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[proteksystem]

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[lunarmoves]

lunch today was a burrito you'd snagged from el chips with your employee pass. it wasn't anything much, just a tortilla with some beans slapped inside and cheese for extra flavor. rather sad, now that you thought about it, but at least the sauces you'd added made it taste better.

you often took your lunch break in the daycare, nestled comfortably in the chair behind the unused security desk. so that's where you were, taking advantage of naptime to eat your food in a quiet, peaceful place. it was dark, but the lighting from the windows behind you was enough to allow you to see. that and the small lamp positioned in a little corner of the desk.

you took another bite out of your burrito, mindful of the crinkling aluminum, then paused halfway through chewing. "you've been staring at me for the last ten minutes."

moon's face plate clicked to the side, his squatted position atop the desk before you making him loom rather ominously over your much smaller form. "messy," was his short response, though it only made you roll your eyes.

"i'm not messy and you know it," you replied and took a sip of your drink to wash down some of the beans stuck between your teeth. "you've never stared at me on my other lunch breaks like this. something up?"

he was quiet for a moment, light from his eyes painting your vision in watercolor ruby. then he looked away, turning his gaze to all the snoozing toddlers resting on the playmats. "...keeping you company."

you raised an eyebrow as an indication for him to elaborate. since when did he care? when moon didn't hear anything from you, he huffed—a strange sound, coming from a robot—and mumbled something just loud enough for you to hear. "humans eat food with each other all the time."

you blinked at him—the resolute way he was avoiding your gaze—and mulled over his words in your head. there was a tendency for humans to put meaning into shared meals—into spending time eating with each other as an act of friendship, camaraderie, or love. your gaze softened and you took another bite of your burrito to spare him from the embarrassment that came with being vulnerable.

"that we do," you said gently, then nothing else. a quiet settled easily between the two of you and eventually moon went back to watching you eat your food. very, very intensely.

you cracked after about five minutes, more amused than anything. "okay, what is it? there's something else on your mind, isn't there?"

"no," he immediately replied, then at the expectant look you gave him, he deflated. he tapped the metal of his fingers against the top of the desk—a sound that seemed to echo throughout the daycare. "....yes."

you waited as he seemed to ruminate upon his words, before eventually—at your gentle, inquisitive hum—he relented. "gustation is not one of our utilities," he started unsurely, tentatively. you tilted your head at him, curious at what he was getting at. moon hesitated for only a split second, then pressed on with what he'd been previously contemplating. "your burrito. what does it taste like?"

oh! you weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. "well..." you started slowly. "it tastes like... beans. and cheese. kind of spicy, too." when moon gave you a flat look, you held up your hands in a shrug. "sorry, you caught me off guard."

"we know what burritos are made of," moon told you indignantly, and you knew if he could, he'd roll his eyes at you. "we just do not know what it tastes like. try again."

you snorted and took a bit more time to think, taking a bite to chew more carefully and parse out the flavors. "it's savory," you eventually settled on saying. "a bit salty, but the blandness of the tortilla balances it out. spicy, like i said before, because of the hot sauce." you thoughtfully rubbed at your chin with your free hand.

when moon made a sound that was like clicking one's tongue against their teeth, you realized that was not quite what he was looking for either. "yes," he grumbled, "but what is that like?"

hm. this was getting more convoluted by the minute, but you were not opposed to taking time to try to explain flavors to him. you set down your half-eaten burrito and wiped your fingers on a spare napkin you had lying around. then you leveled him with a pondering look. he looked back, patiently waiting with his fingers tip-tip-tapping away.

you decided to start with the easiest one. "spiciness," you began, mind racing with what to say, "is like... holding something hot. like... when you overheat and your fans kick into overdrive to cool yourself down. it hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt."

he took in your words—digesting them slowly—then nodded. you continued. "umami is like… sitting at a hearth. uh, maybe like when you have a kid sleeping on your lap after a long day.” shit, this was hard. you stared up at the ceiling decorated in all its glowing stars as you contemplated your next words. moon only waited quietly and for that you were thankful.

“saltiness is like— like a steely tang. distantly reminiscent of the ocean.” you tapped a finger over your lips. he probably hadn’t ever seen the ocean, huh? “it’s like the color white. it can be used to bring out other colors, but too much and it just ruins everything.”

you hadn’t mentioned the other three tastes in describing your burrito, but you might as well for his sake. “sourness is like a zap of electricity. very sharp! kind of like…” you trailed off and gestured at moon to come closer. he was limited due to his protocols restricting him from passing beyond the desk, but he could at least lean forward enough that you could reach up to his face. he gave you a curious look, and you almost felt bad when you gave him a flick on the forehead. a small twang echoed from the contact of your nails on metal. “like that.”

“ow,” moon said in a deadpanned voice as he leaned away from you. one of his hands lifted to cover his forehead, and you chuckled before continuing your little lesson.

“sweetness is easy. it’s like a kiss on the cheek or a hug from someone you really like,” you said with a small smile. moon’s face plate tilted to the right at that, his gaze locked onto your face. tap-tap-tap went his fingers. “and last, but certainly not least, bitterness is like… hm… like”—you pulled a face, scrunching up your nose and sticking your tongue out—“like that. unpleasant. a battery that has melted apart.”

you picked back up your burrito and took a bite from it, letting moon stew in your words in the meantime. it looked like he was in a completely different world and you wondered what was going on inside that flat head of his. you swallowed down your bite and added “i’m sure there are better ways to describe them, but that’s all i’ve got for now.” you shrugged.

there was a quiet, quiet moment where moon just stared down at you. a tension seemed to line his shoulders and back, expressed only via the fidgeting of his hands. you raised an eyebrow, only slightly concerned. “…something on your mind?” you asked gently. and just when you thought he wasn’t going to say anything for the rest of your lunch break, he seemed to deflate and reached out a hand towards your face.

“thank you,” he mumbled, the smooth metal of his thumb swiping over the plushness of your bottom lip. it was cold. you had to suppress a shiver. your breath got caught up in your lungs, a burning sensation crawling its way up your neck as you watched him carefully. he leaned back and regarded the smudge of hot sauce on his thumb. you had to resist the sudden, vicious urge to lick at your lips.

the entire daycare seemed to hold its breath.

“what we wouldn’t give,” moon eventually said lowly, something indecipherable tinging his voice, “to share a meal with you.” an ache nestled itself in your chest.

and then he sighed—longing and wistful. the sound getting swallowed up by the vastness of the daycare.

#ough ough agh agh #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #moon x reader #fnaf moon x reader #dca x y/n #dca x self insert #dca x you #fnaf dca x reader #fnaf dca x you #moon x y/n #moon x self insert #moondrop x reader #moondrop x you #moondrop x y/n #moondrop x self insert #i will NEVER get over how many fcking tags they have #fnaf moon x y/n #shay scribbles daydreams

[weareinyourcorner]

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[convolutedblasphemy]

Ace in the Hole

notes: originally didn't plan to write abt hazbin or interact with the fandom because i've... heard tales... but for a show with a canonically aroace character my fellow asexual brethren deserve more content that caters to them. don't let this flop please.

synopsis: playing cards with the radio demon, you decide to make a harmless ace joke after rosie informed you that alastor is aroace. you soon have to realize that he has no idea what you're talking about and now he wants an explanation.

contains: alastor x reader (platonic or queerplatonic), gn!reader, aspec reader (left as vague as possible), shenanigans

warnings: alastor's eating habits, i left it vague where exactly on the ace / aro spectrum reader is but they do make jokes about allonormative society in the story so be warned.

"Come in", you heard Alastor's voice from behind the door, along with the familiar radio static you could perceive whenever you walked past his room. However, you had never actually been inside. But following the offer, you pushed the door open and stepped into the radio demon's quarters.

The sight that greeted you was something that was half bedroom, half forest. It was as though someone had ripped the hotel room in half and put it into the woods. Alastor was sitting at a small table on the grass, in front of him a plate with a raw deer head on it. His metal fork was buried in the creature.

"Ah, it's you", he exclaimed with a tone that sounded overjoyed, "how can i be of assistance on this fine day? Excuse the mess, my dear, I'm just enjoying a nice brunch."

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the lifeless deer head and the questionable things that Alastor considered "brunch". You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the radio demon and the dead animal. Pressing your lips together to a thin line, you shook your head. "You know what... I'm not even going to question this anymore", you let out a sigh, "deer cannibalism... why the fuck not, I guess?"

The last part you mumbled to yourself but Alastor's ears perked up when he heard the statement. "Oh, would you like some?", he offered, holding the plate up, "I still have the eyes left. They're the tastiest part."

You cringed upon hearing those words, trying to limit the amount of disgust that showed on your face. "No thank you, Alastor...", you rejected his offer awkwardly, "I would like for my stomach to remain intact."

"Your loss. More for me!", he shrugged with a satisfied smile on his face and plopped one of the eyes into his mouth. A quiet ew escaped your mouth and Alastor looked up to you again. "Did you say anything, my dear?", he turned the fork in his hand, inspecting it, though you were unsure what he was hoping to find.

"I was just wondering when you'd be finished with our poor furry friend over here", you explained and Alastor, who had noticed how you felt about the beheaded deer on his plate, was kind enough to cover the rest with aluminum foil and put it in the fridge. Damn right, you better not put this thing in the community fridge downstairs, you thought to yourself.

"Oh, what's the rush?", he wondered and looked at you with a curious glint in his eyes. "I was just wondering if- god, you're so questionable", you interrupted your inquiry when you caught a glimpse at the inside of Alastor's fridge, containing many such "meals" as you had just seen, "I was wondering if you'd like to play a game with me. Board games, card games... you can pick. Just nothing where I have to sell my soul."

Alastor let out a laugh. "Ah, you know me too well", he put a hand on your back and led you over to a bench in the corner and a table, "well, I'd be delighted to. So long as it's not Monopoly, that game is a crime against humanity."

"How so?", you asked raising an eyebrow. "It has led to countless divorces and at least one case of someone being burnt alive", he explained. "I'm just going to assume you had nothing to do with the latter?", you chuckled and Alastor gave you a proud smile.

"I can assure you, it was one hell of a barbecue!"

"I trust nothing that you would label a barbecue", you sighed.

"And why is that?", he asked and you gestured towards the empty table where he had just devoured the deer head, "ah, good point. So, what game would you suggest we play? Will anyone else be joining us?"

You shook your head. "No, it's just us. Angel is making the others downstairs watch his 'best performances of the last decade' and I did NOT need to see that. Also one of Pentious' Egg Bois apparently has the measles- no fucking clue how that works- but I didn't want to risk it", you let out sigh, "and then I was bored so I'm glad that you have time to indulge me."

"Always a pleasure, dearest", he hummed, manifesting a deck of cards out of seemingly nowhere, "so what you're saying is that I am your last and only choice of entertainment?" He smirked at you from across the table.

"Well, considering that the other options are worse, I'd say you're my first choice of entertainment", you reasoned with a smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere, darling", he chuckled.

"Why is it so hard to be nice to you?", you rolled your eyes, which only made Alastor laugh again. "Would you like some coffee or tea?", he asked, summoning a cup of black coffee for himself. You nodded. "Tea would be nice." Alastor snapped his fingers once and you could now find a small porcelain cup in front of you with some tea.

"Just so we're on the same page here, this is normal tea, right?", you inquired. "What do you consider 'normal' tea?", he looked at you with an amused smile. "Well, tea that is made from herbs, has no meat in it and won't give me Prion's disease", you elaborated, resulting in Alastor snickering and holding his hand in front of his mouth. "It's just hibiscus tea", he assured you. You were satisfied enough with that answer and took a sip, realizing that it was indeed just regular tea. It had a nice taste and made you wonder why Alastor would dislike it.

"You seem to enjoy it", he remarked, watching you from across the table. You nodded. "It's nice. Thank you", you smiled at him and then shot him a challenging glare, "who knows, if you keep doing nice gestures like this for others, maybe you'll go to heaven after all."

"HA! Heaven?", he let out a laugh and leaned back into his seat, "I have a better chance at becoming the next queen of England!" You found the mental image of that amusing. "Who knows?", you shrugged, "the afterlife is long and if Charlie eventually intends to be able to redeem everyone, you're going to be the leader of the angels before there's any chance of progress on Mothman's ugly nephew."

Alastor gave you an amused chuckle upon hearing what nickname you had just used to refer to Valentino.

"If that happens, heaven's lost all sense of self-preservation", you could hear static over his laugh and his image seemed distorted for a moment, his pupils replaced by radio dials. He returned back to his usual form just mere seconds after.

"As for the game", you suggested, "how about we play Rummy? Haven't played that in a while."

Alastor nodded. "That should provide plenty of entertainment for me", he began handing out the cards, "especially when you lose and sink into the miserable pit of despair." The last part had his voice distorted by the radio static.

Alastor handed out the cards and you began playing. Unfortunately for you, he already had plenty of melds on the table when your hand was still full of cards. You watched him curiously as he was focusing on his hand, planning his next move. You noticed how the ears on his head twitched a little, one of them flicking back as if something had irritated it. That's so adorable, you thought to yourself, suppressing a smile.

"Don't think I don't notice you staring", he chuckled without looking up from his cards. You denied it. "Are you going senile or having hallucinations?", you teased and Alastor played three aces on the table.

The Radio Demon was ready to tease you in return when you interrupted him. "Oh look! It's us!", you pointed at the three aces. Alastor looked a little confused but ran with it. "And who's the third ace?", he asked.

"Well, technically I don't know any other aces in hell so far...", you put a finger to your chin, "I was making a joke. It was a little flawed but I thought it was funny." "So we're two aces?", he asked for clarification.

You nodded.

"So you view us as the most valuable cards in the deck?", he further questioned. Rosie had told you that Alastor was what people would nowadays classify as aroace. What she didn't mention with any word, however, was whether or not Alastor was aware of that and as you now had to realize, he had no idea, which put you in an awkward position. "Oh god, you don't fucking know...", you mumbled and Alastor's ears perked up.

"Know what? Which part of the joke am I not getting?", he wondered, tilting his head to the side as the static got louder and his tone seemed more threatening, "I hope you aren't trying to mock me."

"Not at all", you raised your hands defensively and sighed, "I just forgot you're from a different time period and unfamilar with the terms. Rosie told me you're aroace."

"A what now?", he blinked in confusion.

You sighed, whispering to yourself. "I should have a PowerPoint ready for scenarios like this- never mind!", you found your enthusiasm again and began explaining the terms to him.

Alastor nodded slowly when you were finished, as though he was having an epiphany. "So you're saying I'm not experiencing sexual and romantic attraction because I am aroace and not because I am unhinged and clinically insane?", he asked with a wide smile on his face.

"The clinical insanity is in fact its own separate thing", you confirmed. "Good to know", Alastor seemed delighted, "back in the day it might have been considered a mental illness, so I never brought the topic up with my psychiatrist, after all I wouldn't be able to do my radio show from the psych ward, right?"

"Priorities...", you remarked dryly, "wait- you had a psychiatrist? And you still ended up like this?"

Alastor shrugged. "I was there for my irrational fear of bees, not because of the homicides."

You raised an eyebrow: "And you really didn't think mentioning the homicides was necessary?"

"Of course not!", Alastor exclaimed gleefully, "they didn't cause me any distress."

"Right...", you gave him a slightly concerned gaze, "did it at least help with the phobia?"

"It did. I am no longer scared of bees."

"That's great."

"I eat them now."

You buried your head in your hands. "Well that's just wonderful, Al..."

"So asexuality... it's pretty rare from what I understand? During my lifetime I've never met anyone else who felt this way, at least not that I knew of", he explained and you smiled at him. "Estimated to be about 1% of the population", you answered. Alastor smirked at you. "Why do you seem so excited?", he asked.

"Solidarity!", you exclaimed and held your hand up so he could give you a high-five. The fact evaded you, that Alastor also didn't know what a high-five was, so he just ended up linking his fingers with yours and holding your hand. "So what now?", he asked, staring at your hands with a confused smile.

"You're a little confused but you've got the spirit", you brought out with a wheeze, trying to hold back from laughing. Alastor chose not to dwell on the gesture any longer.

"Well, I suppose you're right, it does feel nice to have somebody who is also immune to the flesh vessels of the feeble mortals", he admitted, and you raised an eyebrow in surprise at his description. "That's one way to put it..."

After losing the game of Rummy to Alastor and answering a variety of other questions he had such as "Why are there flags and what do the colors mean?" and "Does it still count if the garlic bread and cake has raw venison on it?", you decided it was time to join the others downstairs again, as Charlie had another exercise planned for today. "I must say, you're a delight to be around", Alastor remarked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder like he would with an old friend, "do feel free to stop by any time, my dear."

You thought it was a pity he didn't intend to join you downstairs, but you felt as though the two of you had gotten a little closer by finding something you had in common. And Alastor refused to show it on his face, but you had a feeling, that there was a little relief and peace inside him, knowing that there wasn't a big part of the human experience he was told he was missing out on after all.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated! If this gets enough notes I'll write Alastor QPR headcanons.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #asexual #ace #ace alastor #aroace #aroace alastor #aromantic

[halfway-happyyy]

into gold III {rooster bradshaw}

synopsis: rooster bradshaw’s emotional baggage could fill a cargo container ten times over. he is the single father of a precocious and bubbly six-year-old, and despite his best efforts, has fallen head over heels for someone arguably more damaged than him- his daughter’s first grade teacher.

characters- bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, frankie bradshaw, female ooc scout wallis (she/her pronouns)

word count- 3200+

or- the one where rooster can't cook, and lays everything out on the line for scout.

read part one and two

An aluminum wing catches a ray of flaming sunlight, rendering her momentarily blind. The moment passes and she catches sight of the plummeting aircraft expecting to see the words ‘LT Beau Wallis “Atlas”’ painted across the side, but what she sees instead is ‘LT Bradley Bradshaw “Rooster”’. A strangled scream tears at the tender flesh of her throat as she watches his FA/18 explode into the side of a mountain before he can safely eject from it. Another precious life snuffed out like a candle in the night. Another love lost forever. Her scream never materializes.

Scout Wallis jolts awake from her nightmare, her entire body covered in a slick sheen of perspiration. To steady her erratic breathing, she studies the movie posters that adorn the walls of Jake’s bedroom. Most of them are westerns; vintage, gun-toting shoot-em-ups that make her long for the simplicity of her grandfather’s cabin.

“Bad dream?”

Jake’s voice catches her off guard before she nods her head. He moves from his spot on the chair in the corner of the room to the bed, taking a seat beside her.

“Must have been out a little while,” She yawns. “Are you almost ready? What time did Rooster say to be over for dinner?”

Jake moves to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Before we do anything, you and I have some unfinished business to attend to first, Wallis.” Scout suddenly feels the end of their time together looming close, like the ticking hands of an invisible clock. Silence settles a little too long between them before he finally sighs, “This isn’t going to work out between us, is it?”

And it breaks her heart a little bit because in every lifetime apart from this one, she can see herself with Jake Seresin.

She shakes her head, piteously. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

He lifts her hand from beneath his duvet and kisses the back of it gently. “No apologies, Wallis. Frankie’s crazy about you,” A sobering realization sets in behind those beautiful viridian eyes, a flash of something sorrowful passes through them and then it’s gone. Jake swallows hard and shrugs his shoulders. “Rooster is too.”

Scout watches him leave the room, wishing with a pang, that there were something she could do or say to make herself feel a different way, but if there was anything that losing Beau had taught her, it was the importance of letting go when the time came.

They meet on his front porch fifteen minutes later, both regarding each other with a thoughtful intensity. Jake’s the first to break the silence.

“I meant what I said the other night.”

Scout cocks her head in question. “What did you say?”

Jake sighs and squints into the waning daylight above. “That he’d take good care of you. He will take good care of you if you let him, Scout. And you deserve it.”

The inexplicable sting of looming tears pinches behind Scout’s eyes as she opens her arms for a hug which he reciprocates. They stand entwined for a couple of minutes, neither one of them wanting to part just yet.

Jake breaks away first and clears his throat. “Alright Wallis, get outta here.”

She steps down off the porch, walks the few steps toward her car, and then turns to face him. “I’ll see you around, Seresin.”

He grins. “Not if I see you first.”

~

Scout stands poised before Rooster’s front door. She considers setting the mason jar of shells down onto the frayed welcome mat and making a run for it, but no sooner has the thought crossed her mind that the door is opening, and Frankie is standing on the other side of it. She’s dressed head-to-toe like Jessie from Toy Story: cow print, a hat, boots, and all.

“Miss Wallis!” She grins and then excitedly follows that up with, “Papa they’re here!”

Scout hears a pot bang in the kitchen followed by a choice curse word and stifles the giggle that tickles the back of her throat.

“Well, let them in Frankie!”

She herds Scout into the living room and then peeks back out into the growing darkness of the late May evening.

“Where’s uncle Jake?”

Scout swallows hard; fumbles around for something appropriate to say when Rooster appears from out of the kitchen, his cheeks flushed.

“Hi.” He breathes out.

“Hi,” Scout's gaze drifts to the youngster. “You look spectacular Frankie. If I’d known, I’d have brought my Buzz Lightyear costume.”

Her eyes widen in delight. “You have a Buzz Lightyear costume?”

Scout nods.

Rooster rests a large hand atop Frankie’s head. “We’re going through a bit of a Toy Story phase at the moment.” He too, cranes around in search of Jake. “You by yourself?”

Scout nods slowly. “Yeah, Jake couldn’t make it.” Their eyes meet then, and somehow Rooster understands everything without a single word being uttered between them. “But I made sure to stop by to drop these off for you.” She hands Frankie the jar of shells and turns towards the door.

“You’re not staying?” Frankie asks.

Scout doesn’t miss the disappointment in the little girl’s tone. She turns back. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

Rooster shakes his head adamantly. “You could never be a bother. Besides, we’re having Frankie’s favorite.”

“Pancakes!” Frankie squeals and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

Scout sighs happily. "How on earth can I say no, then?"

“It wasn’t supposed to be pancakes,” Frankie licks a glob of maple syrup off her finger. It had been twenty minutes since they’d sat down, with Frankie being the first to break the silence. “But papa had an accident with the steak.”

Scout’s gaze travels to the charred piece of meat in a cast-iron pan at the back of the stove and giggles.

“Thanks Frank.” Rooster rolls his eyes and reaches over to pinch the apple of her cheek, playfully.

Scout swallows her bite and shrugs. “I tend to prefer breakfast for dinner over steak anyway.”

“Me too.” Frankie agrees.

While she’s in the washroom, Scout watches Rooster push the last of the bacon from his plate onto hers. “You full already?”

Rooster shakes his head no with a small smile. “But Frankie loves the stuff and that’s enough for me.”

Scout doesn’t allow herself much time to reflect on the things she looks for in a significant other, but watching Rooster sacrifice the last of his dinner to appease his girl, she can’t help but feel endeared to him more.

As soon as the eggs and bacon and pancakes have been devoured, Frankie turns to Rooster and asks if she can grab the ice cream.

“Why don’t we wait a little bit? Scout might be a bit full of dinner still.”

Frankie falters in confusion. “Your name is Scout?”

Rooster’s cheeks redden and he scrambles to explain himself, but Scout gives her head a soft shake.

“It’s simple Frankie. When you and I are at school together, you need to call me Miss Wallis because I am your teacher. But when we’re like this- or, if you see me at the beach,” She throws a wink Rooster’s way. “You can call me Scout. Does that make any sense?”

Doubt clouds her beautiful green eyes, but she nods her head regardless.

“And I would love you to grab the ice cream. My dessert tube is far from full.”

Rooster watches her head for the basement and then promptly apologizes.

Scout waves it off. “Not at all. It was bound to happen at some point. I’ve just found that it’s best to be as honest with them as you can- as is appropriate.”

Rooster watches her and she feels naked under his gaze but it’s a vulnerability that she doesn’t immediately shy away from. She reckons she could get used to it; likes how it feels akin to standing under a warm shower, or letting sunshine warm your frozen bones on a cold day.

“You do well with her.” He concedes after a while.

Scout allows herself thirty seconds to remember the seedling that had once grown in her belly and smiles. “She’s a wonder, Rooster. Truly.”

“Papa, can you help me please?”

“I’ll be right there sweetheart,” Rooster pushes himself back from the table with a happy sigh. “Frankie has helped prepare a very special dessert this evening. We’ll be right back.”

Scout takes this opportunity to fully drink in the beautiful space around her. The kitchen opens onto the living room which is all whitewash and navy-blue accents. A pair of sliding glass doors lead out onto a half wraparound porch, where a rope swing bench hangs from the second story awning. Open windows give way to the calming staccato of waves crashing against a shore nearby, and she decides then that her favorite part of the house (minus her two dinner companions) may just be its proximity to the ocean. It is entirely charming in its coziness. From her spot at the table, Scout can see that most of the wall space in the living room is hung with pictures Rooster collected during his time in the Navy, and of different stages of Frankie’s life. Her, as a fresh and endearingly wrinkly newborn, next to one that shows him and a toddler Frankie next to his beloved plane. Beside that picture is one of Frankie and Maverick at her kindergarten graduation. A warmth that had felt foreign to her for so long settles in next to her heart and refuses to budge.

“Are you ready Scout?” Frankie’s lilting voice, brimming with excitement, knocks her from her reverie and makes her smile.

“I’m ready, Frankie. Your dad said you worked extra hard to put this dessert together.”

Frankie, suddenly unusually shy, nods her head.

“Alright Frank, you grab the ice cream.” Rooster gestures to the rapidly melting tub behind him and carries a steaming dish of apple crumble to the kitchen table. He tops her plate with a heaping spoonful of the crumble and two healthy scoops of vanilla bean ice cream.

Scout takes a bite and lets her eyes fall shut, savoring the slightly tart taste of the warm apples on her tongue. “This is delicious, Frankie. You did a fantastic job.”

Frankie’s lips turn up into a toothy grin. “Thank you.”

They finish their dessert in silence, and when it’s over, Frankie tugs on the sleeve of Rooster’s t-shirt and leans up to whisper something in his ear.

Rooster frowns. “Why don’t you ask her yourself, Frank?”

Frankie turns to Scout, her expression bashful. “Scout, can I show you my seashell collection?”

Scout passes a napkin over her mouth and nods emphatically. “I would love that, Frankie. Lead the way.”

The rest of the house is just as charming as the main floor, and Frankie’s room is somehow exactly how Scout would have imagined it would be. A white, wrought-iron bed sits beneath a powder blue mosquito net, the top of it crowned with twinkling fairy lights. Behind the bed, a large whimsical rainbow takes up most of the far wall, and a sneaking suspicion tells her that Rooster had something to do with it. A lamp in the corner of her room emits a soft yellow glow, and an array of random wooden furniture takes up the rest of the quaint space. Frankie cradles her jar and points to a blue, paint-chipped shelf beside her bed.

“Mav made that shelf for me for my shells.”

Scout walks the short distance to the shelf in which she’s referring to and drops to her knees in awe. She’s sure Rooster had a hand in helping her organize everything, but even still, her collection is immaculate. There must be over a hundred shells on display- some ranging from the size of a quarter to some the size of a dessert plate.

“These are incredible, Frankie.”

The little girl carefully unscrews the lid on the jar and begins to add them to her collection, ranging in size and color.

“Thank you for helping me, Scout.”

Scout swallows back the sudden tide of emotion and smiles. “It was my pleasure, Frankie.”

“Do you have a favorite one?” she asks.

Scout sighs. They’re all so beautiful. After a while, she points to a small red starfish. “I think that one.”

Frankie grins. “That one’s my favorite too. It always reminds me of Patrick, from Spongebob.”

She’s not sure how long they spend huddled in front of the myriad of shells, but Scout reckons she could listen to Frankie talk about them for the rest of her days and never grow tired of it. A knock at her bedroom door pushes her from her daydream. She glances up to meet Rooster’s gaze, his head leans against the door frame.

“Hi.” Scout smiles.

“Hi you two.”

“Come look at the ones I added, Papa.” Frankie insists.

Rooster pushes himself from the frame and crosses the short distance to where they’re crouched down, planting his hands on her shoulders and leaning in to take stock of the priceless new additions. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Frank.” He murmurs after a few moments. “But I regret to inform you that it’s time for bed.”

Scout doesn’t miss the exasperated groan that emanates from Frankie.

“Just a little longer, Papa?”

Rooster laughs. “It’s already past your bedtime, sweetheart.”  

Scout rises from her crouched position and places a hand atop Frankie’s head. “Goodnight my friend. Thank you for showing me your wondrous collection.” A thought crosses her mind. “When we do our last show-and-tell before year end, why don’t you bring some of your shells in? I’m sure the other kids would love to see some of them.”

Frankie’s eyes light up. “I would love to!”

Scout grins. “It’s a deal, then. Goodnight Frankie- and sweet dreams.”

She wanders back downstairs, not entirely sure if she should stay. She figures the least she can do is wait to say goodbye to Rooster. A picture on the mantle above the fireplace catches her attention. It depicts a very young Maverick, with his arm wrapped around someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to Rooster. Scout studies the photo; the smiles of the young men speak volumes of excitement and adventure, of youth, and the ability to believe that they would be safe in anything they set their hearts on. Rooster joins her then.

“Is this your father?” she asks, though she reckons she already knows the answer.

Rooster nods before clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Scout smiles. “He looks like you.”

Rooster shifts from foot to foot, as if crafting his next words with care. “I never really thought so, but my mother was adamant that he and I were cut from the same cloth.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Would you like to stay for a drink?”

Scout wants to say no. She wants to thank him for dinner, and for the companionship that he and Frankie had gifted her this evening, but she just can’t shake the feeling that she’s supposed to be here.

“Yeah, I would.”

“Is there anything you’d like? I’ve got wine, beer, whisky…”

Scout shrugs. “I’m easy. Surprise me.”

Rooster smiles and nods his head. “Alright. I’ll fix us something if you want to find a seat on the porch.”

She does as she’s told and settles onto the swing, reveling in the sound of the ocean nearby. Rooster joins her a little while later, offering her a tumbler of whisky which she gladly accepts. He takes a seat at the opposite end of the bench and raises his drink to her.

“I’m sorry to hear about you and Jake.”

She snorts around the rim of her glass, takes a sip, and shakes her head. “No, you’re not.”

Rooster’s expression is suddenly sheepish. “You’re right. I’m not.”

They’re silent for a moment, Scout already feeling the whisky warming in her belly, causing her cheeks to flame and a flush to start at the base of her throat.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Rooster gazes at her, his expression unreadable, and nods his head. “Anything.”

“Frankie’s mother, what’s the story there?”

A puff of air escapes his parted lips as if he’d been holding it all in. “Not much of a story at all, really. She, uh, left when Frankie was about a year old.”

Scout can barely fathom it.

“Her and I were young when we met. We figured that marriage and children were the next obvious steps, so we took them together and when life got real, she hit the road.” Rooster takes a deep sip and continues. “She tries to get a hold of Frankie every now and then. Always spews some bullshit about coming to visit her, but she never manages to materialize. Fortunately, Frankie and I do alright on our own.”

“You do better than alright, Rooster.” Scout murmurs.

“How about you?” He asks. “You ever been married?”

Scout hesitates before nodding her head. “Yeah, actually. I was married for five years before he passed away.”

It sometimes still feels surreal to her when she says it out loud. That someone could be so close to her for so long and mean so much to her, and then gone at the blink of an eye, keeps her up most nights.

Rooster’s face drops. “I’m so sorry, Scout.”

She swallows back the building emotion and offers a half-shrug. “It’s one of the costs of flying fighter planes for a living, isn’t it?”

Rooster’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Your husband flew planes?”

“There’s a reason I told you I didn’t date men in the military.” she simpers.

They’re silent for a while, the only noise between them the calming sound of waves against sand.

“You’re lucky you live so close to the ocean.”

Rooster smiles, but there’s pain in the depths of his burnt-honey orbs. “My old man perished over the ocean in 1986, so I think I did it to feel closer to him.”

And Scout, maybe more than anyone, understands that completely.

“It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” He muses.

Scout shakes her head. “There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, Rooster. You do what you can.”

It is not lost on her how perfect this night has been, but she knows her time to go is fast approaching. She tips back the rest of her drink, favoring the way it scorches the delicate lining of her throat as it goes down and gets up from her spot on the swing.

“I shared more of myself with you tonight than I have with anyone in a long time.”

Rooster gazes at her. “I'm honored.”

“It’s time for me to go, though. I wanted to thank you for this evening, it was wonderful.”

“It was a pleasure to have you join us, truly.” Rooster follows her to the front door and leans on the frame for support. “I want to take you out, Scout.”

And there it is again. No bullshit. A man who tells her exactly what he wants, and it causes butterflies to take flight in her belly. She thinks of Beau and Jake, and the hell of it all is that she likes Rooster. God, she likes him so much. So she says the only thing that she can think of in that moment, and then regrets it immediately.

“I want to be friends, Rooster.”

And there’s so much more that she could say to him. I want to be friends to get to know you. I want to be friends before I scare you off. I want to be friends before we get in too deep. But the right words fizzle and fade before she can voice them.

Rooster walks her out to her car. He hasn’t said anything in the wake of her admission, and she wonders if she's already fucked everything up. But then he simply tells her, “I’ll take what I can get, Scout. Frankie and I aren’t going anywhere.”

And despite everything, she believes him.

#we love a slow burn #peep the home inspirations #im obsessed #rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #writing #into gold #top gun #tgm #miles teller

[isabelle-bee]

bound to falling in love || jj maybank

jj maybank x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

summary: after a hurricane, you and your friends find a sunken wreck in the marsh

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, mentions of a dysfunctional family (spoiler alert. it's yours),

a/n: thank you for reading my first part of this story!! i hope you enjoy! lowercases are intentional!

key: (y/n/n) = your nickname, (y/n) = your name, (y/u/n) = your uncle's name, (y/c/n) = your cousin's name

bound to falling in love masterlist

⭒⭒⭒

"we're the pogues, and our mission this summer is to have a good time, all the time."

you watch as john b stands on the roof, staring out into the ocean. he takes a sip of beer, sticking one foot in the air and spreading his arms like wings to better steady himself.

"that's what, a three-story fall from the deck?" pope asks. he squints from the sunlight in his eyes, staring up at john b intensely. "i give you about a one-in-three chance survival."

john b hums in thought, sticking his pointer finger into his mouth before lifting it into the air, feeling the wind blow against the digit. "should i do it?"

"yeah, you should jump!" you yell. the summer breeze blows your hair away from your face and you fiddle with bracelets around your wrist. you're sitting next to jj, desperately trying to ignore the heat of his thigh brushing against your own.

"i'll shoot you on the way down." pope raises the nail gun in his hand and john b raises his eyebrows. he makes a finger gun, pointing it at pope's head.

"you gonna shoot me?"

"they're gonna have japenese toilets with towel warmers," kiara says in disbelief as she walks out of the home. her dark brown locks falls down her back in waves, and her skin seems to glow from the setting sun. "this used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, i guess?"

"i care about the turtles, kie." you reach a hand over the railing, faking a pout towards your best friend. kiara smiles, interlocking your fingers together.

"i can't have cold towels," jj teases and you smack him in the stomach, scoffing when he lets out a dramatic oof.

kiara turns her attention to the boy dangerously close to breaking his neck. "can you please not kill yourself?"

"don't spill that beer," jj warns, "'cause i'm not giving you another one." as if on cue, john b loses his balance and drops the piece of aluminum. he lets out a small curse as the can drops to the floor, it's contents spilling everywhere.

"of course you did!" jj laughs.

"smooth," kiara mutters to you, while you only giggle as john b groans towards his lost drink in despair.

"a-plus," pope chuckles. he peeks around the corner when he hears a loud "hey!". pope slams his hand down onto the wooden railing, sending nervous looks towards the rest of you. "hey, uh, security's here, let's wrap it up."

"boys are early today," john b states, sliding down the roof, landing next to you. he ruffles your hair and you smack his hand. you grin, sliding underneath the railing and jumping down next to kiara. jj calls out something inaudible as he climbs down the balcony floor. you run into the house, dodging past paint cans and used equiptment.

you run down a flight of stairs, four of you going one way while jj runs in the other. he skids to the stop, sharply turning around to miss the hands of an officer.

"not much of a hugger, man!" jj laughs when another guard tries to get a hold of him. "go pope!" he yells. "go, go, go, go, go, go!"

jj follows after pope towards the large fence at the end of the yard. they jump over, and pope groans as he lands face first into the ground. jj slaps his back, "get up, pope! fatso's coming!"

the two of them run over to the honking van, jumping inside. they laugh as one of the guards starts chasing after the racing car.

"check out gary, gunnin' for a raise!" pope smiles. jj reaches a hand out of the open door, holding out a beer towards the running man.

"enough," you say, giggles still spilling from your lips.

"you're gonna give him a heart attack." kiara's comment only makes you laugh harder.

"you're so close! you can do it! there you go!" jj throws the can towards the older man, groaning when it hits him in the head. "they don't pay you enough, bro."

you grab onto the blonde's arm, pulling his body back into the car. "jj, stop," you scold, but amusement still lingers on your voice.

"oh come one. that sort of initiative is just begging to be punished."

⭒⭒⭒

"the outer banks, paradise on earth. it's the kinda place where you either have two jobs, or two houses. two tribes, one island. all right, so this is figure eight, the rich side of the island. home of the kooks, so guess where we don't live."

"and this is the south side, or 'the cut'. home of the working class, who make a living off of busing tables, washing yachts, running charters. the natural habitat of, drumroll please... the pogues. that's us. pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. lowest member of the food chain. okay, so the downside of pogue life is that we're ignored and neglected. the upside of pogue life? we're ignored and neglected. which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want."

adjusting his hat, jj leans back against his seat. one hand on the steering wheel, he looks out the window as he drives the hms pogue.

"that's jj, my best friend since the third grade. he's about as local as they come. latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who make their living off the water. best surfer i know, just don't tell him i said that. mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat."

you yelp as a pair of arms slither around your waist. they lift you in the air and before you can say or do anything, you're thrown off the boat and into the ocean. you swim to the surface, glaring at your assailant.

"jj!" you yell. he cackles as you swim back, reaching out a hand that he gladly takes, despite the fact that he's still letting out small huffs of laughter. you feel yourself blushing when he interlocks your fingers, and you internally curse yourself for the fluttery feeling in your stomach.

"that's (y/n). she's been jj's other best friend since they were twelve. even though we're not related, she's like my little sister. she's the mom of our group, keeping us in check and out of trouble. although, she's been acting different lately. it might be because her drunk of a mother kicked her out and now she's living with her kook uncle. or it might be because she's obviously in love with a special someone. but, i'm technically not supposed to know that."

staring at the flames of the open fire pit, kiara quickly shoves john b away when he traps her in a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. "get off me. don't even get me started on microplastic. have you even heard about that island? that little island of just-"

"and that's kiara, or kie, as we call her. and when she's not saving turtles, or listening to marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with the rest of us. i'm not really sure why though. so, she's a rich kid, actually. foot in both worlds. her family owns the wreck, this outer banks institution. total cash cow with the tourists. you know, i'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. i guess we all sorta have a thing for her."

watching his friends dance on the boat, pope leans back with his hands behind his head. he laughs as kiara spins you around, and you smack jj's hands away when he attempts to join in.

"and that's pope, the brains of the operation. finalist for the lucas t. vanderhorst merit scholarship. and the smartest person i know. a bit of a weirdo. alright, so his father's this legendary character, heyward. anything you wanted on the island, heyward could get it for you. now, i'm not sure what heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. he was a pogue, just like the rest of us."

"so, that's my crew. and that's me, john booker routledge. and this is where i live."

flushing the toilet, john b exits the bathroom. he peeks inside the room beside him when he hears whispering. jj looks away from the touron he's with, immediately grabbing an empty beer can and throwing it at his best friend. "dude, come on, man! get outta here!"

slamming the door, john b violently shuddered. he walked down the hallway, spotting you and kiara on the pull out couch. you're laying on your back, book in your hands. kiara rests her head on your stomach, scrolling through her phone and occasionally tilting it towards you while giggling.

"morning, kie, morning, (y/n/n)." john b raises a hand to the two of you in greeting.

kiara raises a peace sign, mumbling "morning", while you only hum in response. john b grabs a framed photo off of the table littered with beer bottles and hung it on the wall.

"an old fish shack on the marsh. the chateau, as my dad used to call it. that's dad. he disappeared at sea nine months ago, looking for a shipwreck. who disappears at sea these days? i miss him. and then there's mom. she split when i was three. last i heard she was in colorado. i think it was colorado."

"that's uncle t. since dad vanished, he's supposedly my legal guardian. at the moment, he's in mississippi, building houses... which means it's just me right now, hangin' with my friends. three months after my dad was missing, he was officially presumed dead. i refused to sign the papers. until i see a body, i'm not giving up."

⭒⭒⭒

walking into the kitchen, you nearly scream when you find your uncle sitting on the island. he sips from his mug, pen in his other hand as he stares down at a stack of papers. his head shoots up at the sound of you walking across the floor.

startled at his sudden appearance, you rest a hand on your rapid heart. "uncle (y/u/n), i didn't know you were home. i thought you were gonna be at the office today."

you feel his eyes following you as you open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. "where were you last night?" he asks. "you didn't text or call to tell me where you were, and i was worried."

"i was at john b's."

"who else was there?"

"just my friends," you say. "pope, kiara, jj. you know, the usual."

your uncle spins in his seat, settling his hands onto his knees. "look, i don't mind you hanging out with your friends. i want you to go out, to have fun, not be a hermit like (y/c/n) was-"

there was a loud yelp from the living room, presumably from said cousin on the couch watching basketball.

"-but there are some rules in this house, and i'd appreciate it if you'd follow them," your uncle finished.

you stared at him from over the rim of your bottle. "i didn't mean to worry you," you state. "i just forgot to call, i'm sorry."

"no, there's no need to apologize. just next time, call." your uncle smiled, before turning back to the stack of papers in front of him. you stay rooted to your spot. you were expecting some form of punishment, considering your mother would chastise you over every little thing, but nothing came.

when your uncle didn't say anything for the next few minutes, you slowly turned around and headed towards the front door. you spotted your cousin laying on the couch, head resting against the arm rest and a bag of cheetos on his stomach.

quickly slipping on your shoes, you run out the door and towards the boating dock behind your uncle's house. you immediately spot the hms pogue, already occupied by jj, pope, and john b.

"sup, loser," jj says, reaching a hand out towards you. you take it, and the blonde places his other hand on your back to further aid you onto the boat. you smack his hands away, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his warm touch. jj retracts his hands, rolling his eyes at john b when he smirks at the pink dusting on jj's cheekbones.

"sup, blondie." jj pinches the skin of your waist at the nickname, and you elbow him in the stomach in return. you step away from your best friend, settling down next to pope and crossing your legs in front of you. the boat starts moving again, and you tilt your head to the sky.

⭒⭒⭒

"hello there, princess." you beam at kiara as she walks down the deck while she grins at you in response.

"o, top o' the morning to ya." your eyebrows furrow at the attempted irish accent jj pulled, but he only shrugs at you.

"whatcha got?" pope asks, referring to the cooler kiara holds in one of her hands. "you got some juice boxes?"

"you know, just some yogurt and some carrot sticks." kiara grabs your hand, jumping into the boat. she sits next to you, moving to rest her head on your shoulder.

"what about my kind of juice boxes?" jj asks, scooting over to create more room for the two of you. his lips stretch into a small smile at kiara's small "yeah".

⭒⭒⭒

soon, the five of you had opened a beer, laughing when jj suddenly says, "lemme show you a party trick. pope, can you go a little faster?"

"oh god, here we go, i'm movin'." john b walks backwards, standing behind pope as he watches jj stand at the edge.

"i got this! it's gonna work!" jj says, confidentely.

you sigh, "jj, you've tried this a thousand times and it fails every time." you move to the side, avoiding the beer that flies out of jj's mouth. kiara laughs, but soon complains about it getting in her hair like the others. you reach up to grab onto jj's unoccupied wrist to tug him down, but the boat suddenly jerks to a harsh stop. jj flips forward, falling into the water with a large splash. you lurch forward, harshly slamming into the edge of the boat, immediately groaning at the aching pain flaring in your muscles.

"jesus, pope!" kiara scolds.

"you okay, j?" you ask, seeing him resurface from the water.

"i think my heels touched the back of my head," he chokes out, panting with his eyes closed.

"kie, you alright?" john b questions, rubbing his forehead.

"i'm fine," kiara replies before turning to her best friend. she touches your back softly, "you okay, (y/n)?"

"pope what did you do?" jj demands.

"sandbar. the channel changed."

"no shit." jj starts swimming back to the boat, eyes flicking up to pope when he stands at the edge. pope peers into the water, brows furrowing as he stares.

"guys... i think there's a boat down there."

"shut up," john b says.

"no way," kiara adds.

pope points to the water. "no, no, guys. i'm serious. there's a boat down there."

looking closer, you can faintly see the outline of a boat. john b tugs off his shirt. you slide down your jean shorts, leaving you in your swim suit. kiara follows your lead as you jump into the water.

sure as shit, there's a boat - a nice one, at that - at the bottom of the marsh's floor. you want to get closer, have better access to inspect it, but oxygen soon becomes an issue. rising for air, hysteria meets your ears as you gulp down breaths.

"you guys saw that?" jj gasps.

"yeah, i did," kiara laughs.

jj starts swimming towards the boat, "that's a grady white. a new one of those is, like, 500 g's, easy." jj hauls himself up, offering a hand towards you.

"that's the boat i saw when i surfed the surge," john b states and kiara flickers her eyes towards him. you twist water out of your hair, mildly paying attention.

"you surfed the surge?" kiara clarifies, her voice rough. jj laughs, reciting a handshake with the curly haired boy.

"that's my boy, pogue style!"

"do we know whose boat that is?" pope asks, chest heaving.

"no, but we're about to find out." john b grabs the anchor, saluting his friends before jj shoves at his chest, pushing john b down into the water. john b holds his breath, allowing the weight of the anchor to pull him down.

the rest wait in anticipation, and just when you think jj's about to jump in and drag john b back to the boat, he rises to the surface.

"oh my god, that took forever!" kiara exclaims.

"any dead bodies?" pope asks.

"looting potential?" jj questions.

"no." john b raises his hand to show his discovery, presenting a small, yellow key. "i found this motel key."

your excited smile dropped. "a key?"

"yes, a key, (y/n)."

"great, we salvaged a motel key." jj pulls the anchor out and places it back into the boat.

"guys maybe we should report the wreck to the coastguard," kiara suggests. "maybe we'll get a finders fee."

"yeah and not work all summer," you hum.

"thanks agatha, ya batch."

#outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #pope heyward #john b routledge

[adore-laur]

JOYRIDE

— corruption in tokyo brings two partners together again to seek retribution while also fulfilling their desires🚦

ハリー

Midnight in Tokyo. 

The city transforms into a neon jungle once the moon takes the stage. Illusionary indigo and hot pink advertisements scale the sides of skyscrapers, their vibrant pixels reflecting off the slick thoroughfares bestrewed with puddles. Cosmopolitan emporiums attract visitors like clusters of moths drawn to a flame, ranging from luxury retail stores to vintage boutiques that line the sidewalks. Many diverse eateries sit snug in the passageways, the limited seating where conversations are struck with writers and poets alike. Whimsical art sculptures placed in hidden spots showcase Japanese culture, and the expressive pieces greet tourists from around the world. 

It's an urban utopia straight out of a futuristic fantasy. 

Digging deeper into the complex metropolis, right in the heart of the infamous Kabukicho District, is where nightlife is most vivacious. Foreigners flock to clubs and bars for ritzy entertainment and exuberant thrills. Alleyways conceal doorways to more private establishments, their explicit thresholds exposed by flickering arrows that guide those who dare to enter. It's sinfully atmospheric, the smell of smoke and sex lingering past the brick walls lit by dangling paper lanterns. 

The vicinity is two sides of the same coin. In the daytime, families wander through a maze of honorable restaurants and hotels, but at night, the devil comes out to play. Risqué signs lead to unlawful pleasure. Curtains cover hostess clubs of endless inebriation. Intimate shops are out in the open to pique the interest of innocents. 

However, on this rainy November night, Harry Styles seeks only one unholy cove. He doesn't need to be lured into it by silhouetted street hawkers. Ignoring them is easy when the red light just around the corner holds his true desire. 

As his polished dress shoes clack against the wet pavement, a black umbrella looming over his head, he fishes into his trouser pocket to snag a piece of chewing gum. He unwraps the aluminum, pops the green gum into his mouth, folds the rubbery substance using his tongue, stretches it between his two front teeth, and then bites down on it with his back molars. A refreshing burst of spearmint hits the back of his throat, crisp and cool. He begins whistling a catchy tune he heard on the metro subway the other day, the trill echoing off the narrow walls surrounding him. New graffiti on them catches his attention. Considering the city strictly prohibits street art, it's a rare find, so he admires the esoteric visuals before they're removed by patrolling police. 

Taking a sharp left, the top of Harry's shadow reaches his destination before he does. He stops in his tracks and breathes in the hazy air. Smoke seeps under the rusted garage door, and the muffled bass coming from inside is a straight injection into his veins. The Japanese script, emboldened by neon red, spells out the name of the strip club. 

ジョイライド 

JOYRIDE 

Guarded by a towering man in a black suit and maroon tie, it's the only barrier left. Luckily, Harry is well-versed when it comes to sneaking into elite establishments. He shakes his umbrella out, the droplets creating ripples in the asphalt pools beneath his feet. A step under the hipped awning saves his expensive clothing from becoming soaked. His long, houndstooth blazer of a dreary grey color and a dotted scarf wrapped once around his neck make him blend in nicely with the darkness. 

Harry clears his throat and politely bows to the daunting watchman. "Kobanwa," he greets, hiding the gum under his tongue out of courtesy. (Good evening.) 

"Kon'nichiwa," says the man with a reciprocated bow. "Anata no mōshide wa nanidesu ka?" (Hello. What is your offer?) 

Opening the breast pocket of his blazer, Harry plucks out three bills. He unfolds the creased paper one by one, revealing the printed face of an esteemed writer and a five-digit number representing a hefty amount of yen. His desire is worth significantly more, but he'll undoubtedly be spending the rest of what's tucked in his wallet for reasons that will never be publicly disclosed. 

"Sakura," Harry says with unwavering eye contact. 

He only needs to speak a single name for the man to challengingly stare back for three seconds. He then takes the yen and inspects it for possible counterfeit, his nimble fingers flipping the banknotes over with a particular procedure. After an anticipatory moment of crinkling sounds and drowned-out electronic music, he raps a rhythmic knock on the garage behind him. It instantly lifts with a grinding creak, the smoke releasing from underneath and crawling up Harry's legs like ivy on a brick wall. 

"Anata no norimono o tanoshinde kudasai." (Enjoy your ride.) 

Harry gives the man a fixed smile and then enters his paradise. Weeks of lousy business trips that required him to globetrot across continents have led to this. Tokyo always has something sensational in store for him. He comes back to the sleepless city time and time again for the unpredictability. 

Disappointment doesn't exist here — escapade does. 

The metal stairs leading to the underground club are grungy and steep, so Harry uses the shaft of his umbrella as a makeshift cane to traverse down the dilapidated steps. Every footfall ends in a squeak until he reaches the velvet carpet at the bottom. Thumping music loudens, the scent of cigarettes grows stronger, and the beat of his heart pounds faster in anticipation. 

Red curtains are suspended in front of him, and distant chatter that eclectically ranges from foreign to familiar dialect echoes from behind them. Harry sets his umbrella by the nearby coat rack, then takes his scarf and blazer off to hang them next to a pristine suit jacket. He takes a glimpse at his own suit. It's black cashmere with a contrasting white button-up underneath and a silk tie. He adjusts the collar, tugs on the lapels, and swiftly unclasps the single button. With a final ruffle of his flattened hair and a crack of his neck, he's ready for total immersion. 

Pushing the curtains aside, he crosses the threshold. There's no turning back now. 

The seductive ambiance immediately invades every one of his senses. There's red everywhere. The spacious room holds the key to subliminal distraction, from the ruby wallpaper to the vermillion leather booths. It's a sub-rosa room where players can have fun after dusk. Every soul that wanders in leaves with a newfangled perspective on the divine beauty of women. At least that's what Harry left with the first time he traipsed in as a fresh face from Europe, a wax-sealed invitation in his hesitant grasp. 

He wouldn't call himself a loyal customer, per se. He's not dependent on the half-empty glasses of Yamazaki malt whiskey presented to him on serving trays, only to be respectfully declined. Nor does he come for the puffed cigars and joints perched between persuasive fingertips and lips. 

No, it's the stage in his peripheral he floats toward. It's where his desire lies. 

His Sakura. 

She's on the round stage amid her nightly performance, one leg hooked around a silver pole protruding from the middle of the platform. A red spotlight shines down on her contorted body, her limbs reaching out like slender branches of a cherry blossom tree. Her long hair is snaked into six braids, four twisted up high and two tinier ones falling over her forehead. The audience of men, some standing close and some sitting in booths, piercingly whistle over the loud music while throwing wads of yen at her when she spins into an upside-down position with ease, gripping the pole using just her ankles. It gives everyone a full view of her leather bodysuit, the glossy black material with cutouts revealing peeks of smooth, brown skin. 

Harry stuffs a hand in his pocket and lingers at the back of the club where no one can pester him with invasive questions about his intentions. They don't understand. He's not here to 'get some,' as they often assume. Sure, he'll leave the place feeling satisfied, but they don't know he gets to take home the woman they're currently fawning over. 

Her pole dancing performance nears its end, with a final layer of smoke hovering over the circular platform. The mystique she exudes as she slides into an effortless split is tantalizing. Harry swallows thickly as his hand curls into a fist, every fiber of his being practically itching to be alone with her. He never grows tired of watching her, yet he's utterly addicted to what happens in their designated private room. 

The red spotlight switches to a bright white, and his Sakura smiles dazzlingly while collecting the bills thrown her way. Harry smirks and applauds, then pushes off the wall to give her his own special offering. This part seems to always occur in slow motion for him. His eyes are locked onto her as he waits until she catches his hypnotic gaze. He weaves through the crowd while chewing on his now flavorless gum, mumbling apologies when he bumps into people's drunken sways until he finally reaches the stage. Slightly opening his suit, he reaches into the interior breast pocket and pulls out a plucked cherry blossom. Technically speaking, he breaks the law every time he acquires the pink symbolism of human existence, but it's of little consequence to his morals. He has much worse crimes under his belt. 

Harry gently holds out the blossom amidst flying yen, a pastel pink delicacy in a sea of brown riches. The following moments play out like a scene in a movie. Time seems to freeze as he homes in on the sound of her high heels clicking closer. He steadily looks up, taking in her tall legs and heaving chest. She tucks a few yen in the tight seam of her bodysuit, then provides him with her undivided attention. 

"For me?" she mouths over the deafening music. 

His lips break into a wide smile at the sound of her euphonic voice he so longingly missed. "Always for you."

Bending down, she takes the cherry blossom from him and brings it under her nose. Her eyes flutter shut as she smells the fragrant flower. It's flattering that no matter how often she's received one, she still sticks it behind her ear like she does now. 

The surrounding men marvel over her, but they'll be distracted soon enough. Two more poles emerge from the stage, and a group of stripper girls come out to continue the regularly scheduled show. Harry doesn't lose focus on his Sakura, simply backing away slowly and jerking his head toward the VIP rooms. It's a drill he aims to follow through with zero problems arising. Almost everyone here is a stranger, so that means they cannot be trusted in the slightest. It's why he doesn't speak to them. If any outsiders find out about the dirty business he deals with on the side, it's a downhill slope into deep trouble. 

Harry stops at the opposite side of the room and faces another security guard, but this time, it's one he knows quite well. "Ryōji," he says while bowing. "O-genki desu ka?" (How are you?) 

Ryōji bows and withdraws a small gold key from one of the ten hooks behind him. "Okaeri nasai," he responds. (Welcome back.) 

Welcome back, indeed. Harry quickly glances around and then places a heavy hand on Ryōji's shoulder, leaning in so no one else can hear him. In English, he murmurs, "We've got another one out back. Do you think you can get some men to handle it before sunrise? I'll have the money sent to you by next week." 

The deep inhalation Ryōji takes always makes him nervous. A dreadful silence passes before he says, "Yes, sir. Any special instructions?" 

Harry gives him a friendly pat on the arm and takes the key. "Just the usual. She already took care of the hard part." 

"As you wish." 

With that, Harry gratefully nods and then walks into the back area, where several red doors, some open and some closed, present themselves in a semi-circular fashion. Steering to the right, he throws his gum away and goes to the door with a black '七' on it. 

Lucky number seven for a joyride in heaven. 

The room is a perfect size, with curtains hanging over the walls for a more intimate experience. Two velvet couches are placed on either side, and a table with glasses and a bottle of an unknown alcoholic drink sits nearby. And, of course, a red light emits from the low ceiling. 

Harry gets comfortable, tugging his pant legs and sitting on the plush couch. Precious time ticks by, the songs slowing into more sultry beats as he waits. He checks his diamond-encrusted wristwatch — it's half past midnight, yet he doesn't feel tired. Maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Only the mysterious aura of Tokyo can bring him an electric charge like no other. 

At last, Desiree struts into the room and daintily falls sideways into his lap. Her stripper name is Sakura, but her real name is used when she's alone with him. She jumps right in and holds his scruffy cheek, kissing all over his face as the red lipstick she wears stamps evidence on his flushed skin. 

"I've missed you," she whispers in his ear. 

Harry holds her waist and rolls his hips for some relief. "It's all my fault, isn't it? I've been so busy." 

Desiree takes the key from him and quickly locks the door. When she returns, she straddles him and says, "You came back to me, though." 

He nips her neck, short and tender. "I got your text message and flew straight here." 

She grips his chin. "That message wasn't about seeing me." 

Harry swallows thickly, his throat suddenly parched. "We don't need to talk about that right now," he murmurs. 

"But it will be dealt with?" she asks, her eyebrows dipping with concern. 

"Yes, my love." 

"Okay." She gently passes her thumb over his eyelashes like they're pages of a well-loved book. "That's all I need to hear." 

Harry distracts himself from the dangerous subject by twirling one of her braids around his pointer finger. "I like it when you wear your hair like this, Desi. So pretty."

"Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmm. I've gone far too long without you." 

She begins loosening his tie. "Tell me what you need." 

Sifting through his brain, Harry contemplates his options. The club doesn't allow actual intercourse inside its perimeters, so there are limited, albeit creative, methods that are used. Desiree once told him that the strippers are given a manual of all the diverse ways they can please a customer. There was a specific one he heard her briefly mention in passing. At the time, he was too shy to ask for more details, so he went home and researched the term. Needless to say, it sounded worthwhile. 

"Can I have the... red light special? Is that what it's called?" 

Desiree smirks and remarks, "That's new. You've never asked for that before." 

He blushes with a lackadaisical shrug. "Sorry. Being edged just sounds really fuckin' good right now." 

"Why are you apologizing?" She pushes lightly on his chest so he can comfortably lean against the couch. "Relax. Let me take care of you." 

Harry couldn't possibly argue, especially when she doesn't waste any time and starts with a green light. Gripping his shoulders, she smoothly rocks into his body with quick movements. His hands knead her ass, the bodysuit bestowing the perfect amount of skin for him to grab. The tension in his muscles alleviates as she applies pressure to his growing bulge, every perpetual grind making him harder by the minute. His eyes and neck roll back, and he forgets why he was ever stressed hours prior and instead succumbs to the satisfying ache she provides him. 

"Oh, my God," Harry moans, spreading his legs further apart. "Fuck, Desi, you feel so good. I'm all yours." 

She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips counterclockwise. The switch has Harry gritting his teeth. Shuddering, he opens his mouth and pathetically whimpers while running his hands up her clenched thighs. He feels hot — sweaty, sticky, and salaciously hot. He's burning in a blitz of fiery passion. 

Yellow light is when Desiree slows down, still grinding swivels over his pelvis. The throbbing of his cock ceases, and the buildup disappears momentarily. Her back arches as she uses her height over him to palm him with her hand. Leisurely, she squeezes where the head of his cock is through his pants, and a sensitive tingle rushes down his spine as he bites down on his knuckles to suppress his pleading noises. 

"Does that feel nice?" she asks, kissing his slack jaw. 

Harry's face crumbles in submission. "I need to come. It feels so tight, I- I can't take it anymore." 

Red light. He knows he asked for it, but when she stops moving and stands before him, he reaches for her absent touch. "No, come back. C'mon, please. Stop playing around." 

She ignores him and kneels on the ground. With one finger, she trails it up his inner thigh until it reaches his covered cock. She fondles with the length of it, erotically squeezing in all the right places while looking at him with eyes of a rich brown color. He often dreams of her mouth puckered around it, wet lips and hollowed cheeks making him fall apart. 

Suddenly, his tie is removed, and Desiree holds it up. "Are you ready?" 

"I'm so close," Harry breathes out. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he adds, "You're so gorgeous, do you know that? Got me... shit, I'm absolutely aching for you." 

She stuffs the tie in his mouth and finally straddles him again, riding his thighs to bring him to his peak. His moans are muffled against the fabric as she gives him a lap dance, her body rolling to the R&B music from the distant speakers. 

It doesn't take long for Harry to come, a damp spot forming on his pants shortly after. Every part of his body feels light as he spits his tie out, breathing heavily. He really needed this. 

"Ready to leave this place?" he asks, touching himself until he's soft and able to walk.

Desiree kisses him, her tongue delving into his mouth, before nodding. "Are you taking me on another joyride?" 

Harry smirks and wipes off the lipstick stain she left on the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Full throttle, baby." 

                                          ——

                                      デザレイ 

The first thing Desiree sees when rounding the corner of the alleyway is a parked Kawasaki motorcycle. 

The rain has let up, only a light drizzle now falling from the starlit sky. People still pass by with umbrellas, minding their business. The lights outside are stimulating, with signs above casting fuchsia pink and Prussian blue hues over her and Harry's faces. The air reeks of gasoline and smoke, vehicles racing past to hop on the expressway. It's a city of nocturnal souls who get off on cheap thrills, and she couldn't help but get hooked on the appeal. Night crawling on a high-speed bike through the neon streets is the most thrilling adventure she can imagine. 

Harry rents out a different motorcycle every time he visits. When they first met, he told her he owned a marketing firm in London, so he had the money to afford such luxuries. The first time he walked into the club, she thought he would be like everyone else — a drunk and lonesome man needing attention. However, he was actually a man of innocence who stumbled upon an underground scene he wasn't expecting. She saw the intrigue in his eyes and taught him how her world worked. She let him choose what he desired without taking advantage of him. She trusted his intentions and let him see every side of her, saintly or sinful. 

Their journey leads to the eager way he's looking at her now, one gloved hand holding out a helmet and the other gripping the motorcycle's handlebar. 

"Ladies first," he says with a playful smile. 

Desiree tightens the belt on her blood-red leather coat and puts the helmet on. It rubs uncomfortably against her hair, but she's not one to place beauty above safety precautions. She then hikes a leg over the back seat, and Harry does the same motions while straddling the front seat and starting the engine. It rumbles to life when he squeezes the clutch, and he attractively revs the engine three times. 

"All good?" Harry calls out behind him, using the back of his shoe to kick up the kickstand. 

She wraps both arms around his waist and props her chin on his shoulder. "So good." 

Reaching back to squeeze her thigh, he speeds into the fast lane. For the next twenty minutes, the brisk wind blows in her ears, and the feeling of flying overtakes her entire body. She spreads her arms, and Tokyo comes alive just for her, blurry colors whooshing past as they accelerate through traffic on the winding expressway. They ride out of the district and towards Marunouchi, where the Shangri-La Hotel is located. With five stars and eleven floors of pure splendor, it's the best place to have a late-night rendezvous. 

When they eventually pull up to the hotel, a rectangular building made entirely of glass panes, Harry parks the motorcycle and kills the engine. Desiree carefully removes her helmet and fixes her hair the best she can. Her makeup feels tacky against her skin, but the cool air of an autumn night is refreshing. She looks over to see Harry do the same, his hair sticking up every which way. He sheepishly grins at her and rolls his eyes. 

"Hurry up," Desiree says through chattering teeth. She bounces on her heels, feeling the ache travel from her ankles to the tips of her toes. 

"All right, all right," Harry mumbles jokingly, holding his hand out. "I'll have a word with Raijin about the inadequate weather." 

"Studying Japanese deities, are we?" 

Interlocking her numb fingers with his, they head inside the lavish lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. The ride is quiet, and exhaustion finally catches up to them. After six beeps, a more prolonged one sounds, and the doors slide open. They walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where the suites are located. Harry swipes his key card and twists the door handle to go inside, Desiree following closely. 

The suite is as tidy and stylish as one would expect from a businessman staying there. Two designer-brand suitcases are stacked in the corner by the running air conditioner. A housekeeper must have cleaned and organized his belongings. Crisp white sheets on the king bed look quintessential for bundling up in. 

Desiree removes her heels and flops on the firm mattress. She blearily watches Harry open the mini fridge by the door, hearing the clink of beer bottles. Her assumption proves correct when one is thrown beside her, yet her body has no energy left to open the cap and drink the bitter liquid. 

Harry takes off his suit jacket and button up, then sits against the headboard and spreads his legs on either side of her sprawled-out body. He takes a swig of beer, his jawline sharp and his throat bobbing. His bare torso, decorated with tattoos, looks like the perfect pillow, so Desiree shimmies upwards to lay her head on his abdomen. She listens to his subtle breathing.

"So, how'd you kill him?" 

Well, that's one way to initiate a conversation. Desiree snaps her eyes to his, staring at him a little funny due to her position. "Katana," she answers casually. "Quick and easy." 

He hums, sets his beer on the nightstand, and then delicately untangles her two front braids. "Made a mess, huh? Ryōji's men won't be too happy about that." 

She fidgets with one of her loose acrylic nails. "They've dealt with worse cleanups." 

She knew what she was getting into when she decided to work in Tokyo's Red Light District. There's no way to sugarcoat what goes down in the alleyways. It doesn't feel like a crime to her if she's getting rid of the bad guys. It's justified in her mind. 

Harry moves his hands to undo her bigger braids. "I know," he says softly, "but it's getting riskier. And more expensive on my end." 

Sighing, Desiree replies, "Asphyxiation is so boring, though. I like my swords." 

"Desi, I'm serious." He tilts her head to look at her straight on. "It worries me when you do those types of killings, and I'm not here to handle the outcome. What if something were to go wrong?" 

She frowns. "We're a team. You flew out to me without hesitation when I told you my plan." 

"Yes, but you act on impulse sometimes," he says, putting her elastic ponytail around his wrist. "I can't always do that with my job. You're lucky I was available." 

"So, you only came to help with the repercussions? Not to see me?" 

"You know that's not true. If it was, I'd be on a plane back to London right now instead of spending the night with you in Tokyo." 

"Just making sure," she says with a hidden undertone of insecurity. 

Once all six braids are out, her hair frizzy and free, Desiree sits up and takes her suffocating coat off. Underneath, she has a more comfortable outfit that she changed into before leaving the club. She internally debates whether she wants to go through the hassle of taking everything off, but before she can thoroughly weigh her options, Harry reaches over to open the nightstand drawer, pulling out something crinkly.

"I, uh, bought some makeup wipes," he explains while fidgeting with the package. "I didn't know what brand you use, but it's coconut, and I know you like coconut rum. There's no correlation, but it's the thought that counts, right?" 

Desiree is speechless for a moment. This is the first time he's done something like that. "Th-thanks. Can you help me take it off?" she suggests quietly. 

"'Course. Scoot over." 

She takes one side of the bed and sits cross-legged in front of Harry as he plucks a wipe. He folds it into a compact square four times and then hovers it over her face. His gaze wanders a bit before he starts gently swiping under her eyes. 

He speaks up again once the air conditioner clicks off. "Can I ask, pray tell, why you killed him?" 

Desiree breathes out a laugh. "Funny," she says as he scrubs the pigmented blush off her cheeks. "I remember when you couldn't even stomach asking me that question. Now you do all the dirty side work." 

Harry shrugs. "You're a bad influence." 

Sage advice from two people who dabble in reincarnating as a more sadistic Bonnie and Clyde: It's remarkably more fun to have a loyal partner in crime than to be a lone outlaw. 

"Let's see," she muses with a dramatic flair. "His name was... fuck if I know. All I was told was that he was a gang member who lured young girls in and brainwashed them into committing crimes around Shinjuku for money worth jack squat." 

"Jesus. What about the other gang members?" he asks, wiping her smeared lipstick off. 

"I'm not too worried about them. They would never suspect a stripper at Joyride killed one of their own. They'll probably assume it was another gang's doing." 

"That's a relief." Harry yawns and tosses the dirtied makeup wipe into the nearby garbage. "All right, I've had enough of killer talk. Shall we get some sleep?" 

Desiree grins tiredly and touches the smoothness of her bare face. "We shall. My body aches." 

Stripping takes a toll on her joints and muscles, especially since she incorporates performance art into her dancing. Untreated strains and torn ligaments have been left in the past due to years of training, but residual pain still lingers each night when she steps off the stage. 

Once they're comfortable under the sheets, Desiree curls into Harry's warm chest. "When do I have you until?" she asks reluctantly. 

He wraps an arm over her back and says, "Tomorrow night." 

She recounts all the times he's had to catch a red-eye flight immediately after they would arrive at the hotel. Tonight, she's lucky she gets him a little longer than usual. 

"It's better than nothing." 

Harry scrunches her hair and leaves a long kiss on her temple. "You can always come back to Europe with me," he murmurs. The scent of beer wafting in his breath is mouth-watering. 

Desiree shakes her head solemnly. "I can't. I belong here." 

"I understand." She feels him smile before kissing her head once more. "A cherry blossom should stay in Japan, right?" 

"Very clever." She closes her eyes. There's an elongated pause of internal reflection before she continues. "Listen, I don't want you to feel trapped. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you." 

Harry rubs the sore muscles around her shoulder blades. "I don't feel that way. I chose to get involved with how you live your life. If I'm being honest, I quite enjoy the danger of it." 

It's easy for him to say when he only has to deal with the business side of it. A pipeline of recruitment occurred where Shyla loosely hired Harry to hire men who would dispose of the dead bodies she threw in the dumpster behind the club. No one dares to roam that haunted alleyway, which makes it the most adequate place to safely hide a killing. Then, he pays them handsomely in cash for successfully completing the treacherous deed. 

Desiree cups his cheek and whispers, "Please... just tell me if it ever gets too much and you want out. I'll find someone else." 

"It's never too much when your intentions are good." 

It's not enough. His safety is her top priority. 

"Tell me to stop, and I will," she says sternly. "Give me the red light, and I'll go to Europe with you. You can show me Buckingham Palace and that stupid clock—" 

"Desi," Harry interrupts with a thumb against her parted lips. "I will tell you if it gets to that point, okay?" 

She takes his large hand and holds onto it like it's the last time she'll ever touch his skin. "Promise me." 

"Yakusoku." (Promise.) 

His spoken oath doesn't mend the problem she has with herself. There's a constant battle whenever she thinks too deeply about what she participates in. She questions whether it was a mistake getting involved in cover-up assassinations and bringing Harry into it. He used to be innocent. Someone who discovered the darker side of Tokyo and is now stuck in the whirlwind of her immoral faults. Did she make him into a brand-new person? A monster? One that knows her crimes and prevents them from becoming exposed? 

Is it wrong that she fell for him in the process? 

She can never tell him. No, that would complicate things beyond the boundary lines she drew for herself long before she met him. There are too many risks when feelings are a factor — risks of turning on each other if there are relationship issues. Then there's the plain and straightforward risk of barely seeing each other in person. It's all too poisonous of a pool to dip her feet into. Her guard is up, and it's not coming down for anything or anyone. 

However, as Desiree drifts into a dreamland, she realizes her guard is lower whenever Harry is around. With his fingers soothingly scratching up and down her aching spine, she doesn't feel the uncertainty that always clouds her mind when he's not beside her. It clears when she awakes to the smell of brewing coffee and room service breakfast on a cart before she can even open her eyes. It gnaws at her boarded-up heart until the pieces chip away. What's left is a vulnerable girl who seeks refuge but can't leave a place of fortune and frisson. She's a moon in broad daylight. 

Does she want to be saved? Or does the red light call her name for a reason? 

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles #adore-laur #joyride

[izzymaybank]

brothers best friend

jj maybank x routledge!reader

word count: 2,205

summary: after a hurricane, john b, (y/n), jj, pope, and kiara plunge headlong into danger and adventure when they find a mysterious sunken wreck

pairings: jj x girlfriend!reader john b x twin sister!reader pope and kiara x bestfriend!reader

warnings: underage drinking

a/n: reader uses she/her pronouns. lowercase's are intentional.

brothers best friend masterlist

"we're the pogues, and our mission this summer is to have a good time, all the time."

john b routledge stands on the roof of an unfinished house, staring at the view of the ocean. he drinks beer from the can in his hand as he balances close to the edge. he sticks one foot out into the air and spreads his arms like wings.

"that's what, a three story fall to the deck?" asks the voice of pope heyward. the dark-skinned boy peers up at one of his best friends, squinting from the sunlight in his eyes. "i give you about a one-in-three chance of survival."

john b hums in thought, sticking his finger in his mouth before raising it into the air, feeling the wind blow against the digit. "should i do it?"

"yeah, you should jump!" (y/n) routledge yells, the summer breeze blowing her bronze curls away from her face. she leans into jj maybank's side, one arm around his waist. the blonde boy holds a beer in one hand as he holds the metal railing above him with the other.

"i'll shoot you on the way down." pope raises the nail gun he'd grabbed earlier. john b raises his eyebrows, making a finger gun with his hands.

"you gonna shoot me?"

"they're gonna have japanese toilets with towel warmers," kiara carrera says in disbelief as she walks out of the home. her dark brown hair falls down her back in waves, and her dark skin seems to glow from the setting sun. "this used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, i guess?"

"i care about the turtles, kie." (y/n) reaches a hand out over the railing, faking a pout to her best friend as she interlocks their fingers.

"i can't have cold towels," jj teases and (y/n) smacks his arm softly.

kiara turns her attention to the other routledge twin, "can you please not kill yourself?"

"don't spill that beer," jj warns, "'cause i'm not giving you another one." jj sips from his own can, wrapping an arm around (y/n) shoulder. As if on cue, john b loses his balance and drops the piece of aluminum. he lets out a small curse as the can hits ground, it's contents spilling everywhere.

"of course you did!" jj exclaims.

"smooth," kiara mumbles to (y/n), who laughs at her brother. john b groans dramatically, staring at his lost drink in despair.

"a-plus," pope teases. he looks around the corner when he hears someone call out a loud "hey!". pope slams his hand down onto the wooden railing, nervously looking towards his friends. "hey, uh, security's here. let's wrap it up."

"boys are early today," john b notes, sliding down the roof and onto the wooden platform, landing next to his sister. (y/n) stands up, following her brother with a small laugh. jj calls out something inaudible as climbs down to the balcony floor. the five teens run into the house, dodging past paint cans and used equipment.

they run down a flight of stairs, four of them going one way while jj goes in the other. he skids to a stop, sharply turning around to miss the hands of a police officer.

"not much of a hugger, man!" jj laughs when another guard tries to grab at him. "go pope! go! go, go, go, go, go, go!" jj follows his friend towards the large fence at the end of the yard.

pope groans as he lands face first into the ground and jj smacks his back. "get up, pope! fatso's coming."

the two boys run over to the honking van, ignoring the "come here you little pricks!" from one of the guards. they jump inside, laughing as one of the officers chase after the racing car.

"check out gary, gunnin' for a raise!" pope chuckles. jj reaches an arm out of the open door, beer in hand, holding it out towards the running man.

"enough," (y/n) says, giggles spilling from her lips.

"you're gonna give him a heart attack." kiara's comment only makes (y/n) laugh harder.

"you're so close! you can do it! there you go!" jj throws the can towards the older man, groaning when it hits him in the head. "they don't pay you enough, bro."

(y/n) grabs the blonde's arm, pulling his body back into the car. "jj, stop," she scolds, but amusement still lingers on his voice.

"oh come one. that sort of initiative is just begging to be punished."

"the outer banks, paradise on earth. it's the sorta place where you either have two jobs or two houses. two tribes, one island."

"all right. this is figure eight, the rich side of the island. home of the kooks. so guess where we don't live."

"and then this is the south side or 'the cut'. home of the working class, who make a living busing tables, washing yachts, running charters. the natural habitat of, drumroll please.... the pogues. that's us. pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. lowest member of the food chain. okay, so the downside of pogue life is that we're ignored and neglected. but the upside of pogue life? we're ignored and neglected, which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want."

shielding the sun from her eyes with her hand, (y/n) walks to the front of the hms pogue, placing herself next to her boyfriend. jj watches her through the lenses of his sunglasses, sliding his arm around her waist with a small smile.

"that's (y/n), or little canary, as our dad used to call her. she's my twin sister, and the biggest pain in my ass. she's the mom of our group, keeping us in check, making sure we don't get killed or arrested. you know, the usual. but don't let her soft exterior fool you, she can be terrifying when she wants to be.

adjusting his hat, jj leans back against his seat. one hand on the steering wheel, he looks out the window as he drives the boat.

"that's jj, my best friend since the third grade. he's about as local as they come. latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their off the water. best surfer i know. just, don't tell him i said that. mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat."

staring at the open flames of the fire pit, kiara is quick to shove john b away when traps her in a hug, which looks more like a headlock. "get off me. don't even get me started on microplastic. have you even heard about that island? that little island of just-"

"and that's kiara, or kie, as we call her. and when she's not saving turtles, or listening to marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo with my sister, she hands out with the rest of us. i'm not really sure why though. so, she's a rich kid, actually. foot in both worlds. her family owns the wreck, this outer banks institution. total cash cow with the tourists. you know, i'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. i guess we all sorta have a thing for her. except jj, him and (y/n) have been together for years."

(y/n) yelps as she's crashed into, squealing as she's lifted into the air and spun around. jj sets her back down onto her feet, immediately pulling her into a deep kiss. (y/n) wraps her arms around jj's neck as his go around her waist.

although, the loud and over dramatic gagging from john b causes the two to pull apart.

"they're the outer banks' otp, as kie likes to call them. been going out since the eighth grade and still going strong. and even though jj's my best friend, i'm always keeping a look out to make sure (y/n) doesn't get hurt. but i also have to keep my eyes closed to make sure i don't walk in on them... again."

watching his friends dance on the boat, pope leans back with his hands behind his head. he laughs as kie twirls (y/n) around, pushing jj away when he attempts to pull his girlfriend towards him.

"and that's pope, the brains of the operation. finalist for the lucas t. vanderhorst merit scholarship. and the smartest person i know. a little bit of a weirdo. alright, so his father's this legendary character, heyward. anything you wanted on the island, hey ward could get it for you. now, i'm not sure heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. he was a pogue, just like the rest of us."

"so, that's my crew. and that's me, john booker routledge. and this is where i live."

flushing the toilet, john b exits the bathroom. he peeks inside the room beside him when he hears quiet whispering. although he immediately regrets it when he finds jj on top of (y/n), lips lips hovering over her own. at the creak of the floor, jj's head shoots up. he throws an empty beer towards the door, "dude, come on man, get outta here!"

slamming the door, john b violently shuddered. he walked down the hallway, raising a hand towards his friend in a wave. "mornin' kie."

"morning," she replied, her voice groggy from sleep as she scrolled through her phone. john b grabbed a photo of two people off the table and hung it on the wall.

"an old fish shack on the marsh. the château, as my dad used to call it. that's dad. he disappeared at sea nine months ago, looking for a shipwreck. who disappears at sea these days? i miss him. and then there's mom. she split when (y/n) and i were three. last i heard she was in colorado. i think it was colorado."

john b grabbed a green-glass bottle and tapped the top onto the picture frame. "uncle t!"

"that's uncle t. since dad vanished, he's supposedly our legal guardian. at the moment, he's in mississippi, building houses... which means it's just me right now, hangin' with my sister and my friends. three months after my dad was missing, he was officially presumed dead. i refused to sign the papers. until i see a body, i'm not giving up.

~~~~

"john, (y/n), it's come to our attention that you are two unemancipated minors living on your own." sitting down at her desk, the social worker stares at the two teens sitting in front of her,

"no," the twins scoff before looking at each other and grimacing. "no."

the older woman raised an eyebrow. "i need honesty to help you. that's what we want, right?"

"we're being honest," (y/n) states, crossing her arms over her chest. sighing, the social worker looks down at the paper laying on her desk, pen in hand.

"okay, when was the last time either of you spoke to your uncle?" she asked.

john b looked down at his watch-less wrist. "uh... 34 minutes ago."

"when was the last time either of you saw him?"

"two hours and... 43 minutes ago," (y/n) says, but the rising intonation in her voice caused her answer to sound more like a question. the two siblings send the social worker their most innocent smiles, but it doesn't seem to convince her.

"john, (y/n), we're going to come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle." the twins' smiles drop. "if he's not there, we're gonna move forward with foster car."

john b casts his eyes downward and (y/n) shifts in her seat.

"i want to assure you, we're gonna find you a safe and loving home."

john b nearly rolls his eyes while his sister lets out a sharp exhale and runs a hand down her face.

“they actually thought we were going to be happy to hear that.”

john b sits in the sand, staring out into the ocean while his friends talk and laugh behind him.

“and that’s where this story starts. my dad missing, my uncle mia, and the bride of frankenstein threatening foster care. but then i caught a break.”

~~~~

feeling water drip onto his face, john b groans as he peels his eyes open. body heavy with sleep, he sits up and grabs his phone. "no service?" he asks no one but himself. he then stands up and walks towards the light switch next to the doorway. he flicks it on and off, but nothing happens. "no power. great."

he makes his way down the hallway, towards the living room. on the pull out couch lies his best friend and his sister. (y/n) laid on her back, one hand behind her head as the other buries itself into her boyfriends hair. jj laid on his stomach, his arm draped around (y/n)'s waist.

"yo, jj, you been outside?" john b asks, smacking his hand onto jj's back.

"i have polio, bro. i can't walk," jj moans, lips pressing into (y/n)'s shoulder. in response to his words, (y/n) shifts her head, curling further into the blonde's presence. with a soft sigh, she tighten's her hold on jj's hair before letting go.

(y/n) stood up, a tired smile gracing her lips as she grabbed her boyfriends hand, pulling him up with her. john b opened the door and walked outside. seeing the state of his front yard, he groaned.

"oh man," he yawned, nearly tripping over the front steps. he walks towards a fallen tree, "that's no good. that is not good."

"agatha did some work, huh?" jj calls from the door way. he drinks from a found beer, and considering how sleepy she was, (y/n) decided not to scold him for his choice of drink.

john b pulls a tree branch off of the boat. "yes she did."

continuing to dig through the boat, john b doesn't look up when jj asks, "what you thinkin'?"

"i'm thinkin' that storm surge pushed all the crabs out on the marsh maze," john b says. "all those drum are gonna chase the crab."

"what about the dcs? wasn't that today?"

"nah, they're not gettin' on a ferry after all this," (y/n) cuts in, gesturing to the wreckage around them. she wraps her arms around one of jj's, grabbing his attention immediately. "think about it-"

"-it's god telling us to fish."

~~~~

the three teens end up on the hms pogue, waving to people as they drive through the marina. the two boys make conversation as (y/n) sits at the front, feet swinging in the air.

"well look who we have here!" (y/n) suddenly says, adjusting her sunglasses. she smiles at pope as he looks up from the items he had been hosing down.

"we have a safety meeting. attendance mandatory," john b calls, hand at his shoulder in a fake walkie-talkie.

"i can't," pope frowns. "my pop's got me on lockdown."

jj scoffs, imitating the same walkie-talkie. "you're dads a pussy. over."

"oh, i heard that, you little bastard," heyward snaps.

(y/n) raises her chin and her smile grows bigger. she stands up and looks at the older man. "we need your son."

"yeah, and island rules. day after a hurricane's a free day," jj reminds.

"who the hell made that up?" heyward asks and jj furrows his brows in pretend thought.

"uh, pentagon, i think."

"we have security clearance," (y/n) says as she digs around in her pocket. "i have a card.

"you think i'm stupid?" heyward challenges, turning his attention when pope starts to bargain with him.

"i'll do it tomorrow. i promise. tomorrow."

heyward raises his hands in protest. "no, no. hell no. you doin' it right now."

pope looks towards his friends and john b whispers, "get in the boat."

"make a run for it," (y/n) adds. pope drops the hose and jumps into the boat, stumbling slightly. he quickly tells john b to hurry up, his father yelling at him from the edge of the doc.

"when you get back, you gonna clean shrimp! you gonna clean fish! you'll clean your dirty ass room!" he yells while the routledge twins wave at him goodbye. "and i don't like your friends!"

~~~~

"hello there, princess," (y/n) says, beaming at kiara as she walks down the deck.

"oh, top o' the mornin' to ya." (y/n) furrows her brows slightly when her boyfriend attempts an irish accent.

"whatcha got?" pope asks, referring to the cooler kiara holds in one of her hands. "you got some juice boxes?"

"you know, just some yogurts and carrot sticks." kiara grabs (y/n)'s outstretched hand, stepping down into the boat.

"what about my kind of juice boxes?" jj asks, scooting over when (y/n) sits back down. his lips stretch into a small smile at kiara's small "yeah". (y/n) leans her head on jj's shoulder as he wraps an arm around her waist, kissing her hair.

"gonna make me bark," john b mutters and (y/n) flips him off.

~~~~

soon, the five of them have all popped open a beer, laughing when jj suddenly says, "lemme show you a party trick. pope, can you go a little faster?"

"oh god, here we go, i'm movin'." john b walks backwards, standing behind pope as he watches jj stand at the edge.

"i've got this! it's gonna work!" jj says confidently.

"jj, you've tried this 6000 times and it fails every time," (y/n) sighs. the brunette girl moves to the side to avoid the beer that spills out of jj's mouth. kiara laughs, but soon complains about it getting in her hair. (y/n) tugs at jj's shorts, attempting to pull him down when all of a sudden the boat jerks to a harsh stop, causing jj to flip forward and fall into the water. (y/n) slams forward and john b falls to the ground.

"jesus, pope!" kiara scolds.

"you okay, j?" (y/n) asks, seeing the blonde resurface from the water.

"i think my heels touched the back of my head," he states, breathing heavy as his eyes closed.

"(y/n), you alright?" john b questions.

"i'm alright," his sister replies, looking down at her best friend. she touches kiara's back softly. "you okay, kie?"

"pope what did you do?" jj demands.

"sandbar. the channel changed."

"no shit." jj starts swimming back to the boat, looking up when pope walked to the front. the dark-skinned boy looking into the water, his brows furrowing.

"guys... i think there's a boat down there."

"shut up," the twins say at the same time.

"no way," kiara adds.

pope points to the water. "no, no, guys. i'm serious. there's a boat down there."

after confirming that there is, indeed, a boat, john b takes off his shirt while the two girls strip down to their bathing suits. sure as shit, there's a boat sitting on the oceans floor. rising for air, the five teens swim to the surface, all breaking into hysterics as they gain access to air.

"you guys saw that?" jj gasps.

"yeah, i did." kiara laughs in disbelief.

"that's a grady white." jj starts swimming towards the hms pogue. "a new one of those is like 500 g's, easy." he hauls himself up, twisting around to offer a hand to (y/n), who takes it.

"that's the boat i saw when i surfed the surge," john b states and his sister stops twisting the water out of her hair, glaring at him.

"you surfed the surge?" she asks roughly. jj laughs, reciting a handshake with his best friend.

"that's my boy. pogue style."

"do we know whose boat that is?" pope asks, breaths heavy from how long he had held his breath.

"no, but we're about to find out." john b grabs the anchor, saluting his friends before jj pushes him into the water. john b holds his breath, allowing the weight of the metal to pull him down.

the rest wait in anticipation, and just as (y/n) wants to jump in and drag her brother back to the boat, john b rises for air.

"oh my god, that took forever!" kiara exclaims.

"any dead bodies?" pope asks.

"looting potential?" jj questions.

"no." john b raises his hand to show his discovery. "i found this motel key."

(y/n)'s excited smile dropped. "a key?"

"yes, a key, (y/n)."

"great! we salvaged a motel key." jj pulled the anchor from the water and put it back to it's rightful place.

"guys maybe we should report the wreck to the coastguard," kiara suggests. "maybe we'll get a finders fee."

"yeah and not work all summer," (y/n) hums.

“thanks, agatha, ya batch,” jj says.

~~~~

#outer banks #obx #jj maybank #john b. routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #outerbanks x reader #reader insert #sarah cameron #jj maybank x reader #routledge!reader

[kaywavy]

transforming soffits reorganizing keys formalizing immersion joints justifying kick extractors advising aggregates managing elbows recasting connectors achieving aluminum trowels officiating disks exhibiting absolute spigots progressing coil hydrants jerry-building reflectors informing casters inventing rubber hoists performing wrenches judging chalk adapters upgrading ignition paths

regrowing flashing recommending ratchets approving barriers sweeping impact fillers sewing mirrors detailing collectors enforcing measures distributing systems presenting plugs interwinding registers piloting ash diffusers gathering cranks supplying eave pockets undertaking scroll stops accelerating straps designing fittings protecting diamond boilers logging downspouts correlating shingles uniting mallets qualifying electrostatic lifts sharing clamps obtaining circular fluids ranking foundation gauges sensing miter brackets originating space networks translating drills regulating guards selecting gable padding utilizing pellet dowels reconciling artifacts altering pulleys shedding space filters determining vents representing mortar remaking flash rakers supporting funnels typecasting rotary chocks expressing junctures resetting auxiliary vises professing strip treads inlaying matter trowels questioning drivers forming edge fittings sketching blanks overshooting spark breakers rewriting controls playing tunnels inventorying buttons enduring joint handles effecting ratchet bibbs unwinding couplings forsaking vapor conduits defining sockets calculating heaters raising grids administering tiles measuring resources installing ignition remotes extracting corners manufacturing ventilators delegating consoles treating mounting stones enacting jig deflectors intensifying alleys improvising cargo pinpointing bobs prescribing arc masonry structuring metal chucks symbolizing lathes activating plumb kits adapting coatings fixing channels expediting cordage planning compressors enlisting hangers restructuring keyhole augers shearing ridge hardware collecting reciprocating bolts maintaining corrugated dimmers whetting hole collars conducting mandrels comparing assets compiling sealants completing paths composing equivocation wheels computing dampers conceiving electrostatic treatment ordering cotter grates organizing ties orienting ladders exceeding materials targeting thermocouples demonstrating emery stock expanding latch bases training wardrobe adhesives overcomming[sic] fasteners streamlining storm anchors navigating springs perfecting turnbuckles verifying gate pegs arbitrating arithmetic lifts negotiating outlets normalizing strips building surface foggers checking key torches knitting grinders mowing planers offsetting stencils acquiring bulbs adopting rivets observing avenues ascertaining coaxial grommets slinging wing winches instituting circuit generators instructing wicks integrating pry shutters interpreting immersion lumber clarifying coils classifying wood bits closing cogs cataloging matter strips charting holders conceptualizing push terminals stimulating supports overthrowing shaft spacers quick-freezing connectors unbinding ground hooks analyzing eyes anticipating gateways controlling proposition rollers converting power angles coordinating staples correcting benders counseling joist gaskets recording gutter pipes recruiting drains rehabilitating rafter tubes reinforcing washers reporting guard valves naming freize sprues nominating rings noting straps doubling nailers drafting circuit hoses dramatizing flanges splitting framing compounds refitting stems interweaving patch unions placing sillcocks sorting slot threads securing mode cutters diverting catharsis plates procuring load thresholds transferring syllogism twine directing switch nuts referring time spools diagnosing knobs discovering locks dispensing hinges displaying hasps resending arc binders retreading grooves retrofitting aesthetics portals seeking stocks shrinking wormholes assembling blocks assessing divers attaining lug boxes auditing nescience passages conserving strikes constructing braces contracting saw catches serving installation irons recognizing fluxes consolidating fuse calipers mapping shims reviewing chop groovers scheduling lag drives simplifying hoists engineering levels enhancing tack hollows establishing finishing blocks

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 2: Rain

WIP: WASTE Pairing: None Timeline: so this is interesting. for whatever reason I've decided to take a totally canon event and write it in a completely different POV cuz I had a beautiful vision idk call my lawyer about it CW: Death, minor drug mention Rating: T Words: 1,480

***

I pride myself on being a level-headed woman. I pride myself on having the ability to stay focused under duress, and to maintain an air of confidence and wisdom that maybe I don't feel inside at times.

And very rarely does something happen to rock me to my core and shatter that illusion into millions of pieces.

I found myself sitting beside a shuttle pilot, tense and on edge because in the days leading up to this rendezvous—capturing one of the galaxy's most notorious criminals, leading to possibly the biggest victory in the careers of several individuals including myself—I felt in my gut that I had to be there. I had to be present and in the trenches, I had to see this out first-hand against the advisement of my peers.

The tip was, as I'd come to trust, that Oren Altavian planned to make a scheduled drug drop-off with a paltry two lackeys to guard him as he posted for a while on Earth. Two bodies was an unprecedented low number for the kingpin, who normally traveled with no fewer than a small troop of military disappointments wherever he shipped himself. He'd gotten comfortable on Earth, and it looked as if it were shaping up to be the slip-up that would get him off the streets for good.

We had to intercept him seconds after the exchange. Timing would be crucial; any sooner and we'd have nothing to pin on him, and any later and Altavian would disappear once again into the ether.

I strapped on a layer of armor and made sure the other operatives did the same before the shuttle landed. Eight of them, a good fraction trained by the Aerospace Force. Formidable soldiers armed to the teeth and prepared for everything and anything to go wrong.

The drop-off coordinates led us to an abandoned warehouse on the side of a lengthy highway to and from nowhere. Pouring rain. Slippery, muddy ground and puddles making our approach less than totally covert. We landed a distance away to not draw attention, and I grabbed a shotgun as the operatives began to file out of the shuttle.

"Recon the warehouse," I said to them via the comm in my armor collar. "Give the all-clear before taking a cover position. I want everyone spread out."

"Copy," everyone murmured individually. Montgomery, Neallson, Unssue, Yamin, Lorrie, Fitzhugh, Hermann, Rescho, all gave their callsigns and confirmation.

Neallson went in first to check the warehouse. He, Rescho, and Lorrie all reported the building clear. It wasn't a very big place, but it was large enough and full of enough broken-down shipping equipment and old containers that we had ample cover while we waited.

I took my position outside with Unssue behind a pile of aluminum crates, taking advantage of the ideal angles I could see of both possible entrances.

We waited for a long while, in rain that battered and cleared up and battered again, which we anticipated as the exact time given was unclear even to my trusted source. With nothing to accompany us but the sound of the deluge and the occasional vehicle driving up and down the highway, I peered around the corner of a crate and kept an eye on the stretch of shadow hugging the cliff face across the road. I couldn't help but feel that something was there, watching us.

Unssue nudged me with her elbow and nodded toward something on the ground beside us.

A cord? Some kind of wire? It looked to have been partially buried, and the rain washed away most of the dirt packed onto it. Oddly straight, trailing to the warehouse and through the door nearest to us.

I turned away from the direction of the highway. "Anyone in position by the back door?" I whispered into my collar.

"Yeah," said Montgomery. "Got eyes on the door."

"There's a wire leading into the warehouse. Where does it go?"

Radio silence for a moment or two. Unssue frowned.

"...It leads to a pressure sensor," Montgomery said. "...Rescho's standing on it."

"What kind of—"

The unmistakable sound of small aircraft—sky runners, decked in military-grade weaponry—cut through the rain and through my concentration. They found us fast, zipping practically around the drops to get to us.

Unssue was the first to fire at one of the manned vehicles converging on our positions...she was also the first to die. She went down a foot away from me and I could do nothing for a moment but stare in shock and horror.

"Fall back," I managed to wheeze into the comm, though the spray of bullets sliced through the warehouse like a red-hot knife. "F-fall back!"

"Delegate!" Lorrie cried out, and I could hear him from inside the warehouse. "Neallson's—Hermann and Yamin are down, we have to—Delegate DeCosta, get the fuck out of here! NOW!"

I jumped to my feet, about to rush in, when the entire ceiling of the warehouse imploded and collapsed on itself. Waves of mud and debris showered me, and I dove behind the crates to keep myself hidden from the destruction and the runners. Flaming bits of warped metal and stone fell to the ground around me, the hissing of the smoke and the sharp, tangy stench of chemicals and rain and then...

Unnerving silence.

I almost didn't dare move. I didn't hear the runners anymore, but I also didn't hear anybody else. With mud on my face and armor, I moved to talk into my comm.

"...S-sound off." I reached for my shotgun, which had fallen beside Unssue. "...Anybody."

Not a single reply.

Unssue told me as I recruited her for the mission that she looked forward to seeing her parents again, as this would be her big hurrah before leaving the Consortium and going home.

Neallson mentioned something the other day about reconciling with his ex-partner. Montgomery had four grown children. Yamin was also close with their family, Lorrie and Fitzhugh wanted to see where things went with each other, and like the others, Hermann and Rescho were damn good soldiers and people.

I got to my feet and shambled to the rubble. Shotgun clutched tightly in my hand, I peered around for any sign, anything to tell me any of them were alive. I dug, I shoved, I pulled apart...I couldn't move the pieces of rock and metal myself, called in for an emergency rescue effort.

I didn't know why I was limping at the time, but I staggered through the front door and stood on the side of the highway, gun in hand and no feeling left in my body. I glanced down at my leg to find a negligible piece of metal shrapnel sticking out of the shin, and when I raised my head again, something across the road caught my attention.

A pulse of purple light. Slow. It took my eyes several moments to adjust.

A man sat on a motorcycle, staring at me, a lazy purple light breathing in his temple, indicating activity from his SCOT. Guetry Sympa, the best operative the Consortium had ever hired, the best I'd ever hired, straddling his idling electric bike and watching me in the shadow of a cliff face.

Guetry Sympa, the former romantic partner of Oren Altavian. Guetry Sympa, whose parting ways with the drug lord was famously difficult and taxing on him emotionally and mentally. Guetry Sympa...the man who'd tipped me about the drop-off.

My chest hollowed out. I couldn't make out Guetry's face that well, but I knew he could see mine. Nothing made sense. He'd told me in person that the drop-off was happening. He'd had a lead and he shared it with me. He anxiously awaited the day Altavian would be locked up or taken out, and he didn't seem too concerned over which one happened first. I knew him as a survivor, a champion of strength and wherewithal when things turned abysmal for him from every angle.

Through the rain, I started to see him better. He had his arms folded over his chest, the invisible weather protection shield emanating from his bike keeping him dry, and I watched him bring his hand to his mouth, poised with his fingers over his lips...

And he blew me a silent, emotionless kiss.

And then everything came crashing down around me. Guetry revved up his bike and zoomed away faster than I could process. I raised the shotgun at him, knowing it would be pointless, that he was already out of range to begin with, that I had nothing to prove that he was behind this, that I would never have anything to prove he was behind this, that I was going to make sure I never let him out of my sight again.

I was going to make sure he never forgot the people whose trust he betrayed.

#ockiss24 #WASTE #hahaha I don't have a lawyer I am poor :3c #the problem here is that it works so much better in this POV than in the actual canon whoops

[hirocimacruiser]

Another Road test of the Pajevo.

This is the power of the EVO!

TEST & REPORT Jun Nemoto Editorial Department Summary

The sports car is also bright blue. Exciting driving of Pajero EVO!

Firmly depress the brake pedal with your left foot and slowly depress the accelerator pedal with your right foot. At around 2500 rpm, the revs stopped rising and the rear tires started spinning at the same time. Maximum torque of 33.5kgm occurs at 3000 rpm. At this point, torque exceeding 30.0kgm has already been generated.

At the same time as releasing the brake, start dashing so that it can be played with a light wheel spin. • Of course, the accelerator pedal is fully open. Attempt full-throttle acceleration in D range and around 4000 rpm the engine sharpness increases. Select the sport mode.

Redzone starting at 7000 rpm

One step before the corner, 6800 rpm

shift quickly up to 2nd.

Maximum output of 280ps is at 6500 rpm

But

The wow feeling

weaken stomach.

It would have been better to turn it to the limit and the time would have been better. The first try was 2WD, but in the end it was 4WD, and the best time was with the center differential locked. This is the reason why traction is emphasized more than drivetrain resistance.

In the slalom, the sharp switching that overturned the common sense of the cross country type was impressive. The roll is small, and it can be said that there is no scene where you feel uneasy about cornering. Because the vehicle weight is as heavy as 1970kg

Although it is torqueful, it is a tight tar. It is difficult to get up on the ground

Although there is much better than other off-road 4WD show a sharp pickup to the engine works well enough for on-road use.

EVO is a normal Pajero

What's the difference?!?

Outwardly, the flashy Aero form is a normal Pajero Draw a line with. Also an aluminum under guard is equipped under the front bumper. It adds a terrifying taste to Iru.

The suspension has a double wishbone on the front.

Dedicated tuning of the combination of the chassis and rear multi-link. Achieves a tightened ride while taking stroke. The brakes are ventilated with 2 pots at the front and a drum-in type ventilated disc at the rear.

SPEC BOX

Pajero Evolution main specifications

Length(mm) 4075

Width(mm) 1875

Height(mm) 1915

Wheelbase(mm) 2420

Weight 1970kg

Engine type V6 DOHC

Total displacement (cc) 3496

Maximum output (ps/rpm) 280/6500

Maximum torque (kgm/rpm) 35.5/3000

Front suspension double wishbone

Rear suspension multi link

tire 265/70R16

SCORE BOX

Scoring check

engine feel 9

engine power 10

handling 8

ride comfort 6

Cost performance 9

total check 9

#Pajevo #Pajero Evo #Pajero Evolution #Mitsubishi Pajero #JDM

[kickplatedirectus]

Keeping Up with the Flow: Kick Plates for High-Traffic Areas

High-traffic regions are harsh on doors. These entryways take a lot of abuse, from scuffs from carts and baggage to continuous foot activity. This is when kick plates come into play — unsung heroes guarding the lower part of the door, which is its most susceptible area. However, not every door kick plate is made equally. Selecting the appropriate material, design, and supplier is essential in high-traffic areas.

Why Kick Plates Matter in High-Traffic Areas

Doors in high-traffic areas face several challenges:

Marks and scratches: Because the door is frequently in touch with shoes, luggage, and trolleys, it may have unsightly marks and scratches on its surface.

Dents and Dings: When large objects strike a door, they may compromise its structural integrity and cause dents and dings.

Grime & Dirt: Excessive traffic causes dirt to accumulate more, giving doors a dull, disorganized look.

Kick plates serve as a defense, keeping the door safe from these common attacks. They shield the underside of the door surface from harm by taking up the majority of the impact. This prolongs the door’s life and improves its appearance, ultimately saving you money on replacements.

Choosing the Right Kick Plate Material for High-Traffic Areas

The ideal kick plate material for high-traffic areas should be:

Robust: Able to tolerate ongoing abrasions without displaying symptoms of harm.

Simple to Clean: Even after extensive usage, keep everything looking tidy and sanitary.

Visually Appealing: Go well with the room’s general style.

Here’s a breakdown of some popular kick plate materials and their suitability for high-traffic areas:

Stainless steel is an excellent choice because to its exceptional durability, scratch resistance, and sophisticated appearance. Stainless steel kick plates, such as those offered by Kick Plate Direct, are perfect for high-traffic areas due to their strength and ease of cleaning.

Aluminum is a strong, lightweight, and cheaply priced material. Nevertheless, metal is prone to dents and scratches in high-traffic areas.

Brass: It provides elegance but needs more maintenance than other materials. Since brass tarnishes more readily than other materials, it might not be the greatest choice for heavy-duty use.

Kick Plate Design Considerations for High Traffic

Beyond material, consider these design factors for your high-traffic kick plates:

Thickness: Opt for thicker kick plates (around 1.2mm or more) for better impact resistance.

Height: Choose a kick plate that covers the high-impact zone, typically extending at least 12–18 inches from the floor.

Surface Texture: Kick plates with a slightly textured surface can provide better grip and prevent slipping, especially in high-moisture areas. Consider options with a brushed finish or raised patterns for enhanced traction.

Rounded Corners: Opt for kick plates with rounded corners to minimize the risk of injury and snagged clothing.

Kick Plate Direct: Your Partner in High-Traffic Door Protection

Kick Plate Direct is a leading supplier of high-quality kick plates designed for various applications, including high-traffic areas. Their extensive selection includes:

Kick plates made of stainless steel come in a range of sizes, thicknesses, and finishes to meet your requirements.

Aluminum Kick Plates: An affordable choice for regions with moderate traffic volume.

Customized Kick Plates: To guarantee a precise fit for your entrances, Kick Plate Direct provides unique dimensions and configurations.

Installation and Maintenance Tips for Kick Plates in High-Traffic Areas

Proper Installation: For maximum safety, make sure the kick plate is firmly affixed using the right screws or adhesives.

Frequent Cleaning: To keep your kick plates looking neat, clean them sometimes with a moist cloth and a small amount of soap. Stainless steel kick plates may be cleaned using a stainless steel cleaner to keep their shiny look.

Replace as needed: Even the toughest kick plates may eventually begin to exhibit indications of deterioration. Any severely broken, warped, or loose doors should be replaced to preserve the integrity of your design.

Conclusion

Kick plates are an easy-to-use but reliable way to protect doors in high-traffic areas. You can guarantee your doors will be beautiful and useful for many years to come by selecting the appropriate material, style, and provider. Door security can be both functional and fashionable with kick plate choices from companies like Kick Plate Direct that are particularly made for high-traffic areas. Hence, spend money on kick plates; one kick at a time, they’ll maintain your heavily trafficked doors looking their finest.

#door kick plate

[realferro]

Top Grating Supplier in Ludhiana

We are Manufacturer, Exporter and Supplier of Grating in Ludhiana, Punjab. Real Ferro Projects Pvt. Ltd. is based in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India. We specialize in Industrial Projects likes Gratings, Turnkey Projects, Expansion Joint, Custom Fabrication, SS Corner Guard. From standard steel gratings to specialized materials such as aluminum, fiberglass, and stainless steel, our product portfolio encompasses a wide range of options to suit various applications. Our manufacturing facility, innovation is at the core of everything we do. We leverage advanced technologies and engineering expertise to develop custom solutions that address specific challenges faced by our clients. Our gratings are manufactured with utmost care in our production unit, using only high-quality materials. Our mission is to provide tailored solutions that meet the unique needs of our clients. Features: Because it is non-slip, it is perfect for slick, damp environments. Both heavy-duty and light-duty options Resistant to corrosion Superior hardness of surface Outstanding robustness Simple to set up Resistance to corrosion Precisely measured in dimensions Real Ferro Projects Pvt. Ltd. is a Supplier of Grating in Ludhiana, Punjab, and including a location Hoshiarpur, Faridkot, Amritsar, Bathinda, Batala, Rupnagar, Nawanshahr, Sirhind, Khamanon, Adampur, Ludhiana, Patiala, Khanna, Mansa, Malerkotla, Rajpura, Fatehgarh Sahib, Bassi Pathana, Banga Rural, Kapurthala, Firozpur, Jalandhar, Pathankot, Gurdaspur, Doraha, Phillaur, Sirhind For additional information, please feel free to contact us. Read the full article

#TopGratingSupplierinLudhiana

[weareinyourcorner]

#architecturalandcommericalproducts #commercial #kitchens #facilitymanagement #aluminum checker plate #aluminum diamond plate #Architectural Design #Architectural Hardware Products #Commercial Interior Design #Commercial Remodeling #Construction #Division 10 Products #Corner Guards #Construction Specification Canada #Division 8 Products #Hospitals #Office Interior Design #Painting #Registered Specification Writer #Renovations #Restaurant #Retail #Retail Design #Retail Interior Design #Safety #Schools #Workplace Design #Stainless Steel #Specialty Architectural Products #architecturaldesign

[xinyuemachinery]

RC-H Heavy Duty Aluminum Storage Box

RC-H heavy-duty series storage box is made of aluminum profile and aluminum plate rolling molding, which better load-bearing performance, the cover is equipped with 4 aluminum cast stacked corner guards, the same box can be stacked, and the corner guards can also make the aluminum box better load-bearing strength.

[proteksystem]

Why Should You Choose Decorative Wall-Corned Guards

When it comes to protecting the walls in your business, it's important to think about all the little details, including the corners. That's where decorative wall corner guards come in. These small, yet essential components provide an added layer of protection for your walls, helping to prevent damage from everyday wear and tear. At Protek Systems, we understand the importance of protecting your walls and the role that decorative wall corner guards play in this process. Our decorative wall corner guards are made from high-quality materials that are designed to provide long-lasting protection for your walls. Whether you're looking to protect the walls in a busy office or retail space, or in a healthcare or food service facility, our decorative wall corner guards are the perfect solution.

Increase Protection With Decorative Wall Corner Guards

Decorative wall corner guards are known for their durability. Made from strong, long-lasting materials, they are designed to withstand the rigors of daily use, helping to protect your walls from dents, scuffs, and scratches. This means that your walls will look great for longer, and you won't have to worry about frequent repairs or replacements.

In addition to their durability, decorative wall corner guards such as CG-50 Surface-Mount Stainless Steel Corner Guards are also designed to be easy to install. With a simple, yet effective design, they can be installed quickly and easily, making it simple to add an extra layer of protection to your walls. This is particularly useful for businesses that are looking to protect their walls from damage quickly and easily.

Decorative wall corner guards such as CGD-402 Surface-Mount Decorative Aluminum Corner Guards have aesthetic appeal. Our decorative wall corner guards are available in a range of styles, colors, and finishes, making it easy to find the perfect solution to match the look and feel of your business. This not only helps to protect your walls but also enhances the overall appearance of your space, making it a great investment for any business.

Commercial-grade wallcoverings are also cost-effective. They offer a simple and affordable solution for protecting your walls, without sacrificing quality. By investing in decorative wall corner guards, you can reduce the costs associated with repairs and replacements, helping to save your business money in the long run.

Decorative wall corner guards are both versatile and can be used in a variety of applications. They can be used in offices, retail spaces, restaurants, and healthcare facilities, and can be customized to meet the specific needs of your business. Whether you're looking for a specific color, style, or pattern, our team of experts can help you find the perfect decorative wall corner guard to meet your needs.

Conclusion

Decorative wall corner guards are an essential component for businesses that require effective protection for their walls. They offer a range of benefits, including durability, ease of installation, aesthetic appeal, cost-effectiveness, and versatility. At Protek Systems, we love helping businesses protect their investments and enhance the appearance of their spaces. Our decorative wall corner guards provide businesses with the protection and style they need to succeed. Contact us today to learn more about our decorative wall corner guards and how they can benefit your business.

#Decorative Wall Corner Guards