#MeetUgly

[italiansteebie]

Being followed around and getting recognized was something Eddie hated.

Sure, he was used to it but it didn’t make him hate it any less. So when this random pretty boy started talking to him like he was a random stranger on the street, it took him by surprise. And he has to admit he reacted in a… Not so great way. 

“Hey, man I-”

“Not right now.” He cut him off quickly and harshly. The guy flinched slightly, which did make Eddie feel the slightest bit guilty, but still didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. The guy frowned, “I was just going to ask if you knew the bus route I’m supposed to take to get downtown. You don’t have to be a douche about it.” The guy scoffed, turning to walk away. “Wait.” Eddie called, “Sorry, I just get a lot of people comin’ up to me… It gets annoying.” Pretty boy shrugged. “I mean. I get it, I guess. I have days where I don’t want anyone to talk to me either. Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out eventually.” Eddie sighed, the nonchalant way the guy was speaking to him, and the clueless look on his face, kind of hinted that this guy really had no Idea who he is. And yeah, that does sound pompous but… Oh well. 

Eddie thrust his hand out towards the guy, pulling another small flinch out of him, “Sorry. Uh. Im…” He quickly contemplated telling the pretty boy his real name. “I uh. I’m Eddie. Sorry for being a dick.” The guy flashed him a smile, “No worries, Eddie. I’m Steve.” Grabbing his hand and shaking it. Eddie looked at the map Steve was holding, “You’re going down town right?” Watching Steve nod in response. “Alright, you’re going to want to take bus 4, and your stop is going to be 112. It’s a bit of a ride, though. It may be faster to get a taxi.” Eddie suggested. Steve shrugged again, “I can’t afford the fare unfortunately, so the bus it is.” 

“Why don’t I drive you?” Steve looked surprised, Eddie did too, he had suggested it before he even thought about it. “Oh, uhm. You’d do that?” Steve looked apprehensive. Eddie shrugged, “Consider it me making up for being a douche earlier.” Steve giggled at that, and Eddie thought for a moment he had ascended into heaven. “My car is this way,” He gestured vaguely, grabbing Steve’s hand and leading him in the direction of his van. 

—-

Eddie had never been embarrassed of the van before, but with this cute guy and his puffy hair, he got a little insecure. He had to admit, his van wasn’t the newest car, and it smelt a lot like weed. Like a lot. But Steve looked unfazed. The nonreaction extended to the interior of the van, even as it got ‘loud’ when they opened the doors. He watched as Steve hopped up and situated himself in the passenger seat. “Thanks for driving me!” He said, a bright smile on his face. 

“No problem, Steve-o!”

“Oh. We’re already at the nickname stage? You move fast.” Steve teased, pushing at Eddie’s shoulder gently. Eddie almost crashed the van, was Steve flirting with him? This cannot be happening. He doesn't even know about Eddie’s band. “Ahaha… Yeah.” He pushed out awkwardly, cringing at his own response. Steve faltered at this, “Hey, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that… I mean, who even knows if you like guys? Shit. I can get out, it’s alright.” Steve rambled. “Hey, no. It’s okay. I do, I mean it’s fine. I thought it was cute. You just make me nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone like you.” And that testimony made the smile creep back onto Steve’s face. “Well. I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone like you, Eddie.” He reached over and grabbed his hand. 

“You like music, Steve?” 

“I mean, who doesn't?” 

Eddie popped a Corroded Coffin CD into the car CD player, “This is Corroded Coffin’s newest album. They’re good, a little different though.” Steve nodded along as the first song started playing. The drums were a bit heavier than what Steve typically listened to but it was good, the guitar played the melody instead of a vocalist, which was also something Steve wasn’t used to. “They’re good, but I have to ask why they don’t have a singer?” Eddie shrugged. “I’ve… Heard they were never able to find one. Why? You sing?” “A little,” Steve hummed. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the lead guitarist, but lyrics can really expand a song, y’know?” Eddie nodded. “I heard they’re holding auditions for a singer today.” Steve smiled. “Yeah, that’s actually where I’m headed to. I have to admit I should’ve listened to them a little more before the audition but… Oh well.” Eddie choked at that, which earned a concerned look from Steve. “You okay?” Eddie nodded, “Yeah, just choked on my spit,” he breathed. 

The ride fell into a comfortable silence after that, sounds only coming from the radio and Eddie humming along with the band. They arrived at the venue, and before Steve got out of the car Eddie grabbed his hand. “Hey, you’re gonna do great. I hear the guitarist has a thing for guys like you.” Steve blushed, “Well I can only hope!” And with that he slid out of the van and walked through the venue doors. 

—-

Auditions were dragging on for what seemed like forever, and Steev still hadn’t had his yet. Eddie felt like he was going to die from anticipation, and was about to call for a break when Steve poked his head into the audition room. “Hi, sorry. Were you guys ready for m- Eddie?” 

“Surprise?” 

“What’s going on, Eddie? You know this guy?” Gareth said. 

Eddie shrugged, “Kind of. We drove here together. I was a douche, he was just trying to ask a question, so I gave him a ride.” Steve nodded in agreement with his summary. “Why didn’t you tell me? We even listened to your band on the way over!” Steve scolded. “I don’t know! I was just enjoying talking to someone who had no idea who I am!” Eddie groaned. Steve’s cheeks went red. “I can’t believe I admitted that I didn’t prepare for this to the guy who was holding the audition!” He slapped a hand over his face. “Well. I have no idea who you are. So! On with the audition! And, to make it fair. Eddie, go wait in the bathroom.” Gareth instructed, earning a pretty fierce side eye from Eddie. He got up begrudgingly, groaning and ultimately making a show of it.

Once he was gone, Gareth gestured to the open space, “Floors yours, kid.”

Steve sighed, deep breaths, he reminded himself. 

“Hello, I’m Steve. Harrington. Uh, Steve Harrington. Yeah, I’m 23 years old, I’ve been singing for a while, dive bars here and there, y’know… I’m uh. I’m going to sing an original song. I have others though… If you wanna hear something else…” He rambled, word vomit spewing out due to his nerves. 

He took a deep breath and let the song flow out of him, it was a blur as he sang, letting muscle memory take the reigns as he belted out. He opened his eyes as the song finished, breathing heavy, and he took a small bow. “Thanks for your time.” He began to walk out, following typical audition protocall. “Wait.” Gareth said. Steve turned, watching as Gareth and the other members, not including Eddie, of course, deliberated. “You were good. Sing this for me,” Gareth sang a short melody, which Steve repeated shortly after. He watched as the band nodded, small smiles forming on their faces. 

“Eddie! Come meet the new vocalist!” Gareth called. Steve fell to his knees, “You’re joking.” “Nope.” 

Eddie sauntered out, stopping short when he saw Steve still there. “Hey! You? Him? YEAH! Way to go Steve!” He cheered, running to hug him in celebration. They held each other for a moment before Eddie planted a quick kiss, again, acting before thinking. Steve paused, pulling away, before cracking a smile so big Eddie thought his face might split in half, and pulling Eddie back in for another smooch. The rest of the band behind them was clapping, congratulating Steve and moving to tell the other candidates that they’ve found their vocalist. 

“I’m so glad you were a dick to me this morning.”

Eddie smiled, “Me too.”

--

Sorry for another one of these, it's been locked in my brain

[scifrey]

NINE-TENTHS by J.M. Frey

About the Book

Twenty-four is one year too young for a quarter-life crisis, but hey, Colin's always been an overachiever. He's got a degree in Sustainable Tourism, which his family says he's wasting as a barista, an annoying anxiety disorder, and no freaking idea what to do with his life. The only thing going his way is the cute coffee shop regular, a homo draconis named Dav (who, in his humanshape, is a total hottie.) Still, it'd be easier if Dav didn't have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire when he's startled. Like the café kitchen.

When Dav breaks draconic taboo and volunteers as a replacement bean-roaster to apologize for the inferno meet-ugly, sparks really fly. Everything's finally happening for Colin, until he learns that hooking up with Dav means that under dragon law, Colin is absorbed into Dav's hoard.

Possession may be nine-tenths of the law, but becoming his boyfriend's property does not make this whole identity crisis thing easier. Especially now that Colin must navigate politics, paparazzi, and legal questions about his personhood. Colin's still angling for his Happily Ever After, but the growing scrutiny on his relationship with Dav threatens their budding romance. And if he's not careful, Colin's fight for agency may just destroy symbiotic human/dragon relationships worldwide.

Tropes:

#CoffeeShopAU #ForcedProximity #FriendsToLovers #Miscommunication #SecretRoyalty #ABODynamics (ish) #ContemporaryFantasy #Dragons #ShifterRomance #PosessiveRomance #SunshineAndGrumpy #MutualPining #SharedBraincell #TwoHalvesOfAWholeIdiot #MeetUgly

How To Read:

The first five chapters of the book will drop January 13th, 2024.

After that, chapters will drop every Wednesday and Saturday morning.

For now you can:

☕Shelve it on Wattpad when it drops (or now, if the link will let you), so it's in your library and you get update each time a new chapter is released.

☕Follow me on Wattpad, so you're alerted every time this, or any other story of mine, updates. (I'm currently serializing three different books at a time, and have chapters scheduled to drop nearly every day of the week until 2025!)

☕Sign up for my Newsletter to be reminded of the release date, and to stay abreast of any developments with the novel.

Is this book only on Wattpad?

For now, yes. I'm currently working with W by Wattpad Books to release a re-worked, spicier, version of my Watty-Award winning sapphic romance TIME AND TIDE.

I want them to pick this book up as well, especially I since really want to write the other two books in the series, so I'm trying to prove to them that I'm worth it.

In that case, this means centralizing all my lovely readers on their site, with the hope that you'll vote, comment, and recommend the heck out of it to your friends, so it gets lots of buzz.

Happy Reading!

[ohohohelloooo]

prompt: person a slaps person b on the head only to realize that this is NOT their best friend + person b deathly glaring

I’m going to marry her one day.

this makes no sense without universe context but I will give NONE huzzAH

Thae whistled with dull eyes as she glanced around the “hive”. Some hive it was. Feeling an upcoming knot in her back, she arched backward until the telling crack released all the pressure from her spine. Sighing in relief, Thae grimaced. Her life was all about racing. To where? Even Thae couldn’t tell you. But she appreciated the speed and made it her life. She always jumped forward, fast, and no one could say otherwise. 

And that primary trait of hers was crowned by her wings. Until six months ago. 

She twisted to rub at the gaping emptiness on her back. Ever since the incident, her body had difficulty adjusting to the change. One thing she never noticed about her wings was that they were heavy. Yes, the weight on her back may be lighter, but it was unbalanced. Unbalanced meant constantly stretching to relieve her new “shrimplike” posture. 

Without her wings as a counterbalance, she was no better than a shrimp.

She was also incredibly hungry. Shrimp sounded tasty right now. 

Breath hitching, she swerved out of the way of an incoming tank. Gods, this place was so busy.

Everywhere she looked, it was like an abstract painting. Complete and utter chaos. The tank that nearly killed her had no set road to travel, and people were working on it as it was rolling. Along the walls were separate pods framed in yellow for the engineers of the city to do whatever they’d like. The symphony of crackling electricity, metallic thumps, and constant yelling faded into a comforting buzz. Anything technology and machines related, it was right here in the heart of the city.  

The only place where time seemed to slow was whenever Kythaela came into sight. She wasn’t blind. She could see their eyes glaze over at her aggressive features, numerous limbs, and all. Even more pointed were the sharp looks and the questions that bubbled up at the emptiness stamped clearly on her back. Was she a small Lierai or a wingless Paxii?

Thae scanned the room for Mea. Mea said to meet her here for a surprise, yet as expected she was late. 

Thae huffed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It was her penchant after all. Always came in late to save the day, with her foul mouth in tow. Thae could almost burst from how much fondness she had for that short stack. 

Speaking of the short stack, Thae’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the familiar pale blue-striped hair of the little lady. Grinning, Thae stalked towards her, making sure her footsteps weren’t heard. 

Something in Thae’s senses warned her something was wrong. Mea always put her hair up in a braid, not a bun. And when in the workplace she was seldom seen in more than a sleeveless vest and cargo pants. In front of Thae, Mea appeared to be wearing a customary Kin’ol wear. Those thoughts abated as Thae assured herself that Mea was simply back at home. 

Without a warning, Thae lightly hit the back of Mea’s head with her palm, snickering, “Hey short stack, I thought princesses were supposed to be punctual!”

The blood drained from Thae’s face as Mea turned around to reveal it was in fact, NOT Mea. Shit. Thae laughed nervously as the figure gave her a deadly glare. What have you done now Kythaela, Thae groaned internally, backing away from the woman. “Sorry sorry, you just look so,” Thae paused to look at the woman. No, it wasn’t Mea. Her features were softer, still clad with the muscles of a Kin’ol engineer, but softer. She carried Mea’s nose, eye color, and eyebrow shape, even down to the markings that decorated her face. 

Thae mentally noted that she might have to get her number later, but further beat herself up over a bad first impression. Curses. Love is truly out of reach.

“So, what???? Short?” The woman snapped, the workers she was speaking with backing away in wide-eyed terror. “You better have a good goddamn reason to disrupt me like this.”

She’s fouled mouth too? It’s Deja vu. “Please, Your Highness I’m assuming,” because after all, the telltale marks on her face signify her similar royal status, “I was only-“

“Don’t pull that your highness bullshit on me. Kacrariv’s are always stumbling around here, messing up my shit,” The woman folded her arms, eyes narrowing further. “so you BETTER have a good reason to annoy me.”

Thae scoffed, “For YOUR information, miss uncultured and uninformed, I am a PAXII. I pray your gods know what their prized diplomat is doing to people from other planets.”

Thae tucked away the image of the color draining from her face. Enjoyable, yes. Diplomatically correct as a representative of the Kacrariv nation on Thae’s part? Well, relations with the Kin’ol were as strong as they ever would be. Thae could save her charms for elsewhere. 

“THAE!” All the tension left Thae’s body the moment she heard Mea’s voice. 

“Oh gosh, Nylin, I’m so sorry for her insolence.” Thae felt a pinprick of pain in her leg and Mea tried to kick her. 

Thae spoke through gritted teeth, tense once more. “If someone hadn’t been late, maybe I would’ve been kinder. Just a thought.” Thae was screaming, cringing, crying perchance? This was crown princess Nylin of the Kin’ol and Thae had just called her racist? 

Nylin’s eyes became thoughtful as she scanned Thae up and down.

Mea cleared her throat, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t here to introduce you both, but this is Kythaela, former leader of the resistance on the Pacific coast, and-“ 

“Oh, no need to introduce her more. Your letters said quite enough.” Nylin continued to stare down Thae, although there was something new about this look.

Mea flushed and Thae turned to wink at her. Mea glared and promptly whacked Thae in the arm. And this is Nylin, crown princess as you’re aware from the guides I sent you. My favorite sister-“

“Only sister, but the best one in existence.”

“And the genius behind your new wings!

Silence pervaded the space as Thae’s brain began short-circuiting. Thae’s lungs felt depleted of air, her whisper barely audible against the buzz of the hive. “New wings?” 

Nylin’s gaze softened. “New wings.” She shifted her gaze to Mea. “They won’t feel like your old ones. I know nothing ever will.” 

In her panic, Thae flicked a glance at Nylin’s mechanical hand. It was so delicately engineered, that it nearly blended into the rest of her body. It was seamless, that’s what it was. A sense of understanding came to Thae.  

“But in every other sense of the word, they will be the same, just metallic. Same weight, same strength. If anything, you can experience the same speeds you flew at your prime racing career.”

Thae quirked a brow. “You’re a fan of that out of everything?”

Nylin shrugged, chuckling. “I’m a fan of everything. You’re a hero here.” From her tablet, she pulled up a life-sized model of Paxii wings. Thae’s wings. “So, hero, let’s get you a new set of wings.”

Mea silently placed her hand on Thae’s shoulder as Thae leaned into her touch. It was like looking into a mirror. “Mea, is this real?”

Nylin rolled her eyes. “You’re questioning my skills?”

I’m going to marry her one day.

[obriengf]

17 and Stewart!! I can picture that one with him perfectly!

get cute with meet-ugly blurbs - requests closed! 17: “we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine” Note: I am very well aware that this isn't the best thing...

SEATBELT

Your vision line was impaired for a brief moment, but you could still feel his eyes on you; the way you were watched closely, your every move waited upon and calculated as if you were a puzzle that he was trying to solve. Your observations were just as canny, if not more, as you took a moment to take in your surroundings within an enclosed cabin of the subway to San Fransisco. The afternoon commute was busier than usual - passengers taking up every minuscule inch of occupancy, bodies feeding into the claustrophobia of limited seating. It was amazing how a sea of people from every platform could filter into such a small space so easily. Fresh air was non-existent and it caused your heart to thump and brows to furrow in distress. The knuckles of your right hand were screaming in pain from clutching the hanging strap too tight, and every bump the cabin passed caused your stature to falter and your footing to become unbalanced. Your time at work was bad enough as it was, but standing and waiting for a seat overtook every stressful event of your day with ease. Your eyes fluttered around for a vacant spot, but were met again with the large brown gaze that hid behind glass frames - the first time you saw them, your cheeks grew flushed, until you realised their motive. The owner, a man with matching annoyance clutching at every facial feature, was making sure that you didn't get the first seat before him. Smug bastard.

It was as if he could read your mind; his body stiffening, ready to pounce despite how his shoulder ached with a heavy bag that slung deeply. His day, too, was challenging - trying to meet quotas on a mind-blank of ideas wasn't something he often faced, yet it had been his daily norm for nearly a week. He desired to sit, to rest his legs and to take that relieving deep breath that was much warranted when the evening came. Nobody else in your peripherals was awake enough for a battle of comfort, which made this fight fit best for the quickest and most cunning.

The next stop was approaching and people began to stand as they awaited their further commute home. Your surroundings shifted, bodies repositioning as they slid around you like Tetris - confined tensions forcing your eyes closed as you drew a deep breath. You loved your job, truly, but the hour commute to and from was less than ideal. You were forced in between strangers and moments away from your throat closing with nervous energy before the train finally began slowing its pace, and you released relieving exhale of panicked breath in time with the opening of your carriage doors.

Congestion was imminent, however, your brief layover finally allowed carriage breathing room - and the possibility of the much-awaited available spot. As people began to vacate, you spotted a free seat and it was as if your heart sang in solace with laser-eyed focus and feet ready to lunge. You held on to your bag tightly as you pressed forward, small pleasantries slipping past your lips as you dodged other passengers.

You could feel the soft seating before you even sat down, you were dreaming of it for the past thirty minutes - but the plushness of the seat wasn't what you expected when you realised that the man with the glasses and observant eyes was where you managed to place yourself. Your own eyes widened in shock, voice unable to emit after you glanced down to his cocky smirk.

With a small growl, your brows furrowed at him, "No, no! This is my seat, go somewhere else."

"Sorry sweetheart, I was here first." His voice was mocking, a daring tone that effortlessly portrayed just how much he didn't care. To further affirm his unwillingness to move, the stranger's body sunk snugly against the padded bench with a loud and restful sigh. His competitiveness continued to shine through with a cocky quirk of his lips, "I'm not giving this up."

Fire burned in your eyes, an anger brewing that started much earlier in your day. You were exhausted and irritated, and games were far from what you were prepared to face at this moment. A pout prompted your lips to purse and brows to drop, and for a second you felt like a four-year-old standing their ground during a tantrum.

"Well, I'm not, either."

The man just nodded, quick to ignore your presence as he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and began immersing himself in the small screen. You couldn't decide what was more awkward - the fact that he wasn't acknowledging your place on his lap or the way that you were sitting to the curve of his knees in absolute unsteadiness. One rickety bump and you'd find yourself on the floor.

Fate wasn't on your side; a running gag that life decided to throw at you once again today, in the form of the old train rocking and your legs sliding away from the glasses-wearing stranger. You expected the embarrassment of numerous eyes watching you collide with the cabin floor, but it never came as arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards.

It took a second for you to realise that the outside of your thigh was snug against the stranger's stomach, his hands now flat over your side and against the bottom curve of your ribs as he held you close to him. He was your human seatbelt, holding you back and keeping you safe. It provoked warmth to shoot through your veins, to awaken the butterflies in your stomach and to colour the rosiness in your cheeks. It felt nice, despite the fact that he was a stranger with a stupid smug smile and filled with utter cockiness.

"Woah, nearly lost you there." He mumbled, a softness peeking through. It was easy to follow the caramel swirl of his eyes as they gazed over your face for any sort of discomfort, but you both seemed in the clear, and his shoulders dropped in relief. They looked down for a brief second before he smiled again, "Us googlers gotta stick together, you know."

Your head tilted to the side, every ounce of your focus now directed only toward him, "What?"

"Your lanyard." Hesitantly, he pulled a hand away from your side and tugged at the multicoloured fabric dangling from your neck, a plastic key card with a four-month-old photo of you sitting to the side. When he saw you following his touch, he hastily found his own within his zipped-up jumper and dangled it between you both. "Got a matching one. We're practically family."

Black letters caught your eyes first, the name of the man filling in another puzzle piece as you said it aloud, "Stuart Twombly, software development."

"That's me." He replied, a wink dropping behind his glasses and hold absentmindedly tightening as another small bump disrupted the cabin. Everything was coming together for you; no wonder he seemed full of himself, a handful of people you know from that department certainly have a big head and a matching ego. Your mind awoke from your thoughts when you felt your lanyard tugging again. Stuart hummed, "Y/N L/N, accounting. Interesting."

"How so?" You said quickly, offence already settling in your voice.

"You just got to be really smart to be an accountant for one of the biggest companies in the world."

Your head shook as your body readjusted yourself on his lap, "I'm not an accountant... yet. It's just a paid internship. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about any of that - "

"An internship?" Stuart's eyes lit up, his smile genuine as the corners of his lips lifted, "I know a thing or two about internships, try me."

[funky-sea-cryptid]

i need to draw callakirsch for mermay except the thing is calla would not be a mermaid. calla would be the fisher that accidentally caught kirsch and is 90% sure he just caught a stupid looking fish. kirsch keeps trying to sing to him but calla's deaf ass can't hear it so he's just staring in confusion at his fish manual like "what the FUCK did i just pull up and why is it trying to talk to me."

[fishwear]

i am battering this motherfucker (fanfic) out if it kills me (said lovingly)

[misscrazyfangirl321]

Cleo: There's a difference between being an independent woman and a spinster.

Helen: Is it the shoes?

[weavebcund]

@thronecage

"OH, SO IT'S YOU!"

It isn't meant to come out quite as accusatory as it sounds, but the gasp of surprise that leaves him is unintentional. He can't help it - Gale's been looking for that book for two weeks, waiting diligently for it to return to the shelves, and here's the culprit behind its absence, waltzing on in and extending his borrowing period. He gapes as he hurries over to the counter, hurriedly resting an arm on it so that the poor librarian can't continue with the check-out process.

"Again? Have you not finished it already? It's hardly that long of a book."

[mecachrome]

https://x.com/LNFOURS/status/1812964164588966203

I'M CRYINGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!

i don't understand monaco at all why are they at the same building and how do these fans all know to wait there 😭

anw oscar's little backpack is krillingggggg me shdjdjdjd we love a guy who's serious about ECO-FRIENDLY COMMUTING <3 also meetugly au where lando accidentally bumps into poor student oscar with his jolly going like 30kmph and oscar is like mate it's literally fine you barely hit me but somehow it ends in lando accidentally sugar daddying him trying to make amends..... anyone ? sorry where were we

[scifrey]

NINE-TENTHS

Twenty-four is one year too young for a quarter-life crisis, but hey, Colin's always been an overachiever. He's got a degree in Sustainable Tourism, which his family says he's wasting as a barista, an annoying anxiety disorder, and no freaking idea what to do with his life. The only thing going his way is the cute coffee shop regular, a homo draconis named Dav (who, in his humanshape, is a total hottie.) Still, it'd be easier if Dav didn't have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire when he's startled. Like the café kitchen.

When Dav breaks draconic taboo and volunteers as a replacement bean-roaster to apologize for the inferno meet-ugly, sparks really fly. Everything's finally happening for Colin, until he learns that hooking up with Dav means that under dragon law, Colin is absorbed into Dav's hoard.

Possession may be nine-tenths of the law, but becoming his boyfriend's property does not make this whole identity crisis thing easier. Especially now that Colin must navigate politics, paparazzi, and legal questions about his personhood. Colin's still angling for his Happily Ever After, but the growing scrutiny on his relationship with Dav threatens their budding romance. And if he's not careful, Colin's fight for agency may just destroy symbiotic human/dragon relationships worldwide.

HOW TO READ

Click here to put the story in your Wattpad Library.

The first five chaps drop on Wattpad Jan 13th, 2024.

New chapters released Wednesdays & Saturdays.

Music: "A Thousand Years" by Perri & Hodges

Art by @seancefemme

[obriengf]

Hello 21 : with Joel please 🤩🤩

get cute with meet-ugly blurbs - requests open! 21: "I didn’t know my ex moved so you find me sitting on the floor in front of your apartment door"

UNEXPECTED STRANGER

You could feel the mascara drying; and slight irritation to your skin as the previously running liquid itched over your cheekbones. It was uncomfortable, but not as much as the ache cultivating in your tailbone as you sat cross-legged on the cold floor, your knees pulled under your chin and arms secured for dear life as they clung around them. It was hard to control the trembling in your fist after minutes of banging against a door that housed temporary emptiness, and a lack of specific presence that you had come searching for in the first place. Instead, the fist was tucked against your curled frame as exhaustion devoured you, and thoughts from all regions ran aimlessly in your mind. Regret began to take up occupancy in the pit of your gut - it was stupid impulse that led you to this door, and the recognition had just started to come to light. But you were too defeated to move. He had worn you down, and he wasn't even here. Echoes of rubber soles clapped as they climbed the close stairwell, the sound reverberating its way toward you at the end of the fourth-floor hallway. It caused your ears to perk, but the lack of motivation to even raise your head kept you in a stiffened position until you heard a voice. "Uh... can I help you?"

It was a voice unknown, writhed with confusion and uncertainty, complemented with hidden notes of worry. It prompted you to jump despite knowing that those rubber soles were only mere feet in front of you now. It was slow as you raised your head; your body sinking in as if you'd been scolded, even though you were simply asked a question of unsureness.

You were met with doe eyes of brown, large as they widened in shock at your flustered face and smudged makeup. You sniffled once as your eyebrow furrowed, head tilting to the side, "What?"

The man before you shuffled in discomfort, his hand pulling at the bag strap that guarded his right shoulder as he hiked it back up. It was his turn to stare with furrowed brows and even more perplexity, "I - You're blocking my door. Why..." The man began, clearing his throat as he tried to compose a sentence that didn't consist of agitation, but failed, "What do you want?"

"Your door - ?"

"What - Yes, yes my door. You're blocking it, and I want to get inside. Can you just move?" He was growing impatient as he huffed, his tone blunt and precise. You glanced around the empty space surrounding you both, trying to decipher if you got the apartment number wrong. No, you thought. You instantly recognised that overgrown pot plant in front of the apartment two doors down, and the annoying flickering bulb of the fourth downlight. You were in the right place, but something was off.

Your lips pursed as a rouse to stop them from quivering, an uneasy feeling settling within you, "Doesn't Tim Baxter live here?"

The man barely chuckled in disbelief under his breath as his head shook, chocolate mops of hair swaying with him. He bit the inside of his cheek, "Uh no, I live here. Have been for about a week and a half now. Got no idea who that guy is. Sorry."

Your chest panged as if a wound had reopened, pieces of your puzzle falling into place and connecting the dots that you didn't want to see coming. A week and a half. It was about the time he stopped answering your calls. After attempts at trying to speak to him, you gave up a losing battle and decided to take on the dragon face-to-face. But he had fled. All traces were wiped, and the treasure that the dragon was in possession of would never be recovered by you.

You willed the tears to stay still - too many had been shed over your heartbreak already today, and he didn't deserve any more. You nodded slightly as you pushed yourself to stand, legs wobbly from your cramped seated position and you swayed apprehensively. A hand reached out to find even the smallest surface to support bowing stability, but it was the mystery man who managed to hold you upright as one hand carefully grasped your bicep, and the other pressed just above your waist.

The man hummed, concern intertwining with his words as he gave you a respective once-over, "How long have you been sitting out here?"

You could hardly recall. Your body and mind were overtaken by anger for the previous tenant, checking the time was the last thing on your to-do list. Considerations began to flow, and you took a much-needed deep breath to rejuvenate your crushed lungs.

"A couple of hours." Your response was quiet and embarrassed, but the man just gave a tight-lipped smile as if he was milking every ounce of sympathy that he could muster. Pathetic could be used to describe how you found yourself here, or you could easily settle for silly, probably even piteous and just call it a day. You huffed out a laugh with an absence of hilarity, "This is so stupid, I'm sorry. My ex lived here, and he had something important to me, and the bastard would never pick up his damn phone and I -"

"Hey... hey, it's okay." Soothing tones brought you back down from a rambling tongue, seconds away from disclosing information that a stranger certainly didn't need to hear. Fingers flexed against your frame and it was oddly appeasing to your exaggerated facility, despite the owner absentmindedly performing it.

It was epitomised tunnel vision the moment you peered at him; he absorbed your focus like a sponge to water, his eyes much warmer up close as they swirled with caramelised hues and harmonised with the sweetest of genuine smiles. Your heart began to thump again and you begged that he couldn't hear how much this proximity was affecting you.

"I'm so sorry for... this. You must think I'm a fucking mess." You sighed. With small retreating steps, you returned to a proper stance and only left behind a hand thrown in his direction. You licked quickly at your drying lips, "I'm Y/N, by the way."

He seemed pleased with your approach at an old-fashioned introduction as he allowed his hand to slip into yours, applying slight pressure as he shook it, "Joel."

Joel didn't use to take risks. He was placid, somewhat content with how things went. He kept a routine more out of convenience than want. And yet, here he was standing in front of a girl who looked broken, considering offering kindness to make her feel even the littlest bit better. He was familiar with the ache that lived in hearts and turned souls into dreary heaps; lost loves and exes that caused feelings of insignificance. But when he looked at you, he saw redemption and light begging to break through the darkness bestowed upon you.

"Do you... you can totally say no, by the way, but I was you know, thinking... I was gonna order like Chinese take out or something... and put on a movie, or whatever... if you have nowhere to be - "

"Are you inviting me inside?" You cut through his tangent with a hint of amusement, head tipping to the left as your lips ghosted a curl at the corners.

His eyes remained glued to you, even through his ability to slip in his keys and unlock the door by touch alone. Joel bit his bottom lip as a sparkle settled in his gaze, "It depends, have you ever killed someone before?"

"What? No! Of course not!" Your exclaim was loud before it was muffled by your hand, its purpose to keep in the laughter that followed with utter joyousness. "Why would you ask that?"

Joel couldn't hold back his smile as it graced this now friendly scene, its intention to recapture happiness. His teeth were on display as the button of his nose scrunched, complementing small creases beside his eyes, "I'd like to know beforehand just who I'm letting into my apartment."

"Uh-huh, and what if I had? As if anyone would actually admit to that." Playing along was easy as if these battles had been fought before, a comfortable settle between strangers.

"I like giving people the benefit of the doubt, okay?"

His laugh sealed the deal. It was as if you didn't need to question any authenticity, that Joel, your accidental run-in, had already become a safety net in the few minutes since you had known him. That fate was something that existed.

Joel turned around as he nearly made his way through the door, his hand keeping the heavy wood open for you. His eyebrow raised, "So, you coming, or what?"

[viric-dreams]

Task failed successfully(?): stabbed the wrong OC.

I haven't tormented Elias in a while. Time to get on that.

[gothic-thoughts]

Wrath

Lil homage to Supernatural lowkey (cuz i miss that show)

Ghost Riley x Black GN Reader Angst

Fallen Angel!ReaderAU, MeetUgly

CW: Ghost finds you, Reader wakes from a coma

TW: I, myself am not religious but that don't mean ion respect other people's beliefs and obviously this isn't meant to be offensive in terms of religion, killing mention, bad injury/wound description

Word Count: 1449 (give or take)

The ground finally stopped shaking like nothing even happened, but this wasn't some minor tremor. This was the most unlikely place to have earthquakes and yet a 5.2 just rocked the entire base out of nowhere like it was nothing; strong enough to shake the building but weak enough that nothing was broken, just knocked over. We tracked the origin to find it was only 20 miles from here in a random forest, deducing that it was some kind of weapon meant for us but thankfully missed by only a couple miles. And I was determined to find out who had the balls to threaten us in our own home.

Once the chopper landed, I cautiously led my squad across the field towards a huge clearing of knocked-over trees and scorched grass with a giant, steaming crater in the middle. We approach it to find nothing: no metal, no casing, nothing. Just somebody lying naked in the center.

"Oh, what the f--” I trail off as lowering my gun, “Who the hell is this? And why are they naked?"

I groan in frustration before ordering most of the squad to investigate the area while ordering a couple others to get a blanket from the chopper. I carefully walked down into the crater with my gun trained on the person, waiting for them to make a move but the only movement was the staggering rise and fall of their chest. I nudge their calf with my foot only for it to move limply.

“And what the hell were you doing all the way out here...? Whatever, hello?! Hello, hey!”

No response. Not even an eye twitch to let me know they could at least hear me...or alive. I put my gun away and kneeled into the now dissipating steam to examine the many, many cuts and bruises marking the front of their body that seemed to be already healing. I reluctantly reach down to shake their shoulder but again not even a change in breath; they’re out cold.

I roll them onto the side to check but the sight of two, large matching wounds between the shoulder blades makes my eyes widen. The skin around it was pulled outward, looking either melted or like they were ripped off of something hot. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days after we bring them to the medical bay, their eyes finally open, darting around the room and then to the cuffs keeping their right wrist chained to the gurney. The medics thought it was a bit much since they were so hurt but I couldn’t trust them just yet, if at all, given the fact that in 3 days, we still knew nothing about them: not their name, age, nationality; nothing, so I wanted to be extra cautious. Their eyes lock with mine and I give them nothing but a cold, skeptical stare as I walk into the room and stand at the end of the bed.

“Stop struggling; I don’t trust you enough as is.”

“So we understand each other then.” They snap, “Who are you and what have you done to me?”

“Done to you? I brought you to a medical bay and kept you even more alive than you looked in that crater so how ‘bout we start with your name and we’ll go from there.”

“I don’t have to tell you damned thing, I demand you release me. Now.”

“Yeah, that’s not how this works.” I cross my arms, eyes narrowing behind my mask, “I don’t care how pretty or rich you think you are, but--”

“Do I look ‘rich’ to you?”

“I don’t know what you look like, all I know is we found you at the epicenter of 5.2 earthquake only a few miles from our base, thinking you were some kind of missile. That was 3 days ago.”

“Three...? I... I caused an earthquake...? Was anyone hurt?”

“You must’ve hit your head harder than we thought if you think you could cause a damn earthquake, much less one that strong.”

“Wait, did you say ‘base’? Like a mortal military base...?”

Mortal? They're more entitled than I thought. "Yeah, sure a ‘mortal’ base. You’re being detained until we determine and learn who you are and what you are."

“What I am? So you do understand I am not from here...”

“I almost considered that since that's the only answer I can see after 3 whole days of trying to figure out why the hell you have no blood type, fingerprints or an even an SSN; so either you’re an infant, faked your death, or you’re a fucking spy. So as I said earlier, we’re gonna start from the fucking beginning.”

They sigh, no longer struggling with the cuffs, “Fine... I’ll comply.”

“And no lies; you may not have a blood type, but you have a heartbeat. If I feel like you're lyin', we do this the hard way, got it?"

They nod. I don't budge an inch, continuing to watch for even the slightest twitch.

“Name.”

“(Y/n).”

"See, easy. Alright; then (Y/n), what makes you so special that we can't read your fingertips?"

“Since you're already so skeptical, I doubt you will believe me if I tell you...”

“Try me.”

They rolled their eyes with a scoff. “Yeah, because you mortals are known for your trustworthiness.”

“What I believe isn't the point here, just spit it out."

Another exasperated sigh. “I'm an angel...or I was...”

I blink a few times, processing their words. “I said no lying.”

“Thought you said what you believe wasn't the point.”

“It is when you lie.”

“Whatever, if you're so smart how do you explain my lack of human information, Mr. Easter Bunny? The earthquake? You didn’t find anything else besides me in the area, did you?”

I scoff with a chuckle. Angel or not, they're a smart ass. "You're right, I actually can't. But I know that angels aren't real... and if they were, they can't be hurt. How'd you go from this invincible being to half-dead in the middle of a forest?"

“I said I was an angel, didn't I? I'm a fallen angel now.”

"So how'd you lose your wings then?"

“Simply put, I sinned.”

“Can you elaborate on that?” 

“A demon killed my best friend and wrath got the better of me..” Their voice cracked a little, “So I found that monster and showed him the exact same mercy he showed her...”

I pause, hearing the amount of stifled anguish in their voice. I relax my shoulders and uncross my arms, softening my eyes just slightly enough to let them know I believe them...enough...for now.

"You regret it?"

“I am aware of what I signed up for when the thought entered my head... but she was my best friend.” (Y/n) sniffles, avoiding eye contact, “It was worth it, though I am a terrible person for it...”

“Well yes...” I walk around the bed and unlock the cuff from their wrist, “And no.”

They gasp, doing a double take. “No? I killed someone."

"We have something called nuance down here on Earth. What you do matters, but the intent matters more."

"So you don't think I'm a terrible person? Are you serious right now?"

“Not a terrible person, just a terrible angel. You’d make a great person.”

"Right, because mortals kill more often than not."

"Hey, not all of us are serial killers, (Y/n). Most have legitimate reasons for killing someone, your case just so happens to be very common."

"Oh..." (Y/n) sits up against the pillows, "That doesn't make it okay."

"I never said it made it okay; I said it doesn't make you terrible."

"I never got your name..."

"Call me Ghost."

"Ghost...?"

"We'll work on real names when I trust you more."

"Okay then...Ghost. So what happens now? I stay in some special cell, treated like a freak while your army interrogates me?"

“I'm not putting you in a cell."

“You won't?”

"Unless you give me a reason to, no. You don’t seem dangerous, and besides, if we keep you in an actual cell... I think you'd just try and break out. You're just gonna have to live here for now."

“Thank you... I think..."

"Don't get too comfortable though, I'll still be keepin' my eye on you. But at least you get to not be cooped up in a cell. Until we figure out what to do with you that is."

“...And... just how comfortable are army barracks?”

I let out a soft chuckle. "They might not be the most luxurious, but I can give you a room to yourself. No one should bug you as long as you stay out of others' way."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet; you might hate it here. Not many people like being surrounded by soldiers in every direction."

"Better than the middle of a crater."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(a/n): Last mythical one i swear (prolly, maybe, not really)

[redfurrycat]

🤠🍺🍽️🐓Chef, Bartender & Waiter Fic Recs🐓🍽️🍺🤠

GIF by @unicornships

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Coconutcordiale, Dracculaura, Grimjobs, Hangmanbradshaw, Haridwar, MacMonkey, Nixie_DeAngel, ReformedTsundere, Saturn, SunMonTue, Xo_em, Youlookgood.

Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor AU > Mechanic AU > Bakery & Coffee Shop AU

we're not finished here by haridwar {T}

Jake finds out Maverick has a son in the middle of dogfight football.

Overboard by MacMonkey {T}

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Bradley snapped his eyes up the moment he heard the voice, dropping his phone onto the counter in shock. There was no way. Jake Seresin stood before him with a sharp grin, an apron, and an empty glass. “Bradley Bradshaw. As I live and breathe.”

It’s Autumn In New York by xo_em {M}

Everything's Waiting For You (Downtown) When Bradley’s breath catches, in a way it hasn’t in literal years of bartending, he’s a tad shaken.

IWTBY Verse by hangmanbradshaw {E}{_}

 muse by youlookgood {T}

Lately, it's like the spark that would keep driving Bradley forward each night, the fire on his fingertips hot and blazing just like the sweet burn of the drink that comes between and after sets, has been snuffed out. He sees his half-steady gig work and instead of a semblance of comfort and that sun-bright thrill, he feels... ...a little empty. Then, "Can I get you another?"

Cuddle Bug in Training by ReformedTsundere {T}

"I'm not dating any psychopaths this time, Nat, promise," Bradley says, trying for lightness but only managing something so tired he's surprised he hadn't yawned the whole way through. Natasha snorts, her arms unfolding, but the look on her face remains painfully unimpressed.

after this I'm never gonna be the same by haridwar {M}

Bradley had always been an intense man. Prison, it seemed, hadn’t done anything to change that.

Bird on a Wire by SunMonTue {E}

Hangster AU Meetcute. Jake tries to make a good impression on one of the servers at a restaurant. Except he turns out to be the head chef. Who in turn tries make a good impression. Their families try and help.

Mercury & Manganese by SunMonTue {T}

An AU MeetUgly (where I failed to meet the assignment as it feels too soft, nice and gentle to really be a MeetUgly? Maybe?). No one is in the Navy. This centres around chefs and restaurants and drinks, but it's all very background. Background established IceMav.

waiting on the other side by Saturn {E}

Mouth agape, Bradley stood there dumbly as his brain tried to calibrate the dissonance of seeing Hangman in a food truck. “You work here?” Bradley asked, incredulity laced into the question. He supposed bumping into Hangman at an airshow wasn’t entirely unlikely, but the sight of the former aviator—pad in hand, ready to take Bradley’s order—was a shock. “Even worse, Rooster,” Hangman said easily, and Bradley tried to avoid flinching at the use of his callsign, “I own the place.” Post-retirement, Bradley is struggling to find his place. He gets help from an unlikely source.

dancing in convertibles by coconutcordiale {M}

“He’s not that great,” Jake mumbles. “You’re only saying that ‘cause he’s your ex,” Charlotte accuses, but it’s without malice. He thinks. “I’m really not.” It’s not a lie, since they never actually dated, but it’s not like he’s going to admit that out loud. + aka the hotel staff au

Neon Lights & Blue Moon Tides by Nixie_DeAngel {T}

Blinking, Jake lifts his gaze to shoot the other man a look of curiosity. He watches as Bradley glances at him before refocusing on his work. Or, Jake puts his foot in his mouth and then manages to save himself from it.

party fowl by dracculaura

under the lights tonight {M}

jake goes to bradley's club for the first time

with just one look {_}

bradley meets the man his friends have spent six months trying to set him up with

whiskey on ice (sunset on vine) by grimjobs {E}

“Just lie then,” Bradley said, easy as that. “What?” Jake asked, incredulous. “Just lie,” Bradley shrugged, “tell your sister you’re dating someone, make it all up. She gets off your back, and you don’t have to suffer the pain and torment of caring about another person. Problem solved.”

[tgmsunmontue]

Mercury & Manganese

A Hangster AU MeetUgly (where I likely failed to meet the assignment as it feels too soft and gentle to really be a MeetUgly? Maybe?). (AU in that no one is in the Navy).

~2k and only mature for some swearing. There's not even a kiss. There is very background established IceMav. Bonus points if you get why the title is the title.

                Jake knows the regulars, is there often enough that he recognizes the businessmen that come in for lunch every Thursday. The couples that come in for date nights. The singles that come in for first dates and then the friend groups who come in regularly for nights to blow off steam together. He knows them all. Most of them by name. Because they’re his business. His customers are integral to his success, and he wants to treat them right.

                “Hey, can I get a Tiger beer and a glass of the Merlot please?”

                The guy asking is standing easily, his eyes sweeping over Jake and he recognizes that look, sees it all too often and is immediately wary. He smiles politely but narrows his eyes slightly, trying to figure out if he’s going to need to bounce the guy later.

                “Sure thing, you waiting on someone?” Jake asks, sliding the drinks over to him.

                “Yep, I’m going to go home with the next person to walk through the door…”

                Jake frowns, because he can see Natasha approaching through the glass doors and she’s not with Bob like usual. The guy has walked off, moving to greet her and he wonders if this guy thinks he can just pick up anyone. And Jake gave him a glass of wine and he’s taken his eyes off it, he could have put anything in there, and for some reason Natasha is just taking a drink from a complete stranger. He’s on the other side of the bar without even thinking about it, not quite sprinting and then grabbing the glass out of Natasha’s hand.

                “Don’t drink that!”

                “What the fuck man!”

                He hadn’t meant to knock the wine into his face, but he doesn’t regret it. He straightens up and puts his shoulders back, prepares to throw a punch if he needs to, although the guy is just blinking at him in confusion. Both the sous chef and one of the wait staff are looking at him and Jake shakes his head slightly, although Michaela comes out with the mop and some paper towels. The guy takes them and mops at his face and chest, still looking more confused than defensive and angry.

               Jake’s read this wrong. That hasn’t happened in a long while.

               Fuck.

                “Wow Bradshaw… five minutes in town and you’ve already got people throwing drinks in your face. This time it was my drink though…”

                “You know him?” Jake asks her, because that is now becoming blatantly obvious.

                “Sure do. Best friend. Here to stay for a few nights… any particular reason why you had to waste good wine?”

                “I… he gave you a drink and you didn’t see me pour it.”

                “Oh Jake, that’s sweet. Real knight in shining armor behavior… However Bradley here wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

                “Thanks for that endorsement. I need to go change…”

                “I have a spare shirt if you want? Least I could do? And get you a new glass of wine of course Natasha…”

                “I’ll take the wine.”

                “I guess I’ll take the shirt…”

                “You can come with me, change in the back room.”

                Jake finds himself watching as the guy strips the light-blue button-down shirt over his head, revealing a form-fitting white tank. It is of course also stained with red wine but looks dry-ish. Jake holds out one of his shirts and tries to avert his eyes as the guys tugs it on. It’s too short in the arms so he undoes the cuffs and rolls the sleeves, leaves the front unbuttoned because of course his shoulders are just that bit broader than Jake’s own to allow him to do up the buttons. Annoyingly it looks better on him than it ever has on Jake.

                When they get back out to the restaurant Bob has turned up and he gives Bradley a hug, which Bradley returns and lifts the other man off the ground, which they all laugh at. They’re clearly old friends as well and he’s just going to be forever embarrassed by the fact he accidentally knocked a glass of wine in the guy’s face and pretty much accused him of drugging someone. He doesn’t want to lose regular customers but he admits there is part of him that would be relieved if they decided to never darken his doorway again. He doesn’t fuck up often, but he can apparently still manage it spectacularly.

…             …             …

                Sunday afternoon rolls around and it’s the quiet lull between lunch and dinner, he’s doing a quick stock take so he can place necessary orders for the coming month when he turns to find Bradley standing there watching him, one eyebrow quirked.

                “You going to throw a drink in my face again?”

                “I don’t know, are you going to make some sleezy comment about going home with the next person to walk through the door?”

                Bradley makes a you got my there face and Jake doesn’t know why he read the guy so badly, but he did and he hasn’t even really apologized for the massive error in judgement. For some reason he can’t bring himself to apologize either, he’d likely do the same again.

                “Just wanted to return the shirt. Thanks.”

                “Owed you one.”

                Bradley gives him a nod, knocks his knuckles on the bar, then leaves.

                Okay then.

…             …             …

                It’s just Natasha and Bob the following week and he’s immensely glad.

                At least he thinks he is.

…             …             …

                It’s just Natasha and Bob for several weeks and then he’s back…

                “We’re celebrating.”

                “Bradley got the job he was here interviewing for. Starts on Monday.”

                “Congratulations.”

                Well shit.

…             …             …

                A few months pass and he hates to say it, but Bradley becomes one of his regulars. One of his favorite regulars. Of course he’s pretty sure Bradley doesn’t like him overly much, his comments just a little on the sharper side. Jake would dish it right back, but Bradley’s a customer, and one he’s already misjudged. But he keeps coming back, keeps complimenting the food and cocktails and Jake hasn’t said anything about the whole wine incident and neither has Bradley.

                “Are you ever not working?”

                “What?”

                “Nothing. Doesn’t matter,” Bradley mutters, and leaves.

…             …             …

                He recognizes the two men with Bradley of course, they’re chefs with very different approaches in the kitchen, made famous with their individual cooking shows and entire range of cookbooks and shared cookware line and they’re now in his little restaurant-bar. With Bradley. How the hell he knows two TV celebrity chefs is a mystery, because he knows Bradley is some type of forensic accountant, despite knowing plenty about food and drink. He walks over slowly, listens to the conversation as best as he can while he checks in with some other customers and straightens cutlery on empty tables.

                “Mav, you have to try the tortellini, I swear to god, better than yours…”

                “You know we would have cooked for you.”

                “I like avoiding war zones. Plus my kitchen isn’t unpacked. You guys can do that when I’m at work tomorrow.”

                “You’ve been here for nearly three months, what do you mean your kitchen still isn’t unpacked?” Kazansky says, and Jake shares his horror.

                “It’s unpacked enough for me.”

                “It’s going to give me a heart attack isn’t it?”

                “Both of us probably. Something to bond over.”

                Bradley snorts.

                “You’re more likely to argue over the best way to organize the cupboards, have a massive row, and then have makeup sex…”

                Jake chokes and then coughs, looks to Bradley and then to Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell. It’s definitely them. Holy shit.

                “Hey Jake, these are my parents, Pete and Tom.”

                “He’s been talking this place up ever since he moved here.”

                “Your parents are Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell?”

                “Hey! He knows who we are!” Pete says, grinning widely and looking pleased while the expression on Tom Kazansky’s face doesn’t change. Jake swallows, suddenly nervous.

                “Uh…”

                Yeah, they’re my parents. Or as good as. Mav, would you stop kicking me under the table, for fucks sake!”

                “Uh…”

                “Eloquent,” Tom Kazansky states, voice dry and Jake knows he has the nickname Iceman for his cold attitude in the kitchen and unflappable nature, but having it aimed at him makes him feel like he’s failed a test of some type.

                “Ignore him, he’s a big softie really. Soft gooey caramel center, isn’t that right darling?”

                Jake blinks, unable to compute that the two chefs he’s grown-up admiring are apparently in a relationship; also somehow the parents of the guy he knocked a glass of wine into the face of.

                Fuck his life.

                “Jake? You okay?”

                “I think I’m just going to go back to the kitchen.”

                “Mav, stay still. You can’t also go into the kitchen. We’re customers for fucks sake.”

                Jake’s going to call in his manager and the head chef.

                He needs the night off.

…             …             …

                He can’t stay away long of course, is back early the next morning to look over everything, needing the reassurance that nothing has burned down or broken beyond repair. Pulls on the spare chef whites he keeps on hand, grabs his knives and starts the prep for the day. He might not have the same skill as his head chef, but he knows he has a skill for matching taste and texture, can develop menus and drinks. He can do the fucking prep work and take his mind off things. Meeting his idols, albeit in the worst possible way, is something he will recover from.

                He hears a consistent tapping sound around an hour into the methodical chopping and dicing, and he frowns, putting down his knife and listening closer. It’s still early, another half hour at least before the sous chef arrives to officially start the prep that Jake is already over half-way through. He follows the tapping sound and ends up at the glass doors to find Bradley standing there. He unlocks the door and pulls it open.

                “We’re closed.”

                “Yeah, I’m aware. I just saw the light on and wondered if you were here. I just wanted to come and apologize. Are you… the chef here? I thought you were the barman?”

                Jake blinks at him. Huh. He remembers when he first opened he’d introduced himself to all his customers as the owner for the first couple of months, but stopped after a while, assuming that they all simply knew.

                “I’m neither. I’m the owner.”

                “Oh… that’s why you’re always here.”

                “Yeah. I’m kind of invested. Literally invested.”

                “Can I take you out?”

                Jake blinks at the sudden change of direction in the conversation.

                “What?”

                “I’d like to take you out. On a date.”

                “I thought you hated me?”

                “Uh. No. Why do you think that?”

                “I didn’t exactly make a good impression?”

                “Oh. You mean the wine… That was months ago. Or last night – oh! That’s what I wanted to apologize for. Sorry. Nat made me realize that maybe I shouldn’t have just turned up with them. That you might have appreciated a heads up.”

                “I don’t think I would have believed you if you’d tried to tell me.”

                “Really?”

                “Would have thought you were pulling my leg. Until they were in front of me.”

                “You haven’t answered my question.”

                “What?”

                “I asked you out.”

                “I… sorry. My brain is just… come in here,” Jake says, opening the door wider so Bradley can enter rather than stand awkwardly outside. He moves back to the kitchen on autopilot, Bradley following him and he turns in the doorway to the kitchen. “So, you want to date me?”

                “Yeah. Have done for a while but felt awkward asking you out at a place where you worked all the time.”

                “I don’t live here.”

                “Glad to hear it. You still haven’t answered my question.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yes.”

                “Okay. We can go on a date.”

                “You don’t have to say yes, I just didn’t want to make you feel like you had to say yes.”

                “I thought you didn’t like me.”

                “You said that already. I like you fine.”

                “I am fine.”

                Bradley smirks at him, gives him a once over with his eyes which might as well be physical touch for the way it makes his skin prickle and flush.

                “Yeah you are…”

                “Ooookay…” Jake says, breath escaping him in a shaky exhale. “Sorry, just letting my brain finish dealing with this one-eighty.”

                “I’ll wait.”

                “No, no. You don’t need to wait. I’m good now.”

                “Glad to hear it. Now… what can I interest you in? I don’t feel like I can ask you for a drink or out for dinner considering where you work. Well, your business.”

                “Can you cook?”

                “Of course. I just generally don’t.”

                “How about we start there?”

[despiterage]

Clayton hooks a thumb under the sleeve of their ratty band shirt and pulls it away from their bicep to wipe sauce from the corner of their mouth. It smells distinctly like old, overly used, half-burnt fryer oil, and his distaste makes itself clear in the grimace that follows. He'd take the smell of cigarettes over the result of the diner's cost-cutting measures any day.

They're biased, though. Smoke breaks are sometimes the only things that get Clay through the day without throwing sealed liter-sized soda bottles into the pressure fryers just to see if that would turn out as badly as he thinks it might; just for a goddamned change of pace, you know?

Maybe that's why Leslie, the waitress more often on shift with him than not, keeps an extra pack of Camels in her purse when he's only ever seen her smoke Pall Malls.

Anyway.

They watch as their rightfully distrustful bus stop companion goes through the motions to take up his phone, light up the screen, and load up a familiar schedule.

"You got an extra one of those?" Clay asks, as though he's not about to be caught in such a pointless lie. It's very possible he does not know what day it is. It's also possible that he's just full of shit. "Haven't tried them yet. Heard they're decent for a light."

Can emptied, they set it and the spoon down on the ground next to the leg of the bench and their plastic grocery sack, taking a surprising amount of care to assure that it won't get knocked over when they eventually get to their feet. Even if they have to bend at an awkward angle, earning themself a weird shoulder cramp in the process.

"Shit. Ow." He rolls the shoulder out when he sits back up, frowning. "Could really use that smoke, my guy."

ram's brow furrows at the stranger's words. ( what an apt word, stranger. a strange person, a strange scenario. ) he keeps his distance from the other, letting them take up all the space they want on that bench.

he pulls black gold marlboros out of his pocket and plucks one to kill time while he waits, igniting the end with his creature of the black lagoon lighter. "sounds like bullshit." he remarks in the cloud of smoke after his first drag, keeping the cigarette between his fingers as he uses his free hand to trade the bic for his phone and check the bus schedule himself.