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#aleck writes
zukoisgayforsokka · 1 year
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ID: a digital drawing of adult Yue and teenage Izumi from Avatar the Last Airbender and the Legend of Korra respectively. They are seen from the legs up, embracing. Yue is taller, wearing a purple tunic and white headscarf, and she wraps her arms around Izumi's back tightly. Izumi wears a red tunic and red framed glasses, they press their face into Yue's shoulder, wrapping their arms around her back. Yue looks at peace, Izumi looks relieved and content /End ID
The final scene from my fic We're Only Immortal For A Limited Time, (trans) Aunt Yue hugging Izumi who just came out to their aunt as non-binary.
My irl friends who aren't in the atla fandom but read my fic anyway, commissioned the wonderful @andreehanart to draw this scene as a birthday present for me. I love it so much, thank you
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gretagerwigsmuse · 2 years
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and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay [part 1/2]
Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw has a thing for smart girls - and maybe ones who hate his guts on principle. a lie by omission is still a lie after all and bradley never exactly told you what he did for work...
OR you take on the us military industrial complex one hinge date at a time...well sort of
Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), idk basically she’s a bit of a brat? and he likes it? it’s kind of filthy, but it’s supposed to be kind of funny and a little silly?
A/N: thanks to everyone who liked the sneak peek and provided such positive feedback! but i really have to give a shout out to my buddy sol (desertsagecelestial) for being the absolute best sounding board with this fic! definitely check out her wip, it’s amazinggggg. anyway, enjoy! (9.9k) Part 1.5
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Bradley previously hadn’t had much luck on Hinge, but after Phoenix had taken charge of his profile, specifically his picture selection, he had been doing a lot better. That being said, however, you were still the first girl he had actually met up with to go on a date. 
Hangman had initially scoffed at the notion of Bradley’s Hinge date that night - god, Bradshaw you’re hopeless, don’t you know all the easy ones are on Tinder? - but had quickly changed his tune once Bradley had shown him your profile. 
She seems smarter than you was all he had said and Bradley wasn’t so cocky as to not take it as a compliment. Plus, he liked smart girls. There was something about them. It didn’t hurt that the ones he had come across were always a little prissy, a little spoiled - a little uptight. 
A little bratty.
You both originally bonded over going to UVA - albeit with quite a few years between your graduating classes. You worked for one of the Big Four accounting firms and had a job title that Bradley didn’t quite understand except for the fact that it sounded important. You both traveled a lot for work, were newly settled in the area and randomly New England Patriots fans. 
Over the last few days, you had been texting frequently, starting off the day with your Wordle scores and a fun fact. It was cheesy and a little nerdy, but you were a big trivia fan - and San Diego County Barstool Trivia Champion - and Bradley had wanted to impress you. It was important that he impressed you.
Before heading out for training every morning, he’d try to find some new fact to stump you. His were always a bit nerdy, more random, while yours were always a bit more serious. Yesterday’s had been the tiny pocket in jeans was made for a pocket watch, while yours had been there are over 7100 islands in the Philippines. 
Thankfully, the date was going well - really well, actually. You both loved history and had studied political science at UVA. Bradley couldn’t believe you’d had some of the same professors, even graduating eight years apart. 
And he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across his face when he got you to admit - begrudgingly - that you had been a Tri-Delta. Because of course you had been. All the smart, rich girls had been. And well, if one thing had been consistent over the years, it was Bradley’s taste in women. 
That being said, he had been absolutely bowled over when you had shown up, pretty little sundress and all, looking even more beautiful than the pictures on your profile. 
More to the point, though, he liked you and it appeared that you liked him too if the way you readily laughed at his jokes and kept brushing your knees against his under the bar top were any indication.
But it was about an hour into your date when the trouble started. Or well, maybe not trouble. A development, he supposed. 
A minor divergence of opinion, really. 
Nothing major.
“So, what’s with the bar?” you asked, looking around, a teasing smile on your face. Bradley cocked his head. “I mean, is it just me or is like every naval officer within a forty mile radius here?”
He shrugged. “Oh, uhh my friends and I like it. It’s right near the base and we normally come after training. It’s not too fussy, I guess, so I thought it would be good for a first date. Low key and all that?”
Maybe he had misjudged picking the Hard Deck. It wasn’t exactly the finest establishment in San Diego County, but the drinks were good and you had mentioned Coronado a couple times over text, so Bradley had thought it would be convenient for you. 
In fact, to offset the location, he had even worn a pale blue oxford, unbuttoned but with a plain white t-shirt underneath. You seemed like the kind of girl who would have appreciated the effort. At least that’s what he had gleaned from your Hinge profile.
“Oh.” That wasn’t a good ‘oh.’ You even leaned back on your barstool. “You’re in the military?”
Bradley chose his next words very carefully, mindful that there definitely seemed to be a wrong answer here and he was about to give it. 
“Yeah, a naval aviator,” he nodded, trying to sound casual, “is that going to be a problem?”
You shrugged and took a sip of your margarita before licking some of the salt off the rim. Bradley watched, captivated, despite the fact that you had just insulted him indirectly. 
“I mean, I understand that we need a military - to a certain extent, at least. But I’m kind of against the whole US Military Industrial Complex thing? Like the US alone spends more on defense than the next nine countries combined. And the cost of one of those planes you fly could probably feed the entire New York City public school system’s worth of kids three meals a day for at least - well, I’m pretty shit at math, but I’d say at least five years -” 
Holy shit. You were - oh, fuck. Before he really thought it through, Bradley went to interrupt you. “- I mean, when you put it -”
“- Plus, the whole imperialism, white man’s burden, manifest destiny bullshit you all like to spout out like Uncle Sam’s got your dick in his mouth. It’s a bit much.”
Bradley scoffed. He couldn’t help it. In all his years of being in the Navy, he’d never once had this sort of reaction. It was - oddly stirring, actually - finding out the woman he had envisioned every night before he’d fallen asleep the last few nights apparently now hated his guts.
“I get what you’re saying - to an extent,” he reiterated once he saw your pleased smile, “but the military still does a lot of good outside of combat zones.”
You laughed, but it lacked any humor. “Sure, taking advantage of impressionable kids with the promise of free college - that they probably won’t actually take advantage of because going back to school when you’re older than ninety-nine percent of your classmates isn’t daunting at all, to say nothing of the exploitation of foreign nations to further stock the US’ natural resource coffers - is a great business model?”
He ignored you and nodded towards your margarita. “Want another drink?”
“Only if you put it on Uncle Sam’s dime.”
------------
“So, do you just regularly lie to women?”
You were both on drink number two and the awkwardness of your earlier outburst hasn’t quite dissipated yet. The sexual tension on the other hand? If Bradley had thought it was high earlier, it was stratospheric now.
“What’re you talking about?” He hadn’t lied to you, to his knowledge, at least. 
You crossed your ankles and clasped your hands in your lap. “On your profile, you didn’t mention anywhere that you were in the military? A lie by omission is still a lie.”
And you didn’t mention how much of a brat you were. 
Bradley shifted on his barstool and subtly readjusted his jeans. “I’m not in the habit of lying to women…”
You scoffed. “Well, how do women normally react when you tell them you fly around in a $65M plane all day?” He’d never really thought about it. “Is it like a puck-bunny thing?”
“Puck-bunny?”
“Or whatever the military equivalent of a puck-bunny is?”
It was a tag chaser, but Bradley wasn’t about to tell you that. Not when he was imagining you wearing nothing but his dog tags, splayed out on his bed, while his tongue lapped against your dripping wet cunt - 
“- Some women like it, sure.”
You cocked an eyebrow. “And you like that?” 
Bradley shrugged. It was nice sometimes, but it definitely got a little old, all those guys and girls imagining playing the good little house-spouse waiting for him at home with dinner on the table, two kids and a dog running in the yard. That was more Hangman’s thing, anyway. Lately, Bradley had liked his partners with a little more spark, a little more fire, a little more substance. 
A little more like you.
“It has its benefits sometimes.”
It seemed like you couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter that burst out of your mouth. But just as suddenly as you‘d started, you’d stopped. You rolled your shoulders back and then flipped your hair over one of them, giggling in an exaggerated manner. 
“Hmmm like this? Oh, Captain Bradshaw, please take me for a ride in your big, big plane? Is there any way I can thank you for defending our country? No, sir, it’s just the cockpit is so big and I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of on leave. Yeah, I bet you just love that, captain,” you bit out the honorific.
“If you’re gonna be a brat about it, at least get my title right, sweetheart,” he snapped, the first time all night. He shoved his knee in between your legs, widening the space between your thighs just slightly. “It’s Lieutenant Commander.”
“Oh, my apologies.” You shifted on your barstool and crossed your legs at your ankles, looking like the textbook definition of prim and proper. “You’ll have to excuse me, lieutenant commander, all this new information I’m learning about you has left me feeling a bit…overwhelmed.”
Bradley hooked his foot around your barstool and dragged it even closer to him. You let out a squeak and had to brace yourself by holding onto his shoulders. 
And then it was like everything else in the Hard Deck had faded to the background: the jukebox playing Al Green’s Tired of Being Alone, the clack of billiard balls in the back corner, the King’s game on the TV above the bar. All Bradley could focus on was you - the slight rise and fall of your chest, the way your breasts were straining against the deep V of your dress, the smell of your floral perfume, and how your eyes widened at your sudden proximity.
And that was when he knew. Knew as well as the sun was going to rise tomorrow morning that you were going to fuck that night.
He hadn’t planned on sleeping with you on the first date. In fact, it really hadn’t even crossed his mind. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. But Bradley never fucked on the first date. Long gone were the one night stands he had indulged in during his twenties. He wanted someone who was smart, who put him in his place, who he could laugh with and have a real conversation. 
Someone like you - military prejudice aside. And yeah, you made some…interesting points and he agreed with some of them. But, for now, Bradley wanted to see how far you both could take this before either of you snapped. 
“You have any more questions for me, sweetheart?” He dragged his fingertips down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “Don’t like the thought of you being too - what was it again - overwhelmed?”
You let out a little whimper and then shook yourself slightly, seemingly stepping out of a trance. 
“Hmmm have you ever taken a girl for a ride in that stupid plane of yours to get her to sleep with you? Seems like misappropriating government property would be right up your alley - lieutenant commander.”
He clicked his tongue and leaned back. “Can’t say I have. Bit of a stickler for the rules.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” you teased. “Do you have one of those nicknames - no wait, what are they called? Callsigns? Do you have one of those callsigns?”
Your legs were pressed tightly together, crossed at the ankles. He had a sudden desire to thrust his knee in between them again. It had been impossible to ignore the fire that had sparked in your eyes the last time he had done it. 
In response to your question, Bradley hesitated, already knowing you were going to tease him even more. “Rooster.”
“Like the chicken?” You tilted your head. “Or is it a cock? I can never tell?”
“Why? You wanna see it?”
You rolled your eyes and knocked back the rest of your margarita, making a point to keep eye contact with him as you licked the salt off the rim - again. Fucking minx.
“I’ll be back, get me another.”
And without a word from Bradley, you spun around on your barstool, giving him the slightest glimpse of your ass when your dress rode up, and set off towards the bathroom at the back of the bar.
He sat there for a moment, his mouth slightly gapped open in - shock, awe, arousal? Because holy shit. The past twenty minutes or so had been some of the most sexually charged of his life thus far. There were times when he could have sworn one of you was going to leave - or worse, grab the other by the back of the neck and start dry humping against the bar.
“What the fuck did you say to her?” Phoenix hissed in Bradley’s ear, snapping him out of his daydream. 
He startled and then gestured wildly. “It was going fine for a while and then I told her I was in the Navy and she started going on about defense budgets and misappropriating government property and Uncle Sam sucking my dick - I don’t know, Phoenix!”
She snorted and then seemed to realize he wasn’t kidding. “Oh my god - wait, we need to tell Bagman -”
“- Don’t you fucking dare -”
She ignored him and went on her tiptoes to lean over Bradley. “- Bagman, get over here,” she shouted.
Surprisingly, and without comment at the unfortunate nickname, Hangman came over towards the two of them. “What’s wrong, Bradshaw scare the poor girl off already? Probably escaping out the bathroom window as we speak.”
Bradley flipped him off, but it lacked any heat. He also signaled for Jimmy to get him another margarita and old fashioned then to close out his tab. 
“She doesn’t like the military.”
Hangman whistled. “Tough, I’ve dealt with that before and trust me, it never ends well. Cut your losses and block her.”
But Bradley didn’t want to do that. His losses did not want to be cut - at all. He wanted to see how that smart mouth of yours looked wrapped around his cock. Or how prettily you sighed as he lapped at your sopping wet cunt. If you laughed easily or thought he was a good singer. If you wanted to try that new restaurant that opened in Gaslamp with him. 
Fuck. He wanted you - desperately. And worse than that, he liked you. Liked how smart you were, liked your sense of humor, liked you. And some part of him felt bad for setting you up. 
Because he hadn’t told you he was in the Navy. It wasn’t that he purposely didn’t tell you, he just hadn’t. And you were right, a lie by omission was still a lie. 
So, yeah. You were probably a little validated in your ire. But god, if it wasn’t one of the hottest things Bradley had ever seen. Who knew a woman reading him for filth would be such a turn on?
“Nah,” Phoenix patted him on the back like you would a child who had just lost their first little league game, “I have a feeling Rooster’s going to see this one through.”
Jimmy brought over a fresh margarita for you and an old fashioned for Bradley and also left the check. He gave Bradley an encouraging smile and Bradley was glad Penny hadn’t been there to see - well, see whatever the fuck was going on with you and him. Because Penny would tell Mav and Mav would go all fatherly on him and tell him to be respectful towards girls, no matter your difference of opinion. He sighed.
“It’s like I still want to impress her - she just doesn’t -”
“- Want to be impressed by you?” Bradley nodded. “Do you actually like her or do you just like the challenge?”
“The challenge, obviously,” Hangman scoffed, “girl sounds like a bitch - guess she could be kinda hot, if she cut out that whole type a, stick up her ass shit -”
Bradley clenched his jaw and muttered: “- Fuck off, don’t be an ass.”
“Oh that’s right,” Hangman nudged Phoenix like she was in on it, though she looked almost as pissed off as Bradley, “girls like that have always been Rooster here’s kryptonite. Do you think that stems from your mommy or daddy issues?”
Just as he was about to go off on Hangman, Bradley noticed Phoenix’s eyes widened at something over his shoulder and he instinctively knew it was you. Fuck. He really hoped you hadn’t heard what Hangman had said. 
“Just fuck off,” he muttered to both Hangman and Phoenix before you could get any closer. Phoenix sent a small, but kind smile your way, while Hangman just rolled his eyes and then they were gone. 
You were quiet as you approached the bar, a timid smile on your face. 
“Your buddies trying to get you to ditch me?” Your voice sounded softer, shy for the first time all night. “They scared I’m going to brainwash you or something? Make you drink my liberal tears?”
Bradley genuinely laughed and got a brief smile out of you. “Nah, they were more worried about me being too hard on you, at least my friend Natasha was - here,” he held his hand out to help you get back on the barstool. 
You ducked your head as you muttered out a thanks. For the first time since your date had started, the conversation wasn’t flowing and the two of you sat side by side in silence having a couple sips of your drinks. Bradley kept thinking over what Hangman had said and hoped you hadn’t been able to hear him as you approached. Meanwhile, you rolled the tiny straw between your fingers as you took a sip of your margarita, thinking something over if the little crinkle between your brow was any indication.
You had definitely heard what Hangman had said about you. But that didn’t mean it was what Bradley had thought about you. He missed the you from earlier in the evening - the one who got the Wordle right in two tries that morning and relentlessly bragged about it, the one who he had made laugh so hard tears had sprang from your eyes when he told you about his run in with an old woman at the grocery store last week, the one whose entire face lit up when talking about something you were passionate about.
Sure, he liked arguing with you - and he was pretty sure you did too - but he didn’t want you to think this was a joke to him or anything like that.
Bradley took his eyes off the King’s game he wasn’t really watching on the TV above the bar and turned his body towards you. He said your name and lightly nudged your shoulder. Slowly, you turned your head, though not your body, to face him. 
“Sorry about Hangman - Jake, that is. He’s not exactly who I’d go to for dating advice - pretty sure he hasn’t made a girl cum in about five years - something about seeing this girl for a couple months until they found out they were distant cousins or something?” 
It wasn’t true - at least Bradley didn’t think so - but he got a small smile and slightly amused head shake out of you. 
“Regardless of all of this, you shouldn’t have had to hear that, especially since I don’t -”
You fully turned to face him. “- Listen, Bradley,” you said a moment later, “I got dressed up for this, wore cute underwear, and even got a wax, so if this was a - a joke or if you don’t see this going forward in any way or - god, if you don’t even want to - look, I can just leave and we can pretend -”
“- No. We’re leaving.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. It was deep, commanding - dominant. And all you could do was lick your lips. “Now.”
With a smile on your face, you let him take you by your elbow and guide - read drag - you towards the exit, barely stopping to allow you to grab your clutch off the bar top. Knowing Hangman and Phoenix were no doubt watching the entire series of events unfold, Bradley threw his middle finger up over his shoulder, and then let the door close firmly behind his back. 
It was quiet in the parking lot, just the hum of the chatter and music from inside the bar echoing across the pavement. Bradley held your hand as he walked to his car in the back corner of the lot. You approached the Bronco and leaned your back against it casually. 
“So, what now?” You crossed your arms over your chest, inadvertently pushing your breasts together. “You gonna take me against the side of your truck like a big strong boy? Put me in my place?” 
He took a step towards you, then another. He could feel the heat pouring off your body and watched the slight rise and fall of your chest. 
“No, I’m gonna take you home and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight in the morning, that sound good, sweetheart?” You nodded dumbly. “And for the record, it’s not a truck, it’s a Bronco.”
You giggled. It was cute and so out of place considering what Bradley had just said to you. God, you were cute. More than cute. 
“Fine, as long as you don’t take us on the 405 to Brentwood…”
Bradley barked out a laugh at your joke. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I doubt my charm is what got me all the way here.” You placed your hands on his chest. He couldn’t tell if you were going to push him away or pull him closer. 
“You’d be surprised…” he muttered. 
And then, before he could overthink it, Bradley leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. For all his thoughts earlier in the evening, the kiss was surprisingly tender. You tasted like lime and tequila and smelled like summer. 
His hands dug into your hips, pulling you even closer and you let out a gasp - a perfect, breathy, little gasp against him when he pressed himself against your core. Your arms wound themselves around his neck and he in turn picked you up slightly and leveraged you against the door of the Bronco with his weight. You yelped at the action.
“Ooof - that was - god.” You cut yourself off as Bradley started peppering kisses down your neck, behind your ear, across your jawline. Meanwhile, your own hands were sliding under the collar of his t-shirt and oxford, digging your nails into his shoulders.
“Now, sweetheart,” he says the term of endearment teasingly, “when you went to the bathroom earlier, you were gone for a while. Thought maybe you got lost or were busy with something else…”
You scoffed. “Please, I was trying to see if I could pick the lock on the bathroom window.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He started inching his hands up your thighs, higher and higher until he could feel the warmth radiating off you. Your legs wrapped around his waist on their own accord, leaving your barely clothed core pressed against the fly of his jeans. “But I bet if I slipped my hands underneath that cute underwear you mentioned earlier, I’d find this pussy soaking wet, hmmm? Lemme make it up to you? All those nasty things that bastard said about you - you know I didn’t agree with a single one, hmm?”
“I know - ohh,” you cried out as one of Bradley’s fingers slipped into your already dripping wet cunt, “god, f-fuck, Bradley.”
He clicked his tongue. “Uh uh uh, that’s Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw to you.” Even in the early throes of pleasure, you managed to glare at him. “Now, you gonna take my fingers like a good girl or not?”
You whimpered when he added a second, then a third. The stretch felt so good and you rolled your hips so he could get even deeper. You were panting against his neck, your feet barely touching the ground as Bradley fucked you with his fingers while his thumb circled your clit. Your breasts were heaving and straining against the fabric of your dress and he could only imagine what they would look like if you were bouncing on his cock.
“Who knew you were such a little slut? Fucking yourself on my fingers in a bar parking lot…”
“Bradley, I - ahhh, ahh - fuck, I hate you.” The words lacked any force behind them due to the moan you let out. 
“Careful, sweetheart. I could make a real mess out of this pretty little dress of yours.” You found yourself nodding along, anything to keep him talking and keep his fingers inside you. 
Bradley could feel you clenching around his fingers, which were buried all the way to his knuckles and absolutely slick with your cum. Fuck. Imagine if you weren’t so blissed out getting finger fucked and you could talk back at him? This time he let out a groan. 
Maybe later.
“Bra-Bradley, I -” you cut yourself off with a moan that turned into a pitiful whimper. Your walls were tightening around him and he knew you were close. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to sneak a taste later. 
With a final thrust of his fingers and a pinch to your clit, you came apart for him with a blissed out cry, tensing and then relaxing against him.
“Shh, shh, that’s a good girl, yeah? Such a good girl for me.” Your body was trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm and you tucked your head into his neck, breathing in deeply. Your lips grazed a sensitive stretch of skin on his neck and he hissed. 
“Come on, look at me…” Bradley said quietly, but firmly. 
Once you lifted your head up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, Bradley removed his fingers - carefully, so as to not make a mess of your pretty little dress. You whined at the loss, your pussy still clenching at nothing. He briefly brushed his fingertips across your lips to give you a taste of yourself, before he put both fingers in his own mouth and groaned. 
You watched, transfixed, as he took them out with a resounding pop. “Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good - here, open up.”
You did as he asked and instinctively started sucking on his fingers. He noticed you subtly rubbing your thighs together and applied the slightest bit of pressure with his other hand, which was on your shoulder and inching closer to your collarbone and neck. 
Eventually, you had to breathe and Bradley pulled his now clean fingers out. 
“Good girl. Now why don’t we head home before you really make a mess?” You nodded and gave him a bashful smile. God, you were so fucking perfect - which reminded him - “but first, I want those soaking wet panties of yours before we get in the car.”
------------
The entire drive to his house was agony. Pure fucking agony. Bradley hadn’t been this tightly wound since his first deployment. Beside him, you appeared relatively unaffected, probably still experiencing the after effects of your orgasm, and were drawing invisible circles on your knee with your left hand. Your nails were painted bright red and looked sinful against your skin. 
Suddenly, the Bronco hit a bump in the road and you both slightly jolted off your seats. You let out whimper, while Bradley was reminded of the white lace underwear shoved in his back pocket. He couldn’t wait to get another whiff of them. 
The two of you rolled up to a stoplight, giving Bradley an opportunity to really look at you. The hand that had once been drawing circles on your knee was slowly inching higher up your thigh before it disappeared underneath the tiered skirt of your dress. You turned your head to look at him, a coy look on your face.
“Are we almost there? I thought you pilots drove as fast as you flew…”
He smirked, glad your spark was back. (Not that he didn’t like the little submissive display you’d put on in the parking lot.) “Almost there - don’t fucking tease me.”
With that, he swatted at the hand currently underneath your dress skirt. You pulled it back with a pout. “But Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, I’m wetter than the Middle East before you and your little buddies purged it of oil.”
At that, Bradley barked out a laugh and the light changed. He was still chuckling as he passed through the intersection. “I’ll give you that one.”
You preened. “Plenty more where that came from - don’t forget I still don’t like you…” You both knew that wasn’t exactly true, but Bradley wasn’t going to say anything to the contrary. 
A few moments later, the Bronco practically rolled into his driveway on two wheels. Thankfully, Bradley had left the porch light on so the house wasn’t entirely dark. You looked at the house critically and he desperately wanted you to like it. 
It was important to him that you liked it.
The three bedroom, craftsman house had been built in the 1930s, but had been renovated before Bradley had bought it when his official transfer to North Island had gone through a couple months ago. It was set back a good distance from the tree lined street and had a nice lawn that laid way to a wide-set front porch. You were probably used to the manses dotting the streets of Coronado or Del Mar, but Bradley liked the tree lined streets and sense of community he had found in South Park.
“It’s nice, Bradley,” you said with a smile, sincere for the first time in awhile. 
“Thanks.” He ducked his head, not wanting you to see how happy he was at your meager compliment. “Now come on, sweetheart.” 
Without another word from you, he slid you across the bench seat and into his arms and then opened the door and got out of the car. You sat there, a little thrown and Bradley sighed. “Well, if I have to do everything…”
“Wha - oh my - Bradley!” you squeaked in surprise, as he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. He chuckled and shut the door with his hip. “You - you oafish man! If you don’t put me down I’ll - I’ll -”
“- You’ll what?” He smacked your bare ass as he walked up the front steps and headed over to the front door. “Sweetheart, I don’t really think you’re in the position to be making demands.”
In turn, you smacked his back. “And you would know all about that - making demands. Hostage negotiations, CIA blacksites - mmmhh!”
He slapped you again and felt his cock twitch when you moaned. God, you had such a smart little mouth on you. 
“Alright, now you gotta be quiet unless you want all my neighbors to see you like this - ass out, marked red by my hands. Is that what you want?”
“No…”
“Good girl.” You wiggled your ass and this time it was Bradley’s turn to moan. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
He fished his house keys out of his pants - accidentally grazing his hand against the pocket holding your panties first - and then unlocked the door. He kicked it shut and locked it, then turned on the light on the hall table before he even contemplated putting you down. It felt like you were trying to turn your head around or at least pick it up, probably to get a look at the place. Eventually, and with another smack on the ass, Bradley put you down. 
Your chest was heaving and your hair was all over the place. You quickly tried to fix your hair in the mirror hanging above the hall table while Bradley threw his wallet and keys into a bowl on the same table and toed off his shoes. He briefly glanced at you in the mirror when his eyes fell on something reflecting light on the mantle in his living room - his gold plaque from the uranium enrichment mission was proudly perched for all to see. 
Including you.
Bradley could already hear the teasing comments coming - what’s that? a participation award? - and resolved to distract you before you caught a glimpse at it. Luckily, you were both horny as fuck, so it wasn’t exactly hard to think of a distraction. 
He slipped behind you and brushed your hair over one shoulder and started pressing featherlight kisses down your neck, keeping eye contact with you in the mirror the entire time. You leaned back against his chest and sighed, before you turned around and pulled him in for a kiss. He could have sworn he could still taste your sweetness from earlier when you’d sucked his fingers clean, but that may have just been wishful thinking. 
Slowly, and without breaking your frantic kiss, he walked the two of you through the house and towards his bedroom. He only stubbed his toe once and you laughed against his lips when you let out a grunt of pain.
“Watch it, lieutenant. Thought you had your sea legs?”
He chose to ignore your comment and turned on another light, creating a soft glow in his bedroom. You took off his oxford, throwing it onto the chair holding other various button downs and Hawaiian shirts in the corner. Your hands slid underneath his white t-shirt, roving over his abs, dragging your short, but sharp nails across the skin. He groaned.
“Navy’s good for one thing, I guess,” you muttered against Bradley’s neck while your hands ran over his body. 
He pushed you back slightly, so you fell onto the bed, propped up by your elbows. “Only one thing?”
You spread your legs, fully taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t have any underwear on. In fact, it was still in Bradley’s back pocket and there it would stay. “Well, that might not be not true. I bet you probably get loads of discounts and shit like that - wait do you have a J Crew discount? I can only imagine there’s nothing like getting rewarded for colonizing and exploiting half the world fuck - Bradley!”
You cried out when he grabbed your legs and pulled you to the edge of his bed. He’d perfectly positioned himself between your legs, leaving your absolutely glistening cunt on full display. Bradley would be - admittedly - shocked if there wasn’t a puddle of slick on the passenger seat of his car right now. You bit your lip, no doubt thinking you knew what he was going to do next.
But instead, he tightened his grip around your ankles and then let go of them a moment later, so you were sitting up perfectly on the edge of the bed. 
“Awww, sweetheart. You didn’t think I was gonna go down on you with that stunt you played in the car, did you? Only good girls get their pussy eaten.”
You whined and Bradley figured you would’ve stomped your foot too had you been able. “Tell me - tell me how to be a good girl? I want to be a good girl for you.”
Oh fuck him. He’d come in his pants like a twelve year old if he didn’t hurry this along.
“Get on your knees.”
You didn’t have to be told twice and sunk to the floor in front of him. Your bare ass was resting on the backs of your feet while your dress fanned prettily over your knees. 
He clicked his tongue. “While that does make for a pretty picture, I believe I said on your knees, sweetheart.”
“Sorry, lieutenant commander.” Your eyes were wide as you peered up at him and Bradley hoped you’d try and keep eye contact with him the entire time you had his cock in your mouth. 
“Good girl.” He cupped your cheek and then swept your hair out of the way and untied the ribbon holding your open-back dress together. 
Though your dress didn’t quite fall down right away, it did gape open to your shoulders and was easy to slide off the rest of the way. The ruffles and fabric bunched at your hips due to your kneeling position, leaving your breasts on full display. 
“So pretty.” You ducked your head, but he tipped your chin back up so you had to look at him. “Knew you were hiding something under that pretty dress.”
You bit your lip, a genuine smile flitting across your face. “I bought it special for you - for our date.”
“Then I’ll try my best not to ruin it. Maybe I’ll aim for those gorgeous tits of yours instead.”
With slightly tremulous hands, you unbuttoned Bradley’s jeans and then dragged your index finger - with the fucking red nail polish - along the zipper. His cock practically jumped at your touch and he held back a groan. God, he was going to finish way too fucking quickly. Probably another thing you’d tease him about. (Oddly, that didn’t help him, if anything it turned him on even more.)
You pulled the zipper slowly and then started to pull Bradley’s jeans off, but he got impatient and did it himself. His cock was already erect in his boxer briefs and you just stared at it, a wicked smile on your face, for a moment before tilting your head up. 
“Got to say, I’m a little disappointed. Thought for sure you’d have American flag boxers on.” You reached out to palm him over the soft fabric and Bradley couldn’t help but buck his hips into your hand. “Somebody’s eager.”
“Well, not everyone got taken care of in a parking lot…” He forgot the rest of his sentence because you had just slipped his boxer briefs off and his cock sprang out.
You licked your lips and peered up at him. “Bet you’re the pride of the Navy with this.” You leaned in and blew a stream of air on him and then pressed a light kiss to the tip. Bradley shuddered. You swirled your tongue around his cock, making sure to flick your tongue along the underside. He then gently guided himself into your mouth and you salivated more around him. He moaned - deep and guttural - as you fully took him in your mouth, while your head bobbed up and down. Of course you were good at giving head. Of course.
“Glad to know that smart mouth has other uses.”
You moaned and Bradley quickly realized the futility of his plan to try and last longer. He groaned and his shoulders sagged in pleasure as you worked him, hands doing what your mouth wasn’t able to as you grasped the top of his shaft and balls. 
At one point, you changed tactics and hollowed out your cheeks and sucked. Bradley couldn’t help but bring his hand around the back of your head and buck his hips, getting faster and harder with each passing thrust.
“That’s a good girl, you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”
The praise spurred you on, your enthusiasm only getting better with every passing second and Bradley felt that tell-tale tugging in his gut that he was close. It was like you had something to prove - you took him deeper, your hands became more skilled and dexterous, your moans more sinful, your eyes wide and eager as you peered up at him.
“Fuck, I’m so - close. I’m gonna cum.” Bradley said your name and your hands dug into his thighs. “If you don’t tell me otherwise, I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”
You pulled back just enough to say: “Please, just wanna take care of you.”
And that did it. With a final thrust of his hips into your sweet mouth, he spilled himself inside you. Like a good girl, you swallowed everything he gave you. Every last drop. You looked so proud of yourself.
You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand and slowly rose from your knees. You were completely naked, your dress pooled down at your feet and he couldn’t resist roving his eyes up and down your body. God, you were so gorgeous.  
You were both breathing heavily, but he didn’t hesitate before grabbing your chin and kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. When he eventually pulled away, your eyes met, and he rested his forehead against yours.
“Fuck me, Bradley - please?” 
You said his name. Not lieutenant commander or asshole or some other slightly condescending moniker. You said Bradley. As in you wanted him - the guy who had originally asked you out. The one you had tried so hard to impress all those days and nights spent texting. 
And who was he to say no to that? 
He grabbed you by the hand and laid you down on the bed, your hair fanning out on the crisp white pillowcases and sheets he had put on freshly that morning. You sighed as you burrowed your face in the sheets. “Kiss me.”
Who was he to refuse you? But instead of pressing his lips to your own, he went lower and wrapped his mouth around your breasts which had taunted him all evening, always straining to break free of that gorgeous dress now thrown on his floor somewhere. You arched your back to grant him better access and then wrapped your leg around his hip, digging your ankle into his ass.
His dick was hard again, pressed against your wetness, reminding him that he hadn’t touched you there since you had been in the parking lot. God, it seemed like hours ago. 
“Bradley,” you sighed as he kissed down your stomach to right below your belly button. “Need you inside me - now.”
He groaned. “You gotta be patient, sweetheart. Wanna take my time with you now.” You whined, clearly not liking that answer. Bradley slid his hand between your bodies and started playing with your clit. You sighed and he then slid one finger into you, then another, crooking them both as he dragged them down your walls. He could tell the teasing was driving you crazy, but he kept at it, bringing you closer to your release and then pulling back before you could find it.
“Please,” you whimpered sometime later. It was a simple, one word response, but it proved to be his undoing. 
Bradley slid his hand down to his cock, pumping it a couple times before he lined himself up and slid into you. You both moaned at the contact and Bradley started to find a rhythm that would suit the two of you. It took some direction from you both, but you eventually figured it out.
“How ‘bout you tell me more things you hate about me?”
You turned your head into the pillows, muffling a moan as Bradley snapped his hips to meet yours. “Ahhhhh, That Hawaiian shirt on your chair is - is abso-lutely h-heinous -”
“- Not like that.” He pulled one of your legs over his shoulder and you keened, loving the new angle. His dick plowed into you relentlessly and Bradley savored every thrust, loving the way your cunt tightened around him each time.
You grabbed his shoulders, bringing the two of you chest to chest, so you could pull him in for a kiss. It was frantic and hot, all teeth and sighs against each other. The feel on your breasts against his chest was another sensation he didn’t want to miss out on any longer. Fuck, you had gorgeous tits. The perfect size for him. Bradley pulled his head back, but didn’t slow his pace.
“Want my girl on top, want those gorgeous tits in my face as I fuck her.” 
Your back arched at his words and before you could say anything, he flipped the two of you over so now you were on top. “Ohhhhh,” you sighed as you took his cock to the hilt before you started riding him in earnest. 
You pushed your hair back and smiled down at him wickedly. “Do you know how many,” you started, seemingly just remembering his comment from earlier, “CO2 emissions that - fuck, Bradley, right there - that stupid fucking plane of yours emits ev - everyday? Fucking des-troy-ing the environment - ahhh,” you broke off with a sigh.
“No, tell me?” Your breasts were bouncing right in front of his face and Bradley reached out to grab one with his right hand, keeping the left firmly on your hip. He pinched your nipple and you keened. 
“I - I can’t remem -” you panted, “- it’s a - ahhh, fuck - it’s a lot.” 
The absolutely blissed out expression on your face made him groan. “God, look at you now, all cock dumb for me. What happened to that smart girl from before?”
You took a moment to gain your thoughts. “She wasn’t getting fucked so good back then.”
“So good, huh?”
“Bradley.” Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, but you still managed to get another question out. “How did you vote in the last three presidential elections?” He slowed his pace and you glanced down at him. “Wait, are you registered to vote?”
Bradley actually paused, fully in possession of his faculties. “You know, I don’t think I changed my registration over yet from Virginia -”
“- So help me fucking god, Bradley, I will jump off your dick right now if you -”
 “- Obama.” Thrust. Moan. Pull Back. “Clinton.” Thrust. Moan. Pull Back. “And then Biden.” Thrust. Moan. Pull back.
“Good boy,” you just managed to get out before Bradley really felt himself losing control. 
He wanted to - no, he needed to finish inside of you. He couldn’t bear the thought of flipping you over and pulling out, only to spend himself all over your stomach - seemed like a waste. Neither of you had the forethought to get a condom out of his nightstand.
“Are you on the pill?”
“IUD,” you barely got out, “Can’t have any of your military brats running around now, can I?”
Thank fuck. He wanted to come inside you so badly. Fill you up and then watch his cum drip out of you. God, he was so close. He just wanted to flip you over again, so this time you were on your back.
“Gotta wait a couple more dates before we start talking about kids, sweetheart - god, it’s like your cunt was made for me -”
“- Jesus fuck, Bradley! Just come inside me before I -” The most beautiful moan he had ever heard interrupted what was sure to be another diatribe of yours. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck -”
And then it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. With one final thrust, his orgasm crashed through him and he spent himself inside you. A moment later, you followed, your body briefly tensing and then you came with a cry. 
You collapsed against his chest, spent - the two of you a sweaty mess of limbs and slick between your thighs as you both rode out the aftershocks. You glanced up at him, resting your chin on his chest, and gave him a look of pure adoration. 
“There’s my good girl,” he said, getting a winning smile out of you. Somehow, you managed to pull yourself up and give him a kiss, less heated than the previous ones you had shared, but no less meaningful, before you rolled over onto Bradley’s other side and slipped under the top sheet. 
You both laid there, side by side, chests rising and falling heavily. Fuck. Neither of you knew what to say - if there even was something to say. It had never been like that with anyone else - ever. 
“I still don’t like that you’re in the military,” you said, not turning to face him. 
The matter of fact way you said it made Bradley chuckle, which then turned into a proper laugh and you soon joined in.
“Sorry,” you said through your laughter, “just had to make sure that was clear.”
“And I’ll just try to forget you asked me who I voted for in the last election while I was literally inside you.” You groaned and hid underneath the sheet. “Just so you know, that was my honest answer. You can look up my voting record if you really want.”
You peeked your head out from under the sheet. “And you’ll promise to change your registration to California?”
Bradley chuckled. “I’ll go this week.” 
“Good.” You smiled shyly at him and then propped yourself up onto your left elbow, peering at him curiously. “So, how do we really feel about the stache?” You brought your finger up to his mouth and dragged it across his mustache and then to his lips. 
Bradley leaned back on his elbows and glared at you. “We like the stache…”
“Okay, sure, sure.” You scrunched your nose and tilted your head back and forth a couple times. “For now.”
“You’ll change your mind after riding my face.”
You pulled the bedsheet up higher on your chest, but tangled your legs with his. “Planning another round already, huh?” 
He kissed your nose. “You know us military guys, ready with a moment’s notice.” You yawned. “Or maybe not…”
“Sorry,” you started sitting up, “I was busy all week with that project I mentioned.” He nodded, remembering the couple times you had brought it up earlier in the week via text. “And didn’t get much sleep. Anyway, I guess I should get going…”
Despite his best efforts, his face fell. “Oh. Right, yeah.”
“Yeah…” But you didn’t move. “This was -”
He scooted over towards you and laid his hand on your thigh. “ - You can stay here tonight - I mean, if you want to? Like by the time you get an Uber and then get back to your place - you’ll be out like an hour of sleep already.”
You glanced around the room and bit your lip. “I don’t know - I figured you didn’t - I mean, I don’t know if you want -” you cut yourself off, seemingly not wanting to say anything more for the moment.
“It’s no big, really.” You still seemed unsure and Bradley hoped he didn’t sound too eager. 
“Okay - yeah.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Cool. Uhh is it okay if I just use the bathroom…”
Bradley nodded readily. “Yeah, uhh, it’s down the hall, second door on the right.”
“Cool.” You tiptoed over to the leather and oak chair in the corner that held Bradley’s mountain of shirts. You grabbed the button down he had worn earlier that evening and threw it on, quickly fastening the middle two buttons. “I’ll just,” you thumbed over your shoulder and scampered out of the room.
“I’ll be here,” Bradley said to the empty room. 
Fuck.
-----------
Saturday mornings were one of Bradley’s favorite times of the week. He allowed himself to sleep in a little later - nothing crazy, just nine o’clock - and then prepared himself a well balanced breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast with one of those fancy cold brew coffees he had finally figured out how to make. 
He so rarely allowed himself that time during the week - the ability to ‘just do’ and not over think everything. To do whatever he wanted. But that Saturday morning was different. 
Because that Saturday you were there.
His arm was thrown over your stomach, leaving you close, but not too close to him. You slept on your back, while he slept on his side. Your sheets had barely moved during the night, still wrapped tightly around your breasts, while Bradley’s were half kicked to the end of the bed and half bunched between the two of you.
There were a smattering of bite marks across your neck and chest and Bradley wondered how the rest of your body under the sheet had fared. He stretched slightly, hoping not to wake you yet and felt a pleasing ache in his thighs. Beside him, he watched you shift slightly in your sleep and twitch your nose. He quickly shut his eyes, knowing you were waking up and didn’t want to be caught staring. 
You let out a blissful sigh and burrowed yourself into the pillows on your side of the bed. As you stretched, your leg grazed against Bradley’s and you let out a little gasp and quickly yanked it away. 
Figuring that was a good excuse to wake up, he rolled over to face you and let out a little groan of his own, but didn’t open his eyes yet. 
“Morning,” he rasped as he opened his eyes. You were staring at him, looking like a deer in headlights. “How’d you sleep?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but didn’t say anything for a moment. “Uhh, fine - thanks.” You cleared your throat. “Do you know what time it is?”
Bradley rolled over to glance at the old fashioned alarm clock on his mid century modern nightstand. “Just after nine. Do you want -”
“- Oh. I guess I should head out then…”
He tried not to look too disappointed. “Oh, yeah.” He sat up in bed, leaning against the pillows piled up against his headboard. “Uhhh, I think your clothes are over there.”
You slipped out of bed, taking the top sheet with you to preserve your modesty he imagined, and made your way to the foot of the bed where your dress had wound up last night. You managed to put it on without letting the sheet slip and swept your hair out of the way to tie the ribbon at the back that Bradley had loved undoing hours ago. 
Once you finished, you looked around the rest of the room, but avoided eye contact with him. He had a feeling he knew what you were looking for - your underwear.
He cleared his throat. “Uhh, it’s in my jeans. The back pocket.”
You went over to the pile of his own clothes on the floor and picked up his jeans, finding your white lace underwear in the back pocket, like he had said. For some reason, Bradley glanced away while you slipped them on. He turned back around and gave you a small smile, but found that you were already staring at him, an unreadable expression on your face. You shook yourself out of whatever trance you had been in and made your way over towards his side of the bed. You cleared your throat before speaking.  
“Look, I’m sorry, Bradley. But I don’t know if I see this as a long term thing?” You leaned down to give him a kiss on the forehead. It was only slightly condescending. “But if you ever want to ever want to fuck again, let me know?”
And before he could even get out a response, you were gone, a trail of perfume in your wake and Bradley was half hard again. He leaned back against his headboard and let out a deep sigh. 
Oh.
He had thought you’d both come to some sort of truce last night. You’d slept over for fuck’s sake. Was it so out of the realm of possibility that you would want to see him again? And for more than just sex at that? For a moment he just sat there, staring at his hands clasped on top of his duvet. Was this how every girl felt after Hangman did the ol’ two pump dump on them? It made him rethink every date or one night stand he’d had in the last fifteen or so years - was this how it felt to be ghosted? Wasn’t that what people were calling it now? God, it was fucking shitty -
Suddenly, there was a commotion coming from the hallway and Bradley belatedly realized he hadn’t heard the front door close. The sound of sandals slapping on the hardwood echoed through the house and you suddenly burst through his bedroom door, a giddy smile on your face. 
“Oh my god, your face!” You giggled, looking downright gleeful. 
The realization that he had just been had - mercilessly, truly he would never live it down - just hit Bradley. 
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hide his smile or the relief he had felt. 
You smiled in turn, looking carefree and beautiful with your messy morning hair and post sex glow. You took a couple steps towards him and the bed and he reached out to absentmindedly finger the hem of your dress. 
“I think we’ve established that I’m actually hilarious.”
“Tell me a joke then - come on, right now. Tell me a joke?”
You tapped your index finger on your chin - once, twice. “Hmmmm, what about the fact that you work -”
“- For the Navy?” he finished with you. You nodded, that giddy smile back on your face. “Not your best, but we can work on that.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking…”
“Smart girl.” 
You hummed in response and leaned forward to play with his hair, pulling it slightly at the roots. “So you’ve told me. But I’ve been thinking, have you ever thought about a career change?”
Bradley sighed, humoring you. “Can’t say I have, but what do you have in mind, sweetheart?”
“Well, I think I could proudly fuck an astronaut - oh my god, Bradley!” You let out a shriek when he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you onto the bed next to him. 
He leaned over you, propped up on his right elbow. “An astronaut, huh?” 
You nodded, now laying flat on your back. “Unlike your obnoxious friend from last night -”
“- Bagman,” he purposely gave you the wrong name, hoping it would stick and you’d earnestly call Hangman that to his face the next time you saw him.
“Bagman,” you repeated, “right, well, unlike Bagman from last night, you’re actually very intelligent.”
“Oh, I’m very intelligent, huh?”
You ignored him. “You already fly in that death trap plane and can handle all the g-force so the astronaut training programs shouldn’t be - don’t look at me like that, all surprised I know what g-force is, I’m not an idiot.”
Bradley couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry, sorry. Go on.”
“And -” you sat up in your excitement, “- now this is the most important thing - you won’t be actively contributing to the exploitation of foreign nations by exporting their natural resources for the benefit of the US economy.”
You looked so pleased with yourself that Bradley couldn’t help the proud smile from stretching across his face. “How about I think about it? That good with you?”
“That would be nice…” you tried to sound nonchalant about it, but he could tell you were pleased. “And what do you want in return?”
He scoffed in mock outrage and sat up beside you. “Me? Want something in return? Never?” You shot him an amused look. “Hmm, how about this?” He grabbed your hand and played with your fingers. “You go out with me again?”
A smile crept across your face and you ducked your head. “I think that’s a fair trade - provided I get to pick what we do?”
“Oh, of course,” he said with mock solemnity. 
“Then I accept.” 
You gave him a quick peek on the lips, but Bradley pulled you back in for a deeper kiss. You responded in kind, leaning into him and pressing your body against his. He wasn’t entirely sure how serious you were about this whole astronaut thing - he doubted you were - but he was committed to making this work between the two of you. 
If your thoughts on the military were that important to you, then you and Bradley would work something out together. He wasn’t about to give up on this just yet. He wrapped his hands around your hips, right at the top of your ass, and you squirmed against him, never breaking your kiss. For a moment, he let himself get lost in a daydream with you, of him going off to space and you - hold on just a minute...
He pulled his lips away from yours. “- Wait, wait - it’s not okay for me to exploit foreign nations, but it’s okay for me to potentially colonize space?”
You straddled his waist, barely moving your lips away from his neck as you gave a reply. “Shh, shh, we can work out the details later…”
THE END
[Part 1.5] [Part 2.1]
3K notes · View notes
opheliaweeps · 1 year
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been on a bollywood kick recently, and im rewatching k3g (as one should do at least once a year, if only for the songs), and im just marvelling at the gall rohan had to burst into ‘wah wah ramji’ to technically tell rahul & anjali that he’s family.
like, the absolute audacity of this little shit is truly the mindset I aspire to have in life.
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koheletgirl · 2 years
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guys we have so many friends mutuals lovers etc who write ids for things why wouldnt you check for that when it's your own fandom yk?
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forlix · 5 days
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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.
— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.
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words・15.2k
pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)
genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!
warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.
playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes
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a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡
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“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”
Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”
Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Please, angel.”
“No! Leave me alone.”
Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”
At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 
When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”
Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”
You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.
The air between you curdles like sour milk.
Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.
You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 
“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”
“Because you’re so scholarly.”
“I am not scholarly.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”
“I need to get my steps in somehow!"
“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”
“—ugh, I learned so much about you that day."
“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”
“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”
“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”
He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.
But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time.
He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.
“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.
You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”
He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.
“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”
“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”
All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.
“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.
Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.
“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”
“Thanks, cap.” Useless.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”
“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.
From: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad
Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”
“Yep.”
From: Kyeyoung Kim «[email protected]» To: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology
“That’s bullshit!”
“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”
“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.
“No way you just had that.”
“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”
Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”
“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”
He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”
Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.
“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.
The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.
Then comes the yelling.
“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”
“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”
“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”
Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.
“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”
Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.
He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.
“Beats me,” he lies. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”
“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 
Hyunjin shudders.
It just might, actually.
Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.
It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.
At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.
Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.
Piazza replied within the week.
For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.
But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.
He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”
“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”
Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.
“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”
Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.
Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”
Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
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A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.
“I thought you said your order was complicated.”
You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.
“Was it not?” You ask.
“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”
“What? Really?”
“No.”
He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.
“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”
“I do, but you don’t.”
Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.
“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”
“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.
You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”
Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”
“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”
“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.
You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.
You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.
He’s thinking.
That can’t be good.
Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”
“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”
“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”
“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”
Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”
Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”
“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”
The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”
“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”
Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”
“I can see it.”
“I can see killing myself, maybe.”
The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.
“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.
Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”
Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.
“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”
You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.
Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.
“I didn’t like that at all.”
“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”
“You have a kid, don’t you?”
���Hello—who do you think I am?”
“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”
“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”
You can’t argue with that.
“What do you have to tell me?”
A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.
“I’m failing anthro.”
So much for a serious conversation. 
“Come again?”
He repeats the mystifying statement.
“You’re joking.”
The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.
“You’re failing anthro?”
“I just said that, yes.”
“You’re failing anthropology?”
“Mhm.”
“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”
This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”
“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”
Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.
“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”
You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”
“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”
“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”
“Do you want it to?”
“Just tell me the deal, boy.”
“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”
Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”
“On which part?”
“All of them. Everything.”
Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”
You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.
He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.
“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”
“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”
“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”
“Let me guess. Not for you.”
“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”
“To dinner or to practice?”
“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”
He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.
“—you should manage our team.”
“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”
“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”
“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”
“Me!”
Oh, right. “But you hated it!”
“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”
You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”
Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”
“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”
“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”
You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”
He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.
“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”
“What is this, mock trial?”
The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.
“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”
“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”
“I would never.”
“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”
“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”
You stiffen. “I haven’t—”
“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”
You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—
Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.
“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”
“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.
He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.
You do kick him under the table, though.
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The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.
“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.
The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.
“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”
“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”
“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”
Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.
“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.
“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”
“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”
“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”
“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”
Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”
The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.
You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.
“Go easy on me, yeah?”
While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.
“I can’t promise anything.”
With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.
A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.
Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”
“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”
“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”
“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”
“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.
“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”
The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.
“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”
One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.
So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 
Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.
Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.
Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”
He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.
“Caring about me.”
Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.
“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”
“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”
It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.
As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”
“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”
You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”
The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.
The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.
You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.
Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.
“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.
Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”
“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”
The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”
He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.
It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.
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A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 
“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”
You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”
“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”
You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.
“Motherfucker!”
He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”
“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 
“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”
The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.
“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.
“I tried! Someone distracted me.”
“Read it before I change my mind.”
You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.
You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.
Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.
With that, his attention span has run its course.
“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”
You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.
“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”
“I think so. I hit my stride.”
“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 
“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.
“Why is that?”
“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”
“It really is.”
“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”
“I really would.”
“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”
“Didn’t you come up with that?”
“No, hello? I live in that village.”
He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”
“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”
Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”
“Really?”
“No.”
You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.
“But I do give a fuck about you.”
There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.
He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.
Then he opens his texts.
Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡
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He picks you up at 7:53.
You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.
“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.
Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”
You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”
“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”
“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”
“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me, Minho.”
“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”
“I want nothing to do with this.”
When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.
“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”
“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”
He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”
“I’m okay, I think.”
“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.
You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”
“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.
You purchase an hour.
One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.
But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.
“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.
You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.
You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.
“I already did,” you finally answer.
“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”
“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”
“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”
Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”
He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”
“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”
“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”
“Then you’re smarter than you look.”
“Well, you look—”
His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.
“What was that?”
“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 
When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 
He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.
Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.
Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.
“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”
“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”
“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”
“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”
He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”
“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”
You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 
Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.
He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.
“Do you want to be alone?”
You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 
“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.
When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 
Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.
You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.
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Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.
Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 
Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.
Then came the arcade.
Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 
In person, that is.
That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.
Then you listen to it again.
And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.
As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.
Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.
“It’s been a while,” he greets.
“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”
“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”
You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”
Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.
Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 
Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.
You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.
“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.
His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.
“Is this enough space?”
More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.
“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”
Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.
The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.
The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.
There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 
“How do you see under these things?”
“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”
“And?”
“He made them brighter.”
“Sounds about right.”
He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.
But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.
This cannot be his burden alone.
You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.
“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”
You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”
The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.
“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”
“Your role model?”
“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”
The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”
“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.
“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”
You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.
Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.
You stop thinking after that.
You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.
You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.
“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”
His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.
“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”
“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”
You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?
“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.
“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.
“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”
Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.
The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.
“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”
Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.
“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.
“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”
“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.
“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”
Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.
“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”
The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?
“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”
When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”
You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.
“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”
You think you like his cologne after all.
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Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.
A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 
Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.
“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”
You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”
He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”
You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”
Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Traitor.”
Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 
“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.
You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 
“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”
He stops speaking.
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”
“You are about to be a professional athlete.”
“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”
Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.
“Let’s get this over with.”
At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.
At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.
You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.
Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.
“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”
Hyunjin is already out the door.
A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.
“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 
“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”
Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”
Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”
Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”
“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”
“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”
“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”
“She really is.”
A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.
Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.
It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.
At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.
Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 
Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.
Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 
“Yeonwoo, right?”
He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.
“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”
“Also a singer?”
He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”
“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”
Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.
“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.
“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”
“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”
“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”
“The arcade wasn’t enough?”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Whenever you want, then.”
“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”
“Bet.”
They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.
“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”
Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 
Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.
But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.
He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.
It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?
Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”
Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.
“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”
Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.
Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.
Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.
But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.
You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.
You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.
It has always been him.
The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 
It’s not awkward this time.
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Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.
He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 
He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.
The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.
He balls his fingers into fists.
“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”
An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”
His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.
He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.
“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”
Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.
The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”
Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”
Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.
“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 
“Love you too, Bin.”
Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.
“The short answer,” she deadpans.
He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.
In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.
Hyunjin thanks you.
You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.
What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.
You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky. They’re right.
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed. “Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 
“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.
He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.
He calls out to you.
You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.
You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 
Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.
“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.
A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”
Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.
He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.
“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”
“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”
From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano
“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”
In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”
You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.
“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 
She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.
Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?
He’ll be here in eight minutes.
You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.
Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.
You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.
He finds you a sobbing mess.
“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”
“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”
“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.
Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.
“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 
He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.
You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”
He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”
“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”
“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”
You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”
He returns in a flash. “You love me.”
You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.
“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”
“No, no. The opposite, actually.”
Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”
“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.
“Duty calls, my love.”
“Tell me your thing later too?”
“Of course.”
You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”
He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.
“Hypocrite.”
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Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]
This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.
I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.
As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.
You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.
I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.
Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.
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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡
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Trial of the Youngest
Pairings: Kate Bishop x Reader
Reader: Female
Appearances: Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Yelena Belova
Summary: Kate is tired of being treated as the youngest. Y/N shows her that it is not such a bad thing.
A/N: HI! I'm sorry that is has been awhile since I posted. I wanted to thank all of the people who responded and explained how to use readmore! It was really helpful. And for the person who asked about Forgotten Part 2, I normally do not write continuations unless I have it planned out before I post.
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It was late at the Avengers tower -around 11 or so-, and you were sitting on the couch reading, while Natasha sat to your left scrolling through the TV to find something to watch, as the two of you waited for the rest of the Avengers to return from a mission. All was peaceful-
"I'm fine! Can you guys leave me alone!?"
-or it was supposed to be.
Ears perked from the noise, you looked towards the hallway where you heard the sound of a door slammed open and shut and the sound of arguing voices and angry foot steps. You bit you lip in confusion as you turned to Natasha, whose eyes were narrowed in concern.
"What was that?" She asked.
You look back down the hallway again listening to the growing voices, and looked back at Natasha. You purse you lips, "Well, I'm not expert, but it sounds like the team is back."
Natasha rolled her eyes at your snark and hit you on the back of the head with a nearby pillow.
"Hey!" You grumble, rubbing your head.
"Don't be a smart aleck." Natasha got up to head towards the hallway to meet them.
"That wouldn't be any fun" you mumbled as you turned around in your seat to face the entrance.
"I was doing fine! You don't need to babysit me. Why don't you guys go take care of yourself?" Ah, sound like Kate's whining.
"We are just making sure you're okay." That voice is sweet and concerned, must be Wanda.
"Yeah, stop being a baby and let us help." And that brash sentiment must be Yelena.
Whatever they were arguing about, it seems as if it has lasted for a while. Natasha was only a few feet away from the couch as an annoyed Kate stormed in, followed by an equally exasperated Wanda and Yelena.
"Hey, what’s happening?" Natasha raised her voice a little to stop their squabbling.
Keeping her head down, Kate tried to barrel past Natasha toward the hallway containing the bedrooms, but Natasha caught her by the shoulders before she could.
"Woah, kiddo! What's the problem?"
Looking over Natasha's shoulder, you saw her hands move to the base of Kate's neck to lift her head up. Kate's eyes finally met Natasha's, and you could see a horrible black eye on the right side of her face and a cut over the bridge of her nose.
"Malen'kiy, what happened?" Natasha asked, the concern was practically radiating off her. (little one)
Kate huffed as she shrugged away from Natasha's grasp. "I'm fine. I'm honestly okay. It's them that you should be-"
"How can you say you're okay, Kate Bishop, when your face looks like you auditioning for a role on Dead of the Walking."
Kate was about to respond when she stopped from confusion while you scrunched your eyebrows.
"Do you mean The Walking Dead?" You ask.
Yelena waved you off, "No matter what it is called, she still looks like a zombie."
"Hey!" Kate said offended. "At least I don't have-"
"We've been telling her she needs to see Cho," Wanda said to Natasha.
"I don't need to see Dr. Cho," Kate argued back, glaring at Wanda.
"I'm not sure, Kate. That looks bad," Natasha said worriedly as she got closer to examine Kate injuries. Kate tried to dodge Natasha as she continued to fight the three older women. You just look on in quiet contemplation.
After seeing Kate's injuries and listening to how this conversation is going, you quickly inferred why Kate was so adamant that she was okay. You glanced over at the other two who came back from the mission to confirm your theory.
While both Yelena and Wanda had only a couple scratches on their face, Wanda was heavily limping, leaning most of her weight against a nearby chair, and Yelena - who was no longer wearing the top half of her suit, showing only her tanktop - has her shoulder roughly patched up with blood seeping through. With the way they were holding themselves, you guessed they probably had many more bruises that you couldn't see.
Of course, Natasha hadn't noticed this since Kate's injuries stood out more and the other two kept putting the attention on her, but after looking over Kate again, you saw that she was moving around like normal. It appears that only her face seemed to have taken damage, which was definitely the least concerning of the injuries in this room currently.
You zoned back into the argument and smirked to yourself as you readied to get Kate out of this.
"Hey, Wanda. Is that a new walk or are you just limping? I can't tell with all the wierd stuff people do now days. And Yelena, I really like the splash of red gushing down your shoulder. Brings the whole warrior aesthetic together," You state with what could pass as genuine curiosity and sincerity.
Natasha stopped trying to examine Kate’s injuries and snapped her head towards Yelena and Wanda, finally noticing their own injuries.
"What the hell are you doing up here?! You two should be in the infirmary right now!" Natasha exclaimed, half mad at them for not telling her and half mad at herself for not noticing.
Kate looked dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events and looked over at you.
Get in the shower, you mouth to her, gesturing to the hallway for her escape, as if it was obvious. Finally getting the hint, she nodded slowly and quickly snuck away.
Both Yelena and Wanda's eyes widen at the suddened attention.
"We were, but Kate-" Wanda started.
"No, you should understand that these injuries need immediate attention," Natasha argued while pinching her nose, not believing that she has to explain this to them. "Yelena is shot, and who knows what happened to your ankle."
"Technically, it is a stab wound," Yelena defended, as if it would help her case.
Natasha took in a deep breath and sighed. "Yelena, you are practically bleeding out, and Wanda's foot is literally dangling. You two are going to see Dr. Cho now." Natasha stated pushing them towards the elevators.
Yelena resisted a little. "Wait, what about Kate. Where is she?" Her Russian accent pointed out. Everyone just now seemed to notice Kate's disappearance.
"I got her," You pipe up.
"See, Y/n's got her. Let's go." Natasha stated firmly.
Wanda - with the help of Natasha - hobbled to the elevator like a kicked puppy, while Yelena trudged over, turning her head around to glare at you as she picked up on what you had done.
You simply smiled as back and stuck your tongue out at her as the elevator doors started to close.
Once they were gone, you went down to hallway to Kate's room. Putting your ear to the door, you heard the faint sound of the shower running, signaling Kate listened to you and was getting the grim from the mission off of her.
Satisfied, you walked back to the main room and headed over to the miniature kitchen area. You preheated the oven then grabbed a frozen pizza from the freezer to thaw on the counter. Turning around, you opened the designated medicine cabinet and grabbed the first aid kit. You placed it on the counter next to the pizza and rummaged through it to see if it had all the supplies you needed. After finding all the supplies, you heard the oven ding, signaling it was time to put the pizza in. You got it out of the box and placed it on a pan. Since you didn't grab an oven mitt, you held on to the edge of the pan and gently lowered the pizza in.
After closing the oven door and setting the times, you go to throw away the pizza box when you caught movement from the corner of your eye. Glancing to the side, you see Kate with wet hair and pajamas by creeping against the wall, trying to reach the front door. It was almost comical how she thought tiptoeing like a cartoon character was a good strategy to escape this situation.
Not making any indication that you saw here, you continued disposing the pizza box and started opening the med kit. “If those are the stealth skills you exhibited on the field, I understand why your face is wrecked.”
You smirk to yourself as Kate groaned loudly. “How do you do that?” A pitter-patter of footsteps followed that ended right beside you. Looking up from Laying out the supplies you would need, you saw Kate standing at the adjacent counter-side with her bottom lip sticking out.
“Why would I tell you? Put the pout away and sit down,” You gesture to the stools across from you. Kate huffed as she followed directions and plopped onto the seat. You hopped on the counter and moved so Kate was in front of you between your legs with you slightly looking down on her.
“What are you doing?”
“This is how Natasha patched my face up after missions. Now shush, and stay still,” You grabbed her chin and titled it to the light in order to inspect the damage. The eye was swelling, and there was a hint of discoloration already appearing. There would be a big bruise around the eye tomorrow, but for now you needed to stop the swelling. However, you decided to take care of Kate’s nose first, in order to get that out of the way. Luckily, the shower Kate took washed away most of the grim from the mission, and you were able to clearly see the cut. It was clearly deep and ran across the the whole bridge of the nose.
“This would have bleed a lot.” You mumble as you absently reach for the antibiotic wide.
Kate shifted uneasily. “Yeah, we were able to find a towel in the jet to stop the bleeding. I had it against my face most of the ride home.”
We fell into silence again as i did everything i cold to ensure Kate’s nose wouldn’t get infected. Satisfied, I reached out to grab a butterfly nose strip that should help the wound close a little faster.
“That’s not how it happened you know,” Kate spoke up, not able to handle the salience, not even for a minute.
“How what happened?” you asked absently, completely focused on apply a the butterfly strip on Kate nose.
“My face. To make it look so Walking Dead-ish.” You chuckled at her phrasing. Kate smiled in response as she continued, “It wasn’t a stealth issue.”
“Then what was it?” You had finished with the strip and looked directly in Kate eyes, so she knew that she had you full attention.
Kate sighed in defeat. “Yelena and Wanda were supposed to do the heavy fighting since I’m still a junior avenger. My job was to stay at a safe distance as support. Be the eyes, assist, take down who I could.”
“And you left your post?”
“Ugh, no!” Kate responded indignantly. You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Why is that your first guess?”
“From what I’ve heard from Clint, you tend to improvise a lot.”
“Since when?”
“The Tracksuit Mafia.”
“That was one time!”
“That’s not what I heard~” you singsonged with a smile.
Kate tried to role her eyes but winced at the moment. You decided to shimmy off the counter and walked over to the freezer.
“Anyway, I stayed in place, but someone found where my perch was. I was so focused on helping them, I didn’t notice until he wrenched my bow from my hand and got several punches in.”
“Oh, so its not stealth we need to work on but awareness,” you tease while opening the freezer.
“Please don’t, I already got a lecture from Yelena,” Kate whined. “Although I think her point got lost since she has a literal gunshot wound in her shoulder.” Kate
“Don’t worry. When Natasha hears this story, she will be sure to drive the lessen in.” You state while rustling through the freezer. While you couldn’t see Kate, You could tell her mouth was opening in protest. Cuttings her off before she could start you say, “And, yes, Natasha will know. She is probably already hearing Bloody and Limpy’s side of the story as we speak.” Kate groaned but didn’t protest. “How did that happen, by the way? Yelena and Wanda?”
Kate bit her lip and look down. “My startled cried distracted Yelena, and she got shot trying to make her way over to me. Meanwhile, Wanda flew to my side in a second, he only got three punches in before she three him off. But in her haste, she landed on her ankle really wrong.”
“While that was reckless, and I’m sure Natasha is chewing them out about it now, at least they didn’t come. I mean, I know you love the color purple Kate, but it’s not flattering around the eye” You pause for a second. “Unless it's eyeshadow.”
You could practically feel here unimpressed look. “Haha. What are we doing about my eye?”
From depths of the freezer, you pulled out a bag of peas and tossed them across the counter. She grabbed the bag tentatively with her left hand, wincing before quickly transferring it to her right hand and placed it over her eye. She then cradled her left hand close to her stomach.
“If it looks worse in the morning, we will go down and see Dr. Cho.” Kate was about to open her mouth, but again spoke again before she could,
“Ah! No arguments,” You pointed at her. “You’ve gotten away with not going tonight, but we will see her about you eye if needed. Especially since you probably sprained your wrist as well.”
Kate mouth dropped open as she gaped, “Wha- how could you tell?”
You walked to the med kit and grabbed the roll of bandages. Cutting off a strip, you walked to Kate’s side of the counter and held out your hand. Kate turned to face you and placed her hand in yours as you began to wrap it up.
“You’ve been favoring it since you’ve been in here. I’m guessing when the guy that got a jump on you and forcible took your bow, it turned your wrist a bit too much before you let go.”
Kate's mouth was agape. "Wow, that's amazing."
"Naw, I'm just used to getting injured and hiding it," You nodded. "Natasha was able to catch it everytime though." You cut the bandaged and secured it to her wrist. You stepped back with your arms spread wide and a smile on your face. "And voila."
Kate looked down and rubbed the bandage. "You hid injuries?"
You sat in the stool beside hers. "Of course, loads of times. Never made a difference though, not with those three."
Kate huffed, "Yeah. They are completely overbearing."
"Of course, that what big sisters are for."
"They don't need to look out for me," Kate argued. "I can handle myself."
"Is that why I was the one who took care of your injuries?" You shot back.
Kate pouted. "It different with you. You don't act like them"
"It's because I understand where you are coming from."
Kate raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
You sighed. "Look, you're just not used to it yet. An only child, looking out for yourself, its going to take a minute for the realization that others are looking out for you too sink in. It did with me."
"You were an only child?" Kate asked confused.
You looked at Kate sadly. "No, I was the oldest."
Kate squinted her eyebrows, "You have a younger sister?"
Looking up, you smile lightly with watery eyes, "I had brother. He died in the invasion of New York."
Kate gasped, "I'm so sorry." Kate hugged you.
You hugged her back, "It's okay. We all lost something in New York.
Kate nodded, thinking back to her dad. Shaking her head, Kate focused back on you, "What happened then?"
“Eventually, I was recruited by the Avengers, and Natasha immediately jumped into the older sister role. And I was completely adamant against it the whole tim. I was used to being the older sister and caring for others, not the other way around. And it got worse after we got Wanda after Sokovia. While she was new, she was also older, and so was Yelena."
"What did you do?"
"I learned to roll with it. Found a balance with my new situation, and embraced little sisterness. It has many advantages that I had not previsouly known."
"Like what?" Kate asked.
You shake your head. "I'll tell you later. It's a trial being the youngest in the group, but I also don't need you knowing my secrets and using them against me." You nudge her playfully.
Kate smiled lightly. "What about their overbearing attitude?"
"As far as I'm concerned, they are just looking after us. You can’t exempt the fact that we do get injured sometimes." You look at her pointedly.
Kate shrunk in on her self for a second before remembering the nights events. "Even if it means hurting themselves?" Kate asked a little angrily, "That's stupid!"
You nod. "Yes it is. An unfortunate side-effect I'm still working on." You wrapped an arm around her. "In the meantime, that’s when little sister power comes in. One of the first advantages I learned, which I will give you for free, is if they won't listen to us, we act sweet and adorable, and bring it to the attention of the next oldest."
"Like you just did with Wanda and Yelena with Natasha?"
You smiled mischievously and winked. " Exactly like that. It works even if they get injured in general and are too stubborn to admit it."
The timer to the oven then went off. As you walk over, Kate asks "What do we do if Natasha is injured?"
You grabbed the oven mitts from the drawer. "Then we all band together and nag her until she goes."
"And that works?"
"Not all the time," You say as you snatch the pizza.
"What do we do then?"
"When all else fails, and this is for everything, tell Steve." You turn around and place the pizze in front of her dramatically. "Ah ha!"
Kate perked up. "Pizza?!"
"Yes!" You smile wide as grabbed the pizza cutter and started cutting. "The best way to finish a mission."
You and Kate both drug into the pizza, extremely hungry after the physically and emotional eating. After a while Kate looked at you tentatively. She coughed to clear her throat. "Umm, Y/n"
You looked up at her, "Yeah?"
Kate looked down, "Thank you for taking care of me. You're a good big sister."
You smile. "Of course, and thank you."
Kate jerked her head up. "For what?"
"Allowing me to be a big sister again." You both looked at each other smiling. At least, until you heard the sound of the elevator reaching the floor. Your eyes widen as you started to gather you pizza. "Run! We need to run!" You said urgently."
Kate stood up frantically, not knowing what to do. "Why?!" That is when the sound of thre distinctive voices, one normal, one Russian, and one Sokovian, were heard coming down the hallway. "Should we not check on them?"
"Trust me, if Yelena and Wanda are allowed to come back up here, then they are fine. But if we don't leave now then we have to share the pizza!" You whisper urgently.
Kate'seyes widen in horror,"Oh, heck no!" She scrambles to help you grab all the slices, which was difficult with her wrapped hand, before booking it down the hallway to Kate's room.
Right before the door close closed, you both heard a Russian accent ask, "Does anyone else smell pizza?"
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comicaurora · 9 months
Note
making one of your characters a neurodivergent smart aleck with a hyperfixation on magic was such a galaxy-brain move tbh. he can and will infodump literally whatever magic system exposition you want him to with very little prompting. also he’s perfect and I love him and I am chewing very hard on the linguistic connection between “Ruunaser” and “Aseran”
Writing those first three chapters was aurora in Expert Mode, like "hello my protagonist I need you to get invested in is a complete blank slate with an extremely unusual and hard-to-explain origin who doesn't even have the convenience of amnesia to justify explaining things to him, and his new friend, Extremely Complicated Component Of My Worldbuilding That Won't Fully Make Sense For Fifteen+ Chapters" and then Erin shows up and EVERYTHING GETS EASY
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chaoticdaydreamss · 9 months
Text
Yandere! Miguel o’Hara x Teen! Spider! Reader
Paring: Platonic ~ Oneshot
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CW: Arguing, Slight Yandere behavior, kinda OOC Miguel, mentions of physical violence, bad platonic writing, reader is a rebellious teen, Miguel kinda stalking.
You sat in the HQ, in Miguel’s “Office” to be exact, it wasn’t all that really, it was mostly bland and empty besides the platform that he was always lurking on, the orange lighting was starting to irritate you. So you got up and left, well tried to before you heard that same voice.
“Where are you going [Name]?”
“To eat, to process food so I don’t feel sick.”
“No need to be a smart aleck, I was just simply asking, return once you finished.”
“Ey ey captain!”
Miguel rolled his eyes pressing his fingers on the bridge of his nose as you left, his hands going on the keyboard, which summoned Lyla
“What’s up Miguel?”
“I want you to find out everything on Spider-(Man/Women) on Earth 890-4E.”
“Sure thing, I’ll put them on the screens, but why are you wanting to find out about them?”
“Classified information Lyla.”
With that she disappeared, the AI putting up information form your past, Miguel looked at the screens with a soft smile, feeling his eyes shift to a soft pink and his pupils turning into soft hearts. He found out everything, what you looked like as a child, your past, your interests everything.
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You finished eating after a while and were full, the food here was delicious, but instead of listening to Miguel you used your wristband and opened the portal, reporting back home, you walked threw and your foot landed on the rooftop, looking around at the busy city and closing signs it filled you with joy, you loved being back, you shot out your web and looked around and helping out anyone who needed you.
You’ve been with Miguel 24/7 having other Spider people help with your city, but you wanted some fresh air and to actually do something instead of being cooped up in Miguel’s bland room. It honestly kinda made you go crazy, the walls were the same color and to you it didn’t have any “Spark” besides the platform Miguel always lurked on.
Being a superhero is fun and all but it can get stressful, not only do you have to save the city but your grades as well, unlike what Gwen tells you about the guy on Earth-1610 who can be Spider-Man and have almost all A’s you were struggling with C’s and D’s, which you wish you could go visit and ask him for help.
But you couldn’t, Miguel said you shouldn’t, although you are a rule breaker and don’t like listening to him you should probably stick with what he says this time around.
As you stood on a rooftop pacing back and forth mumbling under your mask you felt your Spidey-Sences kick on, you felt something was wrong, so using your silk you flung your self from building to building until you got onto the scene, you saw the red and blue lights flashing and the police standing in front of a building, talking about a weird looking creature. So with out a second thought you snuck right in, looking around you would spot tons of debris and blood. Before you knew it you were swept into the air.
The creature of sorts slammed you into a the floor of a multi leveled building, you tried getting up but felt you body burn form the inside, you didn’t know what had happen. Did land and a hit on you? Were you injected with something? No amount of questions would be able to explain what was going on. Getting up off your feet you tried using your web which sadly you were out of. What a coincidence..
You were coughing up blood, feeling your body ache, as the creature walked toward you and grabbed your neck. Throwing you against some heavy machinery, you couldn’t move, that throne had hurt you so badly everything in your body was aching, your vision got fuzzy, before your vision blackened you saw a orange and red portal open, and red strings protruding out of it, anything after that you can’t quite recall.
- - -
Once you were “awake” you opened your eyes, lucky the room wasn’t bright, so your eyes easily adjusted, you noticed the glowing red silk stuck on your mouth, arms and ankles, you struggled in your chair and heard the voice that be longed to the one and only Miguel O’Hara, you looked up and saw the tall male walk towards you.
“I told you not to leave, and you disobey me? You see what happens when you disobey my orders?! If I didn’t arrive there at the time I did that anomaly would have killed you! Lo juro.. why do you never listen to me?! I know what’s best for you Gabriella!”
Miguel cough himself, noticing what he said, crouching down to your hight and put a hand on your cheek.
“I..didn’t mean to make you scared..”
Miguel removed the webbing from your mouth
“So that’s all I to you?! A replacement for her?! I WAS NEVER SCARED OF YOU! I JUST DIDN’T LIKE YOU! YOU WERE SO COLD TO ME AND NOW YOUR WORRYING?! YOU ONLY CARE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T LOSE ANOTHER THING IN YOUR LIFE!”
He was silent, looking down, before you could speak your mouth was covered, same with your eyes, Miguel getting up.
“Lyla. Keep an eye on them until I get back. Don’t allow them to leave.”
“Okay, sure thing.”
You honestly hopped Lyla would help you but she didn’t, you heard Miguel’s footsteps start to grow quiet, as you tilted your head down, knowing this was your new forever home with your “Dad”.
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coconutcordiale · 1 year
Note
wasted + rooster please! congratulations 💝
golden hour
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pairing- rooster x afab reader
warnings- 18+, unprotected piv, slight dumbification/degradation, light d/s, dom bradley, mention of oral (f receiving), completely unedited
length- 1.2k
an- thank you so much love!!! for the prompt "i know baby, i know" & many apologies for the wait on these celly requests. this was written in like....20 minutes. i have no idea if it's good or not
edit- realizing the next morning whatever took over my brain to write this was clearly inspired by @gretagerwigsmuse and the bradley & smart aleck cinematic universe (pls go read that it’s way better than this)
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You don’t know how you ended up here. Mere hours ago, you were seconds away from killing Abby for making you go to the Hard Deck. Military bars all have the same kind of guy.
Now, your brain is melting out of your ears as you attempt to take in the gorgeous man above you, his sharp features glowing in the setting sun that filters through his salt-stained windows.
“Fuck,” Bradley groans from where he’s doing his best to bend you in half. “Feel so good, like you were made for me.”
That’s hot, your brain supplies as your eyes catch his biceps bulging where they bracket your head laid out on his pillow.
Shut up, you tell it, trying to keep some semblance of dignity in the face of having gone home with the exact kind of guy you swore you wouldn’t give the time of day.
You were excited when he first set down a fresh Jack and Coke for you at the bar, thinking this mustached man’s worn Hawaiian shirt equaled local instead of infantry. Unfortunately, his friends in khaki who kept trying to get Rooster’s attention quickly proved your instincts wrong.
It would’ve been easier not to end up in his bed if he didn’t look the way he does, brown puppy dog eyes so earnest and kind. If he hadn’t mentioned how much he loves to play Wordle, if his friends hadn't tried to coax him to the piano at least three times while you were there.
(If his arms weren’t threatening to break out of that old Hawaiian shirt.)
Your self-respect is getting shot to hell the longer you babble incoherent nonsense, breaking your gaze from his tan skin as your head lolls to the side, eyes going hazy and unfocused. He pulls all the way out to thrust back in again, slow and teasing, enough to bring you towards the edge again but not tip you over.
You know you’re whining, high-pitched and reedy, but you can’t find the wherewithal the stop any noises from tearing their way out of your throat.
It takes a Herculean effort to move your hands to his neck, tangling in those brown curls, wrapping your legs tight around his hips in an effort to ask for more, something your lips just can’t form right now.
Bradley grins, the edges a little sharp, a little mean as your pathetic whines must have gotten the message across. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Made you cum on my tongue and now you want more? Clench that tight cunt around my cock?”
Nodding desperately, you're feeling unhinged, your head bobbing up and down like a bobblehead. When you finally make yourself form actual words, your voice is wrecked. “Please – I need – ”
He catches your lips in a filthy kiss as those skillful fingers make their way down to your clit, stroking in strong, decisive circles. “I know baby, I know.”
Bradley speeds up and you get even louder, throat straining with the mewls leaving your lips.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your lips, cock hitting you just right on every thrust.
Your climax snaps through you almost immediately at his command, your back arching up into him and bringing him over the edge with you.
+
You leave the next morning before he wakes up. You can’t help it.
Sure, he’s hot, but you’re not actually going to date this guy. You just had a momentary lapse in judgment after seeing his deft fingers fly over piano keys, singing his heart out and so fully into the performance you thought the vein in his neck might burst. It was oddly endearing.
Every girl is a sucker for a guy who can sing. Serenades make logic and reasoning fly out the window. It’s totally not your fault.
So, it stands to reason that you nearly knock him down walking into the grocery store later that day. Because that’s the kind of fuck you the universe always has in mind for you.
“Hey,” Roos—no, Bradley, smiles, easy like you didn’t sneak out of his house without a second glance mere hours ago. He takes a look at the cold water bottle you have resting against your forehead, barely holding back his amusement. “Rough night?”
You want to glower at him but it’s hard to be mad at someone that looks like that under fluorescent lighting, turning away instead so you don’t have to stare at his unfairly beautiful face and remember what that ridiculous mustache feels like between your thighs. “Shut up.”
“I think you’re limping a little bit,” Bradley mock whispers as he follows you down the chips aisle.
He sounds way too proud of himself. You flip him off and he laughs, musical and happy despite the awkward circumstances. You can’t decide if you want to punch him or kiss him.
You and Bradley start talking at the same time, words rushed and overlapping.
“You snuck out before I got a chance to ask – ”
“Bradley, you seem like a nice guy, but I – ”
A tan arm reaches across you for a bag of salt and vinegar Lays and tossing them into his basket on the floor after you both fall silent. “You don’t like military guys.”
You freeze, mouth gaping open like a fish.
He shrugs. “It was pretty obvious last night.”
“I – yeah, I don’t – ” you stutter before pausing for a deep breath. “Not sure we’re a good fit, is all.”
Bradley nods. “I get it. I had fun with you though, and not just at my house. If you're willing to reconsider, I’d like to think I’m much more than my job.”
You purse your lips, wondering if your brain is actually broken as you consider taking him up his offer. He must catch on to your deliberation because he takes a step closer to you, big hand settling against your waist slow and gentle, giving you plenty of time to step away. Your feet are glued to the floor as you try not to sway into him and get lost in the spicy scent lingering on his tan skin.
“Breakfast,” he suggests when a few moments pass without you answering.
“It’s four p.m.,” you say warily.
He scrunches his nose like that’s inconsequential. “I’ll cook.”
“You know how to cook?”
He shoots you a withering glare and you smirk, pleased to have made him feel as wrong-footed as you’ve felt since he sat down across from you yesterday.
“Do you remember where my house is, or did you sprint out too quickly to notice?”
“I don’t remember saying yes.”
“You strike me as the kind of girl that isn’t afraid to tell me to fuck off.”
“So?”
He gestures at the lack of space between you with his free hand, where your body has betrayed you by leaning into his warmth. “This doesn’t feel like you telling me to go to hell.”
“It’s not,” you sigh, mouth twitching up at the corners despite your best efforts as you shove your basket into his hands. “Put my groceries on Uncle Sam’s bill.”
Bradley practically beams at that. “Of course. But you’ll have to come over to my place to get them, can’t have you sneaking off before I get a chance to play some Righteous Brothers for you.”
The picture that paints for you makes you want to melt. You’re fucked.
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thatbanditqueen · 8 months
Text
Basic Training Ch 6
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Summary: Bess spends a Friday evening with Elvis on base, and gets excited for the party he invited her to the next day. We learn a little more about Bess' family as she gets ready to meet Elvis' friends, however, things do not go as planned.
Warnings: Fingering, dry humping, descriptions of the ever elusive female orgasm (not when Elvis is around....), and discussions of mental illness.
WC: 8.4 K i tried and failed to stick to my 5 - 6 k goal
My writing is very much influenced by the other women I write with, my lovely sister wives @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @ellie-24 @powerofelvis @peskybedtime and @shakerattlescroll give me suggestions, answer my research queries and help me find the will to live and write. Also, thanks to @ab4eva and @lookingforrainbows for their enthusiasm because honestly yes I thrive on engagement with other Elvis fans.
Special shout out to @whositmcwhatsit from whom I have stolen her characterization of Elvis learning what an OC likes as he pleasures her in bed, changing his voice when he is alone with an OC vs. in front of others, using his thumbs to rub OCs backs.... basically I subscribe to the belief that all art is deriative and collaborative and I pinch things unwittingly from everyone who I read regularly so thank you, and sorry, no, I won't ask for permission. I am a bandit queen after all. But if you have read @whositmcwhatsit's stuff you might find some of my characterizations of Elvis familiar and you should probably go read some of her stuff instead. She also alpha'd this for me and gave me lots of feedback and dialogue/plot ideas. But no Jade, I am already too jealous of your talents to give you co-author credit so stop begging me (in my head).
You can read the previous chapters of this fic about Elvis at Fort Hood in 1958 here
This is the playlist I made for this chapter. Kewl kids do that.
Chapter 6: Guided Missiles
Friday, April 11, 1958
7:07 p.m.  on the grounds of Fort Hood, Killeen, TX
Guided missiles, bound to explode
Destroying my heart is your goal
You have succeeded in making me blue
Now I know the enemy is you
The Cufflinks’ “Guided Missiles” played over the radio as Bess navigated her car along the base road, she had just begun to relax her thigh into Elvis’ leg while enjoying how he crooned along into her hair with the song. Then she felt his hand on her inner thigh and bolted upright with a gasp, trying to wiggle him off as she changed gears.
“You are making it hard for me to drive, Tupelo.”
Elvis snickered under his breath, enjoying the way Bess shivered from the way his hand moved her hem up.
“I’m jus’ being helpful, Moo Moo, this skirt’s so goddamn tight, don’t know how you can change gears.”
Bess shook her head as she pulled into the PX parking lot, sliding his hand out of her legs.
“Well, aren’t you chivalrous?”
“Zat’s me, baby.” Elvis’ lips were nibbling her ear. “I’d open your door any day.” Somehow his hand was back between her legs and she gasped when it feathered over her panties.
“My door,” she pushed him off and put the car in park, “is just fine where it is, soldier.”
He grinned at her, and the way he looked down, biting his lip, was so naughty it made Bess tense with longing. She instantly regretted coming here with him, blushing when his eyes met hers, his fingers now caressing her elbow. Their soft touch did not feel any more innocent on her arm than they had on her thigh and she coughed nervously.
“Um, uh, alright, fork it over.”
He arched an eyebrow at her.
“What?“
“You were the one who wanted candy.”
“Bess, I’m not able to carry my wallet during field exercises, an’ I came to meet’cha straight after.”
Bess rubbed his knee playfully and waggled her lips.
“Hmm, Mr. Chivalrous, indeed. Ok, guess I can spring for some Reese’s -”
“Get a bunch, and a few Pepsi colas?”
Bess couldn’t even summon one sarcastic smart aleck retort, her mind was dulled by the way his cheeks lifted up in a boyish excitement. It made her want to grab his face and cover him with a thousand kisses. Instead, she nodded dumbly and managed to make her way out of the car intact, pulling down her skirt. If she tried focusing really hard she was able to walk upright into the commissary.
Once she was a few feet inside, away from Elvis’ hands, her wits returned and, in a matter of minutes, she was at the soda fountain asking the girl behind the counter to add a few more peanut butter cups to her paper bag. 
Walking back out of the shop, Bess folded the top of the bag over itself a few times, enjoying the feel of the sharp crisp edge under her hand. She smiled to herself, thinking of Elvis’ silly grin as he conspiratorially looked around after dinner and whispered in her ear that he was in the mood for something sweet.
Studying Elvis over the last two weeks, Bess found he was not at all what she had expected. He was smart and funny, yet also childlike and sweet and simple. His face greeted her with the same genuine excitement every evening when she met him at the bottom of their dirty, dingy back stairwell. He had asked her to bring the same meal the last three nights in a row, homemade meatloaf on challah bread. And he was content to do the same thing every night: drive around listening to the radio and necking in her car. This trip to PX was the first time they had deviated from their familiar routine and gone anywhere remotely public together.
“So, this is how movie stars indulge in the finer th -”
Bess stopped talking as she sat down and realized Elvis was not in her car. Peering around the parking lot, she saw his side profile a few cars over, sitting between two girls in the back seat of a white Buick. Two giggling girls. Two very pretty, young giggling girls. 
Bristling, Bess took a deep breath and calmly placed the candy next to her, then calmly pulled the handle and then calmly but forcefully slammed her door with a bang. She saw one of the girls look over, a blonde, but Elvis remained lost in conversation, laughing at something the brunette had said. 
Bess wondered if he was even aware she had returned to the car. Not sure what to do, she settled on acting nonchalant and proceeded to fix her lipstick in the rearview mirror, trying to conceal how hard she was straining to hear what they said.
“Course I do, honey, scout’s honor. Yes, that’s right, 16 cars. Well now, what’s the point of making money if you can’t spend it? Wait a minute, huh, now, actually, it’s 15, I just gave my Messerschmitt to my tailor.”
She couldn’t make out the girls' muffled, breathy voices, just Elvis’, which was, for some reason, deeper and much more pronounced now that he had an audience.
“Oh, well now, most people ain’t heard a it, but it’s a German car, a small ‘un, rides on three wheels and goes real fast, boy, real fast, on account of how light it is. Feel like you’re racing in a bubble.” He whistled a high note. “Whooeee, goes right past all the suckers in their regular cars.  But, well, heck, I hardly got to drive it, though, so naw, I don’ miss it. I was away so much, when the guy who makes my suits wouldn’t shut up ‘bout it, I finally told him, I said, ‘Bernie,’ I said, ‘Ya can have my Messer but you have to let me pick out ev’ry thing I want in ya store here. Today’… Yeah, it was a good deal, man, I cleaned him out.”
Bess rolled her eyes and sat there waiting while Elvis chuckled and answered more questions from the girls. Then, ever the chivalrous, attentive gentleman, asked them about themselves, wondering where they went to school, what they did for fun, and whether they had any boyfriends
“Don’ lie now.” She heard his voice get flirty. “I don’t believe it, pretty girls like you? I bet you’re breaking all the guys' hearts here.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” one asked him, and Elvis laughed.
“Nah, no one special. See, I'm so busy, and I’m always on the move, it wouldn’t be fair to any gal to for me try and settle down now, ‘specially now I’m off to Germany. I’m just playin’ the field. Why, are you asking me out? Honey, ain’t fair to tease me like that.”
Elvis sat and talked with them for ten more minutes or so, but Bess was only half listening. His words about how he didn’t have a special girl played over again in her mind. Bess started eating the peanut cups impatiently as the idea of how insignificant she was to Elvis snowballed in her mind. She was just a girl he met during basic training, one of the many girls whose car he felt he could just walk up to and sit in. One of, what, hundreds he had probably kissed in dark corridors, movie theaters, recording studios, cars, motel rooms? Completely interchangeable with any other girl. Completely interchangeable with these silly, stupid girls he was flirting with while she waited.
What the fuck was she doing with her life? Baking bread and meatloaf and packing a picnic dinner to schlep on base every night? Curling her hair before bed and waking up early so she could take extra care to look nice?  While he treated her like a pathetic doormat he could send off to buy him candy and then keep waiting for what now, twenty minutes? Bess had half a mind to drive off, and the only thing that stopped her was her pride. She would not let him know that he had upset her, she was not going to have a tantrum like a child.
The peanut butter and chocolate had hardly begun to melt when Bess threw another candy in her mouth and told herself she was being silly. Those girls had probably called him over, everyone in Killeen was on Elvis alert, and he was probably just being polite and humoring them. She ate some more of the candy and felt a little better, telling herself it was harmless. And what, she expected him to spill his guts about his love life with two kids? And so what if it was true? She knew he had other girlfriends,  she’d seen pictures of him out around town with stars like Natalie Wood, Yvonne Lime, and Anita Wood in the movie magazines. Elvis' playboy lifestyle hadn’t seemed to matter this morning, because she knew they were just having fun. She was having fun, she reminded herself again, and she shouldn’t get worked up.
But it was ten more minutes before Elvis said his goodbyes, and Bess’ ire rose again as he lingered over their car window, making them promise to meet him at the base movie theater next week.
“What about you, Moo Moo, you like Danny Kaye?”
Bess looked at him coolly as he got into her car, then back at the windshield as she shifted the car into reverse.
“Sounds like you’ve already secured companions, one for each side.” She elbowed him off as he leaned to put his arm around her.
“I reckon you’re right.” He attempted to put his hand where it had been before, lightly trailing his fingers over the back of her neck. “Guess I’ll just have to put you on my lap,” he hummed in her ear, grabbing the bag of candy as Bess navigated the car out of the parking lot. 
She could tell he was joking around with her, but she scooted away from him nonetheless, sitting up straight and rigid as she drove, the bitter taste of his indifference still fresh on her tongue despite the half dozen chocolates she’d eaten in the last ten minutes.
“What happened to the Reese’s?” Elvis’ voice trailed off as he popped the last one in his mouth, and he took a longer look at Bess’ stiff stance.
“Oh, I didn’t think you were interested in them anymore.”
Elvis sucked on the candy and grabbed a bottle of Pepsi from the six pack below his feet, opening the cap with a pop.
“You cheesed off ‘bout them girls back there?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a free world, you can go around speaking to whomever you like.”
 Elvis sipped his Pepsi, looking sideways at Bess.
“Huh, so you hugging that steering wheel like you tryin’ to marry it for no reason, then, huh?”
Bess glanced over, her terse expression breaking. “Well, it doesn’t feel particularly good to be left twiddling my thumbs for thirty minutes.”
Taking another swig of his Pepsi, Elvis began to message the base of Bess’ neck.
“Aw, hell, honey, I didn’t even realize I was over there that long.” His fingers massaged the base of her neck. “Time got away from me, now that’s the god’s honest truth.”
Bess grunted as Elvis' thumb rubbed slowly over her shoulder blade, moving to her waist to pull her towards him.
“Hey now.” He kissed the top of her head, and Bess could feel her anger dissipating. “Scoot in here, let me show you how I feel ‘bout you, Moo Moo. Those girls don’ mean nothing.” He squeezed her waist.
“Seemed like something,” Bess whined, hating herself the minute the words left her mouth, she sounded needy and pitiful. 
“Aw, Moo Moo, don’t be like that. I spend my days driving ‘round in tanks with forty other men. When those lil gals called me over, almost felt like my old life again. I love my fans, honey, but that’s all they are. Ain’t special to me like you are.”
“Hmmmm.” She could feel herself giving in as his thumb worked its slow, rhythmic magic in circles at her waist. His thumb's movements made all her blood rush to her core, and a throbbing need mingled with the anger in her chest. He sensed her mood shifting and kissed her neck as she drove.
“Always so jealous, Bessie baby, might start to think you like me.”
Bess sighed out as he pulled her towards him tighter.
“You’re wrong, Elvis Presley,” she murmured halfheartedly. “I am just bored, passing time ‘til I get out of this hell hole. You could go off with a car full of girls and it wouldn’t bother me.”
His hand was at the side of her head, pulling her into his shoulder, stroking her hair.
“You’re so pretty when you get all riled up, Moo Moo, your cheeks get so red. It’s how I imagine you’d be -“ He paused, his voice was tender and babyish now, even as he spoke with an impish smirk, giggling at his own innuendo. “ - after chasing me down in that car fulla girls.”
Bess sat up, slapping his hand off her, no longer really mad about the girls, just his teasing. Elvis' arms were around her again in a flash, and he kissed her cheek.
 “I’m jus’ teasin’, honey. Now come on, be a good lil girl and find us a nice place to park.”
He turned the radio on, tapping once he found a station playing a song he liked, and waggling his eyebrows at Bess as he began to sing with The Clovers to “Blue Velvet.”
Bess shook her head to herself, enjoying how the night air cooled her warm, red cheeks. She had sworn that once he got back in the car, she would drop him off and not let Elvis charm her into spending the rest of the night with him. But here, now, she knew she was a goner. Her body betrayed her and the need to feel his lips on hers, as soon as possible, overrode any sense of pride or logic. She drove her blue Ford into the first dark alley she found among the armory buildings.
Awkwardly smoothing down her blouse, Bess tried not to seem excited or in a hurry as she sighed nervously and watched Elvis tilt his head toward the back seat. They wordlessly got out, and she stumbled into her open door. It was pitch black, the air was thick with anticipation, and Bess trembled as she edged along the leather. After two weeks, she still got nervous alone in the car with Elvis.
His lip hung down as he moved over and he caught her knee, lightly trailing over it before pulling her legs onto his lap. His eyes followed his fingers as they moved up her leg, sucking in his breath. Each night, without fail, his face would fill with awe when they began to fool around. He always looked like he had never touched a girl before, like she was the first woman he had ever met. Just the slightest caress seemed to light a fire in his eyes, and he slowly, reverently removed her shoes, one by one, swirling his fingers over each ankle.
They had left the radio playing, it was a doo wop program and the slow beat of a bass guitar thrummed in Bess’ ears as Elvis’ index finger begin to roll  back and forth at the edge of her skirt. His eyes met hers, looking her up and down as he sighed.
“Hey there, lil Moo Moo.” A goofy smile spread under his half-lidded eyes, and he bit his lip, looking as though he had just unearthed a secret. His hand was now on her knee, and a charged tremor flared up the back of her calves. “I’m crazy ‘bout you, honey. I need you to know it.”
The longing in his voice made Bess want to wrap her legs around Elvis’ waist and pull him on top of her. Draw him as close as possible, flip over and crush him into the leather seat, getting as close as she possibly could until the car shook with the sounds of their love making. Instead, Bess took a deep breath and tried to embody an appealing, modest restraint.
“I’m sorry, Elvis, sorry for giving you a hard time. And for eating all the chocolates.”
He leaned over her, and his warm breath hit her ear as he whispered.
 “I know baby, s’ok. I forgive you. You gonna be a good lil girl from now on?”
“Mmmhmmm.” She answered in her own babying voice, not questioning where that affect came from or why she suddenly seemed to find their childish repartee so enticing.
Elvis’ lips brushed over her neck, followed by a succession of kisses that started out soft and slow and then gradually became deeper. Bess fell down onto the white leather seat, her breaths loud and shallow as she unbuttoned his work coat, lifting her bottom to help Elvis as he pulled her nylons off. She laughed when they got tangled and he had to turn and look at what he was doing, swearing as he threw them to the ground.
 “Damn mosquito netting. Where were we?”
Bess cupped his cheek, bringing him back to her lips.
“Here.” She swallowed into his smug expression while his right hand moved up her thigh, teasing her over her panties before he smiled wider at the way she rolled her hips to welcome his touch. He dragged his knuckles delicately over her center and Bess felt a bulge growing against her knee when Elvis looked down where his hand was.
“Man oh man.”
He raised his eyebrow as his fingers slipped inside her and she responded with an upward thrust, turning her face into his left arm at the sensation. Elvis kissed her check, gliding his fingers further into her, slowly probing her delicately and lingering over her bundle of nerves, repeating the movements that provoked a response.
Bess tried to remember the last time a man had touched her. This was no impatient swiping on the way to quick sex. Ben had made the effort to please her, though he had always seemed preoccupied, like he was making a grocery list while he muddled along with his fingers. She had had to do a lot of work twisting and turning to get the angle right. Elvis was right there, absorbing every twitch, every gasp, every clench as she pivoted his fingers toward what she liked. No one had ever touched her like this and it felt so satisfying that Bess couldn’t stop herself from grabbing him as she moaned out. Her hands were on his back, through his hair, in his mouth while he watched with concentration, his lips opening and closing with a gasp as she moved her knee back and forth over his groin.
“You are so soft, Moo Moo.” He brought his fingers out momentarily and Bess’ jaw dropped as she watched him suck on his index and forefinger, covering them in his saliva and grinning as he brought his hand back to slide easily inside her. “Sweet, too, baby, sweetest girl I ever met.”
Bess blushed, deeper, harder, redder than ever, and buried her head into Elvis' forearm. It was almost too much, to feel Elvis’ finger rolling over her slick nub, slow and steady, like he was canoeing them intently down a lazy river, strumming her like a banjo. Each stroke brought her closer to home, and a warm tingling sensation hummed up to her throat and made her moan out a guttural melody just for him. His eyes never left hers, and his chest pushed harder and harder into her with each exhale. It was the most intimate, vulnerable and intense experience Bess had ever had. She felt him grind harder against her knee, breaking their eye contact to drop his forehead on to hers with a loud groan.
Their bodies shifted back and forth together and the car swelled with the sound of their savage breathing. The smell of aftershave, Chanel No. 5 talcum powder, tank grease and sweat filled Bess’ nostrils, and heightened the aching, sparking heat in her chest. She pulled Elvis to her, meeting his lips as he stroked her until the bow broke and waves of electricity vibrated through her body. She cried to heaven above and hell below, drowning out the sound of the music playing on the radio, the sound of the car seat heaving up and down, the sound of Elvis’ chuckles as he held her, looking down at her with wide puppy dog eyes full of satisfaction and appreciation. As if she had been the one pleasing him.
Bess realized how much she had satisfied him when she noticed a wet, gooey stain on his pants as she lay in Elvis’ arms, nuzzling her forehead against his chest. She palmed her hand over it, smiling up at him.
“Maybe I should keep an extra uniform in my car for you?”
He played with her hair, grinning into her eyes.
“Nah, it’ll dry. Sides, it’s dark, no one will know what we been up to.” He took a deep breath, another chortle escaped his lips. “S’nice a you to offer, though. Guess I know what I have to do to get you to be a nice lil girl for me.”
“Hush.” Bess hit him, but she couldn’t help but sigh affectionately. “Though, gee whiz, Elvis. I never felt like that before.”
“Aw, there she is, there’s a good lil Moo Moo.” He kissed her head. “Why, she’s the sweetest lil Moo cow in the whole wide world. Gotta take care a my Moo Moo, cuz she takes such good care me.”
All Bess could do was sink into him further, allowing his babyish voice to lull her into a calm, relaxed state. She started playing with the lining of his undershirt, asking him about their plans to be together over the weekend. 
In her more reserved moments, Bess stopped herself from prodding Elvis for future plans because she did not want to seem needy or anxious or too invested. She left it to him. She didn’t want to give him the power of knowing how much she liked him. This tryst was temporary, she knew how this worked: he would go on leave back to Memphis, and then, before she knew it he’d be off to Germany.
But when she was with him, in his embrace, all of her worries seemed to dissolve. Bess didn’t think about her mother’s troubles, her father’s expectations, how Ben had broken her heart or anything upsetting. Here, in the cozy afterglow of loving making, she felt completely at ease and her subconscious snuck out, seeking opportunities to be with him as much as possible. Her hand smoothed over his shirt as she looked up at him with a breezy, carefree grin.
“Want me to pick you up tomorrow?”
“Nah, honey, my friend has my new white Caddy, so I’ll be coming’ round to pick you up from now on.”
“What time d’you think you’ll come by?”
“Don know, ‘zactly, but I’ll call you. Reckon it’ll be after 5, most likely.”
 “I should write down my number.” She started to sit up, but Elvis held her tight and kissed her nose.
“Nah, Moo Moo, jus’ tell me, I’ll ‘member it.”
Bess squinted up incredulously, but soon he was repeating it back to her, tickling her and telling her to be a good girl and trust him.
“I got it, locked down up here, baby.” He pointed to his head, and Bess shrugged, sitting up and swaying to the sounds of the song “Devil or Angel.”
“Aw, I love this song.”
Elvis followed suit, joining her upright on the bench seat and grinning as he tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie as he sang along. Bess smiled inwardly at his silly, melodramatic expression, he was clearly trying to impress her. She grinned wider when she realized that they were on opposite sides of the seat from when they had first moved back there, and she smooshed into him with a light kiss. He returned it, and they started to paw at each other again, tongues meeting and gently exploring each other until Bess pushed off, trying to be sensible and move them out of the car.
 “You better go, Tupelo.”
Elvis followed her, kissing the knuckles over her hand as they said their goodnights against her car, hips pushing up against hips.
“Always takin’ such good care a me, Moo Moo. I jus’ know. God sent you to take care of me. Wish I could just stay with you always. I hate to leave.” He murmured, pouting. “I don know how I’m gonna make it through the night without you, baby. Gonna be dreamin’ ‘bout you.” His lip curled up at the left side. “And how sweet ya taste.”
Elvis dodged her had as she tried to hit his arm. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough, Moo Moo. Mmhhmmm, better have that sweet lil honey pot all dressed up and ready for a party. Wanna show you off to my friends.”
Bess blushed and waved him away, though she couldn’t stop herself from rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet from excitement. This last week she had felt like a phoenix, rising from the ashes of last summer’s devastating heartbreak and all the self destructive behavior that had followed.
Being with Elvis was a restorative tonic, and she couldn’t wait to spend the night with him Saturday. It meant something that he invited her to meet his friends; it was an acknowledgment, a validation, a way of telling her that he didn’t just see her as someone to fool around with in a dark car. It meant that he really liked her. That she really was special to him.
 ********************************************************
Saturday, April 12, 1958
9:47 a.m.  The Schwartz Residence
The house smelled like spiced ginger. It was one of those days when Mama had risen at dawn and baked enough food to feed the entire base. There were loaves of ginger bread, banana bread, rugelach, oatmeal cookies and some sort of roast was slowly cooking in the oven. Their kitchen had always been the heart of Bess’ family, not only was it where she learned to cook at her mother’s apron strings, but it is also where Mama taught her to draw, read and knit. Papa had taught her and Kay German by only speaking German to them in the house until they were fluent. However, it was at the kitchen table with Mama where Bess perfected her German. This was where Mama had helped her with her German homework and essays. With all of her work, with all of her problems. 
Mama’s parents were second generation German Jews, and before she met Papa, Mama had played piano in Zayde’s Brooklyn vaudeville theatre, where all six kids in Mama’s family had eventually gone to work. Papa enjoyed regaling his daughters with the story of how he had met a dark, beautiful woman on the Coney Island midway who had captured his heart when she helped him buy tickets after no one understand his broken English. She had spoken to him in German, and it was the first time he’d felt welcomed and safe in America. Two weeks later he had asked her to marry him. Mama had thrown herself into domestic life after the wedding, and then into factory life during the war, always somehow managing to keep things taped together through military moves back and forth across the country.
Bess often wondered when Papa realized how different Mama was from other women, because most of the time, her mental condition was fairly obtuse and could be understood as harmless whimsy. For Bess, it was a mainstay of her childhood. 
Mama had always spoken so casually of the hidden meanings she saw in the world, the faeries and demons that spoke to her, that when Bess was little, she had assumed something was wrong with her and waited impatiently for her own visions. It was not until she was twelve, after Mama had dug up the whole back yard one night and chopped off all their electrical wires to stop the demons from tormenting her, that Papa took her and Kay aside and explained that Mama had to go live at a health farm for the summer and Aunt Rachel would be coming from New York to take care of them.
Thus began a long series of stays at different experimental sanitariums and institutions over the last ten years. The most recent had been in November, a month-long stay at a small resort in Eureka Springs Arkansas, and Mama had returned fatter, calmer and filled with zeal about the wonders of natural hot spring bathing. But Mama was still Mama, and the battle for good and evil was still playing out in front of her eyes through the words and whispers and visions that she alone experienced. Bess was grateful that, for whatever reason, the demons had been staying mostly at bay. The faeries, on the other hand, had been quite vocal.
Mama turned as Bess entered the kitchen, and brought her daughter some coffee while she caressed Bess’ cheek with her hand.
“Oh Bessie, you’ve been looking radiant lately. The faeries have been murmuring.” She trailed her fingers over the large curlers in Bess’ hair. “They tell me you have a new beau.”
Bess blushed, responding sheepishly. “No mama, I’m  - I’m - just going out tonight. With friends. Where’s Papa?”
“Oh he went fishing with some of the German studies instructors, they took three barrels of beer and a tent, so they might stay at the lake. “
Mama kissed Bess’ forehead and then sipped her own coffee.
“It is going to be a full moon tonight, Bessie. You are positively glowing, my girl. I think the moon goddess wants to have her way with you, you have to be careful. She is a tricky one, she plays with us mere mortals for amusement.”
Bess blushed, thinking of Elvis and her own hopes and desires for the night. A shiver of anticipation went through her body and she giggled, nervously.
“Hmmm, well, we’ll see, Mama, maybe I can outsmart her.”
Mama stood, following as Bess took her coffee and bread to the secretary’s desk in the hall, and winking at her daughter.
“No one can outsmart the mistress of the moon, Bess, she controls the oceans and with it, the waves within us. The water that drums in our ears and thrashes us forward. The current that pulls at our heart. And her power is strongest at the full moon, beware her riptide.”
Bess watched as her mother turned into the living room with a flourish and then filled the house with Rachmaninoff’s loud, romantic piano music. 
Bess couldn’t help going into her evaluative mindset and pondering whether Mama was having a good day, baking and playing the piano, or whether she was hurtling towards a manic episode. She looked at the clock, and decided she would have to wait and see, but she prepared herself to cancel the whole night if need be. Right now, she would go ahead as planned, and called her friend James to beg him for help finalizing her outfit.
“I need a man’s opinion, that’s why.”
“Bess, trust me, whatever dress you wear, Elvis’ only thought is going to be how quickly he can get it off."
“Jameson!” Bess spoke in a hushed murmur as she rocked her chair back against the wall. “I don’t even know what is going to happen, he is an odd duck when it comes to fooling around.” James was silent. “Great, so you’ll be here at 5?”
“Bess, I love you but I am not getting involved. Didn’t you say he’s picking you up at 5?”
“He said he would call after 5, and I’ve been thinking, you should pick me up and drop me off, then I’ll get a cab home or something. I don’t want my folks to know about Elvis -”
“Bess, the General probably already -”
“Just be here at 5, James. I’m going to get my nails done and pick up a few things. Wait, better make it 4:30, just in case - ok? Please? You know I never ask for anything.”
Bess looked at the nails on her right hand, turning them over, trying to banish James’ suggestion that her father probably already knew that she was spending time with Elvis Presley. Yes, he trained officers to gather intelligence, but Papa could be quite blind about their home life. She rocked back and forth on the chair, noticing that her mother’s piano serenade in the living room had moved from Russia to Brooklyn. She was playing Gershwin now. 
This is good sign, Bess thought, happy, lighthearted Gershwin was one of Mama’s favorites. Then Bess realized after a few bars that it was “The Man I Love,” and she pursed her lips at her mother’s teasing.
“But you always ask. For everything. ‘James, take me to the dance, James, let’s go out dancing in Austin, James deliver me to Elvis Presley’s motel room - ’ ”
“Stop, you know you love it. Otherwise you’d be bored out of your mind, as you refuse to have a love life of your own.”
“That’s what you think, Schwartz. I have a vast, secret love life that I keep from you.”
Bess grinned. “Good, you can tell me all about it when I see you at 4:30. Make that 4. And if you don’t show, I’ll inform the General that you stood me up!”
Smiling wider at her friend’s groans, Bess hopped up with purpose, thinking that it was time to wash off her facial mask and make a list of all the things she needed to do to get ready by four.
“It’s settled then. James, you’re a dream, see you at 4.”
***********************************************
Saturday, April 12, 1958
3:58 p.m.  The Schwartz Residence
It was Kay who opened the door when James arrived, smart and debonair in his officer’s uniform with his hair coiffed and parted perfectly. Bess bounced down the stairs, beaming wide at James’ high whistle as she twirled around for him.
“Gee Schwartz, I think you might need to drive tonight. That dress just kicked me in the head.”
Bess did a two step in her cocktail dress, trying not to notice the way her sister rolled her eyes as she shut the front door.
 “You don’t have to be nice, Captain, you can tell her she needs to wear something more colorful, more over the top, more like what Elvis wears in civilian life. I’ve been telling her all afternoon.”
James tilted his head towards Kay, “So I’m guessing the kid knows.”
Bess shrugged, “Yeah, oy. But thank god Papa took Colonel Zimmermann and some of the new teachers fishing. Mama’s out back painting, she’s been on one today. Baked up a storm, if you want something sweet.”
James shook his head, letting Bess lead the way upstairs. “Your mom is too smart, Bess. So is your pop. I’m happy to be your beard, but if they don’t already know you are dating Elvis Presley, they are gonna get wise sooner or later.”
Kay laughed, “Mama already knows something is up, Bess has been putting way more attention into her appearance this week and coming home late every night. Just today, she curled her hair, then decided to go to the salon and have her hair set anyway. And she tried on about 100 dresses, just so everything’s perfect.” Kay said, in a sing-song voice.
“I’m not dating Elvis, you guys. I’m just spending time with him. And, Kay, I think you are exaggerating. I was having my nails done at the beauty parlor anyway.” 
Bess held out her hands for James’ inspection. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the dark burgundy color, and she had liked it so much she matched her lipstick to it. There was something about a fresh nail lacquer that always made Bess feel more adult, more confident.
“Let me show you the whole get-up with these low heeled pumps on, though I have some other shoe options.” She slipped on her heels, and twirled around again, as James went to sit on her bed next to Kay. “There, now, James, as a man, what do you really think? Too simple? He said to dress up.”
James looked Bess up and down as Kay snickered, prompting a quick kick to her shin.
“No, it’s perfect Bess. With that neckline? And the way it crisscrosses in the middle, and your hair? You look like Ava Gardner. It’s not too simple, it’s sexy. Sexy as hell. But you need a necklace.”
James stood, and went to Bess’ vanity, pulling out her pearl necklace from her jewelry box, and beckoning her over. He fastened it around her neck from behind, then put in the matching earrings, carefully, before stepping back with a whistle to let Bess look at herself in the mirror.
“There now. You're a goddess. I dare him not to whisk you away and ravage you the moment he sees you. It’s wholesome and it’s sexy all at once.”
Bess smiled and took her friend’s hand, whispering a shy, blushing thank you. They sat up there, listening to records as Bess modeled a few other shoe options and asked whether she should wear gloves. Ultimately, all parties involved agreed gloves were too formal for a motel party.
It was 5:15 when they went back downstairs and settled in the kitchen, sampling some of the rugelach as they waited for Elvis’ call. 
By 6:15, they had moved to the living room and Papa’s bar, where Bess made Tom Collins for everyone, which now included Mama and Dickey, who had come by to take Kay out to a drive-in movie. 
At 7, Mama began to ask if James and Bess wanted dinner, she was slow cooking a roast for Sunday, but could fry up some cold meatloaf sandwiches.
“No thanks, Mama, we’re just waiting to hear from the friends we’re meeting.” Bess stumbled through a sorry excuse for a story about two friends from high school who had to work later than expected. James gave Bess a supportive look, and after her mother left the living room, reassured her that a number of things could have happened with the drill sergeant overseeing Elvis’ dismissal.
“He could be stuck on KP duty, maybe he got held back because the others played a prank on him. You know how unpredictable those battalion sergeants can be. Let’s relax and turn on the boob tube.”
Bess nodded, made another round of Tom Collins, and settled in to watch Art Linkletter's amateur comedy show, trying very hard not to think about how it was almost 8 p.m. 
At 9 James began his campaign to convince Bess something must have kept Elvis on base, and that they should get out of the house. Get burgers at Millie’s Diner or go for a drive out to the Waco Wet Dog. 
At 9:30, Bess caved, and ran upstairs to take off her pearls and change into a more casual, purple swing dress. While changing, she began to mull over a secondary plan that was forming in her head, and she carried the entire display case of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups she’d bought with her to James’ car.
“What’s with the candy?” James looked over his shoulder as he careened his car around towards downtown Killeen.
“It’s sort of a joke, I um, I ate all his peanut butter cups the other night. I- I thought it would be a gas if I showed up with an entire case.”
James looked over at Bess, and rubbed her shoulder. “And what, you think we should eat them instead?”
“Well, what if he couldn’t get to a phone? Or got too caught up with his friends or whatever? He was pretty insistent that he wanted to see me tonight. I was thinking...” Bess looked down with a sigh, then back up at James, her eyes dark with determination. “What about just driving by the Star Motel on the way home. What do you think, as a man, how would you feel if I just showed up?”
James could see Bess’ confidence waver, but he couldn’t bear to talk her down, not after everything he had watched he go through over the last year. So he banished his own misgivings and squeezed her hand. “Honey, any man upset to see you walk in would be crazy. But let’s get some grub first, ok?”
***********************************************
Saturday, April 12, 1958
11:05 p.m.  The Star Motel, on the outskirts of Killeen TX towards Waco
The air was cool now, and Bess’ mother had been right, it was a full moon that shone over them, illuminating the farms off in the distance on the road to Waco. The Star Motel was a two-storey building with rooms along the inside and outside that wrapped around a large pool. 
Bess sat in the car, stomach churning, suddenly unsure if this was a good idea. They had definitely spotted a new, white Cadillac packed in the back lot with a temporary license plate. Which was both promising and unsettling, because it meant Elvis was probably there but hadn't called her. Bess suddenly wished she hadn't found it, but she was also unable to just slide back and tell James to take her home now that she knew Elvis was probably here.
Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and the cocktails had dulled her inhibitions.There was a giddy, bubbly feeling at the top of her head that egged her on and told her that he had invited her, had been adamant about wanting to see her, “show her off,” telling her she was special to him, that he was crazy about her. 
Maybe it was the full moon after all. Whatever it was, every cell in Bess’ body compelled her curiosity and her desire. She had to know, and she needed to feel his touch once more; that voice and that face and those hands that took her away from her difficult, tiresome existence. 
Taking a deep breath, she felt almost like a force behind herself was propelling her out of the car, and she only hesitated at the sound of James’ voice.
“Bess, come out and let me know, ok? This place is always crawling with creeps, so if you don’t come out here and give me the old heave ho in the next 15 minutes, I’m going to come find you. I won’t care about locked doors.”
Bess nodded back into the car with a bright, broad smile, and then strode over the grass and into the side corridor of the motel, avoiding the office. 
Walking past the first set of rooms, she came to a breezeway and paused, leaning against the decorative, concrete screen in the middle to calm and prepare what she would say to Elvis. She was certain they were a few doors down, she could hear a group of male voices jamming and she perked up, clutching her box of chocolates closer to her bosom at the sound of Elvis’ low voice singing no more than twenty feet away. 
That was when she heard heels clicking down the breezeway, and turned to find a small, petite blonde in a pink dress walking towards her with an exaggerated flounce in her hips and an ice bucket resting at her waist. Bess' chest tightened when she recognized Anita Wood from the movie magazine photos. Magazine photos of Anita Wood out on dates around Memphis with her boyfriend Elvis Presley.
Anita flashed Bess a dazzling grin that displayed the whitest, straightest teeth Bess had ever seen. “I swear, I walked all over creation looking for that dag gum ice machine, and you know where it is? Where these rocket scientists thought to themselves, why this is the best place to put it? Up behind the cigarette machine, on the back of it. Completely outta sight. Can you believe that?”
“Um yeah, I mean no, ugh. Idiots, I bet it was cheaper to wire it back there, or something.”
Bess wiped the sides of her eyes, willing herself not to cry, not to linger on how this proved that she was just another girl to Elvis, and definitely not preferable to the gorgeous beauty queen in front of her. Anita’s face fell as she looked up at Bess.
“Oh honey, are you ok? Why, you know you’d just feel better if you just let it all out.” Anita pulled a pink handkerchief with lace trim from her bust, replete with a monogrammed A.W. “Here, now, you can cry with me here, ain’t no one but us chickens.”
“Is it that obvious I'm upset?” Bess tried to chuckle, watching Anita’s face change to a confused frown as she noticed the box of Reese’s.
“Hey - what’s with the candy? Are you meeting someone here?”
Bess shifted, working against those cocktails to think on her feet and also play dumb about the suspicion she saw in Anita’s eyes. “Oh, ha, no. These are for me. I, um, I live here in town with my folks, and I just checked in here because, well, I needed to get away for the night and drown my sorrows in chocolate, if you know what I mean. Just learned my fiancee married another girl he met in Germany. Men, huh? What are they good for?”
Anita stepped forward and rubbed Bess’ shoulder as more tears fell down her cheeks.
“Well, God made men for a reason, sometimes I think it was to test our womanly resolve. Oh honey, I cannot imagine what that would feel like, to have a man wrong you so. Ain’t no dirtier dog than a man who breaks that sacred promise. But I tell you what.” She took the box of Reese’s from Bess' arm. “You cannot sacrifice your figure over a man. Nu huh. No way, Jose. Why, that won’t do nothing to get back at him, it’ll only hurt you and your future prospects. My heart is telling me that I cannot stand by and let you go eat all this candy and feel sorry for yourself, honey. That is the devil whispering in your ear.”
Anita trotted over to the trash can and Bess groaned inwardly as she watched a woman dispose of Elvis’ chocolates for the second time that week. Though she conceded that Anita was right, she didn’t really want to go home and eat them all. Well, she did. But she knew she would regret it.
What could she do, offer them knowingly to Anita to take to her boyfriend? The thought made her smile, which Anita, of course, assumed was a reaction to her kind, Christian gesture. Still holding her ice bucket, Anita patted Bess on her shoulder.
“See, I can tell you’re feeling better already now that the temptation has been removed. We women have to stick together. You should take a nice long bath, it will do wonders, much more healing than candy. Whenever I get upset, I have a good cry, get it all out, then take a nice hot shower.” She winked at Bess, and Bess wondered if Anita did the same things in the shower that Bess did to make herself feel better. Maybe that was why God made showers?
Anita smiled wider as Bess wiped her eyes, and mustered a feeble grin, which encouraged her to continue dispensing advice.
“Yessirree, you’ll feel better once you wash that man right out of your hair and start over again. Pretty girl like you, why, if you lost five pounds, you’d have your pick of the litter.” Bess flinched when Anita pinched her waist playfully, and was lost for words as her heart jumped into her throat with embarrassment at how much thicker she was than the petite blonde. Insecurity clouded her head and she was almost unable to hear the rest of what Anita said.
“Just stay away from big boxes of candy, and other temptations Satan might throw at you. Then, I bet you dollars to doughnuts, that boy will regret his decision. The best revenge is to find someone better and shove it in his face. Make sure to take out a big ole wedding announcement in the paper That'll make you feel much better.” 
Anita left Bess with a wink and a parting squeeze to her arm, as Bess murmured a low thank you. She wiped her eyes and gathered her wits, then, when she was sure Anita was gone, she dug the box of chocolate out of the trashcan and tucked the rescued candy under her arm.
Straightening her dress as she sat down in James' car, Bess popped a Reese’s in her mouth and decided on how she would respond to her friend's questions.
“I ran into one of his girlfriends in the hallway.”
“Oh Bess, no, he didn’t! I’ve half a mind to go back and beat that hillbilly senseless.”
Bess shook her head, extending her arm out of the window and dropping Anita’s pink, embroidered handkerchief into a puddle of mud on the side of the road as they drove back to her house.
“Don’t, Elvis did me a favor. He reminded me why I don’t date soldiers.”
**************************************************************
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halfagone · 7 months
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Alright cool, I just wanted to see if you knew enough for this upcoming prompt idea. This can take place in whatever marvel universe you’re most comfortable writing, but basically the prompt is that the avengers witness Danny lifting Thor’s hammer and the resulting shenanigans that occur. What do you think?
Oh I loooooove stories that have the most unexpected of people lifting Thor's Hammer. I am a sucker for "Peter Parker is Worthy" fics UwU
But let me see what I can do here~
---
It had been a joke, a PR stunt more like it. Come meet the Avengers, get an autograph and maybe a picture, and see if you're worthy to lift Thor's hammer.
It had sounded good in theory. Great even! Some of the other Avengers had been reluctant to the other, but once security had been cleared for the event, more had agreed. They agreed on what they could and couldn't talk about, what they were and weren't comfortable doing with fans, and planned accordingly. A job well done, if Tony did say so himself.
It had actually been Clint's idea to do the hammer lift in a separate room. At first Tony had thought that was kind of a mood killer. After all, half the fun was the crowd's anticipation as each person came to the stand. But Clint had pointed out how things could go sideways if it came out that a civilian could lift Mjöllnir. Thor seemed confident that the chances were rather low- the likelihood that someone worthy coming to this event were rather abysmal, after all- but had agreed to the compromise in the end.
I may have to give Clint a pay raise for this, Tony thought dazedly.
Everything had been going so well. The gang was all happy, the fans were happy, Tony could practically already hear Ross grinding his teeth at all the positive attention.
When another teenager walked into the room, Tony hadn't thought anything of it. He was one of the last few stragglers for the event, so most of the Avengers had lingered in this room, happy to hang out as they waited. They'd joked and laughed, even tried to wrap the kid into it. The teen- Danny- was a smart-aleck like the best of them; Tony was never going to let him and Harley meet if he could help it.
As Danny came up to the podium, they cheered him on just like everyone else. Tony himself had leaned back against a table and smiled serenely, feeling confident in the results. It was probably a good thing he hadn't reached for that can of soda because Danny lifted up the hammer without breaking a sweat.
Error 404. TonyStark.exe has stopped working. Please reboot your server.
"What the actual fuck?" Sam muttered, squinting at the kid as if that would suddenly fix the whole clusterfuck of a situation.
"Oh that's a lot lighter than I thought it'd be," Danny commented thoughtfully, gingerly shifting his grip so that he could pose. Wait, no- that wasn't posing. Danny was testing his stance to practice throwing.
"The weight of responsibility won't be," Steve said quietly to himself, gaze hooded and emotions indiscernible.
That didn't stop Tony from turning to the man in pure indignation. "I do not need the commentary from you right now, Capsicle." Steve honest to god rolled his eyes at Tony's remark. They didn't get to bicker about it any more (and no, not like an old married couple! Honestly Lang could take his commentary with his stupid ass out the door!) because Thor approached the boy with a solemn expression.
"I see you are a worthy lad," Thor announced to the room. Danny stared at him with a blank expression. He didn't seem super awed in Thor's presence- hadn't for any of the heroes really- but he still listened with rapt attention. "Those who are worthy carry a heavy load upon their shoulders. With the ability to wield Mjöllnir comes to the ability to rule over Asgard-"
"I'm good, thanks," Danny cut in before Thor could finish with his speech.
"What," Rhodey deadpanned, looking just as surprised as everyone else.
Tony's brain hadn't even got the chance to reboot completely yet and he felt like he'd need another right now.
"I've got better things to do, no offense," Danny replied with a blithe shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, I'm sure it's a great honor. But like... I have finals in a couple weeks? I can barely be trusted with my own sleep schedule, I don't think you want me ruling an entire realm."
"I- Well," Thor tried to recompose himself. He was failing miserably.
"What kind of kid doesn't like being worthy?" Tony scoffed in confusion. When in doubt, be an asshole. That had been Tony's motto for years now and he might be trying to do better, yes, but that didn't make him any less of a bastard.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Natasha giving him a look.
"It's just a lot of responsibility is all. What kind of kid wants that?" Danny shot back in return, innocently cocking his head to the side.
It was honestly kinda endearing.
Tony wanted to violently shake him by the shoulders.
"You're not wrong," Steve remarked with a chuckle, clapping Danny on the shoulder. "Good job, Danny. Very impressive." The kid brightened up, shining so bright that Tony had to squint.
"Can I throw it?" Danny asked excitedly, as he turned sharply back to Thor.
The Asgardian just looked amused at this point, chuckling boisterously. "Why, be my guest." He swept a hand towards a nearby target.
"Whoa, nothing expensive please!" Tony shouted just as Danny threw the hammer with stupidly impressive accuracy. It nailed a nearby post spot on, taking off a cardboard head. Thankfully it was only the Hulk and Bruce wasn't here right now.
Danny stretched his hand and sure enough, the hammer came barreling back. Barreling was a good term to use too, seeing as Danny just about got mowed over when he wasn't prepared for the weight this time around.
While Thor tried to help his new favorite human, Tony was just trying not to tear his hair out.
He was too old for this shit.
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zukoisgayforsokka · 4 months
Text
To See The Way You Smiled (at me)
Pre-relationship modern pining meet-cute for t4t sukka, as they deserve
Words: 5k
Ships: Sokka/Suki, past Sokka/Yue
Summary:
"One late night turns into three, and before he knows it Sokka has a nightly routine of sitting by the window and sharing his lighter with the pretty girl from upstairs."
@unacaritafeliz happy birthday!! Hope you had a lovely day
Beta'd by the lovely @naberriesamidala
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gretagerwigsmuse · 2 years
Text
and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay (part 2.1)
Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw is getting honored with an award and behaved like an absolute idiot when he didn’t initially ask his girlfriend to be his date even though she’s the best goddamn thing to ever happen to him
OR you take on the pacific fleet’s awards gala
Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 9.8k
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), and shower sex and soapy titties
[Part 1] [Part 1.5] [Part 2.1] [Part 2.2]
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A/N: this was really fucking long, so i split it up. the final final part will be posted soon! but i just want to thank everyone so so so much for all the absolutely amazing support i’ve gotten on this entire series including my little bradley and smart aleck drabbles and the respective lore about the two of them. i have so many people to thank for reaching out and leaving the absolute sweetest comments and replies and messages, but i’d be remiss if i didn’t call out sol, may, cass, ava, giza, and kylie for all their help and encouragement and listening to me complain via dms these past few weeks! so without further adieu...
and all these situations we go through, we come out the other side brand new
Bradley couldn’t believe it had almost been six months since the two of you had gotten together. Nearly six months of dinner dates, movie nights, cooking at each other’s places, beach trips, hikes (begrudgingly on your part), and even a couple jaunts down to Tijuana just for Caesar salads - all to say nothing about the sex.
“…God, you’re so fucking smart. Keep going, one more time for me…” His voice trailed off, turning into a groan. 
You bounced on his cock, balancing one hand on his chest, while brushing your hair out of your face with the other. “…even with inflation slowing, we should expect to see - oh, god, Bradley - in-interest rates will - will still rise - they’ll still rise - I’m so close, bubs.”
“Fuck.” He dug his hands harder into your hips. “You look so good taking my cock like that - now put your hands on those gorgeous tits of yours - just like that -”
“- I don’t think I can last - fuck oh oh oh -” You clumsily grabbed your breasts with one hand and threw your head back. 
Bradley stilled and you whined. He could feel you clenching around him. “- Can’t cum until you finish that presentation - don’t want my girl acting all dumb at work tomorrow -”
“- Fuck you - you should’ve - ohhh should’ve paid attention the first time.” He slapped your ass. “Mmmmmm, oh-okay Congress should stabilize - price caps to reduce inflationary pressures - please, bradley - oh god oh oh fuck - pressures through selective price caps -ohhhh god - fuck!”
Sure it was a delicate balance and mix of personalities sometimes, but it worked. Bradley thought it worked. Seemed like it did. His life with you was entirely separate from his life with the Navy. And he liked that. 
He liked that he could come home from a really long or hard day at work and you would both just talk about your days in the simplest terms and work through your shit together while eating dinner and then watching TV. Because work was work, no matter what field you worked in - coworkers were still assholes, your bosses still gave you shit, and deadlines still loomed. 
And so, Bradley just kept things separate. He still hung out with his friends, you still hung out with your friends, you both still had your separate apartments (though you had spent far more nights together than apart), and yeah sometimes you’d hang out with each other’s friends, but Bradley hadn’t wanted to bring you back to the Hard Deck.
He hadn’t wanted to relive that night when he was an asshole and Hangman had made you feel less than. And so meet ups were on neutral ground, drinks downtown and even a dinner party at his place once. 
But it worked. He thought it worked. Seemed like it did.
Because Bradley knew that you adored him. He knew you loved him, obviously - he was pretty sure he had had a perpetual smile on his face for two days after you had told him, all nervous and sweet and endearing one morning. But more to the point, he knew that you adored him - figurative warts and all. 
You had taught him that he was more than his rank or his callsign or his military ID number or - hell - even his last name - he was just Bradley. And for so long he hadn’t been living as Bradley. He’d gone through the motions, sure. But he hadn’t really let himself just be until he had met you. 
Even Phoenix, who you had gotten close to, had said something similar to him about you. Much like Bradley, she saw you as an amazing person, while also liking the ability to exist as just Natasha - not Phoenix. 
So yeah, maybe he wasn’t giving you enough credit. Instead of confronting it head-on, Bradley tried to remove anything that would remind you of his other life in the Navy and in doing so probably wasn’t being fair to you - or to himself. And he knew he would have to confront it sometime (maybe, eventually, like when you got married or something - maybe), but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 
“What’s this?” 
You slipped the thick card stock invitation off Bradley’s fridge, a teasing smile on your face. He had forgotten it was there - but he hadn’t forgotten that he hadn’t told you about it. The smile on your face spread further as you read on and he tried not to shift on his feet. 
You glanced up at him. “Bradley, this is next weekend?”
“Is it?” He leaned over your shoulder to read the invitation, all while knowing full well when the gala was to be held. 
“Yeah, next Saturday.” You kept reading, a crinkle appearing on your forehead. “No way! It says you’re getting an award, too? Bradley, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged and avoided eye contact - fuck, you looked so proud of him. “It didn’t seem - important, I guess?”
“It sounds pretty important…” Your face fell suddenly. “Wait, you - do you not want me to come? Is that why you didn’t mention it?” you whispered. 
“No, no, I - I just - I just didn’t know if it was something you’d want to do? Like it’s a Navy thing and I didn’t think you’d want to go -”
“- Oh.” You glanced down and seemed to shrink in on yourself even though Bradley had his arms around your waist. “I mean, my boyfriend’s getting an award, seems like kind of a big deal - but it’s cool. I can - I can always see what the girls are up to that night, maybe see that new-”
Fuck. Shit. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to go, he just - shit - he tried to back track, but barely got a chance to get the words out. “- Sweetheart -” 
You shook your head and stepped out of his arms, leaving the invitation on the kitchen island. “It’s okay, really. I think I’m - I’m just gonna shower and get ready for bed. I have that early meeting tomorrow morning, so…”
It wasn’t even ten yet, but Bradley didn’t push it. He knew he had fucked up and you deserved to have some space to think things over. 
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll just finish cleaning up then?”
You paused to give him a kiss, which was far too brief for his liking, and dashed out of the kitchen. Once he was sure you were gone, he leaned his elbows on the kitchen island and then hung his head in his hands. God, he fucked up. He really fucked up.
In his attempt to not want you to be embarrassed of him, he had irreparably hurt your own feelings. He had made you feel less than. With a groan, he slapped his hands on the granite countertop and finished cleaning up.
The two of you didn’t fight often - was this a fight? He had really just fucked up, you hadn’t done anything. And even when the two of you did fight, it was normally over trivial stuff like not cleaning the stove correctly (which Bradley did not do) or sometimes not telling the other what time either of you would be home or when Bradley had offered to watch Fanboy’s dog for the weekend even though you were terrified of any dog over thirty pounds.
He should’ve just been honest with you from the start - he wanted to invite you, but he didn’t know if you would have been comfortable? Because, to be fair, events like these were sometimes even a little too gung-ho for Bradley and his friends - Hangman notwithstanding, the man loved to work a room like a drunken Kennedy, often saying you gotta network to get work, baby. 
Galas and other naval ceremonies were mainly for the old brass who were still into tradition and setting an example and having their wives fawn over them all night. It was all about the spectacle, not the actual service men or women they were honoring. Sure, it was nice to be getting an award for saving Maverick last November during the uranium enrichment plant mission - but that wasn’t why Bradley had done it. That was never why Bradley would do anything.
He did it because it was the right thing.
And right now, as much as it hurt him, it was the right thing to give you some space. 
You would both talk about it in the morning with fresh eyes and a good night’s sleep and Bradley would beg for you to forgive him for being so callous and unfeeling, even though his intentions had been good.
Once he finished cleaning up, he made sure the front and back door were locked before turning off all the lights and heading to his room. Figuring you were already in bed, he opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle you, only to find his bed empty. You were still in the shower. He glanced at the old fashioned alarm clock on his nightstand and frowned - you’d been in there for almost thirty minutes.
Bradley crossed the bedroom and opened the bathroom door, only to be greeted by a thick cloud of steam. The shower was still running, though he didn’t hear the telltale signs of you washing your hair or face. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“You okay in there?” he asked, stepping closer to the shower, itself. 
Just when he had been about to draw back the curtain, you called out: “Yeah, fine. My uhh - my shoulder just hurts. Wanted to keep it under the hot water for a bit.”
Your shoulder had never bothered you before. If anything, you were more prone to knee pain - a bad lacrosse injury in your youth sometimes flared up if you took too many classes a week on your Peloton. But not your shoulder.
“Okay. Well,” he stuttered, “I’m just gonna brush my teeth…” 
God, he sounded like an idiot. Why couldn’t he just go in there and tell you that he wanted you to come? That he wanted to dance with you all night, have you cheer him on as he accepted his award, see you sitting with Maverick and Penny and smiling at Bradley and talking with all his friends?
You took a moment to respond. “Okay, I’ll be out in a few.”
Fuck - did your voice sound thicker than normal? Were you crying? God, he really hoped you weren’t crying. Shit, now he was going to start crying.
Bradley stared longingly at the shower curtain while brushing his teeth. As much as it hurt, he had to give you some space, at least for now. But he couldn’t stop his own insecurities from popping up either; why was he so worried you wouldn’t love this other part of him? Why had he chosen to hide it from you, especially when getting the award actually did mean a lot to him?
He loved you. He loved you so much. 
And you loved him. You loved him so much.
With a sigh, Bradley spit the excess toothpaste in the sink, rinsing his mouth and then the porcelain bowl. He completed his basic nighttime skincare routine and then glanced around the bathroom, trying to prolong his time there. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed your pajama shorts and t-shirt neatly folded on top of the toilet tank. Before he even realized what he was doing, he hung them both up on the hooks next to your fluffy white towel, knowing you hated dripping water on the floor when you got out of the shower. He figured it was the least he could do; just something so you knew he was there.
He snuck out of the bathroom a moment later, shutting the door behind him with a click and then mindlessly went through the motions of putting on his pajamas and throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper. By the time he had gotten into bed, the shower had turned off and he sat up, leaning against the pillows, waiting for you. 
When you finally came out of the bathroom some twenty minutes later - only after he had turned the light off, mind you - Bradley noticed with a sinking heart, and even in the darkness, that your eyes were puffy, only confirming his suspicion that he had heard you crying in the shower. He felt like the world’s biggest asshole. Just as he had been about to say something - what he didn’t know - you wordlessly crawled into bed beside him and burrowed your face in his chest, wrapping your body around his. Your wet hair tickled his arm and he could smell your shampoo and complementary lotion.
Neither of you said anything, you just laid there, holding each other, listening to the rise and fall of each other’s breathing.
Eventually, you dropped off into a fitful sleep, but Bradley kept you close, idly running his hands through your hair, hoping tomorrow he would get the chance to explain himself.
---------
“What the fuck did you say to her?” 
Bradley turned around to face Phoenix and sighed at the expression on her face. “What did I say to whom and when?” 
He was being purposely difficult, but he had been in a mood all morning and lunch was currently the only thing getting him through the day. They were serving grilled cheese on that thick bread Bradley liked so much and tomato soup and he had been looking forward to it after leaving his lunch in the refrigerator at home - that was until Phoenix had ruined it with her interrogation.
You’d left before Bradley had even gotten up - a rarity in and of itself - texting him that you hadn’t liked the outfit you’d brought over for work that day and had to swing by your place to change before your eight thirty meeting with the east coast team. You hadn’t even woken him up for a kiss goodbye.
(However, you had texted him your Wordle score - 2/6. He still couldn’t figure out how you managed that with twang, but he figured that meant all hope wasn’t lost between the two of you.)
“Don’t be an ass. She called me this morning - yeah, she called me - asking me if the event I wanted a date for was the same awards gala you had been invited to or not? Said she wasn’t sure since mine sounded like a date thing and you hadn’t mentioned it. So, now I feel like an asshole because I’ve been talking to her about finding me a date for this thing, only to find out her own boyfriend hadn’t even invited her? The fuck, Bradshaw?”
The pit that had already been forming in Bradley’s stomach all morning only grew as Phoenix kept talking. “It’s not that I didn’t want to ask her, I just didn’t know if she’d want to go…” 
Phoenix looked at him like he had seven heads and stole his grilled cheese right off his tray. He grabbed another. “That’s bullshit. That girl adores you, Bradley, of course she would want to go! God, you should’ve fucking heard her on the phone, she sounded so sad and just - small, which is never a word I thought I’d use to describe her but...”
His stomach dropped. Small. You had felt small. Bradley had made you feel small.
“I didn’t want her to - I know she - look, I know she isn’t super keen on the whole Navy thing and I didn’t want her to have to pretend for my sake or put up with shitty comments all night or whatever.”
That one’s got quite a mouth on her.
“I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit.” As always Phoenix was right, repeating what Bradley had told himself last night. “Like I said, she adores you and I know she respects you, why else would she still be with you?”
She adores you and I know she respects you. He knew that stuff too - obviously - but sometimes it was nice to hear it from someone else. That someone else could tell how much you and Bradley meant to each other and loved each other even without seeing some of your most private and intimate moments - whether changing the sheets on Saturday mornings to preparing the next day’s lunch after dinner every night.
Little stuff like that. Stuff that made a relationship - that made a life together.
“...And I shouldn’t even have told you all that because she’s my friend, too. But you have to make this right.”
Phoenix’s words were said with an edge to them that Bradley had only heard once before. And it had been directed towards Hangman of all people. 
“We’re uhh - we’re talking tonight - well, we’re supposed to, but I don’t know if she’ll -”
A hand on his shoulder cut him off. “- It’s going to be fine, just be honest with each other.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, yeah,” he rambled. “Just be honest.”
Phoenix nodded, seemingly content with his response. They made their way over to an empty table and started eating. 
“Good,” she said through a mouthful of grilled cheese, “because I need to get some shoes for my dress and as much as I love Halo, she’s a DSW girl and I have some civvy to impress, so I need your girl’s help.”
Bradley chuckled. Though it went against protocol, the women had been granted leave of wearing their formal dress uniforms, provided they had the rest of their regalia pinned on a formal sash. When the change in protocol had first been announced while the team was at lunch, Phoenix had let out an uncharacteristic squeal at the news, citing that while you all - well some of you - look handsome in your formal dress uniform, it was definitely designed by a man who hated his female colleagues; so yes, I’m excited to wear a pretty dress for once.
It was sweet. She had been so excited that she had even asked Bradley and Halo for their opinion on her dress last week. He had, of course, thought it was well suited to her, but it had only worsened the pit in his stomach that he hadn’t told you about the gala yet. But maybe, to make up for not going dress shopping with her, you could discuss shoes with Phoenix. Provided you actually still did want to go to the gala with Bradley.
Once he groveled and all.
“I’m sure she’ll text you to make plans - provided she says yes and still wants to come with me,” he couldn’t help but mutter.
 Phoenix kicked him under the table and he let out a yelp. “Stop being annoying, your self deprecation is putting me off my lunch -”
“- The same lunch that you stole from me…” She glared at him. “Fine, I will try to keep the self deprecation to a minimum.”
“But the groveling should be at a maximum - hey, have you thought about going down on her until your old man knees crack - oww!”
It was his turn to kick her in the shin. “Oops, sorry…”
Bradley wasn’t old. Well, not that old that he was above subtly flipping Phoenix off for the rest of the day.
---------
Later that day, Bradley hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he saw your dark grey Q5 pull into his driveway around six-thirty. Over the course of your very brief text conversation after lunch, you had mentioned you’d be stopping by his place after work, but he hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up.
As it was, he had been waiting on his front porch - still in his work khakis - since getting home around five-forty-five. He watched you take a deep breath before turning your car off and then gradually make your way up to the house.
He noticed you didn’t close the final distance to where he was still standing on the front porch. And he also noticed you didn’t have your overnight bag in your hands. His heart dropped - god, he fucked this up so badly.
You gave him a hesitant smile, clasping your hands together at your stomach. You looked pretty in your work clothes. But you always looked pretty. 
Bradley cleared his throat. “Hey…”
“Hey…” you said, matching his tone. At least you were both a little nervous.
He said your name and then took the initiative to bridge the distance between the two of you and started down the steps to the front walk. “We should talk -”
“- Me first, please?” You rushed out and Bradley nodded hesitantly. 
You took a step towards him. “Look, I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have made it into such a big deal. Obviously, you had your reasons for not telling me and I shouldn’t have pushed and made you uncomfortable. I don’t know a lot about the Navy, but it seems like being up for an award is a really big deal and I just - I guess I just wanted to be there for you? 
“And I don’t - god, I don’t want you to be scared to bring me places or to meet your other friends because you think I’ll say something to embarrass you - so, I will happily support you from the sidelines that night, waiting at home for you with some champagne to celebrate.”
God, you were so wrong? How could you be so wrong? Fuck. You thought he was embarrassed of you? Clearly, you’d given this some thought, he had to have done it before. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 
Bradley placed his hands on your waist. And tried to catch your eye. 
“No, no. God, no. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Listen, I should be the only one apologizing here. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable all night and - I don’t know, have to put up with all the Navy shit and everything? I saw how uncomfortable you were when you picked me up after the Speaker’s visit and I didn’t want you to have to go through that again at the gala. It’s a lot - even for me sometimes - and I guess I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable or embarrassed of me? But I wanted - I want you there with me. And I shouldn’t have taken the choice away from you just because I want to protect you.”
Because you asked questions. Most other people didn’t ask questions. They took the orders, did the job, and came home. There was nothing wrong with asking questions. It was just that other people really didn’t ask them. 
They knew that no matter what questions they asked or answers they received, that an order was still an order. So, your questions came off as probing and condescending without that necessarily being your intent. You were curious and critical when need be, sure. But Bradley would never classify you as condescending. Ever. 
You nodded and then tipped your head up to look at him, the beginning of a smile on your face, though you still seemed a little reserved.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have…” He squeezed his hands around your hips. “But I was really - god, Bradley, you really hurt my feelings.
“I thought you were embarrassed of me or something? Like you didn’t want everyone to know your girlfriend is a stone cold pacifist or a bitch or - no, let me finish. And that really hurt because I love you - so much - and if something’s important to you, I want you to tell me and let me share it with you, no matter what.”
“Sweetheart - I was embarrassed, but not of you. I didn’t want you to have to - I don’t know, fake it through the entire thing and pretend like you’re -”
“- Bradley,” you said sternly, “I would never pretend to be excited for you.”
He sighed. “I know - I mean, I should’ve known that, but I guess I was just feeling insecure and took it out on you. It’s just - I like that with you, I don’t have to be all this,” he gestured down at his khakis, “Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw stuff and I can just be Bradley - which I know sounds dumb -”
“- It does not sound dumb, okay? You’re totally valid for what you’re feeling, just the same as I am, alright?”
His cheeks flushed, knowing you were right. “Yeah, I guess this award and all this top one-percent bullshit they throw at us just makes me feel like I’m someone I’m not sometimes? And with you I just feel like me?”
You gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “And that’s what I love about you, that you’re unabashedly yourself with me - weird stove cleaning routine and all. You’re my Bradley.”
He smiled and pulled you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his stomach in response, squeezing him tight. “And I love you and I want you to share all parts of yourself with me, alright? I’m a big girl, I can handle it - even though sometimes I still think you should just be an astronaut,” your voice came out slightly muffled against his chest.
“I love you, too.” You pulled back and he gave you a kiss on the forehead. “So,” he said your first and last name, “will you go to this slightly pretentious Navy gala with me and whisper snarky comments in my ear all night and dance with me until our feet hurt?”
You giggled, the action lighting up your entire face. “Yes, of course I will, Bradley.” He threw his arm around your shoulders and the two of you started making your way up the front steps, finally ending the free show Bradley had been giving his neighbors for the last few minutes. 
“Wait,” he said suddenly, “you didn’t bring a bag with you - do you still wanna…” He tried not to let the hurt show on his face. 
You tucked your hair behind your ears. “Oh, err - I actually just left it in the car…didn’t want to seem too eager if you didn’t actually want me to stay over…”
The two of you didn’t spend too many nights apart - baring when the other was traveling for work, but Bradley hadn’t even considered not wanting you to stay over that night - fight or no fight. In response, he wordlessly held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. A smile crept across your face and you got your car keys out of your dress pocket for him.
“Silly girl,” was all Bradley said before he unlocked your car and got your leather overnight bag and work tote out of the passenger seat. 
With his other arm thrown over your shoulder, the two of you made your way into the house. He handed you your tote before putting your overnight bag in his bedroom. When he was just outside the kitchen, he saw you leaning against the doorframe in the hallway waiting for him.
“You know, I do think you’ll look handsome in your uniform…”
Bradley smirked. He had only worn his dress blues around you once before, to say nothing about his formal dress blues. “That so…” 
You shrugged, clearly trying to come off as nonchalant. “Even though some may consider it a symbol of imperialism.”
“And there’s my girl.” You ducked your head. 
The two of you made your way to the kitchen and you let out a gasp once you saw what was on the island. 
“You got me flowers?” You sounded pleasantly surprised, which brought a smile to his face. You fingered the petals. “You didn’t have to…”
Normally, Bradley got you flowers just because. Just because he got out of work early that day or just because you looked particularly pretty the day before or just because you had made him laugh. Which is all to say, he got you flowers quite frequently. And he always kept track of when to get the next ones by slipping one stem out of the bouquet and keeping it in his office on base; if the flower in his office died, then it was time to get you some new ones. 
But the flowers sitting on his kitchen island - a gorgeous arrangement of white tulips and pink peonies - were most definitely apology flowers. Because Bradley had been an asshole and had made you cry and doubt him and feel less than. And he had made a promise to you after your first date that he would try his damn hardest to never make you feel less than ever again.
And while he knew flowers wouldn’t solve everything, they would surely bring a smile to your face and that was a pretty good start. The flowers had been why he couldn’t shower between training and his afternoon class - he had to dash out to get them.
“I might bring them to my office, that way I can stare at them all day.”
He walked over towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re not gonna leave ‘em here? Kinda like how they look on my counter…”
“Hmmm, but this way I can think of you while I’m at work - oh, god no. Nevermind, that was corny as shit,” you finished with a grimace that had the two of you laughing. 
“You know, I never told you why I’m getting an award - or why I’m part of the group getting an award…”
You tensed beside him and he turned to face you. “So help me god, Bradley, if you’re getting an award for killing someone or endangering civilians in the name of god and country -”
“- Nah, that’s one of the other guys,” he teased and you leaned your forehead against his chest, letting out a groan. He was only slightly joking.
You leaned back to look him in the eye. “Well, what’s it for then?”
“You know that mission I originally got called back here for last November and how Mav and I made up?” You nodded, remembering the couple times Bradley had mentioned it. “Well, it was kind of a big deal -”
“- So you’ve told me…”
He probably shouldn’t have - classified information and all - but you had been impressed with him and it was the one time you had really leaned into the whole Navy thing - at least sexually. My hero, you kept calling him in an only slightly condescending manner while Bradley took you from behind.
“Well, I don’t think I told you the part where I may have gotten shot down after saving Mav and we had to steal a plane...”
“Wha-what?! Shot down? Like out of the sky? And you - you just said you guys got picked up by search and rescue after there was an issue with your planes?”
Bradley shrugged. He had told you stuff about work, like why he sometimes woke up with nightmares - you never pushed for him to tell you any details, though you always asked if he wanted to talk about it - and that he’d had a couple bad scrapes over the years. But he never told you too much about the uranium enrichment plant mission. 
It was six months before the two of you had even started dating, so Bradley never thought to bring it up. And he knew that if he ever wanted to open up and tell you about it or any other past deployments then you’d listen and be a good sounding board. But he didn’t want to sound like a whiner - or worse, that he was bragging. 
Bradley hadn’t gone back for Mav because he wanted the praise or an award or anything like that. He had done it because he loved him - plain and simple. He loved his godfather and couldn’t bear the thought that he had sacrificed his life for Bradley just as they were getting towards an understanding again. Because though he had originally said otherwise, there would be someone to mourn Maverick if he burned in - Bradley. 
The fact that Bradley had been projecting when he had originally said that to Mav was something he had only brought up with his therapist - and it would remain that way.
Because Maverick was the one who played catch with Bradley on the weekends and taught him how to drive and brought him up in a plane for the first time and told him how to talk to girls and that Bradley was good - that he was a good person and someone his dad would be proud of and respect not only as his son, but as a man, as well.
And that’s why what Maverick did hurt so much. Because Bradley thought Maverick respected him, as well. And to find out he didn’t and that he pulled his papers from the Naval Academy just proved that. Or at least it did. Bradley thought it did - had, he thought it had.
“Mav got between my plane and a SAM and got shot down and I wanted to go after him - it was like, I’d just gotten him back after eighteen years, I wasn’t going to lose him again - and I went against orders to go back and get him - which kinda makes this whole award thing a bit of a surprise - and then I got hit and we had to make our own way back to the carrier. So, yeah - Mav and I are getting an award for it. Bagman, too, actually.”
He kept the details of Hangman’s heroics out of it. Bradley had been content to let bygones be bygones about their whole rivalry thing and the two were amicable for awhile, but then Jake had insulted you, so they were back to being polite enemies. Plus, Jake had been on special assignment in Japan and Bradley hadn’t seen him in about five months.
“How could you think I wouldn’t be proud of you for that? Bradley, that’s - that’s fucking wild and a really amazing thing and we should definitely celebrate that? What the hell?” You lightly shoved his shoulder. He didn’t budge. “I’m kinda mad at you again, actually.”
“Oh, yeah?”
You nodded, trying to look serious. “Thought we were going to be more open with each other about stuff like that?”
“We literally just made the promise!” You shot him a teasing glare. “Fine, next time I save my godfather from enemy fire you’ll be one of the first to know.”
“That’s all I ask, bubs.”
He gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “Back to bubs, am I?”
“You’re always my bubs.”
The nickname had first slipped out when you had been dating for two months. It had snuck up on the both of you, like you hadn’t even realized what you were saying the first time: hey, bubs, can you get me my phone? Bradley instantly melted. 
Bubs.
It was so simple and stupid and probably didn’t even stand for anything, but he loved it. Loved hearing it fall from your lips, whether as you teased or taunted him or as you mumbled it against his skin in bed at night. 
Bubs. 
“You hungry? I have plenty of food in the fridge or we could get take out? Your call?”
You tapped your index finger against your chin. “Hmmmm, let’s do take out? Pad thai?”
He pretended to consider this while he kneaded his thumbs into your hips. “I could do pad thai…”
“You could also do with a shower, flyboy.” You kissed him, across his cheeks, on his nose, and up and down his jaw before settling on his lips. “You smell like your fancy cologne, but also like,” you leaned in to smell his shirt and scrunched your nose once you pulled back, “burnt rubber.”
Bradley made a similar face and pinched your hip causing you to giggle. “I flew this morning for a bit, but had a class this afternoon - hence all this…”
In response, you rolled your eyes and pushed him away slightly, going over to the other side of the island and getting out your phone. Bradley didn’t wear his khakis too often, but it wasn’t quite a practical class and therefore required more than his flight suit. 
“Well, I’m gonna order,” you tapped on your phone, “and it should be here by the time you get out of the shower.”
“Awww, you’re gonna pay for me?” He laid a hand on his chest.
You didn’t even look up. “Don’t read too much into it - I mean, if either of us should be paying, it should be you…”
“But sweetheart,” he leaned his elbows on the island and gave you a hammy smile, “you’re my sugar mo -”
In return, you shot him an unimpressed look. “- So help me god, if you finish that sentence, you’re not getting crab rangoon or sex tonight - you really shouldn’t get either, but you did get me flowers and were very sweet when you apologized - so don’t ruin it by saying…that.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll be quick.” He winked. 
“Aren’t you always….”
Bradley chose to ignore you, knowing he’d get you back later and made his way to his bedroom. He never was quick for the record. If anything you were the quick one - always babbling incoherently as you took his cock or fingers, desperate to cum from the slightest touch. 
He strode across his bedroom to the bathroom where he turned on the shower to let it heat up, preferring it to be nice and toasty when he hopped in. Then he went back out to the bedroom and stripped out of his clothes, neatly placing them in the hamper. By the time he finished and walked back into the bathroom naked, the shower was the perfect temperature. 
He stood underneath the spray for a few moments, letting the hot water wash over him and soothe his tense shoulder muscles. This week’s training had been absolute murder on his body - he’d gotten shot down twice earlier in the day and unfortunately Payback was still into that stupid pushup bet, even nearly a year later, and they’d pulled almost 10 G’s. 
Bradley rubbed his hands over his face and let out a groan. Fuck, he was getting old. While not nothing exactly, four hundred pushups normally wouldn’t have had this much of an effect on him, but fuck - he was sore.
And then, even over the stream of the water, Bradley could hear the bathroom door open. He turned his head, waiting for you to call out to him, to say that you were just washing your hands or had to pee or were getting some lotion. But you didn’t say anything. 
He stood there under the showerhead, under the steam waiting for what felt like eternity. And then - and then there was the rustle of clothing, and he heard that gorgeous, ruffly, flirty dress of yours fall to the floor and saw you pull back the curtain. Through the slight gap you looked up at him, eyes wide, as if scared he would turn you away. 
“Can I come in with you?” 
Without a word, he held his hand out for you, helping you step over the lip of the tub to stand in the shower beside him. For a while, the two of you just stood there, taking the other in as your hair got wet underneath the spray.
“Here,” you reached over his shoulder to get his bottle of shampoo off the caddy, “let me.”
Bradley watched you flip the cap off and squirt some shampoo into your hands. You jutted your chin in his direction, which he took as his queue to lean over slightly so you could reach. 
“Your hair’s gotten lighter in the sun,” you said mildly, before lathering some shampoo through it. Your fingers kneaded at his scalp and he let out a sigh. 
The two of you didn’t do this too often. Sure, Bradley would normally sneak up on you in the shower as you were finishing up or you’d both clean the other off after having sex every now and then. But this was different. This was intimate and tender and raw. 
He could feel you styling his hair into some sort of half-assed mohawk. “Do I want to know how ridiculous I look?” You giggled. “Think I’ll take that as a no. Just wait till I get my hands on you, missy.”
“I wish you’d get your hands on me. This is about the least sexy shower I’ve ever taken…”
“Then tell me what you want?”
You bit your lip and then glanced down at the rest of his body as he did the same. God, you were so gorgeous and pretty and soft and wet. So fucking wet. 
You cupped his cheek, gliding your thumb over the scar he hated so much, and then leaned forward to kiss it briefly. Without wasting another moment, Bradley groaned your name against your ear, before chasing a droplet of water down your neck with his lips. He wanted to follow it all the way down your chest, over your breasts, across your stomach, down to your cunt that he knew was wet from reasons beyond the shower you were currently sharing, but instead you tipped his chin up to capture his lips in a kiss. 
All too soon, you pulled back and grabbed the showerhead to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. “Hmmmm - first, we gotta get you clean, sick of you smelling like planes…”
Bradley tilted his head back as you worked. “No, I’ll just smell like that fancy shampoo and soap you forced me to buy.”
“I did not force you, I only said I would not shower at your place if these were my only -”
“- But you knew the prospect of limited sex at my house would make me cave, hence you forced my hand to buy this thirty dollar shampoo and the conditioner.” 
The annoying part was that it smelled really good and Bradley’s hair had never felt softer or healthier, but he’d be damned if he told you that. Bob and Fanboy had even made fun of him for it once.
You raked your fingers through his now sud free hair. “Well, it still beats the Head and Shoulders crap you used to buy.” You hung the showerhead back up and then got the loofah off the hook before lathering it up with the bougie soap that Bradley had also bought last week and started cleaning him. 
Bradley reckoned he really loved you if he was spending this much on shower products - probably too much to be honest. But his thoughts strayed to the way your hands were roaming over seemingly every part of his body that he forgot all about overpriced bar soap. You looked so focused as you worked, your tongue peeking out from between your lips. Your breasts dangled free as you crouched in front of him, causing his already half hard cock to rise fully. He needed to touch you - now.
“Here, my turn…” 
He took the loofah from your hands and briefly rinsed it and himself off before putting more soap on it. The showerhead went back up in the bracket. He started first with your shoulders and back, watching the suds drip lower as they got to your ass, making for the prettiest sight. Next, he worked his way up and down your arms, placing the occasional butterfly kiss, before lathering them up. Then came the legs - placed one at a time on the lip of the tub so he could get from the apex of your thighs all the way down to your ankles. 
“Bradley…” you kept sighing his name throughout.
But then - then came his favorite part. Or parts, really. 
“Turn around,” he said gruffly. 
You complied, wordlessly, putting your back against his front. You sighed against him and he pulled you even closer. Slowly, he rubbed the loofah across your breasts, caking them in soap suds and watching as your nipples hardened with each pass. 
“Such a pretty girl.”
Your back arched, jutting your breasts out to attention, as the remnants of the soap Bradley had just lathered across them slid down your body. 
God, he loved soapy tits. Next time he was on a deployment, he was just going to ask you to send him pictures of your breasts lathered in soap suds. Soft and pretty and wet. One arm underneath them pushing them up slightly.
Fuck, he could get lost just staring at them. The soap made them look even bigger than normal, if that was possible - and all he wanted to do was play with them. While his hands were large, your tits were still too big for him to grasp one handed, but he tried to make do while his other hand laid firmly against your stomach, pressing your body against his. You wiggled your ass against his cock, forcing a moan out of you both. 
Bradley was getting sick of it - of you teasing him. With your soapy tits and soft skin and pretty fucking smile. He wanted to tease you, make you be at his mercy. Put the proverbial shoe on the other foot, if you will. Slowly, he slowly slid his hand down your stomach, closer and closer to your cunt. You let out a whine when he stopped his fingers just before they got to his intended target - he had an idea.
Instead, he reached up and grabbed the showerhead with his right hand, taking it off the bracket and bringing it over towards the two for you. He started first rinsing off your shoulders, then your arms, breasts, and stomach. Until finally, he turned down the water temperature and placed the showerhead where his fingers were teasing you moments ago. Your body practically jumped at the sudden sensation. 
“Bradley…” you sighed, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “Wha -”
“- Shhhh, s’alright.” He started you off slow, at a lighter speed, just enough to rile you up and keep you wanting more. Once he got comfortable with maneuvering the showerhead, coupled with holding you against him, he really started to have some fun. First, he propped one of your legs back up on the lip of the tub. Then, he kept moving the showerhead to different lengths away from you, watching to see how you reacted each time. And by the blissed out expression on your face, he could tell he had you right where he wanted you.
“Bradley,” you sighed prettily, “Please…”
He clicked his tongue. “Please what?”
“Plea-please, oh god…” You let out a moan when he changed the setting. “I - can you - I want -”
You couldn’t even get your words out as Bradley spread your pussy lips wider, the jets of water hitting all the right places. You moaned his name. Every time he pulled the shower head away for even a moment, you chased it back with your hips. Again and again and again he repeated the action until you were whimpering in his arms. 
Bradley loved hearing you babble. He loved when you talked smart to him and sassed him. But he really liked when you babbled incoherently. Because to have you - the smartest, wittiest, most capable girl he knew - be unable to form any words because you were so lost in him was the hottest thing in the world.
“What do you want, sweetheart?”
“Wanna cum, please. S’close.” You were squirming against him, so desperate to find your release. 
“You gonna be my good girl?”
You whined, but managed to nod and just barely reply: “Always - good - ohhh.”
Bradley hummed. “But good girls don’t cum from a showerhead playing with their clit, now do they…” 
This time a cry escaped your lips. All he’d have to do was say a few more words, angle the jet just right and you’d crumpled in his arms. So warm, so tight, so wet. He slid a finger, then another inside you and you squealed. 
“Thought you were gonna be my good girl -”
“- Ple - promise I - ahhh.” He crooked his fingers inside you, cutting off whatever you had been about to say.
“Hmmm,” he nipped at your neck, “too bad you’re acting like such a little slut, clenching around my fingers so hard, don’t know if you deserve to come…”
To further vex you, he turned up the pressure one final time with his thumb - he was oddly impressed with himself for doing it one handed, but the vice grip you had his fingers in made him loathe to remove them, even if it would make you beg for them back. Once the new speed of the jet hit your clit, you cried out and keened. 
“Bra - Bra - bubs, please, please,” you babbled, not stopping until his teeth dug into your neck. You always complained about him leaving marks, but tonight he was allowed. “Wanna - ple - plea - oh, oh, oh…”
He changed the angle on the shower head one final time and you came with a cry. It was hard to tell if you were louder than normal or if it was due to the echo from the shower, itself. Your body buckled against his, like your legs had given out.
“Shh, shhh, good girl, that’s my good girl,” Bradley muttered, this time pressing butterfly kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Such a good girl for me.”
Slowly, and with a whimper from you, he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, before he rinsed them and you off with the shower head. You could hardly take it, still overstimulated and working through the end of your orgasm. 
As you were still a little unsteady on your feet, Bradley carefully turned you around to face him, and the two of you got used to being under the stream of the water again. He tipped up your chin just slightly and captured your lips in a kiss. 
“You good, sweetheart?” 
You nodded, still a little dazed after your orgasm. Bradley always found it endearing that you always got a little sleepy after you had an orgasm or two. Well, maybe not endearing - he took it as an ego boost even though it was a bit primal of him - but it was always good to know how well he took care of you.
“No one’s ever made me come from a showerhead before - at least not like that…”
“Who else has done that?” He couldn’t help the little flare of possessiveness that spread through him. 
You tucked your wet hair behind your ears and focused on the scar on Bradley’s neck. “Me - in high school and college before I got my first vibrator…”
Bradley exaggerated a gasp. “You dirty girl. You think you know a person and then you find out she’d been fucking herself on a showerhead after studying for AP Euro every night...”
“Guys have it easier, all you need is your hand - or a sock.” To convey your point, you grasped his aching cock with your left hand. “Want me to take care of that for you?”
He pretended to consider this, but knew he was about a minute from spending himself on you. “Can I cum on your tits?”
You bit your lip in thought before you nodded. “You can even fuck them as long as you clean them off when you’re done, but I don’t know if that’s more of a reward for me or for you, lieutenant…”
Bradley groaned. Fucking your soapy tits? Jesus Christ. He really didn’t deserve you. Even such - “You know it’s lieutenant commander…”
You started stroking his cock, your hands already plenty wet and lubricated from the shower. “Doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as nicely.”
Fucking brat. 
“On your knees, sweetheart.”
By the time you two had finished, the water had run cold and your Postmates had sat on Bradley’s front porch for forty five minutes.
---------
Both exhausted from long weeks at work, the two of you spent the weekend together hanging out at your place, watching movies, cooking dinner, and swimming in your building’s skyline pool. While Bradley did love how homey his place was, he couldn’t help but be a little envious of the amenities in your high rise. 
It was nice to just have time together - especially after such an emotionally and physically exhausting week - and to go to bed early and wake up late, wrapped in each other’s arms, and plan out the day. 
Because there was something so inherently satisfying in the domesticity of running errands with someone and combining your routine with theirs. After swimming and reading in the sun on Saturday, you both spent that evening finishing the HBO show you had been binging. You shared a cart at Whole Foods, knowing you’d both eat all the food inside of it together anyways. Bradley picked out snacks he’d want at your apartment and you picked out the ones you’d want at his. You got fresh strawberries at the farmer’s market in Little Italy for him to make strawberry shortcake for dessert Sunday night. 
It was nice. It was easy. 
But whenever you weren’t focused on each other, you had either your phone or iPad out - sometimes both - looking at dresses. It seemed like you had a ready arsenal of websites at your disposal - department stores, e-commerce sites, everything. Yet, by Sunday afternoon, you still hadn’t found a dress to your liking. You were sitting at the kitchen island watching Bradley make dinner and he was now progressing along to prepping dessert. 
“Don’t women rent dresses for stuff like this? Like that’s a thing, isn’t it?”
“Like Rent the Runway?” That sounded right and he shrugged. “I’m not going to wear a rented dress!”
Bradley chuckled at your response. “My apologies for suggesting something so egregious.”
You propped your chin up in your palm. “I bet you $10 I’ll be able to pick out five of them at the gala.”
“Sweetheart, you’re looking at,” he glanced over at your screen, seeing the shoes you were thinking of buying, “eleven hundred dollar shoes, I think you can afford to bet more than $10.”
“I’m gonna wear them again!” He held his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know - I just want to look nice. I know it’s important and I haven’t really met a lot of these people before and I want them to like me,” you said, sounding increasingly shy. Your fingers idly swiped across the screen of your iPad and you refused to meet his eye. 
Bradley put down the paring knife and wiped his strawberry stained hands on his apron. He said your name and you glanced up at him a moment later. 
“Everyone’s going to love you, alright? Nat and Mav already do and I know the rest of the team will feel the same way - hell, you already met most of them before and that wasn’t so bad, right?”
“No,” you admitted. 
Granted, it hadn’t been flawless per se, but drinks and the dinner party you’d both thrown had gone relatively well, baring the incident with Harvard. Luckily, Bradley hadn’t seen him since then - he’d been on the same assignment as Hangman. 
Bradley walked over to the other side of the island and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You leaned back against him and peered up at him. 
“And if for some ridiculous reason they don’t like you - which they won’t - fuck ‘em. You’re my girlfriend and I want you there beside me, alright?”
“Okay…” 
He started rocking you back and forth in his arms. God, how could you not see that you were all he wanted? That you were perfect for him?
“You’re going to look beautiful in whatever dress you decide on and whatever stupidly expensive shoes you wear - that I’m sure will make Nat unfathomably jealous - and you’re going to be wonderful.” You giggled. “See, it’s gonna be fine - and if you want to leave at any time, just say the word and we’re out of there.”
You twisted around to face him. “I’m not gonna make you leave early…”
“Sweetheart, like ninety percent of this event is going to be networking, which you know I hate more than you do, it won’t be that great of a loss.”
“True,” you considered this, “but you said there’s dancing and stuff?”
“Yeah, after dinner.”
“Then we’ll just do that,” you said simply. “I’ve never danced with you before anyway.”
He exaggerated a gasp and you smiled. “Do our kitchen dance parties mean nothing to you?”
“You know what I mean.” You got up from the stool and stood in front of him, putting your hands on his chest. “Like in front of other people, all formal and stuff?”
“And stuff?” You glared at him. “Well, since you wanna dance all formal and stuff, maybe we should practice?”
Without waiting for a response, Bradley went back over to the other side of the island and swiped through his phone until he pulled up the song he was looking for on Spotify. The ELO song from the speaker abruptly cut out and transitioned into Begin the Beguine. 
Your nose scrunched in thought as you tried to place the song, but you still took Bradley’s hand when he offered it to you. 
“Ella Fitzgerald, good choice.” He spun you out and got a giggle from you. “You’re too smooth, lieutenant.”
Once the chorus hit, he dipped you for good measure and - god - the smile on your face made him feel about ten feet tall. The two of you eventually settled down from your more ambitious dance moves to just swaying in each other’s arms. You looked up at him suddenly. 
“I love you, you know?”
Bradley never got tired of hearing you say that. I love you. He’d heard it and said it before, but it never had carried as much weight as when he had heard it from you for the first time. I love you. 
And Bradley knew that you were going to be the only person he ever said it to again.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” 
He bent down to kiss you, pulling your body as close to his as possible. You whined in protest when he eventually pulled away and he chuckled.
“Don’t you want dinner?” As if on queue, the chicken pot pie Bradley had cooking in the oven let out a hiss as the filling hit the broil element. “Don’t want another shrimp risotto incident…”
“That was not my fault - okay, maybe it wasn’t all my fault…”
Bradley pressed a kiss to your forehead and begrudgingly let go of you. “Well, I gotta check this before your apartment almost burns down - again. Be a real pity if you had to stay at my place from now on…”
“Oh god, the horror! I’d be stuck with you all the time!”
You said it jokingly, but Bradley could tell you weren’t entirely opposed to the idea. 
Neither was he. 
---------
A/N: oh damn oh damn they’re so fucking cuuuuuute ahhh anyway full gala events - including some fun lil angsty moments - ft. mr jake seresin and a special guest 🫣 - and of course more smut (and dancing so much dancing) - coming soon in part 2.2 🥰
Taglist: @sunderlust @seasonsbloom @ticklish-leafy-plant @ponyboys-sunsets @lass-that-is-gone @2fabul0us4 @daniellef89x @double-j @hufflepuffprincesse @bradshawswife @cloudycluster @thedarkinmansfield @sithbelova @mavencalorers @fav-rooster-fics @thebeautifullydamnedone @unordinare @callsign-valley @pricklepearbloom @browneyedboys @cherrycola27 @whatblogisthis216 @agentofkrypton @lcahwriter @kyliesalvatore @noellreadfiction @coyotesamachado @heartsofminds @jocsrecs @notroosterbradshaw @milessmilesstuff @smokey102 @roosterschanelslut @iblogtopassthetime @karateperson @nessrin @frenchtoastix @piceous21 @princessphilly @notanordinaryprincess95 @spideyngwen @mrsjobarnes @calmpunker @softspiderling @softspiderlingmain @feralforfrank @fivsecondsflat @theghost1345 @sexualparkour @greenorangevioletgrass @howdysebby @sexygaypalpatine @moonyscardigans @carousallie @liveholland @supernaturaldawning @melancholyy-hill @whisperofsong @currentlybradshaw @summ3rlotus @seesaw-jk @cool-ultra-nerd @roostereads @oababy @milestomaverick @some-lovely-day​ @steadfastconviction​ @victoria-magic-tribute​ @gothicwidowsworld​ @lexhalstead3​ @unstablecaffeinatedmind​ @obsessedasusual​ @zombiedeathsworld​ @sydneyhlove​ @tellergf​
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thedroneranger · 8 months
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The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ SometimesAnAlice Edition!
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A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!
@sometimesanalice's Rewind has landed! I have to give kudos for the commentary; I enjoyed reading it immensely! Plus, this peak hype person energy, and I am here for it!
While we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to look at some of the OG content we love! And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)
Let's keep this going throughout the summer, so if you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier!
If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!
fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)
baby, i’m high octane, Jake Seresin, @laracrofted I could write papers and sing songs about how much I love this series. I refuse to remain calm about it because it is so devastatingly good. Ames has such a stunning way with words, I am always so immersed and transported and blown away by her work. There are lines in her stories that just stick with me for days and parts that I think about endlessly. (I’m also delicate about Delicate, do not get me started!) But BIHO is in a league of its own. Nora is an OC who you instantly love and root for right from the very first chapter. There is something so special about the way Jake is written in this story, the layer of depth he has is so compelling to me. And it has been such a treat going on the journey with them as they find their way to each other in the dreamiest of slowburns. Add this to the top of your TBR pile, you won’t be sorry!
can't unfeel that, Jake Seresin, @theharddeck I think about this fic A LOT. The yearning and pining and emotional intimacy is so deliciously angsty as these friends-with-benefits fight the deeper feelings they’re developing without knowing the other person is feeling the exact same way. Sana does an incredible job building the tension and exploring the dynamics between these two as they try (and fail) to keep it casual. It’s bittersweet, it’s juicy, it’s unforgettable. And fair warning, the smut in this will send you into a tizzy. 
Government Issued, Bradley Bradshaw, @bradshawsbaby I love this trope so much, I get such a kick out of the idea that people are out there getting fined for “defacing Naval property”, but this one in particular is so much fun! There is a lovely sense of domesticity that makes this such a cozy, fluffy story to read. However, it’s the build up and the banter that never ceases to amuse me! I love to revisit when I need a good laugh.
Jealousy, Bradley Bradshaw, @gretagerwigsmuse I am the self appointed president of the Smart Aleck and Bradley fan club. These two have had me in a chokehold since the moment I read them and they haven’t let go of me since. I had such a hard time picking which to highlight for this because I love and reread so many (sending all my love to skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight). No one breaks my heart and puts it back together or makes me yearn and pine or giggle and blush like these two. They are my favorites and I’m so thankful for them because their story is so special. The care and attention to detail that Jordan puts into her fics is just unmatched. But there is something about Coach Dadley Dadshaw that just warms my heart in the best way. I love getting to see the sweet glimpses into the future and lovely life that these two get to build together, I’m truly so soft over it. This story in particular gets me with Dadley!Bradley, Jealous!Bradley, and all the witty banter that Jordan writes so well! It has got it all: fluffy feels, humor, and a dash of smutty goodness!
Mighty Fine, Bradley Bradshaw, @thebirdandthebee The way this fic gets me grinning and buzzing every time I read it! The fluffy, smutty adrenaline rush of it all! I have so much love for the smitten Rooster in this story! He is so gone and so soft for the OC Caroline, who is an absolute firecracker. The build up is such a fun one that you can’t help but cheer for him when he finally gets his girl!
No Sex with the Ex, Bradley Bradshaw, @tongue-like-a-razor  Lena has so many stories on her masterlist that I go back to again and again and again (shout out to The Zipper Incident and Faking It and Less Talk). She is the QUEEN of tension and electric, witty banter. They always read so effortlessly and I am constantly left in awe at the finesse of her storytelling! I always find myself swooning, and laughing, and yearning when I read her stories! There are so many things I love about this in particular from the Hangster bromance to the jealous!bradley to the pining of it all! No matter how many times I read it, I still get a little thrill from it!
Red Flags, Green Flags, Bradley Bradshaw, @roosterforme There’s a reason this story has 4K+ notes on it: it’s fun, it’s flirty, it’s perfect! "Are you asking me on a date while I'm technically still on a date with Jake?" you asked him with a grin.//"Oh, your date with Jake ended a good thirty minutes ago," he informed you with a very serious look. "Now you're on a first date with me. You having fun?"-- NEED I SAY MORE? Your honor, I rest my case.
Tuesday Night (prequel to Not A Coincidence), Bradley Bradshaw, @sehnsuchts-trunken There is nothing more that I love than a slow burn and some good old fashioned mutual pining, and this little duology has it in spades! Mary’s Reader is so quippy and sarcastic, the banter always gets me laughing. The tension and chemistry is so palpable in these fics, you can’t help but be greedy about wanting to read more! And it doesn’t hurt that Rooster is just so swoon worthy. 
Untitled childhood Bradley series, Bradley Bradshaw, @the-ace-with-spades I have read a lot of angsty stories that hit me in the feels, but nothing has quite ruined me emotionally like this series has. This universe where after Carole’s death Bradley goes to live with Mav and Ice, as he tries to figure out where he fits in this new family is absolutely gut wrenching in the best way. There have been times where it was so hard to read because I was blinded by the tears in my eyes. The way it makes my heart ache! It’s still a work in progress, but I am so hopeful for a soft landing. 
You Don’t Get to Taste the Honey Without the Sting of the Bee, Bradley Bradshaw, @notroosterbradshaw No list is complete without something from Cass! There are so many that I debated picking (g.u.y, the boyfriend experience, the 1%), but the angst in this one just sticks to my ribs and I think about it often. When Cass leans into the angst, she really LEANS into it and this one hurts so good. Bradley is so realistically flawed in a way that makes you want to shake him for being so blasé to his partner’s feelings. I love the way Reader sticks up for herself and I ache for her in the way her partner is the source of her pain. It’s complicated and messy and real and I love it. Hit me in the feels and I will come back for more, and Cass keeps me coming back for more!
Creator's Own
Give Me Your Hand {Here is My Heart} (2-part Series) The ‘Like I Can’ series is something that took on a life of its own. What was supposed to be a little one shot turned into a three part series that turned into a universe of its own that takes up half of my masterlist. I love writing for these two, but I am really partial to this little mini-series that explores their relationship and builds up to their first time together. I think there are some fun moments, but also some tender and emotional ones as they take that final step from being just friends to being something more. Next from me will be Vol. 2 to Leave a Light On!
Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @hecate-steps-on-me @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @s-u-t @mavrellover91 @chicomonks @averyhotchner 
A kind reminder, this is a 18+ blog. While not all stories in the recommendation list are 18+, please respect boundaries and do not interact unless you are 18 years of age or older.
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laracrofted · 3 months
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For your New Years positivity night I'd like to shout out a few people.
First off, I'd like to shout out my Tumblr bestie @thedroneranger for always being there and listening to my rambles and encouraging me, and making the best banners for my work. I want to show Jay a little love to her To-Do list series because it is amazing!
Second, I'd like to shout out @roosterforme for being a great friend and mentor to me and for always providing the best feedback. Her OG couple of Roo and BG have my heart, but everything Em writes is amazing
Third, I'd like to send some love to @gretagerwigsmuse and her Bradley and Smart Aleck series. Jordan wrote the first character that I could truly see myself in, and she has been so fun to get to know and to toss ideas (and tiktoks) around with.
I'd also like to shout out @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 and @desert-fern for always being supportive of my ramblings and letting me willingly break their hearts over and over again.
Also, I would like to share some love with @bobfloydsbabe for pulling me to the darkside, aka dabbling in some outer range this year.
Finally, I'd like to shout out @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls and @shanimallina87 for their continued friendship and positivity that they put into the Fandom and the support that they show everyone on her.
you have some amazing recs on here and helena is doing the lord's work. we always need more people on the dark side 😌 happy new year!
end of the year positivity night 💌
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bloodbladesanddemons · 7 months
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The Fang Hashira
Name: Saigo Masashi
Age: 25
Height: 179cm (5’11)
Family
Father: Hideyoshi Mazashi
Age: 49
Mother: Torihime Mazashi (Surname Igarashi)
Age: 44
Second Cousin: Isane Kuratesu (@iron-embers)
Relationships
 Tengen: Associate/ Eventual Friend
Kyojuro: Friend
Gyomei: Friendly
Giyu: Awkward Associate 
Shinobu: Distant Acquaintances 
Mitsuri: Friendly
Obanai: Associate 
Muichiro: Tentative Associate
Sanemi: Friend
Kagaya Ubuyashiki: Respects him due to his understanding of Saigo's personal mission.
Personality/ Traits
Quiet
Adaptive
Observant
Blunt
Honest (A little too much)
Empathetic
Smart aleck
Night Owl
Cautious
Strong Willed
Statistics
-Running Speed: Can keep up with Gyomei
-Strength: He’s below Sanemi in strength but he does have a lot of stamina so he can go for a while, in other words “I can do this all day.”
-Openness: He’s a hard 70% Saigo can keep good company/ conversation but he lets people come to him, he’s not one to seek out friendships however, if you get him to open up, it’s more of a 76%
History
Born into a wealthy household, Saigo was raised and trained by his father, Hideyoshi, who is Daimyo for a village alongside a forest/ mountain range. A mercantile town, pretty affluent and a middle between trade routes from the sea ports and further inland.
His father trained him on all accounts. Reading, writing, and handling a blade, Saigo learned from him. Due to his father’s previous experiences with combat, Saigo was a quick learner when it came to the ways of bushido. To help understand the trade routes, on his 17th and 18th year, he was privileged to sail across the ocean in his father’s stead to China and Korea. In doing so he was able to see how the products were distributed as well as properly reading and understanding manuscripts within that category. He also experienced the different trade routes within Japan as well and he met with other traders his father did business with. Saigo knew nothing about sailing or navigation and he was usually escorted, but he enjoyed the trips and he got to at least experience the culture of it all.
As he grew older, Saigo began to notice a change in his father’s behavior. A melancholy
On the eve of his nineteenth birthday, Saigo approached his father and has a long heart to heart with him. It ends with a hug and a promise to always be there for one another.
However this was only enough to appease the growing depression in Hideyoshi’s heart for a small while. As Saigo assumed some of the duties his father was originally in charge of, a growing rift between father and son was beginning to form.
One night Hideyoshi is tempted by Muzan. 
He’s more or less given the chance to be “useful” but he has to forfeit most of his control of trade
Muzan wanted to spread influence and reach out further to discover the blue spider lily perhaps in another continent 
The exchange, strength and immunity from mortality for influence, and recourses.
The desire to have a purpose was overwhelming and Hideyoshi gave in, and accepted Muzan’s offer.
Upon his return, Saigo almost immediately knew something was wrong. His father was lively yes, but he seemed bigger almost. Stronger in stature and the smell of iron (blood) was palpable on his person. Not to mention the limp from an injury so long ago was almost nonexistent as he watched his father walk.
Saigo’s suspicions only grew as his father seemed incredibly active during the night just as he was during the day. 
He approached his father and asked if he was alright and the response was a full teethed smile and a rather aggressive squeeze on his shoulder.
It did not take long for Saigo to notice that certain servants had disappeared from their household and upon further investigation, he found a very shaken maid, Hanako Nakamura, who supposedly witnessed his father devouring one of her acquaintances. 
Without any thought he tells Hanako to leave the manor at once, take all her belongings, and don’t look back.
He is awoken later that night by an audible thud and the sound of something being dragged across the floor. So he carefully slides open the door to see his father dragging a lifeless body into his study. With his heart raging in his ears, he makes his way to his father’s chamber and through the cracked door he watches in horror as his father rip the flesh from what seems to be a homeless man. 
This single interaction scared Saigo so much, that he did not sleep the rest of the night, the sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bones echoing in his ears.
The next day, Saigo flees from his home
He packs up his horse, and all he brings is his sword, food rations, and a small bag of money to start off.
He travels a while, searching for a group known as the Demon Slayers. Throughout his journey he comes to the conclusion that he must be the one to kill his father not a random slayer.
Thus begins his journey of developing his own breathing style, joining the Demon Slayer Co., killing his father, and becoming the Fang Hashira.
Breathing Style/Forms
Fang Breathing
 Sub-sect of Wind Breathing, however instead of utilizing rotating movements to generate swift whirlwind-like slashes that greatly increase the wielder’s striking range, Fang breathing utilizes and emphasizes the ways of Bushido and that of a predator, which creates a one strike and brutal fighting style. Similar to Beast Breathing, which creates a sense of unpredictable movement with heightened senses, Fang Breathing is meant to be used specifically for one on one battles, replicating that of how a predator would hunt its prey.
Each attack is methodically controlled and can be used to cut down any foe within close range. 
When using Fang Breathing, one’s senses such as smell, hearing and sight are amplified. Their physical appearance also changes slightly, like sharper canines. 
But the most distinctive feature once one becomes a master of Fang Breathing, is their eyes. Due to excessive training and adapting to the night, the eyes become reflective as a cat or dog.
Because of this, the user can invoke the same fear and intimidate their foe as well.
Forms: There are five forms to Fang Breathing
Bare
Sure-footed Prowl
Hunter’s Respite
Vorpal Fang
Bloodlust
Form 1: Bare
First form of Fang Breathing is a counter. Similar to a wild animal baring its teeth at an intruder or as a form of intimidation, this form allows the user to hold a powerful defensive position. This form may also be used for offensive strikes such as a killing blow.
The counter involves holding the stances from the martial arts known as Iaijutsu called “Kiriotoshi” and “Kiritsuke”
This involves a big circular cut where the elbows are stretched out so that the cut begins at the top of the enemies head, striking downward with a force to slice through the throat and chest.
Form 2. Sure-footed Prowl
This form increases one’s speed and agility for a brief moment. For this moment the user is allowed to change stances mid battle/fight without losing momentum or their footing in general. The main focus of this form is to create unpredictable strikes which will throw the enemy off guard and build up power through the momentum. Therefore the enemy, while anticipating the strike, will be surprised when it comes earlier than expected, and from a different direction.
Form 3: Hunter’s Respite
This form is best used with forms one and two, allowing the user, after time in combat, to be able to read/predict the movements of their enemy, giving them the opportunity to land a hit within small openings or breaks within the fighting style that is being used.
This form is also used to gain some distance from attacks. Similar to a second wind, energy is restored for another brief period to allow for more frequent and harsher strikes.
Form 4: Vorpal Fang
This is a finishing strike. Relating to a killing blow from a predator, a lot of power and energy is put into swing. Whether that be an upward or downward swing, this cut is meant to slice through bones. However, depending on the stamina of the user, Vorpal Fang may sometimes be only used once or twice within a fight. If the user unlocks their demon slaying mark, they may use this technique up to 6 times before their body goes into shock.
But for Saigo, he was able to push his body into being able to use it three times. When used with Form 3, Vorpal fang is one of the deadliest strikes a swordsman can use in one on one.
Form 5: Bloodlust
This form can be used as a defensive and offensive attack. But unlike the rest of the forms, Bloodlust strips the user of cognitive thoughts and actions, and reduces them into an animal-like state. This can be seen in most apex predators or large animals that are being cornered. With a tendency to lash out in an aggressive and unpredictable way.
When using this form, the user’s senses are heightened to their max capacity. Muscle mass and speed is increased for brief period of time. Pain receptors are also turned off in this state as the urge to kill overwhelms the mind and body.
Saigo has been able to master this form but it does require and extreme amount of mental temperament to do so.
Fun Facts
Saigo loves sea food! Calamari, Takoyaki, Nigiri, and Ebi furai, he loves all of it.
He hates the Demon Slayer uniforms and considers them restricting for his breathing style, so he usually wears clothing that is loose and more flowy.
His father Hideyoshi taught him everything in regards to wielding a blade and trained him in the ways of Bushido and other martial arts.
Is easily approachable due to his calm demeanor.
Has charisma and a knack for bartering and or convincing someone very easily due to his upbringing in trade and entrepreneurship.
His sword was forged Suzume Krutetsu (@iron-embers) ( 1st cousin, once removed)
Originally, Saigo was not interested in becoming a Demon Slayer, but in order to carry a weapon without the government arresting him, he confronted Ubuyashiki to request a license in order to do so.
His endurance training was mainly conducted by Sanemi and Tengen.
Saigo prefers sleeping outside instead of an inn when traveling.
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