He roared, like an animal, literally feeling drool pool at the edges of his mouth and drip down into the table in front of him, forcing the approaching waiter to back up and give him a look halfway between pity and fear. "MILKSHAKE," he screamed. Shortly, a plate of burgers appeared in front of him accompanied by the world's largest milkshake which was really more of an ice cream sundae on steroids. And boy, did Jet go to town on all of it, making a real mess, shoving it down him, burping and crying slightly as he did so, dribbling meat juice and ice cream down his shirt. His shirt...which was...bubbling and pushing outwards, as his belly and chest started to swell to mammoth proportions, spurred on by some foul magic and his new appetite's demands. By the time he finished his meal -- and the other meals he then ordered -- he was vast.

He had almost womanly breasts bursting from the sides of his shirt, only recognisably male due to their hideous hair. He had love handles which had their own gravitational pull. He had a hugely fat gut itching to expand even more. He could feel padding of flesh on his ass and thighs and hips. He felt vast and he needed to escape, run back home to his old life, to bed, to his regular dreaming sleep immediately.

But he was so big he was sorta trapped in the booth! It took a real struggle for him to break free and by that point the entire diner was gazing at him. He stumbled back to his apartment, unsteady on his fattened feet. But when he got there, things seemed... different.

His flashy gadgets were gone. The apartment was grubby. His expensive artworks had been somehow replaced by flaking movie posters. And the photos from his modeling career were just pictures of other hot men, clearly ripped out of magazines. And his phone suddenly was a worse model -- with a cracked screen! What was happening to him?

When he stumbled to work, wearing the largest clothes he could find, belly hanging fleshily and whale-like from a t shirt's bottom, he found he was not the talent as he insisted, but the building's... janitor. He was handed a broom and a mop and a uniform that barely contained him, and told to get to work in the background while a new model strolled in, all sweetness and light, treating everyone well. Jet burped and started to cry.

It was almost like he'd been cursed?

Since the curse hit, Jet's been a lot more polite, but the world doesn't care. It treats him just as he used to treat like: like shit. He's a fat slob and he's treated like one.

Does he deserve it? Jury's out, but he's gotten really good at sucking cock since his transformation, and he's discovered he loves pleasuring guys who are particularly cruel to him -- do you wanna give it a go? Go on, call him a gross fatty and see what happens.

[sour-lemons-sweet-candy]

Toshinori Yagi x reader

Chapter one: Poison

Also posted on ao3

1k words... mostly and introductory chapter to get the ball rolling! Please enjoy <3

With the clash of a bell your arrival is announced. Pushing at the door, you hurl yourself inside. Promptly closing your umbrella and tying it back up. Shaking droplets from your coat you descend furthur into the warmth. The inside is just as unremarkable as the outside. Yet there is so much homey warmth you cant help being at peace. Taking another second to glance at the menue you speak, as you give your order another voice accompanies your own. Its deep baritone ressonates within you. His words perfectly echoing your own. This draws your immediate attention. You hadn't even noticed anyone else had entered the cafe. The man offers a gentle smile, "Good taste." His eyes crinkling deliciously.

Omg, its been so long since I've written. I hope this is my start to getting back into it (and actually posting the fat stack of drafts I have). I thought, in light of the Manga ending after such a long run, why not write a fic for one of my all time favs. I really hope that you enjoy this. And if you doo watch out for more of my peices (there are pleanty to come dw)

Gentle pattering is all that acompanies you. Rain falling heavily all around. Monstrous globs threatening to break through your umbrella. Griping it tighter, the cool metal biting you skin. The sensation is a mere afterthought. Your focous is pinned on escaping the storm

Your footfalls are heavy, hurried as they launch across the pavement. Not only were you hopelessly unprepared but you also find yourself compleatly lost. A leaf swept up in the breeze. Unfamiliar buildings whip past, none catch your eye as strong as the one before you. Bright neon flashes across the street, caught up in the ever growing puddles.

"Honey Bear Cove." The blaring light reads. The building itself is quite unremarkable, save for that glorious buzzing sign.

With the clash of a bell your arrival is announced. Pushing at the door, you hurl yourself inside. Promptly closing your umbrella and tying it back up. Shaking droplets from your coat you descend furthur into the warmth. The inside is just as unremarkable as the outside. Yet there is so much homey warmth you cant help being at peace.

Front and center there is a circular bar. Workers dance around one another with ease despite the strange enclosure. The bar seems to be the center of the room. Along each wall there are rows of padded booths, all but 2 have been emptied. Which isn't supring considering the current time. A sea of tables occupy the rest of the building. Each placed just right. Overall its a good set up, despite the peculiar center.

"Hello, welcome in." A honeyed voice rings out, beckoning you fourth.

"Hi, thank you." Approaching the bar, your eyes raise to the menu above. You're greatful the place is almost empty, the soul reasoning being the crippling indicision that hits you everytime you find yourself in line. At least right now you have no reason to worry about holding anyone up.

"What can I get started for you?" The same voice as before.

Snapping your gaze back down you take her in, just for a moment. Her apperance mirroring her sweet tone. A plethera of freckles grace her caramel skin, a large red ponytail swishing behind her as she moves.

Taking another second to glance at the menue you speak, as you give your order another voice accompanies your own. Its deep baritone ressonates within you. His words perfectly echoing your own. This draws your immediate attention. You hadn't even noticed anyone else had entered the cafe.

He seems to have had the same idea, your gaze is met with peircing blue, sunken pupils seem to almost glow, an incredible stark contrast to his pailing skin. The man looks quite gaunt, standing at an almost inhuman height. His form rather thin. Depsite this, he holds a very handsome face. Messy swirls of blond swept back, poofing out behing his ears. Save for two thick strands that frame his sharp face.

The man offers a gentle smile, "Good taste." His eyes crinkling deliciously. Thats all he says before turning his attention back to the bar, patiently awaiting his brew.

Your drink is deliverd first. Exchanging the proper quantity of Yen, you take the drink and tuck yourself into the furthest coner of the cafe. Settling into the booth with great exhaustion. What a long night you've had. Your first task at hand is to find out where exactly in the city you are. You're brand new to Musutafu city. So you dont quite know your way around just yet. 

Whipping out your phone, one hand gliding slick class to you lips. The other working away. Determined fingers tap along the screen. Using a map app you are able to determine exactly where you are, and the path you need to get home. Relife washes over you, your apartment is only about a 20 minuite walk away. Less time than you thought it would be.

Maybe it'd be best to wait out the rain before heading home. Sitting back you stare up at the celing. Observing the well strung bulbs. Thrown in lines across thick beams. Each blanketed by a unique paper lantern. Containing animals and patterns of all kinds carved into layers upon layers of paper. Its quite wonderus.

You find yourself drifting, eyes wandering the walls, taking in the scene as best you can. Its not long before your focous has shifted. You find yourself staring. The tall man from before catching your gaze. He too is seated in a booth, large cargo pants spilling over his shoes. Even from across the room you can see how the rain has darkened the green fabric that brush along his ankles. Hes wearing a simple outfit, the cargo accompanied by an oversized white T and a well fitting black coat. Its collar popped agianst his sunken cheeks.

The man really is quite handsome, it makes you wonder about him. Why hes out so late, why here? You find yourself lost in thought, so lost that when those glowing eyes meet yours, its almsot startling. All you can do is akwardly flick your gaze away, continuing to scan the area, not perceiving a single detail. Heat floods to your face, pure embarrasment manifested in the most obvious form.

Despite all your embarrasment you cant help but notice the way his lips twitch. Teeth glistening behind a soft smile. He looks so strangly familiar, yet you cant place him.

This seems to be where your interactions stop. The once heavy beating on the windows has dulled to a weak patter. Collecting your belongings you rise from the booth. Making sure to buss your own table before your palms meet the cool wood once more. Pushing forward, the door swings open. Wind flowing through your hair as you leave the cafe. Folpowing the map closely, you're able to make it home with no trouble at all.

Okay, I know this chapter was horribly short. I promise the ones to come will be longer and filled with more substance. I just wanted to do a little intoroduction chapter.

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||Master List||

[theficblog]

NOT HERE

JEONG JAEHYUN

Prologue: There is no peace and privacy when you travel in the peak season. Perhaps getting stuck in a elevator with your fiancé can bring you that.

Genre: Smut + Established relationship AU

Wordcount: 922

Warnings: Sexual content [ make out + fingering + moaning +  grinding + mirror sex + getting caught? ]

All of the chit-chats and the screaming of little children came to an immediate end when you stepped inside the elevator. This was probably one of the most peaceful moments you've had in the last week. Even the private suite of the resort could not give this level of solace. Traveling during the busiest time of year might not have been the best decision.

"Finally!" You exhaled a sigh of relief as your fiancé gave you a soft grin before selecting a number.

"It's actually peaceful." He did not say much, immersed in the tiny moment of the usual jazz music that was played in the elevator.

It would have barely moved a floor or two when a sudden thud was heard, and immediately everything went black, except for the neon emergency button. It was followed by the dim lights illuminating in case of emergencies, one of which was now.

"Oh fuck!" He cursed under his breath as he naturally moved closer to you, concerned.

"Looks like we'll be stuck for a while." You implied, crossing your arms. There was no sign of concern on your face, or in your words.

"Right." He hummed.

You swiftly drew your hand closer to Jaehyun's chest and ran it softly and delicately across it.

Your unexpected action surprised him. "Baby?" He inquired.

"Yeah?" Your voice was sultry, just like your stare, which was firmly set on his.

"Maybe we shouldn't do it here." He recommended, attempting to hold your hand and stop the movements that were gradually driving him insane.

"Why not?" You started to undo the buttons on the shirt one by one, slowly, without saying anything further as he watched without blinking his eyes even once.

A pink tint took over his cheeks and ears. He was shy. 

"We've been together for six years, you don't have to be shy." You were now touching his bare torso as you stepped backwards and used his shirt to cover the security camera. After a brief period of adjustment, you switched your attention back to him. "They won't see us." 

Jaehyun reciprocated the lust as he stood without his shirt on, revealing his toned muscles. He pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around you, followed by movements of them everywhere on your body.

As slowly as he could, he began kissing you, every few seconds he would tilt his head to the opposite side. Your hands roamed around his bare torso as he did and you'd let out a moan every time his tongue did the magic.

"Just marry me already." Jaehyun commented at the sight of the ring on your fourth finger, which sparkled in the dim lights. 

"Hmmmm" You moaned as you dragged his hand up your ass, making him feel every inch of your body through the light fabric of your black dress. 

He was enjoying it and it could be seen by the smirk on his lips. Jaehyun only acted shy and innocent.

"No panties?" He whispered in his rasp, low voice next to your ears, sending shivers down your core. He started to touch and caress it and your heart rate went up immediately. 

Not different from his, your hands reached below his belt, toying with the zipper of his shorts. You could already feel how needy he was on the inside.

"Not here baby." He cooed. "Don't wanna make a mess, do you?" Moving his hand faster this time, he loved teasing you.

"Please, just once." You pleaded, looking at him with that needy look in your eyes, the ones you know he could never turn down.

He hummed again, and he turned you around to face the mirrored walls of the elevator as he stood behind you, folding his arm around your neck as he placed his face on your shoulder from behind you.

"This feels dirty." He went on, almost inaudible.

"Because it is." You replied back, which was shut down by another moan for he started placing sloppy kisses on the back of your neck. Six years, he had memorised your body by the heart.

It drove you wild when he pressed his clothed crotch on the back of your hips and started to grind while you two maintained eye contact through the mirror. Two pairs of eyes filled with the same leer. 

"Hurry up!" You whined out of impatience. The adrenaline acted more of a turn-on when you knew it would not take long for the maintenance to reach for help.

"Wait for it, baby" Jaehyun murmured again.

This time around, another noise was heard, and a different sound was heard as the bright yellow lights turned on again.

Jaehyun pulled your dress down immediately as he stepped back.

Not a second later, the door was opened, revealing three people for help and a bunch of other guests. You sighed internally, Jaehyun's timing was perfect. 

The people started to babble words out, in a language you could not understand, but their expressions suggested they weren't noble. 

You tucked your hair behind your ear and looked at him. "Don't forget your shirt." 

He nodded and went to grab it, holding it in his hands instead of putting it on, brushing his hand through his hair, following you outside the elevator, unapologetic. 

"Where else do you act wild if not in locations where people don't know you?" You said as you walked towards the room.

"True." Jaehyun still wore that sensual smile, his brain filled with filthy things that he'd do once you two got a room.

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[the-ominous-owl]

hey lookit sneak peak of arcane fic chapter 2

“They want me to be the sheriff.”

Vi pauses as Caitlyn’s voice echoes off the tile of the bathroom. They usually don’t talk when they do this – Vi knows Caitlyn hates that she still needs it, needs Vi physically blocking the only door before she can strip off, can move more than an arms-length from her pistol. It’s the only way Caitlyn can shower now, not with Vi – not after the first time – but together, one after the other. They’ve developed a routine, though it’s largely unspoken – Vi will go first, and let Caitlyn watch the steam fog the mirror into a blank canvass, free of any ominous signs. Then they’ll switch, and Vi will sit with her naked back pressed to the door, letting herself drip dry as she carefully re-wraps her hands.

Usually, the silence remains unbroken under the soft hiss of the water. Stillwater had granted Vi an ease with long silences, and Caitlyn was quieter in general since that night, since the weight of two cities had landed squarely on her shoulders.

But tonight, Caitlyn speaks, and Vi raises her head to find her watching the movement of Vi’s hands through the gap in the shower screen where the door used to be.

“Isn’t that basically what you’ve been doing?” Vi asks, dropping her gaze to resume wrapping her hands. She focuses on the weight, the pressure of the cloth against her skin. Her hands hurt without them, something she hadn’t realized wasn’t normal until Caitlyn’s father had asked her about it, had started talking about nerve damage and broken knuckles improperly healed. He’d given her a salve that she uses when she thinks to, but wrapping her hands works just as well.

She’s aware she's distracting herself, trying to draw her own attention away from the twisting thing stirring in her gut.

She's also aware it’s not working.

“Not…not really. Only as a function of…” Caitlyn trails off, but Vi hears what she doesn’t say. Caitlyn has been looking for Jinx, and leveraging the enforcers to do it. Her authority over them is very much unofficial, and Vi suspects she’s only gotten away with it as long as she has because the remaining council members – all two-and-a-half of them – have too many other things to worry about to actively countermand her.

“And if you were sheriff?” Vi asks, shifting her weight, half knowing the answer and unsure if she wants Caitlyn to vocalize it.

The towel she’s sitting on only reaches her upper thighs, and the tiles are cold against Vi’s legs. Caitlyn had offered to retrieve a chair for her when it became apparent to both of them that shared showers would be a recurring thing, but Vi had declined. There's something familiar, something perversely comforting about sitting on the hard, cold floor that Vi doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“I won’t stop looking. She needs to be found,” Caitlyn says, answering the question Vi was actually asking. “I can’t stop.”

The skin under the edge of the cloth is white, bloodless. Too tight. Vi unclenches her hand, unwraps the last few inches and starts again.

“Would you have to?”

“I—Yes. No. I don’t know.” Caitlyn sighs. Vi glances up through the steam to see her braced against the wall with her head tilted back, face upturned to the spray of water. “Nobody’s in charge. It’s not sustainable. And Mel’s worried about the Noxians.”

“But…?” Vi prompts.

Caitlyn drops her head forward, leans so the water runs down the back of her neck. The move slides her hair over her shoulders, revealing the expanse of her back. Vi blinks, briefly sees the neon line-art of a monkey face scrawled across her skin. Blinks again, and it’s gone.

“The enforcers are…broken. The entire system. Marcus and his lackeys got away with appalling atrocities for years because so much of what the sheriff does is uncontested. I couldn’t, in good conscience, lead them as they are now.”

Vi can’t help the snort she lets out. “You’re basically leading them already, cupcake. Make it official and you can fix them.”

“I…”

“If not you, then who? Who else would you trust in that position? Like you said, there’s practically no oversight.”

Caitlyn doesn’t respond for a long moment as she slows then stops the spray of water, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. Vi finishes her wrapping, flexing her hands in and out of fists to settle the cloth over her knuckles, then starts to rise.

“If I did…” Caitlyn says, breaking the silence without turning around. “If I became the sheriff…would you join? Help me?”

[shehungthemoon]

My bucktommy coda that I sat on for days before crumbling over my love for them (read on ao3)

buck makes a phone call 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

It’s been a good couple minutes and Buck still hasn't found the strength to push himself away from the counter.

It's a good counter, he thinks, supporting all his weight like it is. He’s a heavy guy, it can't be easy. In the far reaches of his mind, he’s aware that that's really a very weird thing to be thinking about his kitchen countertop. But his brain feels like it's being tossed around in a whirlpool at the moment, so he's decided to give himself a pass.

He can't bring himself to move yet he’s still antsy—antsy to sprint out the door and run after Tommy as fast as he can, to call him even though he hasn't been gone five minutes just so he can hear that ridiculous low voice again, to turn back a clock and kiss him just one more time before he walks out of Buck’s home.

His thoughts are spinning like he’s six shots deep, fuzzy like they’d been sweetly wrapped in a wool blanket, wired like the electric hum of a neon sign, everything and nothing all at once.

His hand shakes just slightly as he lifts his fingers to his lips, itching for some kind of physical feeling to ground him. He presses down, into the slight swelling of them, relishes in the tingling and the warmth that spreads. He feels like a teenage girl, giddy after her first chaste kiss at her doorstep. Buck presses harder and smiles. He really can't bring himself to care.

He pushes off the counter in a sudden rush of adrenaline, grabbing the sweating, abandoned beer bottle off the counter as he goes. He doesn't want it anymore, didn't really ever, but his hands need something to mess with or else he might start pulling at his hairline, which is a habit he'd worked very hard to break.

So he plays with the label and half focuses on the stickiness of the paper that rolls up in between his fingers and half focuses on preserving the memory of Tommy’s strong fingers pulling impatient, commanding, oh-so-wanting on his chin.

He paces his apartment, bottom floor and top. Stares at Hen’s contact on his cellphone, finger hovering over the screen. Bites his lips when the blood starts leaving them as if it could preserve the kiss. Breathes in the cologne he tricks himself into thinking he can still smell in the air. The cologne.

Buck eventually comes to the conclusion that for the moment he's happy—genuinely, unreservedly, proudly happy—and with a heavy sigh that feels like dropping a firehose off his shoulders he heads up to the loft to get ready for bed. He leaves his phone charging downstairs.

Buck falls asleep with his body flushed pleasantly warm under the blankets and his mind not quite settled but not quite not, a phantom throbbing across his lips. He doesn't dream that night, for the first time in a while.

---

He wakes up alongside the sun the next day with his internal clock. It doesn't take more than a few moments for the memories of the night before to come flooding back. He pulls off his sheets and begins going through the motions of his morning, and catches a small smile on his face in the mirror when he goes to brush his teeth.

Huh. So that's what he's feeling. He didn't know if it would last.

He lets the smile grow as he bounds down his steps and starts on breakfast. He finds himself pausing every few minutes, rushes of emotions washing and breaking over him again and again, coming like waves and leaving his heart racing.

“Well,” he says to himself, into the empty sun-strewn air of his apartment. “This is new.”

He decides to go out for a run, and thinks about calling three people.

He needs Hen. He doesn't need Hen? He wants Hen’s advice. Her support. As he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, shaking off his stretches outside of his building he realizes that maybe this time, this once… maybe he’s got it. Maybe this is something he’d actually look forward to tackling alone. Like an adventure.

Buck starts off running down the sidewalk.

Eddie deserves his apology, more than anything. It's not his own voice in his head joking about the dwindling pain killer windows of opportunity. He thinks about what to say, how he’d explain it, how he'd confess it. The worst thing he’s felt so far comes crawling up his throat, scratching and tightening. Panic, and he hates it, hates that it makes his brain race toward nebulous thoughts and fragments of feelings that scream danger and loss and guilt.

Buck does not want to call Eddie right now, just as much as he wants to, needs to. Both things make his legs falter and feet stutter on the concrete, so he turns left into the neighboring park to distract him and give him something softer to trip onto.

This… this, with Tommy, wasn't the same. Wasn't the same as his previous relationships. Obvious reasons aside, of course. Tommy took those steady steps across his kitchen floor. Tommy pulled him in. Tommy asked if the kiss was okay and told him with no room for argument that he was going to pick Buck up for a date.

Maybe he was supposed to feel demeaned or insecure or a million other things that should make him want to back far away from the unfamiliarity, but he couldn't find it in himself to. Instead it just felt… nice. Felt like someone wanted him, really wanted him, in the way he always wants other people.

He’d almost feel like he didn't deserve it, if it weren't for the way he remembers Tommy’s voice shaking just slightly when he asked Buck if it was really his attention that Buck had been after.

Buck can remember everything about it. The way his heart had leap with startling joy in his chest when he saw who was on the other side of his door, not who he was expecting but entirely and completely who he didn't know he wanted.

He remembers the way Tommy had ribbed him about Eddie being able to have multiple friends, and how it didn't feel mean-spirited or judgemental at all, somehow.

He remembers how he’d felt something shift, silly teasing turning to warm tension thrumming in the air around them when they talked about Muay Thai and flying lessons. Something different in Tommy’s voice. In the way his gaze had dropped to Buck’s lips for just a second, maybe something he imagined.

The way Tommy had looked into his eyes and had a wordless conversation with him so fluidly, understanding and wanting just as much as him, asking Buck if it was ok before he ever said the words out loud. The way his eyes softened and his lips pressed together when he realized that Buck was only ever going to say yes.

The way he’d kissed him, chaste and promising and heavy, meaning more than any kiss in his life had ever meant, and yeah, that had really, really been okay.

The way Tommy had hid his excitement from his voice but not his eyes when he’d said “8 o’clock—”

And wait. Shit. 8 o’clock. Saturday. Shit.

Well, here’s his excuse.

He slows down to a less strenuous pace and reaches for his phone, fumbling a bit with it as he tries to slide it out of the tight shorts pocket.

He doesn't give himself time to overthink before he presses dial.

The third ring was barely beginning before the person on the other end picked up with a cut-off hello.

“Hey, hi,” Buck says with a nervous laugh into the mic. “It's me Buck.”

“I know,” comes Tommy’s voice, amused. When Buck hears it it's like his legs turn to jelly, has to stop where he stands on the sidewalk or risk taking a tumble. He clears his throat and tries to catch his breath without sounding too loud.

“I, uh, promise that this isn't me freaking out, or being insanely clingy, or anything like that, I just. Kinda got, distracted, last night and totally forgot that I already promised to babysit my niece Saturday evening? I don't wa—need to cancel, just maybe, um, does 8:30 work instead? If that's no trouble?

There's a beat of silence over the phone in which Buck guesses Tommy's taking it all in. He tends to babble when he's nervous, unfortunately. He can only hope that Tommy finds that charming.

There's an exhale from the other end and a short, humming laugh. “I was really worried you were going to back out. 8:30 is no trouble at all.”

Buck can't help the relieved grin that spreads over his face.

“Ok, perfect, great, uh. Thank you,” he barely gets any of it out coherently through his grinning and his pounding heart. He doesn't know why he still feels so wired.

“Hey, Evan, for the record?”

Something settles low in his stomach when he hears his name. He hasn't named the feeling yet, but he doesn't hate it. “Uh, yeah?”

“That stuff you said before, about freak-outs and clinginess?” Buck presses his fingernails into his palm and rolls his shoulders tightly, the giddiness tilting toward that awful panic. He hums shortly in acknowledgement. But then Tommy says: “You can do all those things with me, if you want. Or need. Any time.”

Buck wishes there was a bench nearby. Something to brace himself on, because those weak knees come rushing back and he’s never felt like this, ever. He doesn't know what to say—what does he say? If Buck didn't know Tommy, he’d half think he was lying. But does Buck actually know Tommy? Better question, why does Buck feel like he knows Tommy so stupidly well already?

Buck believes him. That's the thing. He believed him completely and entirely. Worst of all, Buck trusts him.

He doesn't know what to say that wouldn't scare any normal person away.

Tommy isn't looking for him to say anything, it seems.

“I really want to kiss you again,” is what Tommy finally says into the quiet, murmured and breathily genuine. It carves into Buck's heart and twists his stomach, so beyond butterflies at this point it's ridiculous.

“Yeah,” Buck sucks in a breath. “Me too.” He hates that his voice is shaky when he says it, so far from suave and too close to vulnerable. And then Tommy laughs bright and fond and real and Buck feels free even when the line goes dead and all he's left with is the sound of Tommy's laugh ringing in his ear and the promise of 8:30, Saturday.

Tommy beat him to the punch with his last words. The same thing had been in the back of his throat waiting to be whispered out since the night before.

Nobody's ever said them first before. Not like that.

He stows his phone and picks back up his jog. He’s not… worried, like he'd thought he'd be. Not in the ways that swarmed his mind last night, not in the ways that he'd ignored when they appeared fleeting over the years.

Buck remembers stubble against his cheek and calloused fingers along his jaw, new sensations so foreign, so searingly new. Buck likes new, he thinks. Especially now that he’s realizing that doesn't mean you erase the slate and start over. Sometimes, maybe new is building and altering and learning and becoming who you want to be with all the pieces of who you used to be building you up. Maybe it's figuring out that all the things you want to be were already within you after all.

He lets the worry and panic fade, drained out of him. Instead he feels calm like low tides, gentle surety and excitement for the future flowing through easy breaths.

He'll talk to Hen after the date, after he's gone in on his own, probably fumbling and nervous and all-too-excited. For some reason he feels like all that might be ok, this time.

Eddie… he'll talk to Eddie at work. He'll apologize in person. They both deserve that much. He’ll face the panic and the fear and the overwhelming love with as much strength as he can. It's what Eddie is owed, and it's what he owes to himself.

And Tommy, he'll see Tommy soon. He'll find his nice shirt from the back of his closet, he’ll plan to argue over the bill before letting him take it, and he’ll keep Tommy's laugh in his head until he hears it again in person.

And he'll kiss Tommy first.

Buck smiles. He thinks he's gonna like new.

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Deuce's first time ever in Mostro Lounge, in which he meets the tweels and sets up an appointment with Azul

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

The World's Prettiest Restaurant

Deuce decided he would go to Mostro Lounge on Saturday afternoon.

He stood outside the Octavinelle mirror with nervousness and guilt gnawing at him- a side affect of disobeying his dorm leader.

On the bright side, he didn't feel nervous about talking to Jade Leech. The Leech twins were infamous and rumours about them spread across compass like wildfire, however, those were just rumours and Deuce could handle himself just fine, thank you. At least he hoped so.

As he gazed at the shining, silver mirror he realised he had never been in Octavinelle before.

Well, he always did like seeing new things.

Deuce stepped into the portal and shut his eyes to shield them from the blinding light of the transportation magic. When he opened them again he was standing in a long, empty hallway.

Deuce knew Octavinelle was underwater, but the sight of sea floor outside the large glass windows still shocked him.

Feeling like he was in one of those aquarium tunnels, Deuce walked up to the glass and depressed his face against it.

There was an actual coral reef outside. Sunlight streamed down all the way to the soft sandy floor, the light catching on vibrant corals and flashy fish. The flish flitted to and fro, dipping through the seaweed and rubbing against the soft seagrass.

Deuce pulled away from the window and slowly walked to the end of the hall, turning his his haid to stare at everything around him in awe.

He reached a fork at the end of the hallway and blinked. On the wall in front of him hung a black sign with curling purple script.

There were two arrows. One pointed left with "Dormitory (Octavinelle students only)" written above it. The other pointed right with "Mostro Lounge" also written above it.

Deuce turned right and entered the lounge through the open oak doors and stopped short, frozen.

Mostro Lounge was amazing.

Soft jazz flowed into Deuce's ears like honey, the wonderful aroma of delicious food invaded his nostrils, and his eyes were assaulted with perhaps the prettiest restaurant he had ever seen.

The tables were solid oak with smooth white table tops. A pretty lamp in the shape of a nautilis shell sat delicately on each one. The seats were fine leather, a perfectly polished brown complimenting the table perfectly.

A spotless tiled floor reflected the blues of the lights shining above. The lights in question were shaped like jellyfish and carefully attached to curling tentacles protruding from the ceiling.

Stairs, lined with neon blue lightning, led up to more tables. Behind those tables was a huge glass wall, the clarity allowing Deuce to see the beauty of the sea behind it. To the right was a... bar? Did they sell alcohol here? It was long and lined with high stools. The shelves at the back filled with various containers of unknown stuff that Deuce almost wanted to try.

The lounge was crowded with people- students of various dorms and ages talking and laughing, creating a lovely hubbub of muffled voices and distant laughter.

A student created all of this? That was... that was incredible. Deuce was in awe of him.

"Good afternoon, sir."

A soft voice made Deuce jolt. He turned to see a guy who was quite possibly the smallest teenager he'd ever seen in his life, looking at him. He was shorter than Riddle and Epel!

Shocks of turquoise streaked through dark green locks (they looked almost like seaweed) and a pair of turquoise eyes gleamed in the light. He wore the Octavinelle uniform, which was also the staff uniform. Suspenders, a bowtie, the fedora, the whole shebang.

A pair of wireless earphones were just barely noticeable, the little buds hiding well in the dim lighting. Was that even allowed?

"Do you have a reservation, sir?"

It took far too long for the words to fully process, and when they finally did Deuce panicked.

"Huh? Me? OH- uh- no, I've never been here before, I-"

"Alright, then." The staff member sent a close-lipped smile his way. "I'm Finn Clearcove. I will be your waiter for today. Right this way, please."

Deuce wordlessly followed Finn to the nearest open table dazed. It was quite close to the bar and had a good view of the glass wall. Deuce was surprised it was open, given the glass wall spot should be popular, but as he looked around he realised all the tables near the bar were mysteriously empty.

Why?

Deuce got seated there anyways and a menu was placed in front if him. It, just like everything else here, was fancy and pretty.

The pages were black with sleek dark purple writing sprawling nearly across the pages. A gold nautilis was printed on the bottom of each page, and the prices were also printed in gold ink.

The options, paired with incredibly well done photos, made Deuce's stomach growl, his mouth water and his wallet cry out in terror.

Why was everything so expensive?

"Would you like to order?" Finn's soft voice made Deuce jolt again.

"Oh! Uh- for a drink get I get the- uh-" He looked at the menu. "The Crystal Tide please? It looks nice."

Finn sent another close-lipped smile his way. "Excellent choice. Would you like anything to eat?"

"The uh..." Deuce scoured the menu for the cheapest option. "The mushroom risotto, please."

Finn paused, looking at Deuce incredulously, before snapping back to to customer service mode and writing down his order. "Alright, thank you."

Finn turned to leave and Deuce stared after him, watching his tiny form become swallowed by the fray before realising he forgot to ask about Jade Leech.

Damn it.

Well, it was fine. Deuce would surely run into the vice dorm leader eventually . It wasn't like he would be hard to spot. From what hewas told, Jade was uncannily tall, had short, silky turquoise hair with a long thick black stripe framing the left side of his face, gold and olive heterochromatic eyes and a set of sharp teeth.

If Deuce missed someone like that, he would probably go see an optometrist.

The clinking of glasses at the bar suddenly caught his attention.

It was as if the Great Seven themselves heard his plight.

Deuce turned his head at the sound and there, leaning over the bar, was a staff member matching Jade's exact description.

"Ugh..." Jade groaned and half-heartedly fiddled with the various drinks on display, baring his teeth and frowning unhappily.

He... didn't look like a vice dorm leader.

His bowtie was loose and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, leaving his collarbones in the open for all to see. His jacket was completely unbuttoned and loose, showing off the suspenders underneath. The one right suspender thingy was hanging off his shoulder.

"Stupid Azul, makin' me do boring bar duty. I wanna cook."

He didn't sound like a vice dorm leader either.

Deuce stared at him for a long time before awkwardly clearing his throat. "Um... excuse me, Jade-senpai?"

There was a beat of silence.

Jade stopped what he was doing and slowly turned his head in Deuce's direction. Their eyes locked and suddenly every part of Deuce's body screamed at him to run.

"Oi." The Leech growled, voice low. "I'm Floyd, not Jade."

Deuce's jaw dropped open and he wondered how he could be so stupid as to forget that Jade had an identical twin brother?

A very angry identical twin brother at that.

Floyd glowered and leaned forward so the he stretched over the bar table. "The hell do you want, Mackerel?"

Mackerel?

"A-Actually my name is Deu-"

"Don't care." Floyd hissed. "You remind me of a mackerel so Mackerel it is."

Before Deuce could even think of how to answer that Finn arrived with his drink, silent and startling (but polite) as ever.

The Crystal Tide was- just like everything else at Mostro Lounge- a fancy, beautiful and pricy drink that made Deuce salivate.

It was filled with flavoured ice and the liquid was made up of three colours

Light red at the bottom, pink in the middle, and purple and blue at the top.

Floyd had gone silent, watching the exchange with a bored expression before focusing on Finn.

"Blue Angel, why don't you give Mackerel here your million madol smile?"

Finn shot Floyd a dirty look. "Hello, Floyd. And no. I will not." Despite the irritation seeping into his tone, his voice remained soft and subdued, but firm.

"Aww, but your teeth are sooo petty~!"

Deuce took Floyd's change of focus to take a sip of his drink and his eyes widened. A wonderful, fruity flavour flowed onto his tongue and made his taste buds dance in joy. How did they even make this stuff?

"Floyd, I don't have time for this, I have work to do." Finn hissed, and then he quickly turned around and left before Floyd get another word in.

Floyd glowered, disappointed, before focusing on Deuce again. "Anyways." He said, teeth glinting dangerously. "The hell do you want with Jade?"

Deuce swallowed. "I uh- I wanted go talk to him about making a contract with the dorm leader. I was told you need to go him to schedule a meeting."

Floyd went quiet once again and stared at Deuce for an uncomfortably long time before tilting his head back and letting out an exaggerated, mocking laugh.

"Hah! I see, I see. You want those study notes cause you ain't got the brains to pass those baby level first year exams?"

"Hey!" If Floyd didn't set off so many warning bells Deuce would've gotten up and punched him. "That's a terrible thing to say! How do you even know I'm a first year?"

Floyd shrugged. "You've still got that spark of life in your eyes." He said cryptically.

"Oh." Deuce said, like an idiot. He awkwardly drummed his fingers against the table, unsure of how to proceed.

"So- uh- anyways, when can I talk to Jade?"

Floyd rolled his eyes. "Dunno. He's busy. Currently in a world of bliss cause some poor moron ordered the mushroom risotto."

Deuce blinked at him, confused. "You say that like it's a bad thing..?"

"Well yeah, it's-" Floyd stopped mid sentence and squinted at Deuce. Then there was a spark of realisation in his eyes. "Oh shit, you ordered the risotto, didn't you? Hah! That's a riot!"

Deuce glared at him. "Y-"

"Here is your mushroom risotto, sir." Finn's sudden appearance made him jump out of his skin.

"Great Seven, how do you do that?!"

Floyd laughed again. The high-pitched, wheezey sound rattled Deuce's ears.

"Ehehe, Blue Angel's a sneaky cookie." He drawled, smirking at Finn. "He's so tiny and quiet nobody notices him!"

Finn let out a huff, but his expression was more fond than annoyed like before. He ignored the Leech, instead turning to Deuce.

"Do you need anything else?"

Deuce shook his head. "No, it's okay."

Finn bowed his head and promptly left, leaving him alone with Floyd once more.

"As I was saying." Deuce took a sip of that lovely drink. "Why's ordering mushroom risotto so bad?"

Floyd pulled a face. "Cause mushrooms are gross and the more people order it, the more mushrooms'll be put on the menu. And also, Jade has a weird kink for watching people eat his mushroom dishes."

Deuce balked. "He what-"

A soft chuckle stopped Deuce from fully voicing his horror.

"Now now, Floyd, you needn't be so crude."

The actual Jade Leech stood next to Deuce, smiling in amusement. He, unlike Floyd, wore the uniform properly- neat and pressed and so perfect it could give Riddle a run for his money.

Olive and gold eyes settled on Deuce, shining with something sinister.

"Go on." Jade coaxed. "Take a bite. I would love to hear your feedback.

Deuce obediently raised a forkful of risotto to his mouth and Floyd made a loud noise of disgust.

Deuce took a bite and for a second be was sure he had died and gone to heaven.

It was delicious! What was Floyd talking about? This was amazing!

Jade eyes gleamed in the low light and his sharp teeth just barely poked out from his lips. Eager.

"What do you think?"

"It's delicious!" Deuce said, delighted.

"I'm glad you think so." Jade's smile was a just a smidge more genuine and his voice sounded floaty. "Those mushrooms were grown and harvested by yours truly."

"Woah!" Deuce gaped. "That's really cool, Leech-senpai!"

"Why thank you."

"Ugh." Floyd gagged. "Enough with the mushroom talk! Jade, Mackerel here wants an appointment with Azul."

"Oh I see." The smile became fake again. "You just need to fill in a little form so that I may contact you with a date and time."

Deuce nodded and when Jade left to get the form he took the opportunity to shovel more delicious risotto into his mouth, much to Floyd's dismay.

Jade returned swiftly and handed Deuce a sheet of paper.

It didn't take too long to fill it in. Name, grade, class, club, cellphone number, and so on. That sort of thing. Deuce handed the form back to Jade with a thank you and the Leech disappeared yet again.

Floyd let out a groan and slumped on the bar table, watching Deuce finish the risotto with a look of disgust.

Finn reappeared to take Deuce's empty plate and glass- giving him another fright- and then offered him the bill.

Deuce mourned the chunk taken out of his pocket money, thanked Finn and Floyd for their help, and left to his dorm with a spring in his step.

Just as he arrived in his room, his phone went off, and he checked it to see a message from Jade.

"Good day Deuce-san. This is Jade. You my come to Mostro Lounge on the 15th of July at 18:30. Don't be late."

Deuce put his phone down and just barely stopped himself from squealing, opting to laugh and fall back on his bed instead, smiling in relief.

Finally, things were looking up. Once he got those study notes his life would be nothing but smooth sailing.

He was sure of it.

-End

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

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed! I had a lot of fun with this one! Still, not too confident with my Deuce writing, hopefully I'll get better though!

[doiefics]

get a room

pairing: jaehyun x afab!reader

prologue: there is no scope peace and privacy while travelling in the peak season, perhaps getting stuck in the elevator with jaehyun could bring you some luck

genre: smut + established relationship!au

wordcount: 1022

warnings: sexual content [ make out + fingering + moaning +  grinding + mirror sex + getting caught? ]

As soon as you stepped inside the elevator, all of the hubbub, including the shouting, screaming and screeching of the little children that you thought were annoying came to an immediate end offering you with one of the most peaceful seconds you would have had through the last week. Not even the private suite of the hotel could provide this level of a solace. You knew you were going to regret it later when you booked the tickets for the busiest tourist season, but it was what it was.

"Finally!" You exhaled a sigh of relief, stretching your arms, as your fiancé on the other side of the elevator gave you a soft grin before pressing one of the buttons.

"It's actually peaceful." Jaehyun was the type to enjoy the calm, he did not say much, immersed in the little moment while the usual jazz music played in the background.

You could swear it would have barely moved a floor or two when a sudden loud thud was heard, and in the blink of an eye everything went black, except for the neon emergency lights.

"Oh fuck!" He cursed under his breath as he naturally moved closer to you, concerned.

"Looks like we'll be stuck for a while." You implied, crossing your arms. Signs of concerns were no where to be found on your part, neither in your body language, nor your words.

"Right." He hummed.

Your hand swiftly drew closer to Jaehyun's chest as it ran softly and delicately across it.

Your unexpected action surprised him. "Baby?" He inquired with his soft voice.

"Yeah?" Whereas yours was sultry, just like your stare, which was firmly set on his.

"Maybe we shouldn't do it here." He recommended, attempting to take hold of your hand and cease the movements that were gradually going to drive him insane.

"Why not?" You began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, slowly, without a single utterance of words as he only watched, a not so innocent emotion visible through his transparent eyes.

A pink tint took over Jaehyun's face and ears. He was shy, or pretending to be.

"We've been together for six years, you don't have to be shy." You said boldly, now touching his bare torso as you took a step backwards to use his shirt as a cover up for the security camera.

After a brief period of adjustment, you switched your attention back to him. "They won't see us now." Reassuring him, even though you were not the type to care about such things in the first place.

Jaehyun stood dumbfounded, and shirtless, revealing his toned muscles. You pulled him closer, making him wrap his hands around you, guiding them to trace the rest of your skin.

As slowly as he could, he began kissing you, every few seconds he would tilt his head to the opposite side. Your hands roamed around his body as he did and you let out a moan each time his tongue did the magic.

"Just marry me already." Jaehyun commented at the sight of the ring on your fourth finger, which sparkled in the near absent lights. 

"Hmmmm!" Another moan as you dragged his hand up your ass, making him feel every inch of your body through the light fabric of your dress. 

The smirk placed on his lips couldn't not conceal the fact that he was enjoying it just as much, and boy did he love when you took control. Jaehyun was also the type to only act innocent.

"No panties?" He whispered in his rasp, low voice next to your ears, sending shivers down your core, starting to touch and caress it and making your heart rate go up instantly.

Not too different from his, your hands reached below his belt, toying with the zipper of his pants. You could already feel how needy he was.

"Not here baby." He cooed. "Don't wanna make a mess, do you?" Moving his hand faster this time, he loved teasing you.

"Please, just once." You pleaded, looking at him with one very needy look in your eyes like that of a kitten, the ones you know he could never turn down.

He hummed again, and he turned you around to face the mirrored walls of the elevator, standing behind you, wrapping his arm around your neck as he rested his face on your shoulder.

"This feels dirty." He went on, almost inaudible.

"Because it is." You reply was shut by another moan, for he started placing sloppy kisses on the back of your neck.

Six years, he had memorised your body by the heart.

It drove you wild when he pressed his clothed crotch on the back of your hips and started to grind, maintaining eye contact through the mirror. Two pairs of eyes filled with the same leer. 

"Hurry up!" You whined out of impatience. The adrenaline acted more of a turn-on when you knew it would not take long for the maintenance to reach for help.

"Wait for it, my love." Jaehyun murmured again.

This time around, another noise was heard, a different one as the bright white lights turned on again.

Jaehyun was quick to pull your dress down, stepping back, beads of sweat tracing down his forehead.

Not a second later, the door was opened, revealing three people for help and a bunch of other guests. You sighed internally, Jaehyun's timing was perfect. 

The people in front of you started to babble words out, in a language you could not understand, but their expressions suggested their thoughts weren't noble. 

You tucked your hair behind your ear and looked at him. "Don't forget your shirt." 

He quickly nodded, grabbing his cloth, carrying it in his hands instead of putting it on, brushing his hand through his hair, following you outside the elevator, unapologetic. 

"Where else can we even act wild if not in places where nobody knows us?" You remarked as you walked through the lobby.

"True." Jaehyun still wore that sensual smile, his brain filled with filthy things that he'd do once the two of you would get a room.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

[georgethequeerpuppet-blog]

So I thought about it, and I have decided that I'm going to post my COD au here as well!

I really would love it if you guys interacted with it over on AO3, but if you wanna read it here, by all means!

Oasis ~ GhostxSoap

(Blurb)

Moving to a new town should have been easy compared to everything Johnny has gone through in his life.

And yet, life continues to throw challenges at him like he's a fucking dart board.

He didn't mean to lay his bike down in the middle of an empty street, at 3-something in the morning.

He didn't mean to come across 141.

And yet, that neon oasis might be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Or

Post-Military AU where Soap was never a part of the TF.

The 141 is a garage that happens to be open 24/7.

Hurt and comfort ensues.

Onto the fic!

Chapter 1 - Neon

(Soap's POV)

Like an oasis in a barren desert.

A lighthouse across stormy waters.

A beacon of hope in the vast pitch black of night.

The neon 'Mechanic Open' sign was a beautiful sight.

Against the dark backdrop of 3am suburbia, Johnny couldn't help but feel like this whole situation was a bit surreal. A new town, unfamiliar roads. Odd sounds. Hell, even the air was different. It was like the world was against him, and the nightmares had been keeping him up until odd hours.

His bike was the only familiar thing, now. So of course... he had to go and lay it down in the middle of a dew-slick street.

Thankfully, he had been the only one around to witness his own embarrassment. He and his bike had hit the ground hard.

Unfamiliar streets, and all that.

They were both scraped up, and Johnny found himself limping as he wheeled his girl closer to the town centre. His phone, miraculously, had stayed attached to its mount during the crash. Hell, Maps was still running!

He was scared to start her back up, though. There was something dripping from her engine, but Johnny wasn't about to stop in the middle of the street to investigate.

That's why when - after what felt like at least ten hours of walking - he spotted the mechanic and relief flooded his battered body.

His hobbling slowed the closer he got. Once he reached the driveway, Johnny could see that the shop was actually pretty big for the neighbourhood he was in. A large building with three open roller doors. Warm white light illuminated the space. There was a smaller building attached to the left side, another 'Open' sign flashing on the glass door.

Johnny wheeled his girl up the brick driveway. There was a vintage Cadillac in the bay closest to what he assumed was the office. Its hood was up, but the garage was empty.

The Scotsman stopped just before the entrance of the middle bay, nudging the kickstand down with his bad leg.

A clatter came from his left, and Johnny's head snapped up. The fly screen door that must have lead into the office had been propped open, and a man with an impressive pair of mutton chops was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Bike troubles?"

Johnny shrugged, his shoulder aching from where he'd landed on it. "Had a wee accident."

The man latched the door open before walking over to where Johnny was standing. Analytical eyes ran over the bike. Over the scuffs along her side. Over the broken foot peg and the missing side mirror.

"Mostly cosmetic, but I'd be happy to look it over. Run some diagnostics and such. When'd it happen?"

Johnny checked his watch, only to find the screen smashed to shit. He plucked his phone off the mount and went back through his route history. "About... forty five minutes ago?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Price's POV)

The man in front of him was a tough bastard if he was standing outside the garage only 45 minutes post-accident.

John's eyes roved over his figure. In the dim light outside the garage, the only wear and tear he could see was a scuff on his right glove. But given the damage on the left side of the bike, John suspected that a majority of the issues were currently bathed in the darkness of their driveway.

"My name's John, but most just call me ‘Cap’."

The man nodded his helmeted head, sticking out his right hand. John shook it with a significantly more gentle touch than he normally would. The last thing he wanted to do was make the man’s injuries worse.

"Soap- that's what- people call me Soap."

John wasn't about to judge him, given that his business partner seemed to think 'Ghost' was a suitable way to introduce himself.  "Why don't we put her in one of the indoor bays?"

John opened the smaller roller door behind Bay 3 and took the bike from Soap's hands once he had put the kickstand back up. The three bays around the back were mostly reserved for bikes, given the smaller entrance points. Though, Bay 4 was permanently taken up by Gaz's poker table and Simon's Harley.

He set Soap's bike up in Bay 5, before turning his attention back to their new client. John had been correct to assume the damage was primarily on his left side.

There was a large graze down the side of his thigh. Denim torn and spotted with blood. Scuffs ran up the length of his left arm, with a deep gouge out of the leather on his shoulder. But what he was most concerned about was the scratch on the side of his helmet.

"You need to get checked out by a doctor, son."

Soap jolted, as if he hadn't expected John to speak. Even with the dark visor hiding his features, John could see his hesitation.

"Ahm not a... huge fan o' hospitals."

John walked around the bike to stand in front of the other man. A hand made its way onto Soap's right shoulder.

"One of my boys is a retired army medic. Wha'd you say to lettin’ ‘im check you out?"

Soap was quiet for a long moment. But then he reached up and unclipped his chin-strap, before pulling the helmet off his head.

The first thing John's eyes were drawn to was the dark, overgrown mohawk. But his attention soon shifted to Soap's eyes. A beautiful ocean blue. Too blue. It was unusual to see on someone real. Most people with eyes like Soap's were confined to TV screens.

The third thing he noticed was the bloody cut slicing through his eyebrow. And the fourth? The fact that he was exactly Simon's type. Almost ridiculously so.

"Ah guess that'd be okay. Mah leg is a wee bit sore."

"I can imagine," John snorted, taking Soap's helmet from him and guiding him towards the door to their staff room.

He set the helmet on the break table and waved for Soap to sit on the couch. "Back in a moment."

John quickly made his way back into the office. It was nearly 4 in the morning, but Gaz always got up early. He was usually in by 6. So John had no issue calling him.

The phone only rang twice before Gaz's familiar voice answered.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in early?"

"Why?"

Despite the question, John knew Gaz was already getting up and ready to make his way over. And it wasn't just because he could hear the man moving around.

"Had a client come in. Crashed 'is bike. Need you to check 'im out."

Gaz hummed. "Ghost is the bike expert, Cap."

"No. I need you to check the client out, not the bike. He doesn't want to go to the hospital. Stands like a vet."

"Oh, shit. Okay. I'll be over in ten."

Gaz hung up before John could say 'thank you'.

Pre-emptively, he grabbed the first aid kit Gaz kept under the front desk and made his way back to the staff room.

Soap was sitting where he'd left him. Though, he'd taken the chance to peel his jacket off and drape it over the back of the couch - torn shoulder side up.

John dropped the kit onto the table before moving to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Soap took it with a grateful smile and a wince.

There wasn't much John was comfortable doing without Gaz present. But he could at least give Soap some gauze and direct his own hand to the cut on his eyebrow.

"Any ideas on how you got that one?"

Soap glanced over at his helmet. "Ah think mah intercom came loose. Ah don't know. Ah just remember somethin' cracking an' then hittin' me. It might still be in there."

John grabbed the helmet from where he had placed it. Inspecting the inside he saw that, sure enough, the bracket for the internal mic had snapped and was hanging by its wire. There was a sharp shard of plastic jutting out of the end of it.

John unplugged the jack and held up the offending piece equipment for Soap to see. "Yer right."

Soap merely nodded, taking a swig of his water with his free hand. "Ah'm just glad that mah eye's still in mah fookin’ skull."

John laughed. The kid had a good sense of humour. Unfortunately.

He was definitely Simon's type.

[love-toxin]

Hiya! Was wondering if you could do Xv: “we shouldn’t be seen together” and xxxviii: "I'll never hurt you like that again." With a kinda toxic steve? Like say you’re not very popular or pretty and he doesn’t want people to know you’re dating still p far into your relationship, even though behind closed doors he is devoted to you. But with a happy ending where he realises he loves you more than his title of king of Hawkins high or smth

okay but this idea drove me INSANE you're so hot for this anon 😩

ellie's sentence starter prompts

xv - "We shouldn't be seen together."

xxxviii - "I'll never hurt you like that again."

(cws: mildly toxic steve, angst to fluff, crying, implied bullying, happy ending)

"We shouldn't be seen together."

If you had thought your boyfriend would ever say something like that to your face, you wouldn't have risked saying yes to a date with him in the first place. You thought Steve was different, that he was the nice one out of the popular crowd, that he could look past your unpopularity that borderlines on social exclusion for the sake of love. That he wouldn't even care about that at all, because he loves you so much and is so devoted to you.

But that one sentence, hurried out as he walked away from you when you had been quietly arguing at his locker, just shattered that whole façade you had built up. He hadn't even looked at you, already turning his eyes away as the bell rang and he walked off towards his second class of the day. And as much as you've never wanted to be the person that would cry in the bathroom stalls over a boy, that's exactly what you had done for most of second period until the bell had rang, and you considered eating your lunch there too. Just so you wouldn't have to deal with looking at Steve from across the cafeteria as you ate in silence.

But with one foot in front of the other, you slowly make your way out the door and towards the mirror over the sink. Splash your face with cold water, dry your tears, fix your hair and your crumpled clothes from hunching over yourself for so long. Maybe you should break up with him. That's a thought you've been struggling with, but it's so big you don't know how to even start, if that's even what you want to do. You don't want to be unhappy--you rummage through your backpack to look for your drink--but being alone is just as scary. The sip from your water bottle clears your throat but not your head, and by the time you throw it back in, zip it up, and move out the door and down the hall towards the cafeteria you're really wondering if you actually want to see Steve at all. Maybe you don't.

But as soon as you step through the doors, you do. And he's not surrounded by Tommy H. and Carol and Nancy as usual, not chatting them up and being loud and talking with his mouth full. You watch for a second as he sits quietly at a table he's never sat at before, looking around with his hands clasped like he's searching for someone in the crowd. Alone, nervous, his lunch sitting uneaten and untouched in front of him. If you were stronger, you would walk right past him and take a seat anywhere else.

But you're not. You head towards him like he's a neon light, a sign flashing in the dark that reads "come here". His brown eyes light up like one as soon as he catches yours, and they glimmer in little pools of honey and chocolate as you draw closer and closer until you're standing over the bench opposite to him.

"Hey," The breath he was holding doesn't seem to come out until you're completely committed to taking a seat, your backpack dropped on the table as you tentatively put one leg over the bench, then the other. You shouldn't be anxious about sitting across from your boyfriend in public, but it does draw out those questions that you're sure you don't want to face the answers to. Even though he's smiling, and even though he's looking at you with a tenderness he doesn't usually spare in public.

"I, uh, got you this." He picks up a carton of chocolate milk from his tray--you didn't even notice he had two--and sets it down in front of you. "Had to schmooze up the lunchlady a bit to get it. Didn't know how feisty she was." Steve chuckles at the joke, but it obviously cuts his lightheartedness when you look on at him with that deer-in-the-headlights gaze.

"You said you didn't wanna be seen with me."

It hangs there. Heavy. Steve blinks once, twice, like he can't believe his own words coming out of your mouth, but he's reaching across the table before he can pull his arm away.

"Baby, I didn't mean it like that." That head tilts as he speaks, his voice soft and intentionally sweet. He knows how to draw you in.

"Yes you did." Your chest keeps tightening, your throat cinches closed, your eyes sting--all the telltale signs that you're about to cry again, about to release all those tears you had to muffle whenever someone else came into the bathroom last period. "If you don't want to be with me, then just say it out loud. You can show all your friends how cool you are for dumping the biggest loser in Hawkins," You sniffle, hands immediately pulling at your hoodie--which is Steve's old hoodie, actually--to try and hide the tears that are already starting to pool in your eyes. Struggling to keep your voice together has already started drawing attention, and if not for that sad, puppy-dog expression on Steve's face, you would be running away to go hide already. Damn him. Damn him to hell for making you fall in love with him.

You know he's gonna walk away, gonna get up and pretend nothing happened, go back to his friends and act like everything's normal. You're so sure of it that his palm thudding against the table startles you, and him pushing his tray aside and getting up to his feet even more so. You can only watch in shock as Steve climbs up the bench, and takes a step on to the table to stand there above everybody, his voice ringing louder than the chatter and hubbub of your fellow class body as he starts speaking out to all of them.

"If I can have everyone's attention-"

"Steve!" You whisper, glancing around and feeling dread spike through your chest at everyone's eyes on him, and on you. He ignores you, though, and part of you is thinking of ditching your backpack and just running, because this can't be good. Your life is over.

"-This person right here," He extends his hand out to you, and you balk at all the faces staring back at you, whether with blank curiosity or grinning malice. "They are....everything to me."

He pauses for a second, and your heart drops at the whispers and giggles exchanged among the crowd. Whatever he's doing...what is he doing? "And I've been a huge a-hole to them for a while, now. Looking back, I can't believe they've stayed with me, because I seriously don't deserve it. I don't deserve them." Steve finally turns to face you, his sneakers shuffling against the varnished top of the table and his hands held out towards you, so there's absolutely no doubt as to who he's addressing. "But I wanna tell you I'm sorry. I'll never hurt you like that again. And everyone in this room can hold me to that."

He kneels in front of you, hands pulling at yours to hold them in each one, and your wide eyes look from your lap to meet his gaze that feels like it pierces you straight through. These are things Steve would only say in the dark in his bedroom or the quiet of his car, in the privacy of a place where nobody else's ears would be privy to the things he whispers to you and smile he shoots your way.

"I love you, baby."

To your shock, a semi-collective "aww" arises primarily from a group of girls across the cafeteria, while the rest keep quiet and shocked at the revelation--the king of Hawkins High denouncing his kingliness to stoop to your level. It will be laughable to most after the fact, when he walks down the hallways and gets jeered at and playfully teased for his little stunt, even moreso if people catch wind of you holding hands or him kissing you at your locker. Things he's wanted to do but was too scared to. But as if he cares--that's obvious when he's focused completely on the softest "I-I love you too," that finally comes out of you, and relaxes that tension in his shoulders that you didn't realize was pulling him so taut. There's only one thing that could interrupt this moment you never thought would come.

"Baaaaarf!" The voice of Eddie Munson is the only one that rises above the murmur of the crowd, hands cupped around his mouth for it to echo and his grin as close to shit-eating as it can get when Steve's head and yours and everyone's swivel to see the source.

"Shut it, Munson!" Your boyfriend calls back with the most miniscule amount of malice, more amused than annoyed as he finally hops off the table next to you. And the moment passes, the tension has been broken by Hellfire's leader, and the cafeteria goes back to normalcy and a bubbling chatter that fills the retreating silence. Your backpack is pushed even further aside as Steve cozies up closer to your side than he's ever been comfortable with before, and pulls his lunch tray over to dig into his food like he didn't just confess his love to you in front of practically the whole school.

And you? You hold for a moment or two, wondering if maybe this is all a dream you've brewed up to protect your own feelings. But eventually, your fingers graze the carton of milk sitting in front of you, and you pick it up, still cold against your palms as you pinch the top and push it open to take a sip. And for once, you smile as you drink, knowing the arm that slides around you won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

[mandowifey]

she/her

hobbies:drawing somtimes ,making bracelets and thinking about dick loudly in silence

EEBY DEEBY

Since you dm'ed me, I know its you @ethanhoewke . You're lucky I like you 😏

I assign you; Jolly the Space Pimp

Notes: This is SFW but does contain strong language, alcohol, and drug consumption, allusions to sex work, and mentions of other naughty things. This has not been proofed.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The smell of smoke and body odor permeated the air. Too many bodies trying to squeeze along the narrow walkways between locations, suffocating you as you fought to head in the opposite direction. When a friend of yours mentioned Alpha being compact and teeming with traffic, you hadn't quite imagined this.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Hey!"

"My tail!"

The number of times you had hastily muttered an apology made you realize there were only so many ways to say 'my bad'. Still, you pressed, determined to get to the address that had been sloppily scrawled across a piece of paper. Clutching it in your right hand, you shoulder through an alien shaped like a giant blue pear and receive a string of foreign curses in retaliation.

A bright pink neon sign that reads 'Glam Club' tells you that you've made it. Here, the space is wider with more room to breathe. You glance around, taking note of the lovely women trying to coerce patrons inside. The bouncers standing broad and intimidating at the entryway caught your lingering stare.

"Heya sport! Lookin' for somethin' particular?"

The voice made you jump and yelp, your head on a swivel as you twirled.

Standing before you was a flamboyantly dressed man wearing a cowboy hat and mixed clothing that looked thrifted. If it weren't for the neon implanted along the lapels of the jacket, you would've taken notice of his other equally confusing attire. You blink, concluding that this man was a human facsimile of a peacock.

"I'm actually here for a job."

His lips twitch before he blatantly looks you up and down, his brows lifting. The garishly clad man smiles again, flashing charmingly uneven teeth.

"Well, why don't you come with me and we'll talk more about that? I'm the owner of this fine little establishment. You can call me Jolly."

Jolly spoke with the tone of someone who knew they had your ear. Before you could utter a single syllable you felt an arm behind your back and a hand touch your ribs just below your breast. Your mouth hung open as Jolly led you along.

The Glam Club's exterior made you believe the inside would match; grimy and industrial with ample flashing neon signs. You were surprised as you transitioned through the strings of beads in the doorway. From the two minutes you had known Jolly, you understood the luxurious decorations. Beautifully strung curtains, a chandelier with dazzling gems, and a well-polished floor void of any scuff marks.

Jolly could see your surprise and he mirrors your expression, his beryl orbs gleaming with pride. "You weren't expecting that, were yah kid?"

When his voice lilted, you blushed and inclined your head. "No, from what my friend told me, they didn't mention the interior being like a grand hall." That pulled a sharp laugh from the other man, and he bounced on his feet as the two of you moved to the couch and sat.

"Alright, I figure we can jump right into the audition. Show me what you got." He clapped his hands and leaned back with his knees stretched apart. The grin on his face stretched wider as he realized how red you were turning. "You need music? I can turn on music, do you like pop? Synth?" He began to prattle off different genres so fast your head spun.

"No-!" It came out harder and louder than you intended. Your eyes had been drawn to the comfortable space of his lap and knew exactly why he thought you had shown up. "What I mean is, I'm not here for that kind of position." Jolly's face dropped, and he let out an incredulous laugh, he didn't like being caught off guard.

You open your bag and produce a holo-pad that had your resume and information on it. Jolly took it when you offered and frowned as he thumbed along. "Musician?" He chirped and chuckled. "With looks like yours? Are you pulling my leg?" He broke into another wide grin before returning the tablet to you.

Cheeks bright red, you feel heat in your ears and nod at his question. "Yep! I can show you, if you'd like?" Your eyes drift to the grand piano and then back towards the club owner.

Jolly motioned with his hand, granting your wish.

Quickly, you stand and hurry to sit down. Once comfortable, you touch a couple of keys to produce test notes before you begin to play. It came naturally to you, understanding rythym and how to form a melody. Your fingers fly along the board, nimbly working the song and even humming in the back of your throat.

The man behind you laughs raucously and claps his large hands together, delighted. "Woowee kiddo! That's incredible!" He stood and crossed the room to you. "Beautiful and talented. What a lucky man I am." His voice dropped to a sultry purr.

Jolly leans against the piano in your line of sight and smiles again. You were red from top to bottom, and he was drinking you in. "I can start you off on the piano, but I think you should keep your options open." He drummed his fingers along the top and looks at you again, smiling. "How does that sound?"

When you arrived on Alpha, there hadn't been as much opportunity as you hoped for. This was your one chance to make things work, and even though you felt this man wanted to devour every inch of your body, you needed the job. Your hand moves from the piano and gently takes his, squeezing tightly as he grins impishly down at you.

"Good choice."

[heygerald]

HEART MECHANICS - PART 7/9

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x oc

Matty doesn’t like change. 

Like, at all.

But when things in her life start changing faster than she wants them to with no room to argue, she realizes that sometimes change isn’t so bad. Sometimes, it’s better to finally accept that her old habits aren’t always the best habits, and that maybe, just maybe, some rules are meant to be broken. 

Read the story here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / ... / part 8 / part 9

The parking lot was empty when Matty pulled in. 

Not late, for once, not that there was anyone around to see it though.

She pulled her keys from the ignition while attempting to smooth down her flyaway hairs. A glance in the mirror proved that it was a fruitless mission—nothing less than she deserved for driving too fast down the highway with her top down—and for no real reason at all she made sure to glare at her rearview mirror sourly just to feel a little bit better. 

“At least a hot mess is still hot,” she muttered, popped some strawberry gum into her mouth, and swung out of the vehicle. Her uniform boots had been traded off for a pair of red converse that she had taken the laces out of (lost, actually), and her oil stained overalls had been replaced with a pair of jeans that were more gaping holes than fabric, as well as what had to have been a t-shirt bought in the child’s section at Good Will. 

She didn’t remember ever buying it, but one day it showed up in her laundry basket. It was a little too short on the midriff and faded with bleach in some areas, yeah, but it also had a picture of Optimus Prime with large, neon 90’s style lettering splattered across the front. And, well, Transformers fucking rocked so she gladly accepted whatever stroke of luck had placed it in her possession without asking any hard hitting questions as to its existence. Karma rarely worked on her behalf, anyways; she would take whatever gifts she could get. 

A passing parade of elderly women out on an afternoon stroll clearly didn’t agree if the looks they shot her were anything to go by. One even made a subdued comment about the recent downfall of women’s pride in the twenty-first century to her chubby walking partner. 

“Oh, it’s not mine,” she lied, a little too miffed to do anything else. “It’s, uh, a charity... thing. You know, like, I love boobies? But, um... for children. Raising awareness one conversation at a time. Pride has absolutely nothing to do with how I dress.” 

The tallest woman, the leader at the front of the pack, stuck her nose up in the air at the comment and stormed off—an impressive feat given the size of her ankle weights—and without hesitation the others went as well. They reminded Matty of a flock of flamingoes strutting past something unsavory. 

Which...

Rude. 

“It’s laundry day!” she shouted at their retreating figures, somehow feeling equal parts mortified and offended. They gave no response though; just sent her disgruntled looks over their shoulders before disappearing past the parking lot. She watched them go for a moment before letting her arms clap against her legs in defeat. “Note to self: die before ever reaching… whatever age that is.” 

Mind made up on the matter and feeling slightly better about her life, she turned around, hopped up the deck stairs, and walked inside the empty bar with a snap of her chewing gum.

“We’re closed until five.” 

Well. Mostly empty. Amelia Benjamin, daughter extraordinaire, sat at the bar. 

Matty shot her a too-bright grin and strode closer with another snap of her gum; eyes sweeping the empty restaurant for any sign of Penny. The girl took one look at her conniving grin, however, before promptly returning her attention to the textbook spread out before her. 

“What?” Matty drawled whilst snagging the empty stool at her right. “No hello, Matty, dear friend and role model, how are you? And here I thought the local diner had bad customer service.”  

Amelia sighed out through her nose. Still, Matty caught the way that her lips curled up at the side, even if she tried to hide it behind a flip of her hair. 

“I don’t work here,” she said. “And you’re not my role model.” 

“Wow,” Matty deadpanned, clutching at her heart in mock pain. “That hurts, kid. I thought we were past this, but apparently puberty can turn even the best of friends against each other.” 

The only response Amelia gave was the scrunching of her nose. “Ew.” 

“Yeah, you’re telling me. Just wait a couple of years until you’re a senior in high school, every boy you meet shares exactly one brain cell, you have to deal with both zits and college applications, and the only good beer you can get is Bud Light.” 

Amelia paused in her writing to glance at Matty. “The drinking age is twenty-one.”

“Eh, pretty sure that’s just a recommendation,” Matty said with a shrug. Amelia clearly wasn’t convinced, however, and the blonde completely ignored the look that she was getting to bend over into the younger girl’s space. “Homework?”

“Duh.” 

“Subject?”

“Math.” 

“Gross.”

“Yup.” 

Matty abandoned the elaborate equations written out in neat, swirly lettering to glance around the bar. Math had never been her thing, let alone something she was interested in having to relieve just in hopes of extending a conversation. The kitchen seemed empty, as did the Adirondacks out back, but Penny rarely left her daughter unattended at The Hard Deck. Curious, she asked, “where’s your mom?”

To that, Amelia finally leaned away from her homework. “Out with Pete,” she said, nose scrunching up once more. 

This time, however, it wasn’t directed at Matty, and she couldn’t help but wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. “Ooh la la. Are we expecting her back anytime soon or is this more of a ‘they’re in the middle of playing hide zucchini’ type situation?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Amelia said.

“Oh, well, just imagine that Pete is the zucchini, you know, because he’s got a—” 

“Ugh!” Amelia clapped her hands onto her ears with a terrified shriek. Matty grinned at the reaction, and in response the girl’s terror filled eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s disgusting, Matty! God! Don’t say stuff like that; that’s my mom we’re talking about here.” 

“You do understand the physics of how you got here, right?” Matty poked fun.

Amelia, if possible, turned an even brighter shade of red that was impossible to hide behind her sheet of hair. “I—shut up! That was forever ago and it was with my dad and it definitely wasn’t with—with Pete!” 

“Hey,” Matty drawled, eyebrows arching up towards her hairline as she spotted a nearby jar of cherries. Popping one into her mouth distractedly, she pondered, “what’s so wrong with Mav? He’s a good looking dude. Objectively, anyways. His personality is definitely off putting.” 

“He’s, like, fifty,” Amelia said, as if that explained everything. 

“And you’re, like, fifteen. Give it time, kiddo. Right now you’re probably obsessed with an age appropriate heart throb like, I don’t know, the youth’s equivalent of Mario Lopez or whatever—” 

“Don’t say the youths,” Amelia interrupted her, only to be promptly ignored as Matty chomped on another cherry with her hand waving in the air in a vague gesture even she couldn’t make out.

“And then the next thing you know you’re going to sit down to rewatch The Lord of the Rings and suddenly—wham! The old fucker who plays Elrond is all you can think about at volleyball practice. It becomes this weird obsession thing and now you can’t watch those movies again without mentally asking yourself how much of an age gap you could put up with, which, trust me, can be an upsetting question to answer. Before you know it, decades have passed and you’re no closer to meeting the man of your dreams that you were when you were fifteen, only the man of your dreams is a lot less… dreamy.” 

Amelia blinked at Matty slowly, taking that in. “I honestly didn’t get any of that,” she said. 

Matty, in turn, blinked right back at her. “...so… when did you say your mom would be back?”

“I’m not sure. Definitely by five, but that’s all I know,” she said, shrugging, sighing, staring at her homework with a forlorn expression. A wince crossed her features as she settled her chin onto her left hand despondently. “Hopefully soon. I’m hungry.” 

“Isn’t there a kitchen right back there?”

“No cook.” 

“Damn.” 

“Yup.” 

The two girls—one a slowly growing pre-teen, one an adult who still acted like a pre-teen—both leaned onto the bar with matching sighs of disappointment. Amelia tapped her pencil against her notebook. Matty watched as the clock ticked by, counting the seconds.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four— 

“So, do you want to blow off your homework and go get food or…?” Matty blurted out, self-control a record low. Amelia’s pencil paused mid-air as she gave her a surprised look. “I mean, not, like, blow off your homework because it’s still gonna be here when we get back. You know. It can’t walk on its own or anything.”

Amelia’s gaze narrowed. “Can I pick?”

“I suppose.”

“And you’ll pay?”

“What am I, Make a Wish?” she scoffed.

To that, the girl gave a nonchalant shrug and slowly swiveled back to her homework. “Well, if you’re not going to pay, then I suppose I can wait until Mom gets back. But it’ll probably be awhile. You know how Pete can get when he has his motorcycle. I think he took her to some little café up the coast; said they’d be lucky to get back before —”

“Okay, Jesus,” Matty gave in, arms thrown up in the air. “I’ll pay. If I don’t die of boredom, first. But we’re not going anywhere expensive. I’m not made of money, you know. And there’s, like, a recession going on. Pretty sure, anyways.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Amelia said, sliding off of her stool to give Matty a pat on the shoulder. Then, as if that wasn’t dramatic enough, she gave Matty’s outfit a look full of pity and commented, “I’ve seen your phone, Matts. Maybe you should consider writing to Make a Wish.” 

Matty’s jaw was on the floor when the pre-teen sashayed towards the front door. 

She paused only to shoot the blonde an impish smirk. “Are you coming? I’m starving.” 

Then, she promptly stepped out of the bar and made her way towards Matty’s jeep. Another relic that she eyed with a pitying look. In response, Matty took a moment to pick her jaw off the floor before she was exploding out of the building like a bat out of hell.

“There’s nothing wrong with my phone! ” she shouted. “It’s a classic!”

Amelia, already sitting in the passenger seat of her jeep, glanced up from what she was holding in her lap—unfortunately for Matty what she was holding in her lap was the ten year old sleeve of CD’s that was typically clung to the visor. “NSYNC? Seriously? Talk about old.”

“Alright kid, new rule,” she chirped, snatching the CD out of Amelia’s hands. With a glare, she shoved it into the CD player, swung her sunglasses low onto the bridge of her nose, and turned the volume dial to max. “Driver picks the music; passenger shuts her pie hole. Yeah? Now, stop talking, and let me teach you everything there is to know about teenage hormones.” 

Amelia shook her head with a laugh; from the stack of junk that was scattered through Matty’s car, she managed to find a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses that she settled onto her own face. “Just don’t get a speeding ticket, okay? Technically, Mom told me that I’m not allowed to ride with you after the last time.” 

“That was a total fluke,” Matty argued as she pulled out of her parking space. NSYNC was just starting to bump her stereo and, when Amelia glanced down at her phone, Matty took the opportunity to crumple up the stash of parking tickets that were currently stuffed into the cupholder. When Amelia looked back over at her she just gave an innocent smile. “Besides, if anyone is upset about that it’s me. Everyone goes fifty in a twenty-five.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Amelia said as they peeled out onto the road. “But I think you should spend less time with Pete.” 

Matty just laughed. And, when Amelia started singing along to the third song on her CD, she was in a good enough mood to even buy Amelia an extra-large milkshake along with her dinner. 

---

Turns out, music and food was the key to any angsty child’s heart. By the time they made it to In N’ Out down the coast, Amelia was singing along to the catchy, timeless tunes of the quintessential boyband. And after they got their too-large orders of fries, burgers, and milkshakes, Amelia had even insisted on taking a couple selfies with Matty in what she dubbed “golden hour” lighting of the afternoon. One of the pictures even made it onto her Instagram account—not that Matty had been paying attention—while the others just cluttered up her phone. 

More than that, but once she had been fed, she had been in a good enough mood to let Matty take a quick detour to the nearby surf shop so she could peruse some boards that she definitely couldn’t afford. The downside of that interaction was that even when well fed, Amelia made sure to point out the issue she took with Matty spending money on hobbies when she couldn’t even be bothered to upgrade to a smartphone. 

“I don’t need a smartphone,” Matty told her primly. “When you’re as stunningly hot as I am, Amelia, you have to learn to live in the moment. This body isn’t going to last forever.” 

“You’re not even thirty yet,” Amelia shot back incredulously.

“And I’ll be lucky to make it to then with how stupid the mechanics are on base. Total morons. All of them.” 

Amelia cocked a hip, heart-shaped sunglasses low on her nose, and gave Matty her best impression of Regina George. “You are a mechanic on base.”

“No duh,” Matty had shot back just as quickly while running her hand over a neon green surfboard that matched the writing on her t-shirt a little too well. Karma who? “The problem here is that, while I’m not an idiot, I’m in charge of a fuck-ton of idiots. Idiots who don’t like to be yelled at or called teenie-weenies when they need to be knocked down a peg. How long do you think that shit is gonna last before one of them murders me?”

“You could just try to be nicer,” Amelia said with such innocence that Matty couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh. Glen, the owner of the store who—on more than one occasion—had watched Matty verbally berate local gym bros that tried to mansplain what surfboard wax was used for laughed as well. 

And he was all the way on the other side of the store. 

Amelia frowned, not understanding how what she said was wrong. Matty, now wiping tears from beneath her eyes, didn’t bother to explain it. Just simply pat the girl on the back before ushering her down the next aisle. “Come on, kid. Let’s be realistic here. Now, do you like the blue wetsuit better or the white? I accidentally shrunk my last one in the dryer.” 

Their aimless wandering lasted long enough for Matty to buy a new bikini that definitely wouldn’t be practical to surf in. It was cute though; not to mention half-off. At that point Amelia had ended up corralling them back outside before it got too late. Matty wouldn’t have minded spending a little bit longer talking with Glen about his latest shipment of boards, but Amelia was stronger than she looked and Matty hadn’t wanted to risk her arm being pulled out of socket. 

Fine enough; they made it back before traffic could get too horrible. Unfortunately, the bar was already open by then. Not full, though, and Matty managed to pull into the same parking space as before with a satisfied smile. Amelia didn’t seem to care any which way. 

“Can I keep these?” she asked as they made their way inside, poking the sunglasses in question back and forth on her face. 

“They’re not mine,” Matty shrugged while surveying the faces in the bar. A few frequents stood out to her. None that were Penny. “Keep ‘em.” 

Amelia, not even bothered about her mom’s presence (or lack of), frowned over at Matty from beneath said glasses. “What do you mean they’re not yours? I found them in your back seat. Did you steal them or something?”

“What? No! Of course not. Why is theft the first thing you think of?”

“Well if you didn’t steal them then...?”

Matty paused. She remembered the sunglasses vaguely from a night out with Claire a couple months back. The girls started drinking mimosas early that particular Saturday morning saying that they were going to go easy and relax after a long week. However, one mimosa turned into two, and ten hours later they found themselves in downtown San Diego at a drag bar with a bachelorette party that they had somehow been invited to. The women were nice, more than happy to bring two new girls into the mix, and they all had matching outfits of pink and red and white. Actually, if Matty squinted hard enough she could envision a blurry bride in a red sparkly dress with a pair of equally red sunglasses that looked sorta like—

“You know what? Keep them! They were a... gift.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yup,” she popped her ‘p’ with a poignant smack of the lips. “They look better on you, anyways.” 

Amelia grinned. Matty, not wanting to even consider the circumstances in which she had obtained such glasses, just patted the girl awkwardly on the head before catching sight of Penny over her shoulder. Relieved, she pulled Amelia towards the other end of the bar. 

“Penny, there you are,” she started. “Have you seen—?”

“Where on Earth have you been, Amelia?” she cut Matty off with a cocked hip and the most motherly glare the woman could possibly produce. Matty froze in her shoes at being on the receiving end of it. This was the look that drunks typically got before being booted from The Hard Deck. 

Matty promptly cleared her throat before shoving Amelia to the battlefront with a fake cough. She couldn’t see the glare—you know, because of the sunglasses—but boy could she feel it. 

“We, um, went to get food,” Amelia started, now feeling her mother’s ire a little bit more.

“Food?” Penny deadpanned.

“Yeah. Didn’t Matty text you?”

Penny pulled her phone out of her back packet with a pointed look, before reading, “Stole your daughter, be back by…” she trailed off. Then, as if to punctuate the point she was making, she shoved her phone towards the pair to show that the text was exactly as she read it. “You didn’t even finish the text.” 

Matty rubbed the back of her neck with a wince. “Right. I was going to, and then… um. I got distracted. Guess I sent it without spell checking.” 

Penny arched her brow. “I called you twice since then. I thought the rule was to always answer the phone, Amelia,” she told her daughter. Her facade of anger was cracking a bit as it gave way to acceptance. 

“Oh,” Amelia faltered. “Our music was kind of... loud.”

“Your music?”

“It was NSYNC if that makes it any better,” Matty added. Penny said nothing. Just shot Matty a dry look. “Yup, nope, the band wouldn’t really matter. Got it.” 

The stare off continued for another moment before Penny finally relented. Probably more to do with the fact that they hadn’t been doing anything wrong per say, and less to do with the fact that Matty was trying to offer up her saddest wounded dog impression. 

Actually, yeah, it had nothing to do with that. Matty was never very good at looking innocent. 

Whatever.

What was important was that Penny wasn’t too mad. Sighing, she just tossed her dish towel over her shoulder before waving her hands at them. “Alright, fine. Just go finish your homework please, Amelia? Sarah is coming in at seven and I can drive us home then.” 

Amelia’s shoulders sagged with relief. Then she grinned. “Great. Thanks!” 

She moved to walk away without saying anything else, and Matty, not being able to help herself, cleared her throat as pointedly as she could. In turn, the pre-teen paused. 

“Okay, fine. NSYNC isn’t that bad I guess,” she said as if that was the most important thing. Then she disappeared down to where her homework still sat. Matty watched in disbelief as the girl gathered everything up and promptly moved to the back deck where it wasn’t nearly as loud.

Scoffing as dramatically as she could manage, she turned to Penny, and told her, “I bought her, like, twenty dollars worth of food! I mean seriously, Pen, she just wouldn’t stop eating! And gave her a pair of sunglasses for free.” 

It seemed that she was complaining to the wrong audience. Penny had no sympathy to give.

“Ugh, whatever,” she muttered. “I guess it’s a thankless job or whatever.” 

“Kidnapping my daughter?”

“Ministering to the youths.” 

Despite her earlier mood, the absurdity of the statement cracked a laugh out of Penny. It almost always did—the woman could hardly ever stay mad at Matty. She liked to think it’s because Penny understood who Matty was on a spiritual level. In reality, it was just because Penny couldn’t believe someone with a trainwreck of a life like the Neven’s could still manage to function. 

It was pretty much free entertainment. 

“I think the idea of you ministering anything to my daughter is more concerning than the kidnapping.”

“It was hardly a kidnapping,” she joked, sliding onto an empty stool. “Other than teaching her about NSYNC, Amelia did most of the talking. Did you know that Abby told Kasey that she was only allowed to invite two girls to her birthday party but then Mary G. found out that she was actually just lying because she was still mad at Kasey for kissing Aidan when she knows that Abby still had feelings for him after they danced together at the Spring Fling?”

Penny, both impressed that Matty had been able to retain that sort of information, and bewildered by everything she had just said, asked, “do you know who any of those people are?”

“Not a clue,” she admitted. Shrugged. Snuck another cherry off the bar before Penny could swat her with the dish towel. “I think that milkshake had too much sugar in it. Lesson learned.” 

“Well, I’m glad that you two had fun. Is there a reason that you decided to take her out to dinner?”

“Actually, yes, thank you for asking. I came looking for something. When we were here the other night I think I forgot my—” before she could explain herself, Penny withdrew a pair of shoes from a shelf beneath the bar with an amused smile. “Shoes. What a wonderful surprise. Thank you, these cost me twenty bucks.” 

“I’m more worried that you went home without shoes than the fact you paid twenty dollars on those shoes,” Penny snickered.

Matty blew a raspberry. “Mock all you want. These babies have seen a lot. They were worth the money.”

Penny raised her hands and leaned back onto the bar. “I don’t even want to know.” 

“That’s probably for the best,” she agreed, grinning. “Not that I would tell you half of the stories. State secrets and all that,” she exaggerated while setting the shoes aside with a loving look. The look shifted a bit when she glanced back up at Penny; this time, she was the curious one. “Speaking of state secrets, where have you been all evening? I heard that you were out on a date.” 

She didn’t even flinch. “It wasn’t a date.” 

“Rendezvous, an afternoon romp, a tryst, whatever you want to call it,” she supplemented without missing a beat. Penny grew more exasperated with each word, much to her amusement, and as she stuffed another cherry into her mouth she raised both brows. “How’s Mav?”

“None of your business.” 

“Ooh, that good huh?”

Penny hit Matty with her towel, forcing the blonde to lean back off the counter and away with the cherries. She laughed as she did so, however. “We had fun. But, maybe you should talk to him.”

“About his sex life?” she deadpanned, making a face. “No thanks.” 

“About his work life,” Penny said with a pointed, if not, amused look. To this, Matty settled down a bit. She hadn’t been expecting the change in conversation, but any gossip was good gossip when it came to the life of Maverick. “Cyclone is pulling him out of Top Gun.”

“What?” she cried. “That’s ridiculous. Why?”

“Ice isn’t here anymore,” Penny told her, serious for the first time since they started talking. And, fuck, if that wasn’t a bitch of a sentence to hear even if it was true. Matty just hadn’t thought that things would change so quickly since the funeral. Hadn’t wanted to think about it, maybe. “Yeah. Cyclone doesn’t think he’s right for it anymore.”

“And what does Mav think?”

Penny was quiet for a long moment. Matty didn’t really need an answer. 

“Where is he?” she asked. And, when she got an answer, she didn’t hesitate to go looking for him. Even if they weren’t best friends, even if he wasn’t her godfather, she still owed him a conversation at the very least. Penny appreciated that; was happy to see it too.

And when Matty had pulled out of the parking lot with intent and Penny saw that she had left her boots on their stool, she could only shake her head with a sigh. 

“Note to self,” she muttered, stuffing the shoes back to their hiding spot beneath the counter, “don’t ever buy that girl anything expensive.”

---

The traffic on base was relatively nonexistent as Matty cruised through. Most people had gone home for the day, and the ones that hadn’t were slowly easing themselves along the roads without much hurry. It made her lift her foot from the gas pedal a little bit. It worked out well in the end; driving slowly kept away the MP, and it also gave her the opportunity to spot Mav on the opposite side of one of the training fields doing sprints. 

She parked, took the keys out, but didn’t approach just yet. Instead, Matty propped her shoes up on the dashboard, threw a stick of gum in her mouth, and started twiddling with the Etch N’ Sketch that she kept in her car for moments like this. 

Okay, well, really it was in her car because she never cleaned, but whatever. 

By the time that Maverick finally took a break from his self-imposed torture, the sun was low on the horizon, the air had a bit of a stickiness to it, and Matty was halfway through doodling a two headed dragon. Well, if you squinted. She wasn’t all that much of an artist. Still. 

“Did Penny send you after me?” he asked her, slowly making his way in her direction. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, his back, his legs. She grimaced at the sight before tossing him a half empty water bottle. He gave it a glance over before sipping on the lukewarm water tentatively.

“No. I was just on base, saw you running. Thought that you might throw out your back before the night was over. Didn’t want to miss the spectacle of you being shoved into an ambulance,” she lied seamlessly. Mav chuckled; she wasn’t sure if he believed her, but he didn’t call her out on it anyways. “Why would Penny send me after you?”

He squinted into the sunset. “They’re kicking me out of the program.” 

“They can’t do that.” 

“They can,” he said, blinked in a moment of thought, and then added, “I’m a little surprised that it took them this long, actually. I don’t think teaching is really my thing.” 

Matty rolled her eyes. “That’s a load of bullshit.” 

Mav, not quite expecting such bluntless, glanced at her. “Come on, Matts. You don’t need to coddle me. I’m a disaster in the classroom; I knew that twenty-five years ago when I tried this the first time around.”

“No shit,” she deadpanned. His lips drifted down into a frown, eyebrows furrowing into a tense line in the middle, and she tossed her Etch N’ Sketch into the backseat with a sigh. “Mav, obviously you’re bad at teaching in a classroom. You’ve never exactly been the sort of guy to sit down and read a textbook.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Oh, shut up, I’m not done,” she told him. The conviction in her voice was purposeful, the eye roll wasn’t. “Just because you can’t lecture well doesn’t mean you can’t teach. You have, like, decades of experience. Good experience doing things that no sane person would ever do. Bradley told me that he had never seen someone fly like you did during training exercises.” 

The light moved on Maverick’s face as he shifted on his feet, glancing at her in abate curiosity. “He said that?” he asked. Her mouth tightened into a scowl, however, and the conversation moved on with a cough. “Cyclone knows that I have experience. It was one of the reasons that he didn’t want me here in the first place. My file isn’t exactly…” 

“Short?”

He scoffed. “You could say that.” 

Matty shrugged, waving a hand around vaguely as she tucked her sneakers under herself. “What does Cyclone know anyways?”

“A lot,” Maverick said. “Being a Vice Admiral and all.” 

“Vice Admiral or not he doesn’t know everything.” 

Maverick finished the last of her water thoughtfully. As he glanced around, down at his foot, out into the sunset, Matty could see the age lines deepening on his face. It was a bittersweet thing; oftentimes, she liked to think of her Dad and Maverick and all the other pilots as relics, sure, but also as untouched by time. They were so lively, so fun, so young and bold that it could be difficult to acknowledge that they aged like real people. Changed. 

Got sick. 

Died. 

She cleared the weight in her throat awkwardly. “Look, believe it or not, I didn’t come out here to give you a pep talk. You know what you’re capable of, and you know what this job requires. But…”

He lifted a brow. “But?” he asked pointedly.

“I’ve never known you to walk away from something.” 

The lines on his face tightened, the age deepening by a decade. Maverick tossed her empty water bottle into a nearby trash can with a beleaguered sigh. “Penny said the same thing, but some things are out of my control.”

“Since when?” she scoffed. “Ice told me that you ended up here because you crashed going Mach 10 over the desert.”

“Crashing wasn’t exactly my goal,” he told her dryly.

“Yeah, well, there’s consequences to everything. You know what you’re capable of. I guess you just need to figure out what consequences you can live with and which you can’t,” she said. It was oddly poetic, and maybe one of the most sensible things she had ever told anybody in her life. Maverick seemed aware of this as his mouth lifted into a smile. Cheeks reddening, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “now seriously are you going to put a shirt on or what?”

To that, he laughed. Glanced down at his bare chest, then to her, and then laughed again. 

“You know,” he told her while stooping down to pull his shirt out of the discarded bag on the ground. When she caught his gaze over the crook of his shoulder, his eyes were sparkling. “I bet if I was Rooster you wouldn’t mind so much.” 

“That’s—that’s not even—” she spluttered, mortified, horrified, and a little bit scandalized. “Shut up!” 

He made no promise, and by the time that he was climbing onto his motorcycle, Matty made sure that her volume dial was turned back to max so that she wouldn’t have to hear him if he didn’t. 

---

“I think I’m going to quit,” Matty declared suddenly as she flopped back onto the damp sand. It’s a declarative statement spoken loud enough to garner her friend’s attention, but oddly enough, not a single person believes the statement itself. To that, she stuck her nose up into the air. “I am! I’ve had it with this life. My back hurts like a bitch and I’m tired of never having a manicure last. Plus, I’d rather spend all my time at the beach like this.” 

“Sure, Sheila,” Boomer deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he catches a bright orange football that he and George have been tossing around to pass the time. Earlier, the group had indulged in a short game of flag football that had resulted in Matty getting knocked on her ass one too many times to count, but now it was just the pair entertaining themselves as they waited for sunset. Though the group had gotten to the beach around dinner to find themselves a little piece of sand, the rest of the beach had slowly but surely gotten fuller as night set out. It was the first annual night surfing event of the year—with the weather deemed good enough and the midnight swells tall enough—and the air crackled with anticipation as locals showed up. “I’d reckon you’d last all of two days before you come back to work.”

“Don’t think I can be a lazy body?”

“Think you’d run out of money,” he snorted. 

The others laughed and, as Matty considered it, she figured that he was probably right. Matty had a history of being bad with money. Not so bad that she was always paying off gambling debts like Boomer, mind you, but bad enough that she liked to treat herself when the moment struck.

“I’ll just marry rich then,” she said after a moment of consideration. Upon reaching that conclusion, Matty threw her head back into Claire’s lap—smiling when the brunette arches a brow down at her in challenge—and gave a wistful hum. “I don’t think I’d mind being a trophy wife.” 

“You’d have to be a trophy to be a trophy wife,” Claire chirped.

“Please. Men practically drool when they see me.” 

“And you’re so humble too,” Nick snarked from her side. He had busied himself with setting up a campfire before the night got too dark. Typically, that was Frank’s expertise, but he had elected to go out of town that weekend for a camping trip with some buddies, and so it was up to the young blood to do what no one else wanted to do. “Might have to work on that if you want to keep a guy around.” 

Matty blew a raspberry. “I’d rather work for the rest of my life than dumb myself down for some richie-rich loser.” 

“Two minutes,” Claire announced. “It took you two minutes to come full circle.” 

Matty rolled her eyes up at her friend as Nick laughed under his breath while adjusting the logs just the right way. She knows it’s all in good humor, though, and doesn’t feel particularly aggressive any which way so she just lets them get away with it all. 

“Do you need some help?” she asked him after a few minutes of watching.

Nick arched a brow at her. “Do you know how to build a fire?”

“Well, no, but I’ve seen Frank do it before. It can’t be that hard.” 

Nick and Claire shared a look. She shook her head first, deciding that she was too close to Matty to say anything, which left him to think up some sort of bullshit excuse as to why no one wants Matty to get her hands on a pack of matches. He’s too nice, however, and maybe takes too long because soon enough George rather boldly told her, “I’d rather be cold tonight than have you attempt to build a fire.” 

“Um, excuse me. Rude much?”

“I’ve seen what you can do with a wrench and a can of oil, Mats,” George deadpanned. 

To that, she flapped her hand around at him, vaguely annoyed that he was involved in the conversation at all. “That was one time, and I apologized already. Plus, Cap made me sit through that stupid fire safety course afterwards. I think I’m probably the most qualified here to start a campfire if we want to get all technical about it.” 

The entire group shared a look.

“Listen, I’d love nothin’ more than to watch you bend over the campfire,” Boomer started. She immediately huffed at it, rolled her eyes, already considering smacking him for whatever bullshit he was about to spew, but he steamrolled on without even noticing. Nothing ever seemed to shut him up, really. “But you were just talkin’ about wantin’ to be a trophy wife, yeah? Let little Nicky handle the fire and you can just keep lying there lookin’ pretty for us all.” 

Matty feels mildly offended at everyone’s distrust in her skills, but does realize that Boomer has a point. She would have to get up off the ground and actually try if she wanted to follow through on her proposition. Lying prone in the sand sounded like a much better option. Still, Matty hated admitting defeat. 

“Sexists.” 

“Don’t loop me in with them,” Claire said as she nudged Matty’s head with her knee. “I’d like to see a woman show up a man any day. Just, you know, not you with a campfire.” 

Matty’s pout deepened. “I hate all of you.” 

“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual,” Claire shot right back. It takes nothing more than for Matty to arch a brow in prompting to get an explanation. “I still can’t believe you invited some of the Top Gun idiots out with us tonight. Talk about a betrayal.”

“I didn’t invite them all,” Matty argued. It was true. She had invited Bradley earlier that day when they had run into each other at the mess hall. And by extension she had also invited Natasha and Bob because they were standing right there with him eavesdropping on the entire conversation. She hadn’t intended for anyone else to hear about the shindig, but he had shot her a text about an hour earlier warning her that a few more of the knucklehead pilots might be tagging along. “It’s hardly my fault that Bradley can’t keep a secret to save his life. Besides, it’s not just us here. It’s a community thing.” 

“Sure, but since when are the pilots part of our community?” 

Matty doesn’t let her interrogation go very far. Pointedly, she reminded Claire, “last I recall, you got along with the pilots just fine. I’m pretty sure you would have spent the entire night with Natasha if you hadn’t been dragged away. It was almost adorable how cute you two were together, all huddled up in the corner booth, drinking your beer.” 

Claire is unamused at Matty’s point, but doesn’t argue it. Although no one outrightly said anything about it, the motor pool had their suspicions that Claire might have heart eyes for Phoenix. 

“Whatever. It’s the fact of the matter. Just because you want to bang Bradshaw doesn’t mean we should be stuck with the others as babysitters.” 

“I don’t want to bang him.” 

“Fine, marry, whatever.” 

Matty shoved off of Claire with a glare to which the brunette grinned, pleased to have won the argument. She doesn’t get to say anything else about it though. Before she can, a crying whoop catches the group’s attention, and they turn to watch as a group approaches them from the parking lot. 

Fanboy and Payback are at the front; barreling across the sand, shoving one another on the shoulders, as they race to see who can make it into the water first. They spray sand over Matty and Claire, but are gone before they can be reprimanded. She doesn’t care to see who wins—though, if the way they are wrestling one another, she suspects that neither wants to admit to a loss. Behind them the others trail at a slower pace. Natasha ambles along with Bob, a cooler dangling between their hands. Bradley has a surfboard tucked beneath each arm, jean shorts this time traded for a more appropriate pair of low hanging swim trunks. Behind him, Hangman saunters forward with a beer already cracked in hand, looking much too smug for her liking. Coyote lingers in the far back as he struggles to pull his sweatshirt over head. 

“This isn’t much of a party,” Jake chirped smugly at them. 

“Well it was before you showed up,” Matty shot right back. She catches Bradley’s eye next, and he has the smarts to at least offer a shrug in apology for the blonde having somehow wormed his way into the invitation. She finds that she doesn’t mind all that much though. So long as Seresin watched his attitude. “Ever heard of being a party crasher?”

“Nah.” 

“Course not.” 

“Every party wants me. I’m part of the experience.” 

Matty can’t help but roll her eyes as the others join the group. Claire and Natasha share warm smiles. Bob seems timid as always, but he still offers the pair of women cold beer from his cooler that they accept with appreciative smiles. “Whatever. Maybe you can keep Booms’ attention, huh? The pair of you two are so cute together. Like little best friend puppies or whatever creepy box you came out of.” 

This time it’s Jake who is rolling his eyes. But… 

Well, when he catches Boomer’s eye and realizes that the man has a football in hand, he’s instantly more interested in whatever that might entail than he is in trading barbs with Matty. He splits from the group without saying anything else, and somehow he manages to round Payback and Fanboy out of the water without much prompting. Coyote trails after them as well as Bradley takes a seat beside Matty. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” 

“Long time no see.” 

“Oh, sure. It’s been a whole, what, four hours now? I can’t imagine how you could have survived going that long without seeing me. The withdrawal must be getting pretty bad by now.”

“It’s been hard, not gonna lie,” he teased. Smiled when she pokes her tongue out at him. “Pretty excited to see how bad you are at surfing if I’m being honest.”

“I’m amazing,” she told him.

He clearly doesn’t believe her touting. “Really?”

“You better believe it, Bradshaw. You’re going to see some real talent tonight out on those waves. If you can even keep up.” 

His gaze brightens at the challenge, but also at the way that her voice has adopted something—dare she admit—flirtatious to it in all of five sentences. She’s almost surprised at herself, really; even more surprised that she really doesn’t mind. In fact, Matty is simply happy to sit there talking with Bradley about anything at all. She’s starting to worry that it’s his attention that she can’t get enough of and not the other way around. 

“Yeah, yeah, well I think I’m finally getting used to your smack talk, Neven. It’s not nearly as scary as you think it is.”

“God, say it ain’t so. I must be going soft around you, Bradshaw.” 

“The horror,” he joked.

She smiled, he grins, and in response something happy and soft opened his features up even further. She has caught glimpses of the expression before—in the parking lot when he brought her coffee, at her house when she finally talked to him about her past, on the beach when they were eating tacos in their own little world—and she marks it down as something that she likes seeing. Likes being the cause of. Likes knowing, at least a little, that it’s for her. 

Matty opened her mouth to say something back, to try and tease the expression for a little bit longer, when she came to the horrifying realization that she is surrounded by her friends while falling into some sort of mystified trance. It’s all so high school, really. The way that she seems to forget everything else when Bradley smiles at her. 

Clearing her throat, she turned to find that Claire is already watching her with an all too smug look. Matty arched a brow at her friend sharply. “Don’t you want to play football with the boys?” she prompts. 

It does nothing to scare her off. 

“Nope,” Claire tuts, popping the ‘p’ for extra emphasis. The smugness has gone and grown a head of its own as she slides her gaze towards Bradley. She even makes a show of stretching her legs out in the sand. “I’m plenty comfortable right here. What about you, Nat?”

Natasha, having now joined the group on the ground, seems to understand that she’s in the middle of something. She doesn’t seem to mind though. “All comfy, cozy,” she chirped as well. Her own gaze darts to Bradley. He rolls his eyes at her from behind his beer, but says nothing at all. 

It’s Nick who—once he finally gets the fire going—provokes the group of four from their silent standoff. 

“Anybody feel like playing cards?” he asked them. 

They all peer at one another for a moment. Matty at Claire, Claire at Natasha, Natasha at Bradley, then Bradley over at Mats, before coming to the same conclusion. 

“Yup,” Matty chirps as Claire says, “why not?”

Nick knows nothing of the war that he’s just stepped into. Neither does Bob who somehow manages to plop himself down right between Claire and Matty. When he catches the looks that both women are shooting him—as well as Natasha’s mute look of disbelief—he frowns. 

“Did I miss something?”

----

The water is cool against Matty’s skin as she dangles her legs on either side of her surfboard. She’s sitting far enough out from the shore that she’s no longer in anyone’s way but not so far that she’s at risk of being swept out. It helps as well that someone had been smart enough to pass out glow sticks in mass. There’s a bright pink one wrapped around her neck, as well as a dainty blue one on each wrist. She likes to watch as they leave behind luminescent trails in the dark with each movement of her arm. 

Mesmerizing, like the ocean that gently sways her. 

“Given up?” Bradley calls towards her. She has to squint her eyes to see him. The pilots only brought two surfboards and had been taking turns; it seems that he had handed his off to Coyote and instead was swimming out to hers. 

“Just watching the show.” 

He treads closer until his movements set her board swaying a bit. Matty narrowed her gaze at him, but she doubts he can see it in the dark. She can see only a swath of his features from the moonlight and the orange necklace he’s wearing as is. 

“You shouldn’t have swam out here without a board,” she chides when he’s close enough that she doesn’t have to shout. 

“Why?”

“Pretty sure it’s unsafe.”

“It’s plenty safe,” he chirps. She knows there’s something else coming before he moves, and Matty barely manages to keep her balance as he climbs onto her own surfboard with a grin. It shifts beneath them—threatening to throw them both over—before they manage to find their balance. He sits as a mirror image to her on the other end. Close enough to touch, though, if she tried. “See? We can share. It’s not like you’re using it, anyways.” 

“How presumptuous of you.” 

“That I thought you’d share?”

“That you don’t think I’ll drown you for touching my board,” she says.

He shakes his head with a laugh. She wonders how he would have reacted to something like that a few weeks ago. After they had met at the bar but before they had come to any sort of reconciliation. If he was smart, she supposes that he wouldn’t have even approached her in the dark. But Bradly Bradshaw never struck her as a coward. 

“Come on, Mats, we both know you like me,” he teases.

To this, she arches a brow. “Oh, I do, do I?”

“Definitely.” 

Matty hums as if the whole thing is a conspiracy, but she also flounders a bit. She’s hardly ever spent time in a relationship. Usually, she was more of a fuck-em and dump-em kinda girl. When that was the case, she didn’t have to worry about what sort of thing she might say. She just needed to be confident enough to win their attention. Then, the next morning, she would sneak home and never have to worry about it again. 

But with Bradley…

Well, she found that she didn’t necessarily want that sort of thing. She liked having inside jokes with him, liked having him come back to her, liked the attention. More than that, she wanted it to continue. 

It left her stranded in unfamiliar waters. 

Literally. 

“Whatever, Bradshaw,” she says, sticking her nose up in the air with as much feigned disinterest as she can manage. It was neither convincing nor mean. Awkward in her own skin, she throws her wet hair over her shoulder with a huff. “Okay, so I guess you’re not as horrible as I thought.”

He clutched a hand to his chest. “That might have been the nicest thing you ever said to me.” 

“I could still drown you,” she points out, narrowing her eyes at him. There’s a glimmer of something amused in her gaze that she can’t manage to shake, though. “Besides, that hardly means what you think it means.” 

“You know, despite what I first thought, you’re a pretty horrible liar.” 

“Um, I am not!” 

“And you get offended at the weirdest stuff too,” he added. She scoffs, rolled her eyes, twisted on the board a little too quickly and then went ramrod stiff when it threatened to topple them both over. He seemed amused at all of this. Flustered, Matty glares at him until he gets on with the conversation. “Alright, fine, fair enough. You’re the most brutally honest person I met. Is that better? A compliment for a compliment.” 

She considers it, then nods. “I’ll take it.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding. She nodded back once more, feeling pleased, until the moment that he opened his mouth again to speak. “Then I want you to be brutally honest right now and tell me that I’m imagining things and that you aren't interested in me. At least a little bit.” 

Well. Fuck. That backfired spectacularly. 

How had she let that happen?

“What are you drunk?” she blurts, not really sure what else to ask after hearing a declaration like that. 

“I’m not drunk. I’m being totally serious here, Mats. Look, I know how you felt about pilots and all of that, and I get it, I do, but I’m leaving soon and I’m tired of ignoring this thing between us—whatever it is. I want you to be honest with me. Alright? Just once, right now.” 

“I—” she hesitated. It was dark, but the longer they sat there together, the more details on his face she could make out. Like the way he arched a brow at her in challenge, or the way that his eyes were wide and earnest, or the way that there was a little dent between his eyebrows like he was nervous to hear what she had to say. “I don’t—I don’t date pilots.” 

The earnest expression gave way to something exasperated. “I didn’t ask if you would date me, I asked you to be honest about how you felt about me. Because I’ll be honest with you, Mats, alright? I like you. A lot. I like that you’re honest and open and not ashamed of who you are.” 

“Bradley—”

“And I like that you are hard-working, that you don’t let people push you around,” he continued. She licked her lips as he didn’t show a sign of stopping, eyes darting around as if looking for some way out, but it seemed that he was smarter than she gave him credit for. Cornering her on a surfboard with no way back to shore but an embarrassing swim as one way to go at it. She would have commended such a bold strategy if, you know, she wasn’t on the defensive side of it. “And I like that you understand me.” 

Matty latched onto that as quick as she could, not sure what else she could do. “See, okay, that’s the thing. You don’t like me, Bradley. You just like that I know about your past, that I went through something similar, alright? What’s the saying—misery loves company or whatever.” 

“That’s not it and you know it.” 

“It is,” she said, but, if she’s being honest, she’s not really sure anymore.

He fixed her with a look. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel, Matts.” 

“Come on, be serious,” she pleaded with him, slapping her hands in the water. His shoulders tightened a little bit at it. Her eyes drifted, unwillingly, to his bare chest, before she reminded herself that there were more important things to worry about. “I’m a horrible person. Okay? I am.”

“You’re not.”

“You just think that I’m fun. It’s happened before. I’m quirky and honest and whatever but pretty soon you’re going to hate that about me. Pretty soon you’re going to leave and you’re going to forget me and that’s—that’s okay. That’s how these things go,” she said. 

But once she said it she came to the startling realization that it’s not okay and it shouldn’t be how things go. Matty realized, stuck out on that board with him, that she didn’t want him to forget about her. She liked the idea of being known to the core by someone—known for all her misdeeds and deeds, for her history and her family name—yet not judged for it. She liked not having to worry that someone might be into her because of the ties of her Dad or Iceman brought with them. 

Fuck it. 

She fucking liked Bradley Goddamn Bradshaw.

“Come on, Neven,” he prompts. “Talk to me about this. Don’t shut me out.” 

“God, you’re such an asshole,” she said without thinking. 

That surely caught his attention, though, and this time when he sat back even further, she could make out the hurt that flashed across his features. Somehow, it spurs her on. Frustration tints her voice as she finally, at long last, is exactly what he wants her to be. 

Honest. 

“I have a rule about this kind of stuff, okay? Everyone jokes about it all the time, makes fun of me for it, but I’m serious. You think that I made the rule because it was funny? Or that I just didn’t want to follow in my mom’s footsteps? I don’t want to like someone that’s just going to leave, okay? That’s it. That’s the truth. You wanted me to be honest so I will. I don’t want to feel like I do about someone like you because you’re just going to leave me behind.” 

He blinked at her, silent.

“Well?” she asked. “Are you happy? Yes, I like you. Yes, I feel something here too. But…” 

“What?” he prompted her. “But what?”

“When you leave, I’m still going to be here. So what’s the point? Why even bother at all? So we can go out on one date, fuck, and then never talk to each other again? I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s worth it.” 

“You think that I would do that to you?”

Matty hadn’t expected that question. When she caught him staring, bewildered almost, she gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, yeah, I guess. We barely know each other. I’m not saying that you’re a bad person or anything for it. I just think it’s normal.” 

Bradley was silent for a long moment that felt like an eternity. She didn’t like pensive silences, didn’t like stewing in her own thoughts. It was one of the reasons that she talked so much. Matty felt powerful when she had attention on her because it meant that people weren’t sitting there thinking about all of the reasons that they didn’t like her. Okay, so what if she wasn’t the super confident person she pretended to be all the time? Is that a crime? Everyone had things that they weren’t proud of or things that they wanted to pretend didn’t exist. 

Matty Neven was a lot of things. Constantly striving for approval was one of them. Struck with the fear of being abandoned was another. Big fucking whoop. It wasn’t the secret of the century. Hardly a secret at all for anyone who had an inkling of training in psychology.

Bradley didn’t have that sort of training. That’s why, just as she was considering drowning herself in the ocean, he was stuck on one single thing when she had already gone on three different downward spirals. “You really think that you’re so forgettable?” he asked her, dumbstruck. 

“Um... what?”

“You said that I would just forget you,” he pointed out. It seemed that her own lack of awareness astounded him. But, like, sue her. There was a lot going on right now. “Do you really think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe... Yes? Look, I’m just going to swim back to shore—”

“Matty,” he interrupted her with such exasperation that she snapped her mouth shut before she could say anything else. Probably a good thing too because if she got back to her car she most certainly was going to break several different speeding laws that night in her desire to run away. “You are probably the most unforgettable person I’ve ever met.”

“Right, stunningly gorgeous and all that,” she muttered in a poor excuse of a joke. 

He didn’t seem to hear it. Just steamrolled on ahead. “I’m sorry that there’s been people who make you feel like you’re not worth remembering before, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get you out of my mind even if I wanted to. Which, to be clear, I don’t.”

“You… don’t?” she hedged nervously, almost scared of the answer either way.

He shook his head so violently that it shook the board they were sitting on. “Fuck no, I don’t want to forget you. What I want is to take you out on a date, and then another, and then another one.”

She had never considered that option. The one where he didn’t forget about her or get bored of her. That’s why her response was nothing but a dumb, “oh.” 

“Yeah, oh,” he reiterated. She blinked at him, then at the water beneath them in thought. The ocean rippled around them as their board twirled listlessly in the ocean. She had never been so bewildered before. “I like you. Okay? That’s that. You can tell me to get lost if you don’t like me, and I’ll respect that. But I don’t think you want me to leave you alone. So... let me take you out on a date. A real one. Not just coffee in the parking lot or tacos outside The Hard Deck.” 

“That’s different. We were just hanging out.” 

He gave her a weird look. “Do you think I woke up at six am because I just wanted to talk to you for five minutes in a parking lot?”

“Well, I mean…” she trailed off, not even sure what she had thought. And as he watched her beneath the moonlight it was obvious to them both that she wasn’t any good at this sort of thing.

“Just say yes,” he instructed her, a proverbial life raft in the waters. 

She swallowed. Cleared her throat. Tossed her hair to the left and then to the right. “...okay.” Bradley had a look pinched halfway between excitement and annoyance that she couldn’t even do that right. “I mean, yes. Yes, I will go out on a date with you. A real one. One where you can pay and hold the door or whatever guys do.” 

He grinned. Sighed. Then bent closer. “Good. I’m going to kiss you now.” 

“You’re what—?” 

Bradley stifled whatever pot of emotions that threatened to boil over with a warm, sound kiss. It had all thoughts evaporating from her mind like drops of water beneath the sun. And, oh, if it didn’t make everything better to have his hands shift around her bare waist as his mouth slanted against her mouth. It silenced everything she had going on inside her rat’s nest of a head—she could admit that her mind was more like the scene of Spongebob where his mind workers caught everything on fire and then started running around with sirens blaring than anything organized—but Bradley Bradshaw seemed to bring order to the chaos with nothing more than his touch. Goosebumps pricked up along her bare legs as she kissed him back, and when their teeth clacked against one another, they weren’t above it all to laugh. 

She giggled into his lips. He smirked against her mouth. 

And then, in a swift movement, something tipped their board over from underneath and the pair was promptly dunked under the water. She swallowed salt water as she blubbered, confused, and half afraid that a shark was about to eat her right when her life was starting to get interesting.

When she surfaced, spluttered like a drowning fish, and push the wet streaks of blonde hair out of her eyes, however, she realized that the reality was much less exciting as she spied two heads with neon necklaces in the near distance. It was dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t make out the matching grins that Claire and Natasha wore as they howled with laughter. 

Nat paused when she met Matty’s eyes. “Oh, shit, she looks pissed!” 

The girls turned tail and paddled as fast as they could towards Claire’s surfboard that had been abandoned in the water not too far from Matty’s. They giggled as they went, though, and she figured it wouldn’t be all that hard to frame their drownings as accidents. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” she shrieked after them. 

“You have to catch us first!” Claire shouted back. 

She would. She wasn’t even that fast of a swimmer, but she would. Before she got the chance to take off after them, however, something latched onto her wrist and tugged her in the opposite direction of the shore.

A few soaked curls flopped on Bradley’s forehead as he smiled over at her. 

“Um, excuse me, they’re getting away!” 

“You can kill them later,” he said.

“But—” 

He kissed her again. It was sloppier as they were now both treading water, and she was pretty sure that she swallowed even more salt water in the mess of it all. This time she didn’t care nearly as much.

*** taglist (thanks for asking!)  @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado   @shanimallina87  @luckyladycreator2 ​ @olivethenerd16  @the-winter-marvel33 @hiddleless @momc95 @alanadetigy​ ​@obsessedasusual  

Okay, i kinda can’t believe how this story basically ran so far off course my my original idea, but i love where it’s ending up. i’ve been feeling less enthusiastic about writing just bc it’s taking me so much longer to update this story than it did to update old habits die hard but then i realized that this story is so much longer, with so many more scenes, and i’m very proud of that. hope you enjoy! 

one more chapter to go xoxo

[madmaru2010]

"Baby Gay."

Someone who has recently come out of the closet. A period of 1 to 2 years is the time span in which someone could be labeled as a baby gay. Baby gays generally instantly love everything rainbow related and generally have that innocent joy of just coming out. We have to protect them.

I was about 11 or 12 the first time it happened to me. We were in a locker room after spending a field day with my friends from the nun school I went to. I know, such a cliché, but it's the truth.

I didn't know why I got so anxious when my friends changed in front of me.

One of them, with whom I had a particularly lousy relationship, I would have said that she bullied me if I had known that word at the time, undressed completely in front of me. I remember as if it were today that I was petrified staring at the reflection of her tits in the mirror. Bully or not Bully, without clothes the girl had her thing.

I remember as if it were now: the electricity that ran through my whole body, how the words, which in my mind sounded normal (they always sound better in my mind!) took my mouth by storm and at gunpoint forced my tongue to tell her: "You have European tits". She was facing away from me, but I could see the reflection of her body, her face and mine in the mirror. One of my friends laughed and said to me " What would it be like to have European tits?" A red fire took over my face and I pulled out my nerdy, piggy, bookworm badge and gave an explanation that no one understood, fortunately. Or unfortunately. I was always the weird girl, the one who talked difficult, didn't know how to fit in well, and passed for eccentric and nobody gave too much importance to that fact.

Or at least that's what I remember, what I know.

At that young age I already had in my head, always in my head, a kind of Bestiary of Boobs.

In medieval literature, a Bestiary was a collection of stories, descriptions and images of real or fantastic animals.

When I was 12 years old, I had already catalogued women's breasts according to the continent they came from: European, Asian, Latin. And still, when I undress a woman, those categories jump laughingly in my head to see who is playing on that occasion.

I wonder now if the mother of one of my friends, a close friend of my mother's and not one to mince words, ever suspected my sexuality and commented on it. This anecdote actually happened in a country house where she was taking us. The Bully was her niece.

There were signs. Big neon signs.

My early passion for skateboards and menswear. My tomboy tendency, Butch, butch as they call it in the neighborhood.

The question "What if I'm a lesbian? bounced around in my head for as long as I can remember. The answer was always no, that I was flashing. Because I didn't know women like me. I had never heard stories like mine. Much later, I understood that when we ask ourselves for a long time the same question, the question itself is the answer.

I remember how I forced myself to look for guys I liked because you had to have a crush. I remember choosing a few, especially a boy I admired.

I didn't like boys, I wanted to be like them. It wasn't crush, it was identification.

It took me 24 more years to come across a fiction in which a woman accepted her sexuality by falling passionately in love with a colleague. They were scientists, daring, intelligent, funny, very feminine both and at the age of 36 I could no longer live in Narnia and I started, step by step, softly, softly, as the song says, to look for the exit door of the closet.

Traducido con DeepL https://www.deepl.com/app/?utm_source=android&utm_medium=app&utm_campaign=share-translation

[impernaway]

3. hypnotised

(content warning for hypnosis. lads the prompt is 'hypnotised' i cannot stress enough that this is gonna be Getting Into That.)

Not just anybody can walk into Avalon - to get in you've got to be the right sort. You've got to do yourself up a bit, get wild with it, let your hair and makeup speak volumes and you can't just start repeating looks. It's practically a lifestyle commitment, from what ey've heard. Like the New Romantics and the Blitz Kids, but a newer version of them. The Neo-New Romantics? Is that a thing? God, it sounds fucking pretensious to say it like that. Rigel'll think of a better way of talking about it.

Anyway, none of that matters because what's actually important is that after hearing about this place for months ey've finally gotten eir golden ticket invite.

"Come on," Stella says, giggling and squeezing eir hand on the way down the staircase. "You're gonna flip, babe, it's so your style!"

It turns out Avalon is one of those nightclubs that's actually in a basement somewhere to help keep the noise down. The steps have already gone on further down than ey expected from the outside, and between the dim lighting and the walls painted black it's dim as shit. Ey can already hear the bmp-bmp-bmp of the music from here though, and Stella grins back at em as her other hand fixes the strap of her dress. Rigel grins back, glad ey took a second just outside the door to reapply eir lipstick again before coming down here.

And then the stairs level off into a brief corridor and a doorway and the two of them finally arrive properly, and ey can't help but stare in awe at it. The ceiling is painted black like the stairwell the two of them just left and the walls are as well, but there's neon lights and mirrors that make the whole place feel like a vast underground cavern instead of some basement somewhere. It's fucking crowded down here, more than ey expected for some reason, and the bass hits them like a physical force. Ey can feel it in eir ribs and knocking on the vertebrae of eir spine. It almost winds em, but Stella is cheering and dragging the two of them over towards the dancefloor and ey laugh as she sweeps em along in her wake. Ey've never heard this song before but ey don't need to to find a rhythm in the bmp-bmp-bmp-bmp.

Ey dance. Eir feet move to the rhymth. Stella lets go of eir hand at some point and the mass of bodies split them up almost immediately and Rigel's face hurts from fucking grinning so much. This fucking rules. Ey're dancing with somebody with barcodes drawn over their eyes with eyeliner and glitter across their cheeks, and behind eir there's somebody whose hair is all hairspray and backcombing, and a minute ago ey swear ey saw someone dressed as an honest-to-god butler. The stacks of speakers keep on playing music with the bass cranked up so high it's practically all ey can hear of it, bmp-bmp-bmp in eir skull, and ey throw eir head back and laugh.

By the time Rigel is picking eir way off the dancefloor and towards the bar, it feels like ey've been dancing for hours and their skin feels electric. There's a guy leaning up against the bar who's eying eir up appreciatively, and ey take a chance to look back at him.

The neon sign behind the bar casts a pretty light over him, softening some of his facial features but highlighting his grin. His shirt is silk or meant to pass for it at least, a something dark coloured (red maybe?) and with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up. There's sequins and glitter all threaded through his hair and gleaming in the light. He's got bangles on both arms - he's got so many fucking bangles, holy shit - and as he beckons em over, ey take a moment to admire the manicure he's sporting. His eyes, though? His eyes are smouldering, all smokey and pretty.

"Can I tempt you to a shot?" he asks, having to yell a little over the music. He offers the shotglass out

Ey laugh and wink, knocking it back. "What's your name?"

"Call me whatever you want! Most folks here call me Gadda, though. Can I have your name?"

"Rigel!" ey grin.

"Ready to go enjoy yourself a bit more? Go on, go get yourself back out there!"

"Come join me!" Eir foot is already twitching in time with the music though, even as ey say it. Bmp-bmp, bmp-bmp. The DJ must've turned it up.

Gadda laughs as he takes the shotglass back out of eir unprotesting hand in time for em to bound back into the crush of dancing bodies.

Bmp-bmp, bmp-bmp. Ey dance. The music's loud, so loud. Ey dance, feet moving in time to the music. Eir eyes are blinking in time to the music. Bmp-bmp, bmp-bmp. The bass rattles eir teeth and wraps itself around eir heart.

The crown shifts and surges. Ey're moved towards the stack of speakers and the bass knocks against eir skull, asking to be let in. Ey can't see Stella when ey look around, the people around em all unfamiliar, and ey're wondering if maybe ey should try and-

"You're thinking too much," Gadda says in eir ear as he drapes an arm across eir shoulders and pulls them close. "Stop worrying and dance, yeah?"

So ey do.

Bmp-bmp, bmp-bmp goes the speakers.

Bmp-bmp, bmp-bmp goes eir heart.

Ey dance.

Ey dance.

Ey dance.

[neelgamesartanddesign]

Practice 1 : Weekly Practice

Red vs Blue

Blog 2

 Red versus Blue: Red vs. Blue: A Story of Two Colors and One Blender was more than just an assignment; it was a pixelated battlefield where creativity met in a flurry of contrasting hues. My weapon? I was eager to explore the depths of Blender, not a brush. Today, I'd like to invite you into my digital world to witness the creation of a miniature cafe in which cool blues fought off the fiery red neon.

**Blender's Independent Symphony:** Disregard the standard work process ensemble - this time, Blender played every one of the instruments. From chiseling walls to winding around surfaces, each note of this inventive song was created by its flexible hands. It was a rite of passage, pushing me to dominate its devices and reveal stowed away creative roads. To frame the color clash at the heart of the assignment, cubes became tables, cylinders became stools, and windows appeared.

Blue Background with Crimson Accents: The actual bistro turned into a material of cool blues. Walls murmured of quietness, furniture embraced the serenity, and, surprisingly, the espresso cups brandished a bit of cerulean. Yet, this wasn't simply a blue safe house - red was continuously sneaking, holding on to strike. Neon lights, as searing brushstrokes, wound around the outside, creating resistant shaded areas on the blue walls. Each gleaming bulb, each blood red sign, was an indication of the perky contention that powered Red versus Blue.

**Patterns of Light and Shadow:** With the stage set, I released the Cycles motor, my advanced lighting chief. Delicate morning beams crawled through windows, making warm pools on the blue planks of flooring. Shadows played find the stowaway in each corner, adding profundity and interest. However, the genuine show unfurled with the reds. Neon signs beat with an electric life, projecting long, energetic shadows that moved across the cool blue bistro. It was a visual tango, a duel of light and variety that brought the Red versus Blue subject to life.

**Past the Blue Walls: Battles Won and Lessons Learned:** The Red versus Blue task wasn't just about making a pixelated bistro; it was a masterclass in Blender dominance. I pushed my specialized abilities, investigated surface prospects, and figured out how to use lighting like a carefully prepared craftsman. All the more significantly, I found the force of zeroing in on one device, digging profound into its profundities and arising with a newly discovered certainty.

This smaller than expected bistro, washed in blue and tested by red, remains as a demonstration of that excursion. It's a pixelated preview of imagination released, an update that even the least complex devices can birth noteworthy universes. In this way, individual workmanship fighters, embrace your picked weapons, jump profound into their true capacity, and paint your own show-stoppers, pixel by magnificent pixel. Color by vibrant color, the digital creation world is ready to be conquered.

This blog really sums up your Red versus Blue insight. Make sure to customize it further by adding explicit insights concerning your inventive choices in regards to blue surfaces and red lighting. Go ahead and share your battles and wins with Blender, as these individual accounts will make the blog significantly really captivating. Let your voice and imaginative experiences radiate through, and you'll make a blog that genuinely mirrors your exceptional inventive excursion.