#scenes are based off of chapter 12~ ^^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dameronspector · 1 month ago

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Philophobia (Part 12)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Platonic!Reader

Chapter Summary: You have a nasty nightmare and your knight in shining armour saves you. Joaquin is perfect for you. You’re two fools in love. You are so proud of Joaquin and you’re perfect for each other. You allow yourself to he vulnerable and loved on.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, FLUFF. SO MUCH FLUFF, Confessions, Revisiting Past, Mentions of Depression and Phobias, Panic Attacks, Sleep Paralysis, Nightmare, Reader has PTSD, Reader is guilt ridden (they’re basically a younger version of Tony ☹️), Injuries, A lil miscommunication between the love birds, Joaquin loves Reader so much, Kissing, Joaquin is whipped, Nicknames, that’s all I think!

AN: my favourite chapter I’ve ever written for this series im serious.

You opened your eyes to a dark, dreary place.

It looked like a mine shaft, or something. You weren’t sure. All you knew, was that you could smell the perspiration and damp air, a faint sound of water dripping in the distance, a bitter cold permeating your bones, the sound of wind howling and that there were loud clangs.

As if metal was colliding with metal. A mix of groans and shouts accompanied those sounds, 3 adult voices overlapping in anger and frustration.

Groaning, you sat up and looked around the place, trying to decipher where you were. You didn’t have your suit or any weapon either, so your best bet was to be as discreet as possible.

The place was filled with tanks, pipes, huge machines, which all looked abandoned and out of use.

There was still that persistent chaos in the distant, loud noises echoing through the empty place, and you decided to check it out yourself.

You followed the sounds to a room that was so cold, you had to put your hands underneath your armpits to warm yourself.

There was something odd familiar about the scene. Like you’d seen this before. Like it has happened before.

As you rounded the corner, your eyes fell on the three figures aggressively fighting each other, with the snowy mountains in the backdrop that were visible through large hole in the wall, snowflakes drifting in due to the gaping.

The glint of a red and golden armour. The clang of a metallic shield that was painted in the classic red, white and royal blue colours. A flash of a shiny metallic arm, painted with a red star on the bicep.

You let out a loud gasp.

It was your dad, Steve and Bucky fighting.

The footage from the Siberian Hydra Base, that you saw 6 years ago. The one where they almost killed each other.

“No…no! Stop!”, you called out, trying to run towards them but your legs felt like cement, firmly rooted to your place.

And at the same moment, Steve striked Tony, slamming the shield against his arc reactor and you let out a cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you helplessly called out for him to stop.

“No! Stop it, please. All of you, stop it!”, you raised your hands to cover your ears to close off the sounds.

They didn’t hear you.

“(Name)”

Steve kept hitting Tony.

“Steve, Stop!”

“(Name)!”

Tony blasted Bucky’s arm off.

“No! Dad—I’m sorry, Buck, I’m-”

“(NAME)!”

You snapped your eyes open, breath coming out in harsh gasps.

Gone was the hydra base. Gone were the three men fighting to death in front of you. Gone was the biting cold.

Instead, warmth. Soft bed sheets. A toasty, cosy room and the comforting scent of citrus hit your nose.

Joaquin’s beautiful and worried face hovered above you, his gentle hands were resting on your shoulders and his eyes fluttered across your face in concern, pink lips tugged into a frown.

You blinked your eyes quickly to get rid of the daze and tears, looking up at Joaquin and around the room in confusion.

Was that a nightmare or sleep paralysis?

Joaquin’s warm hand came up to rest on your heated cheek, thumb brushing away stray tears.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got you, sweetheart”, he murmured softly, eyes tracking your every move.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, slowly grounding yourself by grasping his wrist tightly.

“I-I need to-”, you rasped, moving to sit up as Joaquin’s hand slid from your cheek to support your back instead, helping you settle against the head board.

You inhaled deeply and buried your head in your hands, digging the heels of them in your eyes to get rid of the nightmare that still clinged to you. The sounds of their screams, their metals, the howling of the wind, rung in your ears like a bell.

Cringing at how you’d embarrassed yourself in front of him again, you began apologising to Joaquin.

“Sorry. For this crap again, I’m-”

“What? No. Why are you apologising?”, he cut you off, hands resting on your knee in support, his voice pitched high in an incredulous tone. Like you’d personally offended him.

“I keep piling this on you…the constant panic attacks and shit. You don’t—you don’t have to look after me, Joaquin. I’m sorry, I keep putting you in such situations where you have to basically babysit me like- like I’m a fucking child”, you groaned, your voice muffled in your palms.

Joaquin frowned. How can you talk about yourself like this? Like you’re some burden?

“Can you please look at me?”, he quietly asked, wrapping a careful hand around your wrist.

“No.”

He sighed and shuffled closer to you, pressing his knees to yours and he crowded your space and gently tugged at your hands.

“Angel, come on”, he pleaded.

You paused. There was that nickname, again. And that got your attention enough to look up at him. He grinned softly.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”, you grumbled.

He blushed. His whole face turned a bright shade of red.

You smiled crookedly.

You were so close, that if any one of you moved even an inch, your lips would meet.

“Uh-don’t change the topic. Listen to me first”, he chided, albeit nervously, coughing at the end of his sentence before holding your hands in his, placing them on his thigh.

“I’m- I don’t ‘babysit’ you. I stay with you, willingly, because I care for you. Because I want to look after you. Because I-”, he licked his lips in nervousness, eyes focusing on your joined hands, thumbs caressing the back of yours.

“Because I hate seeing you in pain. If I could, I would take away all your pain, and shoulder it all on me.”

You stared at him, perplexed.

How can he just randomly say such deep and heart warming things out of nowhere? He surprised you everyday with his sensitivity and empathy.

He looked up and saw that your eyes were tearing up, again.

“Wait-wait wait, did I say something wrong? I’m sorry”, he sputtered, leaving a hand to wipe your tears away.

You let out a wet giggle and sniffled, Joaquin pausing in his movements and staring at you with wide eyes, drinking in how beautiful you looked, even with tears wetting your face and the low light of the room making it glow. That’s exactly why he called you ‘angel.’

If Sam or Bucky were here, they would’ve teased him for having actual heart eyes.

“No, you dumbass. You’re just-”, you sighed, looking at him with a smile stretching on your lips.

“You’re really cute, Torres.”

Joaquin’s mouth parted before he giggled, ducking his head shyly.

“Thank you. For everything”, you breathed out, hesitant hands squeezing his sure ones.

He looked up, a sweet smile lightening up his face, the moles around his mouth and cheeks raising up like checkpoints for you to trace.

“There’s a little somethin’…”, he suddenly pointed at his cheeks, signalling you about the same.

You frowned, “What? Where?”, raising a hand to wipe whatever was on your face, turning your head to the side.

Joaquin smirked at having successfully distracted you, before taking the opportunity to dive in and press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

You squealed as his lips puckered against your skin and departed with a loud smack.

“What was that for?!”, you whispered in surprise.

Joaquin simply shrugged and tugged you closer, your head tucked in the space between his neck and shoulder, a huge sigh leaving your mouth.

His arms embraced you oh so sweetly, the warmth of them almost lulling you back to sleep. He laid his cheek by your hairline, slowly rocking you back and forth.

It was quiet for a while, your breath hitting his collarbones in a warm kiss, his steady breathing and arms acting as a balm for the terror you’d experienced when you suddenly remembered about the new accessory he was wearing.

“You wear those glasses for fashion purposes or you actually need them?”, you murmured against his throat.

He froze, breath hitching for a moment.

“They’re prescribed”, he grumbled like a child, his lips brushing against your skin.

You snorted quietly, “What was that about?”

He stayed silent. You furrowed your brows and pulled away from him slightly, lifting your head to look at the pout on his face.

“Alright, who stole your candy?”, you teased, his hands splayed on your back, yours fisting in his shirt.

He whined. He actually whined like a petulant toddler.

“‘Cause they look stupid. I look like I should be in a chemistry lab instead of the Air Force.”

You stared at him for a beat before bursting out in giggles.

“You—stop laughing! That’s not funny, they make me look like a fuckin’ nerd and I can’t not wear them, because I can’t see without them”, he groaned, poking your stomach lightly.

You only giggled louder.

“Oh, come on!”, he grumbled and lightly pushed you away, careful not to be too rough.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”, you held his hands by his firm chest, looking up at his pretty, spectacled face intensely, a sliver of smile still lingering on your lips. He furrowed his brows, a crease appearing in between them.

“You’re an idiot, because they only make you look prettier, Quino.”

It was comical how quickly his expression changed, making him look like a deer in headlights, his brown eyes blown wide like a newborn fawn, the glasses only enhancing their beauty.

It should’ve been a crime how gorgeous Joaquin Torres was, because he was ruining your life.

That familiar pink dust took over Joaquin’s face again, his heart racing against your interlaced hands on his chest as his eyes fluttered across your face.

He was slowly leaning in, your breathing faster as you half shut your eyes in anticipation and the moment was broken by the loud sound of his phone, the two of you jumping apart, your faces heating up.

“I uh—I’ve to take- must be Sam-”, he stuttered, reluctantly releasing your hands.

You pursed your lips and nodded, clearing your throat, “Yeah-yeah, of course.”

Joaquin nodded tersely before walking back to the couch, answering his phone right away.

“Hey, Sam. What’s up…—-Yeah, sure.

You guys alright?

Okay, that’s good.

Will bring some first aid—Yep. See you. Bye.”

You looked at Joaquin expectantly after he ended the call.

“They’re asking us to meet at that GRC camp in 15, with some first aid. They…got into an altercation with Walker. Sam said they’ll share the rest when we get there”, he sighed.

You nodded in understanding.

“I’ll freshen up till then, hope that’s okay?”, you asked while getting off the bed.

“Of course, please. I’ll pack the supplies. Take your time, angel”, he softly replied, the slip up going unnoticed by him.

You blushed and nodded hastily, rushing into the bathroom with a change of clothes.

So, in the 15 minutes spent inside the bathroom, you’d changed in a comfortable pair of trousers and a sleeveless shirt, your dad’s leather jacket layered on top and outside the bathroom, Joaquin had received a call from his team leader that he’d have to go back on a mission with them. And he’d have to go back tonight itself.

Joaquin was a hardworking man. And he was disciplined, even if he didn’t look like it at times. He made sure he fulfilled all of his duties promptly and perfectly. Be it working for Sam or doing his job as a soldier, he wasn’t someone who slacked for no reason.

But, the thought of leaving you behind, especially after the nightmare you’d had today, was making an ache spread across his chest and lungs, capturing over his heart fully.

He’d seen the way your body had seized up before erupting in tremors, and the sobs, oh god, the painful sobs that left your mouth, they were unbearable to witness for him.

All he wanted to do, was keep you close to him. Your funny and witty quips, your attempts at hiding your blush away from him, your sweet smile and contagious laughter, yojr strength and courage—you had him completely. And he wasn’t sure he could handle leaving you behind while you suffered alone.

His throat hurt with a truth that he’s known for a long time.

He loved you. So much.

He wasn’t sure, how to break the news to you, because he would have wear his army uniform and you’d know, right away.

“Joaquin?”

And there you were. Looking as radiant as ever, your sharp eyes observing his tensed body language closely.

He almost smiled in adoration. You were too intelligent and observant to be lied to. And he was too gone for you to be able to lie to you without fumbling.

You quirked an eyebrow.

“Are you okay?”

There it was.

You slowly made your way over to him, standing right in front of him as he kept staring at you the whole time.

“Yeah, why?”, he asked casually.

“Dunno. You’re all tense and stuff. And you’re rubbing your fingers against each other so, you either did something stupid or you wanna say something”, you shrugged.

He chuckled in disbelief at your observation of him, “Are you that obsessed with me?”

You glared at him half heartedly, “Oh, you’re soooo funny. Just say it, flyboy.”

Joaquin’s smile disappeared, a sad little look taking over his face, lips tugged into a frown and eyes flickering across the room, avoiding your gaze at all costs.

“I uh—I’ve to go.”

You blinked, “You have to go? Where?”

He cleared his throat, putting his hands on his hips and staring at his feet, “They’ve called me in for a mission.”

It was your turn to frown, as you still couldn’t catch on, “Who? Sam?”

Joaquin let out a humourless chuckle, before finally meeting your eyes.

“No, angel. My team leader has called me in. I gotta go to DC. Got a meeting there, and then a mission in Dubai.”

You paused, your heart falling into a pit as you took the information in.

“…When are you leaving?”, you asked hesitantly.

He sighed, a hand dragging down his face, “Tonight. Don’t know when I’ll return.”

“Oh”, you whispered, a hand coming up to massage the inside of your wrist where you could feel your heart beat, eyes darting across the room in unease.

“Yeah”, he said quietly, glossy eyes looking at you in adoration and longing, body coiled tightly in tension and anticipation.

You swallowed, tightening your hand around your wrist before exhaling gently.

“Well, good luck, Jay”, you tried to give him a smile. It came off as jagged and fake.

Joaquin frowned, his heart stuttering to a halt in his rib cage. Had he read it wrong? Did you not feel as deeply for him, as he did for you? Did you not feel like your heart was going to explode in pain from the thought of separating with each other, like his own heart did?

No. That can’t be it. You’d never play with someone’s feelings like this.

“You-you’ll be okay?”, his voice fragile with worry, hands twitching to bring you close to him.

You sniffled before looking up at him, expression schooled into a calm and relaxed look, years of PR training making it easier for you to slip back into that persona.

As if this didn’t just break your heart. As if your body wasn’t having a weird reaction to separating from him for god knows how long.

“Always”, and you flashed him that classic ‘I’m-actually-not-okay-but-I-have-to-act-like-it-so-that-I-don’t-freak-out’ smile.

Thanks for the acting skills, dad, you thought.

Joaquin blinked in surprise, pursing his lips as he nodded tersely to dissipate the awkwardness, “Yeah-yeah. Cool. That’s great”, he gave you a tight lipped smile.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence before you decided to speak up.

“We should leave. They’re probably injured, so..”, you trailed off.

“Yes. Uh-let’s leave”, he agreed, hands busying themselves with picking up the first aid and his bags.

You pursed your lips and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, staring at your retrieving figure longingly. The same dejecting thoughts choking him: Had he just messed this up? Did he read it all wrong? He wasn’t that naïve, right?

He desperately hoped he wasn’t because he wouldn’t survive the heartbreak, at all.

As soon as you entered the camp, your eyes fell on Bucky and Sam’s bruised faces. Bucky’s were already healing a bit, all thanks to his serum. Sam’s face was still covered in blue and purple splotches, a slight limp in his walk.

“What the hell happened?”, you announced as you made your way to them, Joaquin lingering by a police officer as he assessed the situation.

Sam and Bucky exchanged looks.

“Well, we beat Walker’s ass and then he proceeded to beat ours, so”, Bucky deadpanned in that bored tone of his.

Sam clicked his tongue in annoyance, “Man, come on.”

You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, “I know that, smartass. Why did you do that, is what I’m asking.”

“We tried talking him down. He’s gone insane. Didn’t listen to a word and just started throwin’ hands”, Sam sighed.

You clenched your jaw, “Someone needs to get that loser arrested.”

Sam scoffed, Bucky shook his head.

“Well, what about Karli?”, you prodded.

“The GRC is conducting raids to try and find Karli, but so far they’ve only found her followers. They’ve searched this camp, and just like the last camp, nothing. She’s gone. We’ll never find her”, Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Joaquin walked over, standing next to you before pointing at Bucky.

“Hey, you got your sleeve back. Are you off to take care of Zemo?”

You snorted. Joaquin felt his heart lurch at that.

Bucky didn’t find that funny, so he just walked away, irritated.

“All right, good to know you survived”, Joaquin quipped, watching Bucky walk away.

Sam sighed.

“Don’t mind him”, you consoled Joaquin and squeezed his arm. Joaquin stared at you in yearning.

“What’s our next steps, Torres?”, Sam asked, dropping a bag by the table.

Joaquin shrugged, “Captain America killing a foreign national in public, it’s kinda like a big deal. Like international incident big. Folks, uh, higher up on the payroll are all over it now. So, unfortunately… they’re taking jurisdiction”, he was relaying all the information like a computer, his eyes trained on the bag that Sam had dropped, circling it slowly.

“Yeah”, Sam rasped, leaning back against the table.

You kept your eyes on Joaquin, taking in his curious movements.

He picked up the bag, “What happened to these?”, muttering in concern before setting the bag on top of the table opposite you, the bag opening to display Sam’s falcon wings.

They’d broken down. Again.

You furrowed your brows in concern, walking over to stand by Joaquin, “Oh, they need a complete do-over”, you mumbled absently.

Sam watched you two fuss over the wings in amusement. Both of you had the same expression on your faces.

“So is there anything we can do?”, he asked Joaquin.

“Not really. As you can see, they’ve cordoned off the whole camp, and Karli’s a ghost. After what went down, she is laying extra low. Like, under-underground”, Joaquin pursed his lips in thought before continuing.

Sam shook his head, “And that’s why it makes sense for us to get involved. The longer we let her regroup, the harder it’s gonna be to find her. She’s got people helping her from all over the world, on all platforms.”

Joaquin pursed his lips, “She’s really, really good at this thing.”

“Yeah”, Sam agreed.

You stood there, zoned out, because you were too busy admiring how good he looked in that uniform. The only man to do so.

The conversation you’d had sometime ago was still fresh, and a strange limbo had set over you two. One where there were awkward silences and a thick tension, but your quips and jokes didn’t end.

Joaquin turned his attention back to the wings, “How’d these break?”

His concern for the wings was absolutely adorable, making a tiny smile break out on your face as Sam caught his fixation with the wings, too, and he merely sighed in exhaustion.

And then, he decided to say something in that low, laid back voice of his, that made you feel like you should’ve kissed him stupid when you had the chance to.

“Anyway, all we can do now is sit tight and just chill. Sometimes, there’s nothing to do until there’s something to do.”

You stared at him wide eyed, your expression softened with fondness for this man.

Sam caught that, a knowing smirk stretching across his lips.

“That’s bizarrely wise”, he teased Joaquin, who let out a bashful laugh, his bright teeth fully on display, brown eyes shining like warm pools of honey and cheeks sweetly swollen.

“Well, I’m a bizarrely wise man, Sam.”

You were gone for.

Your heart did a back flip, stomach erupted in butterflies, your chest overflowing with a sudden wave of admiration, happiness and—

Love.

The thought was so overwhelming, that you weren’t sure if you wanted to cry, scream or laugh. Maybe all three.

Was it the impending separation? Or was this just an amalgamation of all the suppressed emotions and feelings you’d been harbouring against him ever since you met him?

“Yeah, all right”, Sam joined in the chuckles before patting Joaquin on the back.

“Thanks, Torres.”

Joaquin grinned, “For sure.”

“(Name)?”

You jumped as Sam’s voice snapped you out of your daydreaming, Joaquin looking over to you in worry.

“Yeah?”, you cleared your throat.

Sam gave you a look.

“Say your goodbyes and come find me”, he suggested, a hand resting over your shoulder, eyes shining with something mischievous, as if he knew what was happening.

You nodded fervently, “Yep. I will.”

Sam gave you a smile and walked away, before Joaquin called him back, “Wait, yo, you forgot the wings.”

Sam paused, looking at you and Joaquin before grinning like a cheshire cat.

Your heart raced against your chest.

“Keep ’em”, Sam announced before walking away, leaving behind an awe-struck Joaquin and an ecstatic you.

Because what do you mean, two of the most important men in your life were finally ready to own who they’re meant to be?

You couldn’t stop the huge smile from splitting your face, turning around to watch as Joaquin ran his hands across the wings, the motion so delicate, so full of admiration and respect, that it made your eyes brim with tears.

The conversation you’d had with him in Berlin and back at Sam’s apartment, still ringing in your ears. How fondly he’d spoke of wanting to be like Sam, how he wanted to fly and be as free as Sam was. How he wants to help the underdogs.

Your lungs expanded with pride and love, so much love, for this ambitious, determined, kind and beautiful man.

You nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention to you.

“You’ve got tough competition in the skies, bird boy. You better pull up your socks”, you joked, your voice a little shaky.

His glassy eyes narrowed, before he laughed in realisation, nudging you back gently.

“I’ve got a good instructor”, he teased back, the air around you sticky with lightness and warmth, while you bit the inside of your cheek to keep the huge smile from breaking out.

The warmth didn’t last long, as it was soon the time for goodbye.

Maybe you were being dramatic. But you’d wanted him to be with you, instead of going off in some other country where you had no ways to check on him, unless he got the clearance to.

The dull ache in your chest returned, blooming across your entire body as you got closer and closer to the door of the camp, where he’d be picked up by a military issued escort.

He wasn’t doing any better, his hands were constantly fidgeting with the straps of his bags, eyes darting around the place like a ping pong ball bouncing off a table, his shoulders brushing with yours every now and then.

The tension was thick. One of you had to say something before any of you did something stupid.

“So, that’s me”, he murmured as the two of you neared the main entrance.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, “Yeah. I-Take care, Joaquin.”

Joaquin stared at you, “Yeah, I will.”

You turned your head to the side to avoid looking at him.

He cleared his throat, “No hugs for me?”, he joked, voice lilting with hope.

You hesitated.

He took it in the wrong way. Shaking his head in dejection, he began walking towards the car when you suddenly grabbed his wrist, the one holding the wings.

He whipped his head around to look at you.

“Wait. I’m—It’s not-”, your voice wavered. You took a minute to breathe before continuing, hand still holding his wrist, thumb pressed again his racing heart beat.

His mouth fell open. You pursed your lips, closing your eyes in an attempt to gather your thoughts.

“Okay. I’m not-I’m not good at this. Expressing my feelings, I mean. But I’m gonna try. For you. Because if I don’t say it now, I won’t ever. Can I?”, you let out in a breath, eyes wide with request.

Joaquin was stunned, but he managed to give you a nod, eyebrows creased in anticipation and confusion, both.

You released his hand, putting them in the pockets of your jacket instead for comfort.

“Well. You—everything that you’ve done for me so far, it’s meant a lot to me, Joaquin. I-I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness, when I’ve been nothing but off putting since we met but, I appreciate it a lot.”

Joaquin tensed. This was the moment where you tell him that you only see him as a friend. As a shoulder to cry on. And that he’d been way too clingy.

You continued, eyes trained at your shoes, “And um-you’ve become very special to me”, your voice cracked at ‘special’.

Joaquin’s heart thundered.

“I just want you to know that I-uh…I like you. A lot. More than I should or deserve.”

Joaquin was dead, he was sure. He was imagining it, right?. There’s no way you returned his feelings, right? He couldn’t even move if he wanted to.

“I understand if-if you don’t wanna pursue this further but-I just-”

“Stop”, he blurted out abruptly.

You jumped, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, sorry-I just-stop. Please. Give me a second-” he sputtered, dropping the bags on the floor with a dull thud, hands coming up to rest on your face.

You stared at him in shock, glossy eyes wide and mouth agape, hands resting on his elbows to steady yourself.

“Okay, first of all. Don’t talk about yourself like that, angel, please”, he murmured, face set into a deep frown as if the mere thought of someone bad mouthing you hurt him.

Your lips twitched.

“And, ‘if I don’t wanna pursue this’? I’ve been waiting for you to say this, are you serious? Like, I’d made my peace with the fact that you might not like me back, and I was ready to wait for you, even then. (Name)-”, he broke out in a fit of disbelieving giggles, his eyes shining with earnestness and adoration, hands bringing your face closer to his.

“What?”, you blurted out, heart stopping momentarily, hands coming up to grasp his wrists.

“You’re a beautiful, beautiful fool. But you’re my beautiful fool”, he breathed out, his brown eyes never leaving your face for even a second, thumbs smoothing out the skin beneath your eyes, while your bottom lip wobbled a bit.

Then he continued with a shaky voice.

“I like you, too. So much”, you felt your eyes brim with tears.

“It’s kinda funny, because Sam and Bucky have been on my ass to ask you out since forever. In fact, Sam was personally steering the ship to get us to start dating”, he chuckled towards the end of it.

You scrunched your nose and grumbled, “Oh, I know, those two have been very nosy lately.”

Joaquin smiled, eyes twinkling with joy.

You looked at him shyly, brushing away a stray curl from his forehead before brushing your hand through the buzzed side of his hair, tangling it into the curls after.

He leaned into it like a cat asking for more pets.

“I just—”

You couldn’t finish your sentence further, because Joaquin put a hand on the nape of your neck and pushed you closer, smashing his lips onto yours and drawing out a squeal from you.

His other hand wrapped around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to his chest, the hand on your neck warm and steady, him dipping you a little to kiss you deeper, nose smushed against yours.

Your hand fully disappeared into the curls at the back of his head, nails scratching at his scalp, which drew a content hum from him, your other hand fisting his shirt at the chest.

He was, basically, devouring you, but in a gentle and loving way that only Joaquin was capable of. His soft, plush lips massaging yours with equal parts tenderness and fervour. At one point he swiped his tongue on your bottom lip, swallowing the quiet moan that escaped your mouth before you two had to separate for air.

Both of you were breathless, foreheads leaning against each other, your eyes still closed as if you were trying to commit this moment to memory.

Joaquin nudged your nose with his, a hand curling behind your ear to keep you there.

Your chin quivered as the situation loomed over you again, bringing a shaky hand up to cup his jaw tenderly, pulling away slightly to see his face better, he had a dopey expression on his face, drunk on your lips and devotion for you, his cheeks were splotched in that familiar pink colour again.

“You can’t say all that, and kiss me like that, just to run away in the next few minutes”, you teased in a wobbly voice.

His face fell, eyebrows creasing tightly as if your words had physically harmed him. Eyes wide and heart beating faster than ever, he started rambling away, hands cradling your face back in his palms.

“Wait, no no no. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t request to be on this mission or anything, I swear, all I wanna do is be next to you but, you know how it is, I can’t say no because—”

You cut him off with a firm kiss to his lips, shutting him up effectively, as he returned it gently.

“I know, Quino. I get it. I just…I’m just gonna miss you, is all”, you circled your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in the curls at his nape, keeping your gaze trained at his collarbones to avoid eye contact.

A gentle hand raised your head back up, brown pools of honey looking into your glassy ones with full attention.

“I know. Me too, angel. I’ll miss you so much, I’m gonna lose my mind. But I’ll be back before you know it, I swear. I’ll try to contact you as much as I can, hm? Is that okay with you?”, his low, slightly scratchy voice mumbled, thumb running back and forth on your jawline.

Swallowing your tears and sudden neediness, you nodded, pushing forward to press a lingering kiss to his heated cheek, and he leaned into it, keeping you there with his strong arms going around your waist.

He was dangerous, because he was turning you into a pile of mush, a part of yours that had been dormant for a while now. But he made you feel safe, your body automatically craving for his warmth and soft embrace, as if it was a balm for all of your troubles and pains.

And you weren’t going to fight it.

The last time you had missed out on saying things, it’s cost you three of your family members and a person you loved dearly. You’re not missing out on the chance to freely love this amazing man in front of you.

“Come back to me soon, bird boy. I’ll be waiting”, you whispered against his ear, pulling him in for a tight hug, your face buried in his neck.

He splayed his hands on your back, a content sigh leaving his mouth as he pressed his face into your shoulder, lips slightly puckered to press a kiss to it.

He’d almost said it today. Almost. But your comfort was more important to him, so he’ll shut up and wait until you’re ready to say it. He’s more than happy to wither away and wait for you, than scare you away and feel like dying.

The car’s horn made you jump apart from each other, Joaquin holding your hands tightly in his before lifting his bags up. You watched him with a fond smile.

“What?”, he asked as he adjusted his bag, grinning at you in a goofy way.

You smiled and shook your head, “Nothing. I’m really happy for you. Nobody deserves them more than you”, you referred to the wings.

He froze, a slight wet sheen coating his eyes before he whined, “You’re not making this easier, angel.”

You chuckled and ruffled his hair, “Sorry, sorry.”

He moved in close to press three feverish kisses to your lips and one on your cheek, before running away towards the car.

Not even 10 seconds later, you received a text from him:

Flyboy: wait, we’re dating now, right? Like, relationship dating and not casual-limbo dating?

You snorted. He was ridiculously cute.

You: idek where do u pick up those terms from, but yes ofcourse ☺️

Flyboy: ok that’s good thank god 🙏

Flyboy: i made that up

Flyboy: miss u already 😘

Blushing furiously, you sent back a heart and practically skipped over to Sam, feeling lighter than you ever did in the last few years.

BONUS

Joaquin let out a giddy laugh at your texts, replaying the kiss and your tender touch, your praise and adoration for him, the way you looked so vulnerable in front of him, and he thought: he was honoured to be able to see you like this.

Happy, bright, smiling and not afraid to express yourself.

Like you’d finally let yourself be cared for and loved on. Like you’d ser yourself free.

And oh, he’ll do anything to protect you against anything wrong.

His cheeks hurt with how much he’d been smiling, how you’d look like you were more happy than him about the wings and how you’d initiated the hug. He felt like he was lit up from inside.

And you’d find out later, that your contact name in Joaquin’s phone was saved as ‘Girasol 🌻’ because you were his light.

Part 13

AN: THEY R MY BABIES.

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

Text

THE 25TH HOUR | O9

“trust fall”

“We’re designed to fit,” he says, and you don’t know if he means your powers, your patterns, or the way your hand doesn’t shake in his.

next | index | wc: 6,7k

↪︎author's note : KAY. LISTEN. I know I say this every chapter but THIS ONE. this one fried several neurons and may have permanently altered the molecular structure of my spine. I started with “hm what if they walked through a reality anchor” and ended with “what if they synchronized their temporal signatures mid-freefall and touched tendrils in public like absolute whores.” I don’t know what to tell you. I blacked out. This is between me and my caffeine addiction now. Let’s talk about the jump scene. Yes. You clocked it. That moment where Noma is calculating the distance and Yoongi says “don’t think, just need” and then she LAUNCHES HERSELF INTO THE VOID? Yeah. That may or may not have been deeply inspired by Neo’s rooftop jump in The Matrix (1999, my beloved). I am a massive Matrix nerd. That whole visual of someone standing on the edge of a building, trying to defy the physics they were born into, and being told “your mind is the thing in your way”? It’s been living rent-free in my frontal lobe since I was 13 and thought trench coats were peak fashion. Because this chapter is, like, extremely about trust. And control. And the horror of not understanding what’s happening inside your own body. It’s about Noma confronting the fact that her mind—her beautiful, precise, analytical mind—is what’s limiting her. And Yoongi, who already knows, who’s BEEN like this longer, who knows what it’s like to break through that threshold and feel the laws of reality tilt around your perception, he’s just THERE. Guiding her. Softly threatening to reset time like a feral little guardian angel. Also… let’s not ignore the fact that she destroys a drone with her brain and he’s like “cool. moving on.” Sir?? She just folded metal into origami. But okay go off I guess. AND THEN THEY SYNCH TEMPORAL SIGNATURES. don’t even look at me. I wrote that and sat there like “huh. interesting. so that’s what soulmates sound like in science fiction.” I had to go walk around the block. I made them fit on a molecular level. I made their body chemistry harmonize. Why? Because I am unwell and this is my therapy. Anyway. Thanks for reading I love you all. Scientifically.

Reality Anchors are alive.

No one ever told you that part. No briefing, no memo, no research paper had ever mentioned that these imposing structures breathe.

The anchor in front of you rises 37.2 meters from ground to apex, its surface composed of quantum-stabilized alloy that shouldn't—couldn't—pulse like that.

Yet it does. Every 7 seconds, a wave of molecular adjustment ripples from base to tip, disturbing air molecules in concentric patterns that register against your skin at precisely 0.3 pascals of pressure.

Fascinating.

Your retinas register the faint blue luminescence emanating from seams in the structure-temporal energy bleeding through containment fields.

It feels like reality itself is being compressed into a more efficient configuration.

"Mesmerizing," you murmur, cataloging the observable data. "The quantum-stabilized glass panels are oriented at exactly 73 degrees to maximize temporal field distribution. And the energy consumption must be—”

"No."

You blink, neural processes stuttering at the interruption.

Agent Min has stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his stance registering as 37% more rigid than his baseline.

"I didn't say anything," you point out, tilting your head 12 degrees in genuine confusion.

"Didn't have to." His eyes narrow by approximately 0.3 centimeters.

"Then what are you saying no to?"

"You know what."

"I genuinely don't." Your brow furrows, creating a 0.4-centimeter depression between your eyebrows. "It seems statistically improbable that you could accurately predict my thought patterns without established baseline data."

His mouth twitches—suppressed micro-expression, 0.7 seconds in duration.

"Were you or were you not thinking of using a little detour to satiate that insane curiosity of yours?"

Your silence registers at approximately 3.2 seconds.

Longer than optimal for casual conversation.

"Exactly. No."

"I find your anticipation of my mental processes presumptuous," you counter, eyes returning to the reality anchor when the uppermost floors shimmer slightly—a temporal distortion effect that standard human vision would filter out. “And I do not appreciate it.”

"Get used to it," he says, resuming walking at a pace 7% faster than before. "You will."

You match his stride automatically.

"The probability of you developing accurate predictive models of my cognitive patterns seems—”

"Already developed," he interrupts, checking his modified Chrono-Sync Watch with a quick glance. "Seventh time you've tried to investigate a reality anchor. Always the same pattern."

This statement contains multiple logical inconsistencies. You've never attempted to investigate a reality anchor before. Your security clearance wouldn't permit it.

Yet your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How would you know that?"

He doesn't answer, instead gesturing toward the adjacent tower—a colossal structure of similar materials that rises at least 100 floors into the artificially blue sky.

"Travel spot is somewhere in the upper levels," he says, eyes scanning the building's facade. "We need to access it through the anchor first."

You process this information, calculating optimal routes.

"Why can't you pinpoint the exact location?" you ask, question emerging from your analytical centers. "Your previous statements implied familiarity with the network."

His jaw tightens by approximately 4.3 newtons.

"Travel spots shift position by 0.7 meters every 73 minutes," he explains, voice roughened. "Quantum uncertainty principle applied to spatial coordinates. Prevents CHRONOS from establishing fixed monitoring."

"That seems inefficient for a resistance network," you observe.

"That's the point." He checks his watch again—third time in 7.3 minutes. "Inefficiency creates unpredictability. CHRONOS systems are designed for pattern recognition."

You approach the base of the reality anchor, where a standard-looking entrance is monitored by temporal signature scanners disguised as decorative elements.

"How do we bypass security?" you ask, noting at least three visible monitoring devices and calculating a 94.7% probability of additional concealed systems.

"We don't," he says, reaching into his jacket and extracting what appears to be a standard CHRONOS identification card. "We walk in like we belong."

The card in his hand triggers your pattern recognition— holographic security features match authorized maintenance personnel credentials.

"Falsified identification carries a minimum penalty of 73 days in temporal isolation," you note automatically.

He almost smiles—left corner of his mouth lifting 0.2 centimeters.

"Only if you get caught."

He approaches the entrance with casual gait, and you follow—still processing the anchor's structure.

The quantum equations rippling across its surface follow a pattern that suggests...

"I told you to stop analyzing," he murmurs, voice barely audible at 17 decibels. "Your temporal signature fluctuates when you're thinking too hard. Makes you detectable."

You attempt to modulate your thought patterns, an unusual exercise that creates a 0.3-second lag in your cognitive processing.

He swipes the identification card through the scanner, which responds with a soft tone at exactly 432 Hz—the standard confirmation frequency.

The interior of the reality anchor is even more fascinating than its exterior.

The lobby appears standard-neo-minimalist design, temporal-stabilized plants arranged at mathematically significant intervals—but your enhanced perception detects the subtle wrongness of the space.

The air pressure is precisely 0.7 kPa higher than standard atmospheric conditions.

The lighting pulses at a frequency of 7 Hz, which is imperceptible to normal human vision but clearly designed to reinforce temporal compliance in visitors.

"Maintenance elevator is on the left," Agent Min says, guiding you with a subtle gesture. "Don't look at the central column."

Naturally, your eyes immediately flick toward the center of the lobby.

The sight momentarily overloads your visual processing.

A column of pure temporal energy rises from floor to ceiling, contained within quantum-stabilized glass. The energy moves in patterns that defy standard physical laws—simultaneously flowing upward and downward, existing in multiple states… at once?

"I said don't look," he hisses, fingers closing around your wrist to redirect; not enough to cause discomfort.

"What is that?" you ask, unable to fully suppress your curiosity despite his warning.

"The anchor point," he says, voice tightening as he guides you toward the maintenance elevator. "Direct connection to the Master Clock. Looking at it too long causes temporal vertigo in most humans."

You save this information, filing it under high-priority data.

"And in non-humans?"

His steps falter—0.3-second hesitation.

"In Outliers," he corrects quietly, "it can trigger awakening."

The maintenance elevator requires another scan of his falsified credentials.

As the doors close, enclosing you in a space of approximately 2.3 cubic meters, you notice the absence of standard temporal monitoring devices.

"Why aren't there cameras?" you ask, scanning the ceiling corners where monitoring equipment would typically be installed.

"Reality anchors generate too much temporal interference for standard surveillance," he explains, pressing the button for floor 30. "Creates blind spots in their system."

"That seems like a significant security vulnerability," you observe.

His mouth quirks again.

You don’t know why you’re starting to find the gesture attractive.

"Why do you think we're using it?"

The elevator ascends at precisely 3.7 meters per second, which you note is faster than standard civilian elevators but slower than executive transport. Your inner ear registers the acceleration, adjusting automatically.

"The travel spot," you begin, mind working through the problem. "You said it's in the upper levels of the adjacent tower. Why can't we access it directly?"

He leans against the elevator wall, posture relaxing by approximately 7%.

"Security protocols," he says. "The tower has standard monitoring. The anchor doesn't. We cross through the anchor's 30th floor-maintenance level, and then we use the connecting bridge to access the tower."

"And after that?"

"After that, we find the travel spot." He checks his watch again—fourth time in 12.7 minutes. "It should be somewhere between floors 90 and 97."

You calculate the search parameters.

"That's approximately 7,432 square meters of potential location space," you note. "Seems inefficient."

"I'll narrow it down once we're closer," he says. "My temporal sense can detect the quantum fluctuations at closer proximity."

The elevator slows as it approaches floor 30, and Agent Min straightens, resuming his alert posture.

"When we exit, walk like you're supposed to be here," he instructs. "Maintenance personnel check this level every 73 minutes. Current interval gives us approximately 47 minutes before the next sweep."

"Understood," you confirm, automatically adjusting your posture to match standard CHRONOS maintenance staff parameters—shoulders back, gaze forward, movements economic and purposeful.

The elevator doors open to reveal a stark corridor illuminated by temporal-stabilized lighting.

Walls are lined with quantum-reinforced panels marked with mathematical equations that your pattern recognition identifies as temporal field calculations.

Agent Min steps out first, fluid and confident.

You follow, checking every detail of this restricted environment that few civilians ever see.

"Don't touch anything," he warns, leading you down the corridor. "Some of these panels are directly connected to the temporal field generators."

You resist the urge to examine the equations more closely, focusing instead on maintaining the appropriate walking pace and posture.

"The connecting bridge is 23 meters ahead," he says, voice low. "Once we cross, we'll need to take the service stairs. The tower's elevators are monitored."

"Stairs?" you query, calculating the energy expenditure required to ascend approximately 60 floors. "That seems—"

"Necessary," he interrupts. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to CHRONOS why we're accessing restricted floors."

You concede the point with a slight nod.

15 degrees downward, 15 degrees upward.

As you walk, your mind continues processing the reality anchor's structure, the equations on the walls, the subtle vibration beneath your feet that suggests massive energy manipulation occurring somewhere below.

"You're thinking too loud again," Agent Min murmurs, not turning to look at you.

"That's not physically possible," you counter automatically.

"Your temporal signature disagrees," he says, tapping his temple with his index finger. "I can feel it fluctuating."

This statement contains another logical inconsistency.

Standard humans cannot detect temporal signatures without specialized equipment.

Yet once again, your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How—" you begin.

"Bridge is just ahead. Stay close."

But the bridge…

It’s not offline. It’s gone.

You stare at the empty space where reinforced glass and temporal alloys should’ve formed a secure pathway.

Only support beams remain, jagged edges still glowing from whatever energy weapon severed them.

Agent Min’s eyebrows do something statistically improbable—contracting inward by 0.9 centimeters while the skin between them folds into three distinct creases.

You’ve never seen his face execute this particular combination of micro-expressions before.

“They altered this sector’s infrastructure,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

His left hand twitches toward his Chrono-Sync Watch, aborting the movement halfway.

You pivot toward the window, retinal sensors catching a faint outline-maintenance door, 3.2 meters left of the destroyed bridge.

Beyond it: a sheer drop, then the adjacent tower’s western face.

Your mind calculates the distance before your ethics committee can veto the idea.

“We could jump.”

He doesn’t immediately dismiss it.

That’s how you know things are bad.

“Distance?” he asks, joining you at the window.

“14.7 meters horizontally, 3.3 meters vertical elevation differential.” You tap the glass, triggering a subconscious visualization overlay. “Structural analysis indicates the target building’s exterior has adequate grip points for—”

“For me,” he interrupts. His breath fogs the glass near your fingertip. “Not for you.”

You tilt your head, analyzing his profile. “You’re suggesting I remain here while you—”

“I’m suggesting you stop suggesting suicide vectors.” His jaw works, a muscle ticking at 2.7-second intervals. “There’s another route. Has to be.”

You let him pace—eight steps toward the elevator, twelve back—before interrupting.

“Average human long jump record is 8.95 meters. My enhanced musculature could theoretically—”

“Theoretically splatter across sixty floors of neo-Brutalist architecture.”

You frown. “We’re only thirty floors up.”

“From the anchor,” he says. “The tower’s foundation sits two levels below base-grade. It drops into a full infrastructure pit—ventilation shafts, temporal gridwork, CHRONOS substation access. You fall here, you don’t just hit pavement. You keep falling.”

He gestures down through the glass.

“Sixty floors straight into the sector’s hollowed-out gut. Like getting thrown down a well lined with concrete and death.”

How does he even know all that?

But before you can let curiosity get the best of you again, he stops mid-stride, pinning you with that look again. The one that makes your internal processors skip.

“But—”

“No.”

You frown, press your palm against the window, feeling the tower’s vibration through the glass.

“Then you go first. Anchor a line. I’ll follow.”

He’s already shaking his head. “Temporal energy doesn’t work like that. Can’t manifest solid constructs without—”

“Without triggering every sensor in the sector. Yes.” You turn from the window, meeting his glare. “So, again, that leaves one option.”

For three seconds, the only sound is the reality anchor’s low-frequency hum.

Then he swears—a creative combination of English and technical jargon your language centers can’t fully parse.

The maintenance door handle feels colder than ambient temperature suggests. You’re calculating wind shear variables when his gloved hand covers yours, halting the motion.

“If we do this,” he says, voice stripped to its raw edges, “you follow my instructions exactly. No deviations. No calculations mid-air. Understood?”

You nod, the movement precise.

15 degrees down, 15 up.

He releases your hand to grip both shoulders instead, leaning in until his mint-and-ozone scent overrides the tower’s sterile air.

“When you jump, you don’t think about falling. You don’t think about distance. You think about needing to be on that ledge. Your entire existence becomes that single purpose.”

You open your mouth to request clarification on biomechanical feasibility—

“No.” His fingers tighten. “No questions. Your body knows how. You just have to stop overloading it with doubt.”

The paradox registers immediately.

“But without understanding the mechanism—”

“Understanding comes later.” His thumb presses into your collarbone, exactly where that freckle hides beneath synthetic fabric. “Surviving comes now.”

You glance past him to the abyss.

He opens the door.

The wind’s howling at 37 knots now, whipping hair into your eyes.

“Probability of success?”

He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Sixty-eight percent. If you focus.”

“And if I don’t?”

For the first time, his face contracts—a fractional widening of pupils, a minuscule catch in his breathing rhythm.

“Then I’ll reset time until you do.”

The words register as raw, hovering between you for a few seconds before he finally turns toward the void.

You watch him leap—no hesitation, no visible calculation. Just pure intent translated into motion.

He makes it look effortless.

And then it’s your turn.

The wind screams. The city sprawls below, a mosaic of blue-lit grids and shadow.

You psych up the variables: air density, potential updrafts, the exact angle of your target ledge.

Then you stop thinking.

You launch, and the world narrows to wind and numbers.

For a moment, there’s no sound, no up or down. Just velocity and the impossible distance between you and the ledge.

Adrenaline floods your system, not sharp but heavy, like a stone pressed to your sternum.

You’re aware of your own mass, the drag of your body through air, the way your limbs cut a path no algorithm could ever predict.

Agent Min is already there, turned halfway, eyes tracking your arc. His mouth moves—maybe a warning, maybe your ID number—but the rush drowns it out.

You think of the other side. You need to reach the other side.

The imperative is simple, absolute.

Not crossing means plummeting. Not crossing means becoming a data point in a CHRONOS incident report.

You make the mistake of looking down.

Thirty floors up, the city is abstract.

Cars, people, light—all reduced to static.

The void is real.

You feel it in your teeth, in the way your stomach seems to invert, in the cold sweat prickling your palms.

Your calculations fracture. The ground is coming up fast.

You look up.

Agent Min’s silhouette sharpens against the skyline, mint hair a streak of color in the blue haze. His eyes widen—first time you’ve seen that particular fear.

He’s reaching for something, or maybe just reaching.

You’re falling.

The world tilts. Air roars past your ears. Time dilates, then contracts.

You’re aware of every heartbeat, every useless attempt your muscles make to grab onto empty space.

The ledge is gone. The city is too close.

Then—discontinuity.

You’re upright. Feet planted on solid ground. Breath caught in your throat.

Your hands move before your mind does, fingers flexing, checking for fractures, for blood, for any sign of what should have happened.

Everything responds. No pain. No missing time.

Agent Min spins, posture radiating pure stress and panic.

His face is a study in shock—mouth open, eyes blown wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

You blink. He blinks.

Your heart is still racing, but your body is whole. You’re here. You made it. The numbers don’t add up, but the outcome is undeniable.

You’re alive.

Agent Min’s gaze darts between your left and right pupils, rapid assessment mode engaged, as if he’s scanning for damage or data.

“Damn it, Noma,” he mutters, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “Holy hell.”

His hands clench into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening under the strain.

You note the micro-tremor in his fingers-2.3 hertz, consistent with suppressed impulse.

He exhales, a controlled release of 1.7 liters of air over 3.1 seconds, then drags a gloved hand down his face, smearing frustration across his features.

Before you can catalog further, a mechanical whine pierces the air-high-pitched, 17 kHz, consistent with a CHRONOS surveillance drone.

Agent Min’s posture shifts instantly, weight forward, arm half-raised to shield or shove you aside.

“Watch—”

You tilt your head back, a reflex, not a decision.

There’s a sound—metal crumpling, like foil under pressure—and the drone’s frame twists mid-flight, folding inward at impossible angles.

It drops, a lifeless heap, 4.7 meters below the ledge.

He stares at the wreckage, then at you.

“Well. Alright then.”

Your mind is already running diagnostics.

“Did I cause that?”

He lets out a long, resigned breath, shoulders dropping by 1.2 centimeters.

“Yeah. You did.”

“How?”

Your spatial awareness logs are blank—no memory of intent, no record of action. Yet the evidence is undeniable: twisted alloy, a perfect collapse.

You flex your fingers again, searching for a trigger, a mechanism. “Was that a manipulation of spatial configuration? A localized distortion field? I need parameters.”

He steps closer, mint and ozone cutting through the sterile tower air, but his expression is all weariness.

“We gotta move, Noma. Now.”

You plant your feet, shifting your center of gravity to counter his subtle pull.

“Explanation required. Did I alter the drone’s physical positioning? Compress its structural integrity via spatial warp? Or—”

He makes a sound full of resignation.

“Look, Noma, I l—”

He cuts himself off, jaw snapping shut with an audible click.

A recalibration.

“I get it. I do. But we don’t have the luxury of a debrief right now.”

Your brow creases, a 0.5-centimeter furrow.

“Understanding the mechanics of an undocumented ability is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. If I can replicate—”

“You will,” he interrupts, voice low but firm, carrying a weight you can’t parse. “Just not here. Not with drones sniffing our temporal signatures.”

You glance at the wreckage again, mind spinning through theoretical models.

No data, no precedent.

Just a gut—deep certainty that you reshaped reality without conscious input.

The implications are staggering.

If you can do this instinctively, what else lies dormant? What are the limits? Energy costs? Detection risks?

He’s watching you, reading the cascade of queries behind your eyes. “I know that look. And I’m telling you to shelve it. We’re exposed.”

“Five seconds,” you negotiate, already cross-referencing the drone’s design against known CHRONOS tech. “If I can isolate the method—”

“Zero seconds.” He grumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you behind him. “Survival first. Science later.”

Your logic centers protest, but the risk assessment aligns with his.

You exhale—petulant, probably, but you do not care.

Because whatever you did, it’s a piece of the puzzle. A fragment of who—or what—you are.

And you’ll dissect it, variable by variable, until the equation balances.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air shifts.

Up here, it tastes different.

Thinner. Filtered, maybe. Like someone cleaned it too well, stripped it of anything real.

The ground is nothing but blur—washed out in streaks of artificial white and synthetic blue haze. Designed to erase depth perception. To flatten the concept of below into something distant. Forgettable.

CHRONOS engineering at its finest.

You step closer to the edge, boots scraping faintly against the metal grating.

The city is unrecognizable from this height. Not a city at all, just layers of grids and light. Soft pulses of movement that don’t quite feel alive. No wind reaches this far up, only some sort of hum—low, steady, mechanical.

You wonder if the workers stationed here can still hear it when they sleep.

If they ever sleep.

You’ve read the reports. Rotating shifts, twenty-hour cycles, neural stimulants to bypass natural fatigue responses. Cognitive degradation flagged as acceptable collateral. Worker retention rate at 37.2%.

In other words: not sustainable.

But great pay.

You press your fingertips lightly to the edge of the railing. Cool to the touch. Grounding, somehow.

You scan the skyline, calculating angles, distances, escape vectors you’re not sure you’ll ever need but catalog anyway.

That’s what you do.

What you’ve always done.

But the sky pulls at you. Quietly. Persistently.

Dark velvet stretched wide above your head, broken only by the scatter of stars.

You tip your chin back, gaze locking onto a thousand silent points of light, each one burning impossibly far away.

Data points you can never reach, but something in you reaches anyway.

And there—framed in that endless black—

The moon.

Not in any model you’ve ever studied. Not filtered through facility-grade optics or distorted by atmospheric interference.

Just… suspended. Brilliant. Whole. A perfect sphere painted in shades of silver and shadow.

It’s too much, too big.

Your breath catches again, chest tightening like something fragile just cracked open inside you.

It escapes before you can stop it. A single word.

“Beautiful.”

Soft. Uncalculated.

You freeze the second it leaves your mouth, pulse stuttering in your throat.

You didn’t mean to say that.

You never mean to say things like that.

A breath stirs the space beside you. Not yours.

“…Yeah.”

Quiet. Barely more than air.

“…Beautiful.”

The confirmation scrapes against something unsteady inside you.

You shouldn’t turn. You know you shouldn’t. But your gaze shifts anyway, slow and reluctant, as if giving your body too much permission might undo you entirely.

He’s already watching.

Agent Min.

Not the skyline. Not the moon. Not the impossible stretch of space yawning above you.

You.

And he doesn’t look away.

For a suspended second, nobody speaks.

Then his eyes flicker gold.

It's the seventeenth time you've seen it happen. Seventeenth. You've been keeping count, tracking when it occurs, searching for the pattern. Not random—nothing about him is ever random—but the trigger remains frustratingly elusive.

Is it emotional response? Memory access? Some kind of power regulation failing?

You step closer until you can detect the subtle heat radiating from him—always running warmer than human baseline.

His pupils track your movement, dilating slightly.

A measurable response.

His fingers tighten on the railing, leather creaking under pressure. You note this detail, file it away.

He stares at you.

You stare back.

"I've been meaning to ask," you say, keeping your voice even despite the strange pressure building under your sternum—like something's trying to expand beyond the confines of your ribcage.

His throat shifts as he swallows. Blinks once.

“Ask what?"

"Your eyes."

His gaze slides away, avoiding yours for exactly 3.2 seconds before returning. Avoidance behavior.

Why?

The silence grows heavy between you.

If you were better at social interactions, you might understand why he doesn't respond.

But you're not, so you elaborate.

"I have noticed they appear to shine at certain moments." You tilt your head slightly. "The same color as your tendrils. But I can't seem to figure out the why."

His focus drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Quick. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it—and the flash of gold that accompanies it.

Interesting correlation.

He looks at your lips = eyes change.

Cause and effect?

Sexual response?

Your gloved hand lifts toward his face, hovering in the space between you.

Not touching. Not yet. Just... there. Testing a hypothesis.

"Noma," he says, your nickname rough around the edges. "That's... not advisable."

Why does that name feel so familiar when he says it?

"Why not?" The tilt of your head increases, curiosity sharpening. "I'm collecting data. Your ocular anomalies appear to correlate with specific emotional states."

You watch his pupils expand, blackness swallowing the iris except for that gleaming ring of gold.

"It's not a lab experiment." His jaw clenches, muscle rippling beneath skin.

He's restraining something. But what?

"Everything is data," you counter, your hand still suspended between you. "The gold appears when proximity decreases between us. When conversation shifts toward personal topics. When you look at my—"

You stop yourself. Recalibrate.

"When certain visual attention patterns emerge."

His breath changes rhythm—slower in, quicker out. You track this shift automatically.

"And what conclusion have you reached based on these... observations?" His voice has become unsteady.

In it, a roughness that wasn't there before.

The scientist in you needs to categorize it.

The rest of you just wants to hear more of it.

"Insufficient evidence for definitive conclusion." Your palm drifts closer to his face. "Hence the need for additional testing parameters."

"Agent." Warning laces his tone, but you note the contradiction in his body language—the slight forward tilt, the micromovement toward your hand.

Your watch beeps softly. Temporal variance: 0.87%.

Why does your temporal signature fluctuate around him?

Why does your body recognize patterns your brain can't access?

"The gloves provide sufficient barrier protection for initial contact testing," you say, though in the back of your mind, you know that's not why you want to touch him. Not really.

"It's not about the barrier," he says, still not pulling away.

"Then what is it about?"

His eyes lock with yours, longer than his usual pattern. Something shifts in them—not just the color, but something deeper.

Like barriers cracking.

"It's about..." He pauses, searching for words. "Restraint."

"Explain."

Not a request. A need.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

Your hand inches closer.

"Is that why your eyes change?" You push for answers, always pushing. "A failure of restraint?"

A sound catches in his throat, something between amusement and pain.

"They change when I'm..." He stops, recalibrates. "When I feel things too strongly."

"What things?"

"Anger. Fear."

His gaze drops to your mouth again, longer this time.

"Want."

The word settles into your chest, makes a home there.

Your lungs feel suddenly insufficient, breath coming shorter despite oxygen levels remaining constant.

"And now?" Your voice sounds different to your own ears, pitched lower. "Which is it?"

His hand leaves the railing, wraps around your wrist. Not pushing away—just holding. Containing—touch gentle but unmistakably firm.

"What do you think, Noma?" Your nickname sounds different this time.

Softer. Almost tender.

Why does it affect you when he says it like that?

You mentally catalog his physiological responses: dilated pupils, elevated respiration, muscle tension patterns indicating both arousal and resistance.

"Want," you determine with absolute certainty.

His eyes flare gold again—holding this time, not flickering away.

"Good analysis," he murmurs, still not releasing your wrist.

Your pulse thrums against his fingers. You can feel it jumping, betraying things your clinical mind refuses to name.

"May I?" Your gloved hand moves closer to his cheek.

Why are you pushing this? Why does it matter?

This isn't efficient data collection.

This is... something else.

His throat works as he swallows.

"We shouldn't," he says, strain evident in every syllable. "That's my professional assessment."

"We're both still wearing gloves," you argue, logic centers frantically constructing justifications. "Barrier intact. Risk parameters acceptable."

"You know it’s not about statistics." His grip loosens slightly.

He doesn't elaborate.

Something complicated moves across his face, too fast for even your pattern recognition to decipher.

You need to know. You need to understand.

Why him? Why you? Why now?

Decision made, your hand pushes forward, breaking through his weakened resistance. Your gloved fingers make contact with his cheek.

And—

Oh.

The sensation defies categorization. Despite the barrier of fabric between you, something passes through the touch.

A current.

An echo.

Something your scientific vocabulary can't properly name.

His eyes close. He looks suddenly vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Your temporal signature," he says quietly, "it just... aligned with mine."

Your eyes drop to your watch. Temporal variance: 0.00%.

Perfect stabilization.

That's impossible.

There's no precedent for this in any temporal physics model.

"How?" The question slips out, unfiltered and raw.

His eyes open slowly, gold filling them completely now.

Steady and bright and impossibly beautiful.

Beautiful.

"Because," he says simply, "we're designed to fit."

You should process this information. Should file it away with all your other observations about Agent Min and his inexplicable abilities. Should create new theoretical models to explain the perfect temporal alignment currently registered on your watch.

Instead, you just... feel.

The warmth beneath your fingers. The impossible gold of his eyes. The way your body seems to recognize him on some cellular level your mind can't access.

‘We're designed to fit.’

The implications of that statement should terrify you.

Instead, they feel like coming home.

You're staring into his golden eyes when a low whizz cuts through the air.

Your auditory processing centers register the sound at approximately 17kHz—just within human hearing range, but with a distinct mechanical oscillation pattern consistent with CHRONOS drone propulsion systems.

Before your brain can fully process the threat, Agent Min's head whips around—reaction time approximately 0.3 seconds faster than optimal human baseline. His pupils contract, gold flares brighter, mouth opens to form what appears to be a warning.

Too late.

Something hits you from behind—force vector approximately 47 newtons, angle of impact suggesting deliberate trajectory. The pressure against your back lasts precisely 0.7 seconds.

Then nothing.

Air rushes past your ears at increasing velocity. Your inner ear fluid shifts dramatically, sending conflicting data to your vestibular system. Gravity reasserts its dominance with brutal efficiency.

You're falling.

Again.

Acceleration rate: 9.8 meters per second squared.

Terminal velocity approaching.

Probability of survival without intervention: 0.003%.

The analytical part of your brain calculates these figures automatically while your body experiences what can only be termed as terror—heart rate spike of 73%, adrenal glands flooding your system with cortisol and epinephrine.

"NOMA!"

The sound tears through the rushing air—raw, primal, carrying a frequency range your pattern recognition flags as desperate.

You twist mid-air, arms instinctively moving to shield your head from inevitable impact.

That's when you see him.

Agent Min.

Yoongi.

Falling just above you, body positioned in a perfect diving form that creates maximum aerodynamic efficiency.

His trajectory indicates purposeful action.

He jumped after you.

He's saying something—lips moving rapidly—but the blood rushing in your ears creates a noise barrier approximately 84 decibels. His words are lost in the chaos of your fall.

Your abilities.

The thought crystallizes with sudden clarity.

You teleported earlier. Spatial manipulation. If you could replicate that effect now—

Focus. But how? What's the trigger mechanism?

Your thoughts scatter across multiple processing centers, frantically searching for the neural pathway that activated during the previous incident.

Agent Min never explained the mechanics.

He should have.

You’ll make sure to have that conversation later.

If you survive, that is.

Golden tendrils emerge from his outstretched fingers, extending at velocities that defy standard temporal physics. They reach toward you, pushing against the air itself as if trying to accelerate his fall beyond normal gravitational parameters.

You struggle to replicate whatever neural pathway activated before. Nothing happens. Your fingers flex, your mind focuses, your desperation builds.

What triggered it before? Survival instinct? Specific neural configuration? Direct threat vector?

The golden traces stretch further, now mere centimeters from your reaching hands. Their movement creates visible distortion in the air, like reality itself warping around their influence.

Then—

Something shifts within you.

Not gradual.

Not building.

A sudden quantum change in your neural configuration.

Your cognitive perception splits for exactly 0.7 seconds—awareness operating in multiple states simultaneously.

Tendrils emerge from your own fingertips.

Golden, like his, but fundamentally different. Where his flow like liquid, yours crystallize like faceted gold. Where his move in clockwise patterns, yours rotate counterclockwise.

Opposing rotations.

Perfect complements.

They reach out—not by your conscious command but through some deeper programming—and intertwine with his traces. The contact creates an immediate energy transfer that registers across your neural receptors as both hot and cold simultaneously.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the world blurs. Spatial coordinates shift in ways that violate every physical law you've ever studied. Distance compresses, then expands.

You're in his arms.

The transition happens without intermediate steps—one moment falling separately, the next secured against his chest, his left arm wrapped around your waist with exactly 82% more pressure than necessary for stability.

You register multiple data points simultaneously:

- His elevated body temperature: 39.1°C

- His heartbeat: 172 BPM

- His breathing: rapid, shallow, 24 respirations per minute

- His face: positioned 3.4 centimeters from your cheek, over your shoulder

So close. One small movement would bring skin against skin.

Your temporal readings spike at the mere possibility.

Before you can process this new configuration, another force vector impacts you both—lateral trajectory, approximately 93 newtons.

Not from Agent Min.

External source.

Someone else.

Your coupled bodies are propelled sideways at high velocity.

The world blurs again as you and Agent Min, still locked together, phase through what appears to be solid matter.

Glass. Concrete. Steel.

Your molecular structure should be encountering significant resistance, yet moves through these barriers like they're nothing more than projections.

Quantum tunneling? Spatial displacement? Molecular phasing? Your scientific vocabulary struggles to categorize the experience.

Impact comes suddenly—both of you hitting a solid surface at approximately 37% of terminal velocity. The force disperses through your skeletal structure, joints absorbing kinetic energy at efficiency rates that exceed normal human parameters.

You roll, momentum carrying you across hard flooring. Pain signals to your central nervous system—data indicating tissue stress but not structural failure.

When you finally stop, every bone in your body aches with the signature of controlled landing trauma.

Not optimal, certainly not comfortable, but survivable.

Survivable by design.

You inhale sharply—2.1 liters of air in 0.8 seconds—and your eyes search frantically for Agent Min.

Where is he? Was he injured in the landing? Who pushed you? How did you phase through solid matter?

Your golden tendrils have vanished, leaving only lingering warmth on your fingertips where they emerged.

Your watch beeps an unfamiliar pattern: Temporal-spatial variance detected. Recalibration required.

You blink rapidly, visual processing recalibrating as you scan the environment.

Sleek walls. Polished concrete floor.

Location unknown. Sector indeterminate.

Blood drips onto your hand. Your nose is bleeding again—heavier flow than before. Your fingertips come away stained crimson. Your skull throbs in pulses, each one making your vision blur at the edges.

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook, you almost killed them!"

Taehyung's voice cuts through the fog in your head, sharp with that specific tension you've cataloged as his version of concern.

"I was literally on the clock before they became sidewalk art!" Jungkook shoots back, hands gesturing wildly. "Next time maybe give me more than a seven-second window!"

"Seven seconds is generous considering—"

"Generous?" Jungkook's voice cracks slightly. "Try mimicking two completely different abilities at once! My brain feels like it's been microwaved!"

The argument washes over you in waves as you press your palm to your forehead.

The pain isn't unbearable, just... insistent.

Demanding attention like everything else in this mess of a situation.

Your eyes find Agent Min, seated on the floor several meters away. His right hand grips his left shoulder, features tightening in a microexpression of pain he's clearly trying to suppress.

The joint looks wrong—angled slightly off anatomical baseline.

"We don't have fucking time." His voice slices through the bickering, rough-edged and final. "They're onto us."

Jungkook whips around.

“No shit? Why do you think we had to pull this stunt?" His hand sweeps through the air. "We couldn't even reach you with Taehyung's interfacing—you were completely out of range! Thank god Y/N's abilities are something else entirely."

Agent Min's eyes narrow, focusing on Jungkook with an intensity that carries clear warning.

Not a word.

Just that look.

The one that stops conversations dead.

Jungkook registers it immediately, jaw snapping shut, body language shifting from confrontational to compliant in under a second.

Interesting.

They're hiding something about your abilities.

What exactly don't they want you to know?

Taehyung clears his throat—a sound designed to redirect attention.

He points behind him toward what can only be described as a tear in reality itself. A circular formation pulsing with quantum uncertainty, its borders shifting between states of matter in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.

"What about base first, arguing later?" he suggests, voice calm in that way people get when they're trying too hard.

You wipe blood from your upper lip. Your eyes find Agent Min again, seeking his reaction. His gaze meets yours briefly before sliding away, gold still lingering at the edges of his irises.

Why won't he look at you properly?

What does he know that you don't?

"What is that?" The question falls from your lips before you can stop it, analytical systems demanding data despite everything else.

"Travel spot. Portal to headquarters," Taehyung answers, shoulders relaxing slightly at the subject change.

You shift your weight, preparing to stand, when your temporal readings spike without warning. The numbers flash red: 3.17%

That's not good.

"Stabilize her," Agent Min orders, voice clipped. "Temporal cascade imminent."

Jungkook moves fast, crossing the space between you in under a second.

His fingers press against your temporal monitor, executing adjustments with practiced precision.

"Breathing," he instructs, tone sliding into something steadier. "Seven in, seven out. Match me."

The contact triggers something—a flash of memory that doesn't quite feel like yours:

Different hands.

Same words.

"Breathe with me, Noma. Focus."

Pain spikes behind your eyes as incompatible memory patterns try to align. The room tilts slightly.

"What happened up there?" Taehyung asks, attention on Agent Min.

"Temporal ambush," he answers, face tight. "Drones masked behind a reality field."

Taehyung's eyebrows rise. "That's still in R&D."

"Apparently not anymore." Agent Min pushes himself upright, grimacing as his shoulder shifts. "They're adapting faster this time."

This time.

As opposed to when?

"Your tendrils connected with his," Jungkook says quietly as he monitors your readings. "That's what stabilized you both mid-fall."

You blink, memory fragments of golden light intertwining in freefall.

The way your body reacted without conscious direction.

The impossibility of the physics involved.

Agent Min moves toward the portal with measured steps. "We need to move before CHRONOS tracks the spatial distortion."

"She deserves to know what she can do," Jungkook says, voice low but firm.

Agent Min stops, spine stiffening visibly.

“When she's ready."

"And who decides that?" Jungkook challenges, though his hands remain gentle on your monitor. "You?"

The tension between them feels old somehow. Well-worn. Like terrain they've crossed many times.

"Portal stability dropping," Taehyung interrupts, hand cutting through the air. "Either we go now, or we're stuck here."

Agent Min's eyes flick between you and the portal, calculations running visible behind his eyes.

“We are leaving.” He simply mutters, final.

“Of course we are.” Jungkook replies with a hint of something almost like resignation.

Your temporal readings begin to stabilize: 1.47% and decreasing.

Jungkook's hands withdraw from your monitor. "Stable enough for transit."

Agent Min approaches, movements careful despite his obvious discomfort. His right hand extends toward you, gloved palm up.

"The first transit is... disorienting," he says, voice dropping to something softer. "Holding on helps with the spatial realignment."

You stare at his outstretched hand. The leather creases in familiar patterns. The angle of his fingers seems to match your palm perfectly.

‘We're designed to fit.’

His earlier words echo through your mind, connecting dots you didn't even know existed.

"Noma," he says quietly. "Trust me on this one."

The nickname bypasses all your analytical systems, triggering responses you can't explain or quantify.

Your hand moves before your brain fully catches up, fingers sliding into his with strange, impossible familiarity.

Your watch beeps once more: Temporal variance: 0.73%.

Stabilizing.

“Let’s go.”

next | index

— taglist @cannotalwaysbenight @taevanille @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218 @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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winifreddinh · 5 months ago

Text

A fanart collection in which each drawing represents a chapter of the Wyllstarion multiverse fic Be My Mirror. Every Wyllstarion fan who has not read it please go do it now!!!

This fic is really something special, so I want to make something special for it too. This idea was floating in my head from the beginning of my reading, but it took a while for me to get started. I have worked on this on and off since November last year.

Below are each drawing with some of my notes:

Chapter 1 (partingxshot) - Original universe

Chapter 2 (thecheeseburgercat) - Ballet AU

Originally, I set the scene in a ballet studio, but it felt too plain. I couldn't use colorful ballet outfits either, since they were only practicing. So, I decided to place them on the stage instead, as they did run on it in the chapter

Chapter 3 (shadowfell) - Dream Sequence AU

This art style was an imitation of the comic Dream Sequence from Carla Speed McNeil's Finder, the one on which this AU is based. I read the comic and thought it was very interesting, but I don't think I was able to understand all of it. This tumblr post by the chapter writer - shadowfell - really helped me out.

Chapter 4 (new_space) - Vampire zombie AU

Chapter 5 (not_whelmed_yet) - Ghost Wyll AU

Chapter 6 (partingxshot) - Disney World AU

One of the hardest parts about drawing these is figuring out what Astarion and Wyll are wearing, since some writers write in detail about that, and some don't. And I want to make sure each AU is recognizable immediately when looking at it. I went back to the original fic this Disney AU was based on to look for what Astarion was wearing here. From what I can find, he basically covers himself from head to toe in dark clothing to avoid the sun.

Chapter 7 (SophiaMancer) - Role swap AU

Chapter 8 (GlassThreads) - Twilight AU

Chapter 9 (Rimeko) - Dragon cult AU

Chapter 10 (jellyfishline) - DnD AU

Chapter 11 (ushauz) - Redwall AU

Mouse Wyll is the best thing I have drawn for this whole fic

Chapter 12 (stygius) - Elemental AU

Chapter 13 (odessacastle) - Regency romance AU

Chapter 14 (leyside) - Skyrim AU

I have never played Skyrim so I was honestly lost and needed a lot of advice haha

Chapter 15 (GlassThreads) - Revolutionary Girl Utena AU

Revolutionary Girl Utena is one of my favorite anime, so I was really happy to put them in these outfits.

Chapter 16 (PopcornCrimes (Emi1y_Rose)) - Evil Durge AU

Astarion wears the Bhaalist Armour here, to hint at how Durge is in the party now.

Chapter 17 (Acephalous) - The Thing (1982) AU

Chapter 18 (anonyhex) - Slay the Princess AU

I tried to imitate the art style of Slay the Princess

Chapter 19 (Aeona, karlachian) - Disco Elysium AU

Putting UI of Disco Elysium in the drawing. And of course, the skill is Empathy.

Chapter 20 (jellyfishline) - Ascension

It's hard to portray chapters 20 and 21 in just two drawings, so I made multiple ones for both.

Chapter 21 (partingxshot) - Return

There are more details I would have liked to add in some drawings, but I think if I worked on this more I would have gone insane haha. I really hope you guys love it!

Edit: I'm happy for Fanlore to use this with proper credit!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #wyllstarion #wyll ravengard #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #bloodpact #my art #bg3 fanart

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 year ago

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 11 ] || [ Chapter 13 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: i'm in love with gaz x2 date scene fully inspired by this artwork by @mindie-arts

Chapter 12: A Date?

Sitting across from Gaz in the warm japanese restaurant under a warm-toned lamp, you find yourself a bit flustered by how cute he looks.

Sure, you knew he was cute, of course… His pictures on Tinder more than showed it. He’s the epitome of a pretty boy, all polite and sweet, smiling bright, with those warm brown eyes that look more like pools of melted chocolate that you could find yourself sinking into like quicksand.

He ordered extra meat for himself and is currently scooping it into his bowl of Tonkotsu Ramen as you regale him with your tales of your night with Simon.

“Now, hold on-” He stopped you just as you were biting into your jammy soft-boiled egg.

“Hm?” You questioned as you cocked a brow.

“So… Let me get this straight-” He said as he slowly stirred the slices of pork in the hot broth of his ramen. “You and Ghost didn’t-” He trailed off.

“No!!! I already told you!” You replied as you shoved the rest of your halved egg into your mouth and chewed.

“Hm…” Kyle replied with a bit of an awkward smile as he started softly slurping his noodles.

“Why, ‘Hm’? What does that mean?” You asked him with a cocked brow. Kyle simply shook his head and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“I just think it’s… curious.” He admitted and shrugged. “Like… Simon is very secretive.” He explained.

“I’ve gotten that impression off him.” You replied, but Kyle nodded.

“Yeah but for a stranger, it’s easy to spot that, to understand it. But… We’ve all served with him for years now and we know nothing of him.” He explained with a shrug and an awkward smile again.

As you heard him talk, you slurped your noodles as well, holding the bowl up to your mouth as you did so.

“Soap even gasped when he found out that Ghost had a Tinder account, and the way he was chatting when he went on a date with you, well…” He trailed off and took a bite of one of his eggs as well.

“I wouldn’t call it a date.” You replied as you set down your bowl and took a sip of your drink. Across from you, Gaz did the same, sipping from his Stella Artois glass.

“You met on a dating app, had drinks, went back to yours, spent the night together… That’s a date.” He retorted and you nod your head, conceding to his point.

“Fine… I guess…” You sighed. “But I still don’t see what the big deal is.” You added. “He seems… nice. A bit weird… But nice.” You explained. “He seems like he just… needs a break.” You added and half-shrugged.

Kyle’s head dipped a bit to the side and he regarded you with gentler, softer eyes, quietly contemplating what you said.

“You’re really nice.” He ended up saying after a moment then he pressed his lips together for a moment as he watched you eat.

“Fanks.” You mumbled halfway through chewing a piece of your pork slices.

“Simon was there, you know… When you went to meet Captain Price. Just to make sure you were, you know… Normal.” Gaz quipped, which caused your eyes to widen.

“He was?” You asked sharply, your voice rising an octave for a moment.

“Ye… He… He doesn’t trust easy.” He replied.

“I’ve noticed.” You added, still a bit put off by the news.

“Well, anyway…” He trailed off. “He uh… he came back to base after you and him left the pub and he told us you were nice, normal…” He explained. “And he said that the captain was a bit reticent to be there and you were both feeling awkward… And you so sincerely told him he could leave if he wanted to and that he didn’t need to force himself to be there.” Gaz explained.

Your eyes widened a bit and your face warmed up lightly as he revealed that he knew of how you had reassured John.

“So… I guess… I guess I see it now.” Kyle admitted. “You’re very… gentle.” He ended up after searching for the right word. “A right laugh, funny as fuck, very bratty… But… nice and kind.” He added. “It’s no wonder they both felt good with you, especially Ghost.”

“Well… thanks.” You said softly, smiling sheepishly, and he did the same as he resumed eating.

“Do you feel… good with me too?” You asked him with a cocked brow and pursed lips.

Nodding at you, Kyle smiled. “Yeah, I’d say I do.” He said as he slurped his noodles again.

You resumed eating as well and, sometimes, you’d glance at one another and smile sheepishly before looking away and focusing on your meals.

“So…” You said as you reached over and dipped a gyoza in the soy sauce. “Did you really fall out of a helicopter?” You asked, which caused his eyes to light up with amusement.

“I did.” He answered with a nod and a grin on his lips.

“How did that happen?” You cocked a brow.

Thirty minutes later, you and Gaz are walking side to side as you head back to work. He’s spent most of the time regaling you with stories about work (with the proper censorship of events, dates, places and people).

You barely got a word in and yet, somehow, you don’t mind. You’re surprisingly entertained by him, by the way his eyes light up when he speaks, the way his smile grows every time a story gets a bit more action-packed…

If you didn’t know by now that he’s a soldier (and an elite one, if his stories are to be believed), you’d have called him out by now by making it all up… But he also showed you a few of his scars to prove he wasn’t lying.

As you reach the front door of your workplace, he’s just finishing up his latest story, just in time. You still have a couple of minutes to burn so you linger with him, hands clasped in front of you, as he has his own on the front pocket of his blue hoodie.

“Thanks for this.” You told him with a smile, watching as his face morphed in confusion.

“Thanks for what?” He asked you with a cocked brow and a smile on his lips.

“Well… everything? Buying me lunch, telling me so many stories, walking me to work…” You listed and chuckled. “I haven’t gotten this type of… attention in a while.” You explained.

Kyle gives you a look of disbelief. “You’ve been going out with Ghost, what do you mean you don’t-” He started but you interrupted him with a sharp ‘That’s different!’.

“Simon is very nice and I enjoyed myself greatly with him but something tells me he wouldn’t exactly want to go out for ramen on my lunch break in broad daylight, without a mask.” You quipped playfully.

“Ah- yeah, I see your point.” Kyle joked a bit.

“And, besides… I got out of a… trainwreck of a relationship recently…” You explained as you shifted your weight around on the balls and heels of your feet.

“Is that why you were on Tinder?” He asked as he dipped his head to the side in understanding.

“Mhm.” You nodded and smiled softly. “Anyway…” You trailed off. “It’s nice to have someone make time to meet up with me during lunch break and… you know… Have a date!” You replied.

“Oh it’s a date, is it?” He asked you with a smirk on his lips and a wiggling of his eyebrows.

“Oh, fuck off…” You quipped and nudged him on the shoulder with your hand. “You’re lucky you’re cute…”

Kyle’s lips parted into a boyish grin as he looked at you. “You think I’m cute?” He asked, amused.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged him again and he simply laughed playfully in response.

Checking the time on your phone, you sighed. “I should go upstairs.” You told him and he nodded.

“Have a good rest of your day. And text me, yeah? I’d like to repeat this.” Kyle told you and you nodded too, smiling sheepishly.

“I plan on it.” You added and leaned up, kissing his cheek, just like you did with Simon a couple of weeks before.

Kyle smiled and chuckled softly when you pulled away. He leaned close and kissed your cheek in return, causing your cheeks to burn a bit.

You waved at him and rushed back inside your workplace. Standing outside in the pavement, Kyle watched you go through the windows, with a smile and returned the wave with a raising of his hand and a single little wave before tucking his hands back in his pockets and walking off again.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader

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reiiaokii · 6 months ago

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love in transit

╰ STATUS | movie is paused .ᐟ

╰ SYPNOSIS | it's a night to remember - or to forget - for you. after a night of partying with your friends on a normal, saturday night, you volunteer to drop off your drunken friend, sophia, back at her dorm. as you stumble towards the door, megan swings it open, and your eyes meet - it's a moment that leaves her breathless, smitten, and forever changed. you on the other hand? well, that's another story to tell.

╰ INFO | jayna hughes as yns face claim, fluff, crack, some ages in this smau do not portray their real ones, nor their personalities. an example, sophia is quite literally more careless than anyone about her drinking, even y/n. 😭 playgirl!megan who's also kind of a loser behind the scenes, and party-animal!yn. everyone is in college and based in hawaii. mentions of swearing, drinking, vomit, and kys/kms jokes. ( i will add extra info along the way for certain chapters if necessary. )

╰ FEATURING | whole of katseye, lesserafim, aespa, newjeans, meovv, plus cameos along the way ( ? ) .

╰ ANNOUNCEMENTS | I HATE HOW THE BANNER LOOKS RAHHH prob gonna change it soon trust the process guys 😭

╰ PROFILES

╰ ghosted by ivy leagues pt 1. | ghosted by ivy leagues pt 2. | gleek baddies pt 1. | gleek baddies pt 2. | misc

╰ 01. gotta have her ( half-written. )

02. frat party ptsd pt 1. pt 2.

03. sinigang ( half - written. )

04. insecurities ( written. )

05. irregular pentagon lookin ahh

06. plotting

07. not even a little fruity? ( written. )

08. shift shenanigans ( half - written. )

09. troll manon

10. popcorn and icecream ( half - written. )

11. ironic ( half - written. )

12. 'some' digging

13. still bad as fuck ( half - written. )

14. "to shitty relationships?" ( written. )

╰ coming soon …

TAGLIST | @meizinisnumberone @hiraizyo @arihiu @artrizzler19 @1luvkarina @meiphobic @kristalag @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @meganskiendielsbtc @gtfoiydlyj @vrtualstar @yazzyminny ( closed .ᐟ )

#— rei's masterlist .ᐟ #— rei's works .ᐟ #katseye #katseye imagines #katseye x reader #katseye smau #megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel smau #megan skiendiel x reader #megan skiendiel imagines #megan skiendiel fluff #katseye fluff

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the-great-gullon-incident · 1 year ago

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I have seen one too many posts misremembering the main casts ages so for those unaware based off this scene from Neverseen:

(Chapter 40, page 374, Neverseen)

The official age gaps between the core five are roughly(give or take a week):

Fitz is 29 months months older than Biana

Fitz is 23 months older than Dex

Keefe is 18 months older than Biana

Fitz is 17 months older than Sophie

Keefe is 12 months older than Dex

Sophie is 12 months older than Biana

Fitz is 11 months older than Keefe

Keefe is 6 months older than Sophie

Dex is 6 months older than Biana

Sophie is 6 months older than Dex

These age gaps do not change whether or not you're counting in Elven years or Human years.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #sophie foster #dex dizznee #biana vacker #fitz vacker #keefe sencen #kotlc timeline

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stress-doodlez · 1 month ago

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So for JRWJUNE Day 12, I couldn't decide what my favorite JRWI fic was. So here's four of them! (spoilers ahead for these fics (also most of them are PD fics))

Misfit Toys - Whiskey_With_Patron

This one's based on the PD Oneshot where the boys are villains and as of now is unfinished. I really like how Wight is written and the dialogue between Vyncent and The Greats. The scene I drew gave me chills when I read it!

how long has it been? - losingallchill

This fic places Chip as a vampire hunter, with Reuben as his brother, and Gillion as a vampire. Right now, it's unfinished. Gillion tearing up every image of himself in the house just makes me feel some kinda way.

i know i've kissed you before (can i try again?) - underscorespider

This is a Ghostknife college au where both Vyncent and William are active superheroes, but neither knows the other is a hero. It's such a sweet fic with so many moments that made it hard to put it down. It's finished with 13 chapters.

Cotard's Solution - Anonymous

If I absolutely had to pick a favorite, this one would be it. This fic is an AU where William survives the fall and goes to work at Belltech as David's assistant while Ashe takes William's spot in the Prime Defenders. The way William's inner monologue is written traps the reader in his thoughts and is a perfect representation of what it's like to be an overthinker (something I can relate to lol). But it's interspersed with funny PD shenanigans that make it so not everything is heavy all the time. This fic makes me feel uncomfortable in the best way possible and I love it!!! It isn't finished yet, but I absolutely cannot wait for the next update. Also I love that the title is a Will Wood reference.

Honorable Mentions

I Find One Weak Spot And I Start Unraveling - valeovalairs

An Apotheosis AU where Elena is introduced to the group a lot earlier in the adventure. Rumi then leads a double life as both themself and Elena while they fall more and more in love with Peter. I love how the author writes Peter!

I'm not saying you're killing me, BUT there is a flower in my lungs - emotionaloof

Another Ghostknife AU where Vyncent goes off to college by himself and develops hanahaki disease - Only he doesn't know who he's in love with. The way Vyncent's desire to protect PD from the truth is written really hits me in the feels.

I think fanfiction is really cool and, while I don't think I could write it myself, I still really appreciate the hard work that's put into it. I wanted to make this as an appreciation post for some of the fics that I've really enjoyed as a way to say thank you! Also to encourage people to give them a read or maybe even inspire them to write their own.

#this took a while so i hope people enjoy the art!#if somehow one of the authors sees this post - hi!#i really liked your fic and i hope you keep writing in the future!!!#jrwi art #jrwi fanart #jrwi fanfiction #jrwjune #jrwi pd #jrwi riptide #jrwi apotheosis

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mlqueen89 · 9 months ago

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One | Flyboy

so cross your thoughtless heart she's the albatross she is here to destroy you

The Albatross by Taylor Swift | TTPD |

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x f!oc (top gun: maverick)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

w a r n i n gs : smut, mentions of masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, one-night stand, jake being a cocky, self-assured man who leaves no crumbs after he eats.

word count: 8,997

summary: in affairs of the heart, eleanor rigby has one strict rule: no pilots. Less than 24 hours back in the US, she breaks it.

A/N: this whole entire fic literally started with the (full) name of eleanor. i also have a radar tech in the family, so that helped a bit. snowball met a steep hill and picked up speed. i've planned for ~10(ish) chapters, but it may be open ended with a few more random scenes/chapters here and there.

proud to say that this one was beta read by my bestest friend, so you know she was mean to me helpful.

also! i saw the asks - super excited to dive into those, tysm. ♡♡

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ next chapter ❥

Eleanor Rigby hadn’t wanted to go to the Halloween party, not really.

The boxes stacked in the spare bedroom of her friend Nicole’s four-bedroom house desperately needed unpacking and the 10-hour time change from Western Turkey to San Diego was kicking her ass. She’d done about as much unpacking as was required to find a suitable outfit for her new job in the morning, folded them carefully and set them out.

When Nicole had invited her out, Ellie had fallen asleep, mid-unpack of the rest of her belongings, waking only when the bubbly blonde burst into the room and jumped onto the foot of her bed, dressed in all her glory as Barbie.

“Ellie does San Diego! Let’s goooo.” Nicole tugged at Ellie’s arm as Yanique flicked on the light in the ensuite, reapplying a purple-ish shade of lipstick as Ellie blinked against the sudden light in her dim room, her arm jiggled aggressively by an enthusiastic Nic.

Bleary-eyed, her voice just a croak, Ellie politely declined, muttering something about starting her new job early the next morning and making a good impression. Nicole eventually relented with a huff and left, a little less than impressed, with their other two roommates, Yan and Sophie, in tow.

Within 45 minutes, her phone buzzing against the hardtop of the nightstand, the voice messages started flowing in.

Nicole’s first voice message was short, 12 seconds. Ellie’s thumb jabbed at the play button as she gathered the dishes from her girl dinner of toast and coffee and used her elbow to push down on the paddle door handle, making her way to the shared kitchen.

Ellieeeeeeee... Eleanor Rigbyyyyyy ....

There was a dull thud of base in the background somewhere, behind the long, pronounced whine of Nicole’s voice as she sang the beginning of her namesake Beatles song, horribly off-key.

Ellie, please you have to come out. It’s Halloween, the most magical night of the year! Just make an appearance. An hour, tops. Please?

Ellie moved through the kitchen, rinsing out her cup and placing it on the drying rack. Her head was in the fridge, scrounging around for an apple in the crisper drawer, when the next three messages came in.

Please, pretty, pretty, pretty, please with like, a million cherries on top, even though I know you hate cherries.

Bradley’s not here yet, Yan already left with a weird guy in a Frankenstein costume—do we know what kink that is? That has to be a kink, right? I’m not kink shaming though, I promise. He was just like... weird. Do you think I should get her to drop her location? Like, just in case?

Soph is requesting Chappell Roan for the like, twentieth time, and I think she’s going to start a fight with the DJ about being an anti-feminist incel if he doesn’t play “HOT TO GO!” again... did you know that she broke up with that witch, wiccan girl from Hinge? HingeWitch? The one that had that study of cheeses in her bio, that blue cheese description—Ellie thought she heard Nicole pause to gag—anyway, I think she thinks she got cursed or something...

The voice message cut off even though Nicole’s tone suggested that she wasn’t finished talking about Sophie’s ex.

There was a garbled message in between the last one and the next, one in which Ellie could hear Nicole begging the DJ not to leave and promising to talk to her friend about the excessive requests for Chappell Roan.

Don’t abandon me in my time of need, El. Desperate need. Like, jumping off of very tall somethings desperacy.

Ellie smirked. Nicole, her very best friend in the whole wide world, quite possibly the vast universe, was, in fact, very dramatic.

Quickly, before another voice message could roll in, Ellie hit record on her own before she bit into her apple, wrestling the third box out of a teetering tower of boxes in the corner of her room and hit send.

Fine. I’ll be there in twenty.

The response pinged back quickly.

Ohmygodohmygod, thank you! Remember, the theme is Icons through the Ages!

Wear something sexy. Iconic sexy. Iconically sexy? But not Hawaiian Barbie. Or whatever Soph is dressed up as. I want to say is either Frida Kahalo or Mama Imelda from Coco. Basically, avoid anything with a Mexican gothic vibe.

Once Ellie had managed to pull her vintage leather aviator jacket from the box, the one she’d mislabeled in her hurry to pack everything up, the rest of her costume came together fairly quickly.

When she found the venue, a small bar off a main street, she still had around 30 seconds to spare on her twenty-minute promise to Nic.

Eleanor had always known that Nicole was popular, but the Halloween party, a party which Nicole had demurely announced was just “a small thing” with “a few work friends” was in actuality, not quite a small thing.

Weaving her way through the crowd, Ellie scanned the room, trying to pick out the hot pink of Nicole’s costume or the flower crown Sophie had carefully woven into her voluminous red hair.

Squeezing her way through a group of Spanish Conquistadors (notably with less armour and more exposed skin than was historically accurate) Ellie paused short of the small DJ booth in the corner of the bar, her eyes still scanning for Nicole when her eyes fell on him.

Sandy blonde hair peeked out from under a neon sweatband, shoulders stocky and solid in a sleeveless denim vest over a t-shirt that read, No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem. The white sneakers, short shorts, and that unmistakable lanky sway to the beat of Footloose pumping through the venue that could only belong to one person.

It was Ken.

Specifically, the Ken to Nicole’s Barbie.

“Bradshaw?” Ellie called, squinting.

Ken spun around with the beat of the song, a lopsided grin already on his lips as he faced her. “Holy shit, Rigsy?” Swiftly, Bradley Bradshaw was over to her, scooping Ellie off her feet, squeezing her tightly in a bear hug, shaking her frame slightly with a growl, before she groaned and he set her back down, feather light.

“You didn’t say you were back stateside.”

“My flight got in last night.” Ellie shrugged, straightening her jacket and adjusting the thin white scarf around her neck, “Just wanted to surprise you, Rooster.”

“Well, damn it,” Bradley nodded in approval, all dimples and easy charm, “colour me surprised.”

It was no wonder Nicole had fallen for him, head over Barbie heels. Even Ellie liked him, and that was saying something.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was less pilot and more golden retriever, a good heart wrapped in an all-American charm with an easygoing, dopey grin that made people feel like they’d known him for years. He was the kind of guy who’d lend you his jacket and forget to ask for it back or show up at your door with takeout and Sleepless in Seattle cued up on a streaming service he had to pay an arm and a leg for, because he “just had a feeling.” The Batman who responded to the Emotional Needs and Mercury Retrograde Bat Signal™. The hero the people deserved. Ellie was pretty sure she caught him watching videos of a baby hippo getting into shenanigans at a zoo in China on loop for 14 minutes while Nic tried to pick an episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians that would really pique his interest and get him invested enough to make it his “new Roman Empire”.

Ellie remembered the night Nicole and Bradley had met with perfect clarity.

Nicole had been in the middle of swearing off all men for the foreseeable future, her voice thick with the brand of determination that came with a prosecco-fueled resolution. Ellie had watched as her friend declare a new era of singlehood and Taylor Swift before turning to Sophie, slurring out a request for “gorgeous, single women willing to humor an experimental phase.”

It wasn’t two minutes later that Nicole lurched forward, losing all her resolve—and her prosecco—in a sudden, graceless bout with the sidewalk.

As Ellie rubbed her back and tried to get her standing, a group of pilots had come down the street—Bradley Bradshaw among them, flanked by two others they’d later get to know as Phoenix and Bob. Bradley had been the one to stop, eyes quickly scanning the situation, assessing and then moving in with expert precision. He’d peeled off his jacket immediately, holding it out to Nicole as she moaned her embarrassment and weakly gestured at the puddle of what had once been bubbly and appetizers a few feet away.

“It’s okay,” Bradley had told her, voice soft and reassuring. “If you throw up on this one, I’ll just get another jacket tomorrow.” When she’d protested, he’d grinned, shrugging in that effortless way of his. “Honestly, they just give these jackets to anyone,” he’d joked, as if he hadn’t spent years earning the right to wear it and every single patch stitched on it.

Nicole had blinked up at him, mascara smudged, his jacket draped over her shoulders, looking at him like he was some knight out of one of the many cheesy rom-coms she loved. And for once, Ellie hadn’t blamed her for it.

That night, Bradley Bradshaw had seen her best friend at her worst and treated her like she was worth sticking around for.

And that was Rooster in a nutshell—a steady warmth that lingered long after he was gone, the guy who would do just about anything to make Nicole smile, including, but not limited to, dressing up in the ridiculous costume he was currently wearing.

Nudging her, Rooster grinned. “So,” he drawled, “does this mean I finally get the best friend stamp of approval?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, feigning a reluctant sigh, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d approved of him long before now. “Don’t let it go to your head, Bradshaw.”

“Too late,” he laughed, mimicking his head expanding dramatically before throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Already there.”

Rooster grabbed his drink off the small table bordering the dance floor, draining the glass. “Love the costume, by the way," he sucked his teeth against the burn of the whiskey he’d downed, “I’ve not seen one Amelia Earhart here.” He craned his neck, searching in the dimly lit room.

“You think the goggles are too much?” Ellie adjusted the strap on her head, pushing a loose strand of hair up underneath the band. “I think they might be cutting off circulation to my brain..."

“An aviator is only as good as their headgear,” Rooster tapped the top of his head. “You’re just missing your call sign.”

“Guess you must not be a very good one, then.” Ellie smirked, snapping the neon sweatband on his head with a laugh.

Rooster levelled her with a narrowed gaze, but there was no heat behind it, “one day someone is going to love that you’re kind of mean.”

“Sorry, Bradshaw—” Ellie pointed at her ears, shrugging as she stepped back, a smirk on her lips, retreating into the crowd “—I can’t hear you.”

Rooster flipped her off, in an affectionate way, she assumed. “Sit and circumnavigate, Rigby.”

With another laugh, Ellie turned and set her sights on the bar, squeezing her way through a grouping of zombies and a Michonne, who stood shoulder to shoulder with a Negan, complete with Lucille, tugging her scarf out of Zombie #1s grasp on the other side.

The last tug, sharp and forceful, sent her stumbling over the tattered chiffon hem of the La Llorona’s dress at her back.

Ellie braced for the rough landing as she attempted and failed to steady herself. She felt the fall in her stomach, the way it pitched as gravity pulled her down. She figured it served her right, the swift intervention of karma coming for her after she’d insulted its favourite pilot — Rooster was going to have an absolute field day over this.

Ellie had been so lost in the idea of bracing for the impact of the ground, hard and sticky, she didn’t notice that she hadn’t fallen until she looked up and saw a lopsided smirk and green eyes, looking down at her. The realization there were hands hooked under her arms, holding her up came quickly after.

“And here I was thinkin’ that Amelia Earhart had a reputation of staying upright.” The man was all smirk, dimples ghosting his cheeks, as Ellie blinked up at him, processing the situation.

“Guess I’m overdue for a refresher course on emergency landings.” Ellie cleared her throat, righting herself with his help before she tugged her bomber jacket back into place.

When she glanced up from her improved angle, Ellie could see just how striking he was—sharp jaw, confident eyes, and a natural swagger that suggested he knew it, suggested he knew women sized him up in more ways than one.

“What are you drinking, Amelia?”

“Nothing, yet.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?”

The music pumped anew, the DJ spinning a Thriller remix, as she approached the bar, the presence of the man at her back as she weaved her way through the crowd. She could feel the hover of his hand at her lower back, ready to catch her if she took another tumble. She hadn’t been expecting much from the night—just a few drinks, maybe some small talk with Nic, a short discussion with Sophie on Chappell Roan’s representation of duality in the midwestern identity to prove that she’d come out and spent the appropriate amount of time there. But as she took the beer the bartender slid her way and the man leaned against the bar next to her, she couldn’t help but smile. She definitely hadn’t been expecting this.

“Let me guess,” Ellie’s eyes scanned his costume then, taking a moment to take stock. Carefully, she scanned the skull patch, dagger in its teeth, VFA-151 stitched in below, the chevrons, patches, carefully piecing the images and small details of his costume together before she replied, eyebrow raised, “you’re a pilot—” she paused to sip her drink, her eyes falling on the patch on his bicep, “—Navy.”

A grin pulled up the corner of his mouth as he gave her a slow once-over, a scan he didn’t bother to hide, before he leaned casually against the bar beside her. “Hangman,” he said with a smirk, and Ellie’s eyes dipped to the patch on his chest, the golden wings stitched above the call sign. “Best pilot you’ll ever meet.”

She tilted her head, gaze sliding from his call sign back up to his face. “Best pilot, huh?” She gave him a once-over that was part skepticism, part intrigue. “You Navy guys really know how to sell it.”

Ellie leaned into the bit hard. Tonight, she was Amelia, and he was Hangman, the name stitched into hundreds, if not thousands, of storebought costumes. If she were Navy, she might have been insulted.

If he heard the skepticism in her tone, he ignored it and chuckled, not breaking eye contact as he matched her smirk. “Only because it’s true. Besides,” he said, letting his voice drop lower, “don’t have to sell anything when you’ve got it all.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, meeting his challenge head-on. “Big words for someone who still hasn’t proven a thing.”

“Oh, don’t worry, darlin’,” he drawled, leaning in just close enough to lower his voice to a rumble, “I’m very good at proving myself.”

She laughed softly, a glint in her eyes as she set her drink down. “Okay then, why don’t you start with this—” Ellie leaned in, her finger tapped lightly on the golden wings over his heart, her touch lingering. “Explain why they call you Hangman.”

She waited, waited to see if he’d squirm, held his gaze and paused for the story that was sure to come. Some feeble attempt at role playing for an unpracticed character, just a call sign with no real bite, no real story.

He smirked, clearly used to that question but still savoring her attention. “I’ll leave that for you to figure out,” he teased, straightening, “after all, you strike me as a curious type. And I’d hate to ruin the mystery.”

Ellie chuckled, leaning back as she looked him over. That was his game, wasn’t it? A tennis match, a steady volley and lob. Two could play at that game. “Maybe I’ll get bored before I do.” Ellie added a shrug to punctuate her words for effect.

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” His voice held a hint of challenge, his gaze lingering, his grin lazy but sharp. He straightened up, hand resting on the bar, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Guess we’ll see,” she murmured, lifting her drink to her lips, her gaze unwavering as she took another sip. She looked away for just a second, but not before she caught his confident grin widening.

“Believe me,” he said with that maddening confidence of his as he leaned in, so close that his voice was low, the heat of his words warming the shell of her ear, “I’ve got plenty of ways to keep you entertained.”

Ellie had barely unlocked the front door to Nicole’s place when he was on her, his hands on her hips as he pressed her into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He kissed her like a man starved, his fingers reaching up to tangle in her hair at the base of her neck, anchoring her to him.

This was the culmination of the barely veiled innuendos, the heavy-handed flirting that had gone on all evening.

When he’d slipped out of the bar and onto the street with her, Ellie knew what would happen. He knew what would happen. She could tell in the way his eyes raked over her, all want, pupils blown wide. He wanted her and she wasn’t shy to admit, maybe not out loud, but to herself, that she wanted him too.

“Maybe we should—” Ellie’s breath was uneven, her mouth missing his the moment they broke apart, just long enough for her to tip her head in the direction of the stairs.

“Yeah—” his reply was equally breathy, his eyes on her lips even as she spoke, his tongue jutting out to whet his lips. A thrill shot through her, one that dipped low and pulsed between her legs.

She was wet already, she could feel the slickness of herself, the material of her panties weighted with the evidence. In response, in a swift motion, he picked her up and Ellie instinctively spread her legs so that they framed his waist, her ankles locking at his low back. Ellie didn’t need to be told, she gripped him with her thighs, squeezing tight as he chuckled.

“Good girl,” he smirked against her mouth before he kissed her again, deeply, his tongue pushing inside to taste hers.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she broke from him only just long enough to give directions to her room in as few words as humanly possible, reaching out to grip the door frame of her room as he carried her down the hall and almost walked past it.

Shutting the door behind them with his foot, he wasted no time in pressing her up against the wall. His fingers worried the buttons, slipped each from their place, starting from the bottom up as Ellie took her bomber jacket off, tossing it and the goggles to the floor before she joined him in working on the buttons from top down.

“So many—” his breath came out with an edge of frustration and Ellie gave up on her buttons to tug the zip of his flight suit down to where her hips met his waist.

“Just rip it,” Ellie huffed out, voice unsteady as his lips dipped to her neck, teeth grazing the spot where her collarbone met the base of her throat. One less thing between his mouth and her skin warranted the sacrifice of a shirt.

He didn’t waste time, didn’t question and the sudden coolness on her skin and the sound of the buttons hitting the floor, scattered, had her grinning. She liked a man who followed orders. “You owe me a new shirt, Captain.”

“Lieutenant,” his voice rumbled into her skin, making quick work of her bra next. By the time it hit the floor to join the other articles of clothing, his hands were on her breasts, teasing her nipples, every pinch and pressure, every touch of his lips, every nip of his teeth sending surges of raw pleasure pulsing down.

Ellie hated the way he ripped the sounds, raw, unabashed, desperate, from her. Hated how she’d folded under his smooth charm — she could have stopped it, could have said good night and left him at her door. Touched herself, alone, in bed, thinking about the way he’d been so eager to prove he was the best, picture how his touch would have felt, how he would have filled her as she coaxed herself over the edge and leave it at that.

But she hadn’t, she’d wanted him —she’d own that. She wanted him to fuck her stupid. She could feel him, the hard outline of his cock pressing against her as he held her to him.

“Easy, darlin’,” he chuckled lowly, rough around the edges as she shifted, reaching to touch him over top the Nomex. “We haven’t even started yet….”

He was across to her bed in a few easy strides, carefully setting her back so that she sank into the pillows, his hand lingering at her waist as he leaned over her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His gaze held hers, steady and unhurried, as he let his fingers trace lightly over the edge of her jaw, his index finger coming to rest under her chin, his thumb smudging her bottom lip.

As his thumb traced her lip, smudging her lipstick, she caught his hand and pulled his index finger into her mouth, closing her lips around the digit, tongue tracing purposeful patterns as she slowly dragged it out. Her eyes never leaving his as he huffed out a heavy breath, a thrill running through her.

“You should know that I have a rule, sweetheart.” He murmured, leaning over her so that his arms framed her, so close that his nose brushed hers as he spoke, his voice low, deep, edged by the hard edge of desire. “Ladies first.”

Her pants were off quickly, leaving her in nothing but a whisp of material separating her from the man who wanted all of her. She heard the jingle of dog tags as he lifted the white shirt that had been under the flight suit over his head and abandoned it.

Before she could sit up to see him, stripped down to his boxers, he was back on her, lower.

Softly, he kissed her inner ankle, the next kiss trailing higher, her calf, another on the inside of her knee and the next, on her inner thigh, so close to where she wanted him, she was sure he could feel the heat radiating from her core.

She was a wreck, a hot, wet wreck and she was barely holding onto the part of her that was ready to beg him to touch her. The part of her that wanted all of him in a way that was driving her mad every moment he wasn’t touching her.

“What do you want?” His voice was steady, measured as he touched her over her panties, his rough fingers brushing over the dampened spot of the material. The sound that left his lips, a quiet hissing intake of breath, told her he knew what he was doing to her, knew that he had her right where he wanted her.

In response, Ellie writhed, sensitive to even the smallest brush and despite herself, a small moan left her lips, one she couldn’t have contained even if she had wanted to. What was the question again?

He moved up from the altar between her legs, nipping a sensitive spot on her side where her ribs ended before he remedied it with a soft kiss, blazing a trail up her body with his mouth. Carefully, holding himself just above her, he bent to tease her nipple with his tongue, whetting the already hard peak, before he closed his lips around one and then moved to the other.

Ellie was barely holding on, her vision edged with haze as he looked up to finally locked eyes with her. If he kept it up at this rate, he wouldn’t even need to fuck her.

“What do you want?” His voice was husky, his body propped up over her as Ellie tried to order her thoughts, process them into coherent words. “You going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?”

She could feel him against her thigh, hard, ready, the thin material of his boxers the only thing between her and all of him. There was some small satisfaction, a thrill that swept through her and coiled low in her stomach, that there was a part of him he was barely controlling a part of him that wanted to be inside of her now. The wet spot of precum on his underwear ghosted against her bare skin and she swore she could feel him twitch.

Hangman, she’d asked at the bar, explain why they call you Hangman.

Mystery solved.

“I want—” she started, barely a whisper as he kissed the corner of her mouth, kissed her jawline, his fingers slipping under the top waistband of her panties as he continued to nip at the most sensitive spots on her neck.

“You want…?” He prompted, waiting, even as his hand slipped lower, slow, calculated.

“I want you to—,” Ellie lifted her head and muffled her moan into his shoulder as his fingers found her slick clit, massaging lazy circles, steady, calm, “Mmm.” Her nails bit into the muscles on his back as her head fell to the pillow, arching into his touch.

“Guess, it is then.” He murmured, that infuriating smirk in his words as he pulled his hand away from her slick, stopping the steady rhythm she’d just gotten used to. She whined after the loss, but he didn’t give her much time to mourn before he was down between her legs again, his fingers dragging her panties off.

Swiftly, he pulled her to the bottom of the bed, throwing her legs over his shoulders. Ellie gasped, her hips bucking up into his tongue as he swept it up through her folds. Calmly, as she inched closer to unravelling completely, ascending the slope at dizzying speed, he gripped her hips, controlling her movements as she pressed down against his mouth.

She could feel the pressure building with every expert movement of his tongue over her, through her. Reaching down, she combed her fingers through his hair, gripped into it and tugged him over, directing him to her need.

“Oh, god….” Ellie whined, the words just barely words as they dissolved into a moan, her free hand gripping the mess of sheets underneath her.

“Hangman’s fine, gorgeous.” The response was quick, cocky. The response of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to her and taking his time.

“Wait,” Ellie’s hips chased after his mouth, a groan on her lips as she threw her arm across her eyes. “Don’t stop—.”

He was torturing her now, bringing her just to the edge and then allowing her to come down just enough to bring her back up again. He was fucking good and he knew it. It was going to drive her insane with want.

“You have to say please, sweetheart,” he murmured, the heat of his breath on her inner thigh almost too much, carefully, he touched her with his thumb, a light pressure as he teased her. Ellie could hear the smirk in his words.

Words. What were words? Ellie's mind was short-circuiting. Short-circuited, past tense. Already gone. Wires crossed— leads jammed in the wrong place, signals crossed.

She hadn’t wanted to fall apart under his touch so easily, she'd wanted to seem like she wasn’t desperate for him, but his touch was a warm fire on a cold night.

“Ple—fuck,” Ellie moaned, her words dragged out, long and torturous as she felt his thick fingers slip inside her, slow and deliberate.

She didn’t even know his real name, wasn’t even sure if she could manage to say it even if she did. He was undoing her carefully, piece by piece, sensation by sensation, she was malleable under his touch.

“What was that darlin’?”

Ellie might have been embarrassed at the squelch of her wetness as his fingers stroked in and out, excruciatingly measured, but she couldn't think about anything. Just the way he filled her while still leaving her wanting more, more, more.

“Please—” her nerves crackled like livewires as she moaned, her hips moving against his fingers with each stroke, her movements almost involuntary, the wild need in her chasing the high, just out of reach.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” his voice was husky, lower now. He gripped her hip, holding her, steadying her rhythm before he added another thick finger, three deep in her now, his thumb moving in circles around her swollen clit.

“Jesus,” he breathed, taking a moment before his mouth dipped to her hot center, alternating between sucking and the slow caressing tip of his tongue, creating just the right amount of excruciatingly perfect sensation, his fingers stroking and curling inside her. “You're so tight, sweetheart. Might not—”

He might not fit. She finished his words in her mind, a secondary thought, one that made her mad with want.

She breathed through the sensations, jolted and writhed as his pumping digits searched for the spot that made her see stars. She felt drunk, high, soaring, just on the edge of release, her muscles aching to reach the peak before she tumbled over, completely undone.

When she finally broke, her back arching off the mattress, her hips grinding harder into his hand, she moaned into her forearm to muffle the sound.

That air of self–assured cockiness he carried himself with at the bar, the swagger. It was all well–earned, she was coming to realize. Pun intended.

“You know what they call a pilot with at least five confirmed air-to-air kills?” His voice was low as he drew his fingers from her, slipping his arm behind her still arched back as he leaned over her, his heavy cock pressing up against her throbbing pussy through his boxers, hard, ready.

She was hyper aware that she still wanted him, inside her, filling her, spreading her to her limit in a unique mix of pleasure and pain.

“Hmm—Ace?” Ellie’s mind was still hazy, vignetted around the edges as her heart hammered against her ribs.

It happened in a moment, a quick change of position, as he lifted and turned, positioning himself under her so she straddled him. Smooth and calculated, precise and fast, an expert maneuver.

Ellie could feel her bare wetness against him, her hands bracing on his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath her touch. In the dim light of the room, she could see the glint of his dog tags hanging off to the side, a small detail of his costume she wished she might have looked at before, in the bar.

“Ace.” He smirked up at her before he shifted her hips up and he pulled her down over his face.

Ellie gripped the steering wheel tightly, the worn pleather creaking under her hands as she leaned forward and angled the rearview mirror sharply so she could get a better look.

“Fuck,” Ellie hissed, her fingers hovering just over the purple mark on her neck, just above her collarbone. How she hadn’t noticed it in the mirror this morning, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Seriously? A fucking hickey?” She was already digging around in her purse as she huffed, her fingers blindly searching for the concealer she knew wouldn’t be there because she could see it in her mind’s eye, sitting on the edge of the porcelain countertop in her ensuite bathroom. “Are we fourteen?”

This was definitely topping her list of things she didn’t need her first day on a new job site, especially not Miramar.

When Ellie had woken up that morning, the sun barely peeking through the half-shut blinds, she wasn’t surprised that she was alone in bed. There was no note, no forgotten sock, no evidence, save for the dull ache between her legs and a tender, purple love bite on the inside of her right thigh as evidence that last night had even happened.

That was what one-night stands were though, right? One night.

Even under the hot stream of water from the shower in the ensuite though, Ellie closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back, only shaking herself from the thought of him when the alarm from her phone buzzed it right off the counter.

Groaning, Ellie blew out a noisy breath, abandoning the purse search when she found nothing other than a stray mint.

Guess today was going to be a hair down kind of day.

It wasn't the look she normally felt comfortable with on military bases with all the formality of rank and protocol, but she was a civilian contractor, it was unlikely anyone would notice. Hair down was better than the talk that might follow her around if anyone saw the mark on her neck.

Sighing, Ellie pulled the pins out of the bun she’d spent her morning perfecting and allowed her hair, dark, still damp and wavy from the shower, to fall around her shoulders. Carefully, she pulled the tresses forward, over the rouged mark on her skin, peeking just out from under the collar of her white blouse.

It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do in a pinch. She made a quick mental note to head off base on break to stop at a CVS to grab some concealer before she twisted the rearview mirror back into place.

Tony Cudmore, the Crew Staffing Supervisor she had been coordinating with solely through email before now, was already waiting for her just outside the gates, his eyes on his wristwatch as Ellie approached. “Rigby, glad to have you on board. Heard we snagged you from your work on base in Turkey.”

“Yeah, well. When Uncle Sam comes knocking, right?” Ellie snagged a tress of her hair as it lifted from her shoulder in the wind, carefully patting it back into place.

“Don’t I know it,” Tony chuckled, his white, push broom straight moustache blustering as he waved at the officer stationed in the booth by the gate before he scanned his security pass. “How’s your old man?”

“Ah, you know the type, Tony.”

Ellie had perfected the art of sidestepping questions about her dad and Tony didn’t push further, seemingly content with the non-answer.

As they reached the security clearance office, Tony slid a few documents under the glass and Ellie stepped up in front of a camera, the flash going off quickly before she had a chance to adjust.

Whoever thought DMV photos were bad had clearly never had their photo taken by a Naval Officer a few months away from retirement.

“Given name?” The man behind the glass murmured, so low that Ellie had to strain and lean toward the hole at the bottom of the glass to hear him.

“Eleanor.”

“We have a lot of work here that could really benefit from your expertise. The boys are flying Super Hornets nowadays, so the tech is good, but the improvements from your research could really give ‛em the edge.” Tony continued at her side, distractedly flipping through emails on his phone as he waited, “Now of course, those Super Hornets are far and away from the Tomcats your dad would have been flying in his heyday here, let me tell you….”

“Surname?”

“Neven - but you can just put Rigby.” It was Ellie’s turn to murmur now, edging closer to the slot in the glass, her voice just loud enough to be heard over Tony’s absent chatter behind her.

The Security Officer paused, fanning out Ellie’s passport and glancing up at her for a moment, eyebrow raised before he punched something into the computer. She offered him a tight smile a beat too late.

When the man slid her the newly printed security pass, Ellie’s eyes scanned for any sign of the hickey and was thankful that, though her hair looked like a bird's nest and her eyes were half-closed in mid-blink, at least the hickey wasn’t memorialized in her security pass.

As they stepped out of the security office, Tony untucked a manila folio from under his arm and passed it to Ellie as they walked. “I’ll take you around. Give you your bearings. You’ll be working with the tower crew lots. Some good people up there.”

They were out of the outbuilding now, Ellie’s heels clicking across the tarmac, past the line of F18s lined up on the hardtop and gleaming in the early morning California sun.

“The ground crew might ask for some help with the planes, so you’ll be in the hangars. I’ll take you for a quick flyby,” Tony chuckled to himself, pleased with the pun, “we’ll pick up the tour after since the meeting with Admiral Simpson and Rear Admiral Stark is at 0900 sharp and those suits don’t mess around.”

Tony’s strides were long, and it took Ellie a moment to jog after him, catching up just in time for him to open the door for her.

“If you’re not five minutes early—” Ellie started, half playing into the old Navy saying she had grown up hearing as she slipped into the hangar.

The nostalgic scent of jet fuel and oil hit Ellie hard in the closed space — it didn’t seem to matter how long she did this, how long she worked around planes and crews, in different countries, different airfields, this part never changed. Part of that was comforting in an odd way. It felt like home to her.

Tony snapped his fingers in response, the sound of agreement. Tony opened his mouth to speak when a loud peel of laughter echoed in the closed space. Tony glanced at his watch, confused for a moment before his face turned toward Ellie, excited. “Oh, well, will you look at that, lucky you, we’ve got some of our Flyboys here. Must have some free time before drills.”

Ellie followed a few steps behind Tony as he rounded the front of a line of Super Hornets, a spring in his step. As they approached, she took in the group of aviators in their flight suits from a distance, casually talking and laughing — and then her stomach twisted, her gait faltering for a moment.

There, leaning against one of the jets, was the last person she expected to see again, let alone here: Hangman.

He looked almost exactly as he had last night, though somehow the daylight amplified everything about him— his height, the confident set of his shoulders. He turned, mid-laugh and Ellie watched as his eyes caught on her, like he recognized her for a fraction of a second before the look was gone just as quickly.

Hangman’s easy smile shifted when he saw her, an eyebrow shooting up, surprise flashing across his face before his expression settled into something like amusement.

The last time she’d seen that look, she’d been over top of him, hovering, before he pulled her down over his mouth greedily, his tongue painting pictures over her most sensitive nerve endings as she moaned. She was pretty sure she’d broken one of her fingernails as she gripped the headboard, biting into her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood, his other hand reaching up to cup her breast roughly.

Yet here he was now, in the light of day, truly in his element, looking like he belonged here as much as the jets around him.

Ellie felt her heart kick up a notch, a reaction she’d hoped she’d managed to stow away. She forced herself to play it cool, lifting her chin slightly as they neared the group. She didn’t have a choice – there was no running from this. The consequences of her own actions coming back around to haunt her.

“Hangman, Payback, Harvard,” Tony greeted, nodding to him and the other pilots. “Good to see you guys. Just giving our new radar tech a tour.”

Ellie felt her pulse quicken as his gaze slid back to her. He wasn’t going to say anything, right? They were strangers here, well, coworkers now. She wasn’t Amelia Earhart, and he wasn’t the pilot from the party, except, he very clearly was and Ellie had miscalculated, mis-stepped. A TOPGUN pilot no less.

As she held his gaze, she could see the recognition flickering behind his eyes. He knew exactly who she was, but his mask didn’t slip, not for a second.

“This is—”

“Rigby. Eleanor.” Ellie interrupted Tony sharply. The introduction as herself, not as Amelia, would be on her own terms. At least she could control that. Here, at Miramar, she was Eleanor Rigby.

“Welcome to the team, Rigby,” he said smoothly, holding out a hand as if they hadn’t already met in the most intimate of ways. The way he said her name sounded off, like he was testing it out in the context of their previous… encounter.

Ellie held her breath, pausing only a moment before she forced herself to shake his hand. “Thanks,” she replied coolly, her voice even, though she was silently praying for the ground to swallow her whole. She refused to let him get the upper hand. Not here, not in front of people she had to work with.

His grip was firm, his eyes amused. Ellie caught the brief flicker of his gaze to her neck, his eyes resting where Ellie knew she’d tried to hide the hickey, admiring his work, likely.

Tony chuckled, oblivious to the tension. “Lieutenant Seresin’s one of the best we’ve got. You’ll probably end up working on his bird now and then.”

Ellie forced a smile, though she could feel the bottom of her stomach drop out and she cleared her throat in an attempt to press down the nervous, incredulous laugh that threatened to escape her. Technically, she’d worked on it last night, right?

“Looking forward to it,” she said instead, even though the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him right now.

He released her hand, stepping back into the group of pilots. “Catch you around, Rigby” he said casually, before turning back to his crew, who began to stalk off, out of the large open hangar doors, not looking back.

“Anyway, you’ll be working here between—” Tony continued, oblivious.

Ellie let out a breath as Tony waved at her to follow him, continuing the tour. She kept her eyes forward, focusing on Tony’s voice, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of Hangman’s eyes on her or the memory of last night still lingering between them. This complicated things. This really complicated things.

At least he’d set a standard: he didn’t know her and Ellie was only happy to play along with that pretense. She didn’t know him either. At least, that’s the story she was sticking to.

The fluorescent lights in the conference room felt harsher than usual, and Ellie shifted uncomfortably as Admiral Simpson and Rear Admiral Ingrid Stark watched her closely, their expressions unreadable.

Standing before two of the Navy’s highest-ranking officers, Ellie tried to steady her breath, tried to ignore the slow trickle of panic coursing through her. The same panic that churned the small bit of breakfast she’d managed to eat while maneuvering in and out of San Diego traffic all the way to North Island.

All she had to do was focus, recenter her mind on the presentation. The presentation that culminated the last three years of her career, it was important, she knew – it had been the sole focus of her work in Turkey and yet, here she was, hiding that stupid hickey and thinking about the man who made it. Thinking about how he looked at her in the hangar not but twenty minutes ago, a glance exchanged that held a shared secret between them as he took her hand and treated her like a stranger. Cool, calm, collected, all charm.

It was the same easy charisma she’d leaned into just last night, at the Halloween party, blissfully unaware of who he really was. Except now she knew he’d been telling the truth the whole damn time and she’d just called his bluff wrong. And now, now with all those thoughts running through her mind at Mach 2, she was standing here, in front of the highest-ranking personnel on base, expected to deliver a groundbreaking presentation on her research, trying to ignore the lingering flush of that unexpected run-in this morning.

Ellie cleared her throat, tightening her grip on her tablet as she began walking the Admirals through her research. Running through her practiced script, she carefully outlined her new detection algorithm—a project that had garnered their attention in the first place, the same work that had pulled her back here, to Miramar.

Truthfully, if they’d asked any probing questions, Ellie would have to confess that the technology was in its earliest stages but had the potential to counteract enemy jamming of GPS signals. In theory (because that was the key word theory), the algorithm she’d developed, on paper, had the potential to become an un-jammable navigation system.

Ellie clicked through to the next slide, “The reason this algorithm has the potential to give our pilots the advantage is because the enemy would have -”

You have to say please, sweetheart.

The memory from last night, his words a steady command, sent a pulse through her, from her chest, down into her core, where it settled, hot and pulsing.

Ellie’s voice caught in her throat, and she coughed, before holding up her index finger and pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher at the head of the table. Quietly she sipped the water, her eyes landing outside the window at the tarmac as ground crew guided an F18 out of the hangar. She waited for a beat, measuring her sips as she calmed down.

Get your shit together, Rigby. She coached herself, draining the last of the water as she caught Admiral Simpson checking his watch from the corner of her eye. You are not going to screw this up because you had sex last night.

Incredible sex.

The best sex you've had in the last two years... possibly in your entire life.

Top tier sex... with your new co-worker. Who just so happens to fall into the off-limits category.

If she could have shaken her head without it seeming strange, she would have, but she suspected she was getting into foot tapping territory. With Admirals, time was money.

“I’m sorry, as I was saying—” Ellie straightened her blazer, setting the glass down and resuming her presentation, determined.

When she finished, Admiral Simpson leaned back, giving her a thoughtful once-over as he drummed his fingers on the folder containing her research on the table in front of him. “Well, Ms. Neven,” he said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The best of the best. That’s what they told me about you. I suppose that must run in the family.”

The weight of the comment hit her immediately, and her mind reeled again. This time for an entirely different reason. She hadn’t anticipated Rick’s reputation coming up so soon—or at all.

She managed a quick nod, hoping it looked confident. “Thank you, sir,” she said, barely keeping her voice steady.

Simpson’s smile deepened. “When we saw you were one of the top minds in the field, it was a no-brainer to bring you in for this project. Your research is intriguing.” His gaze softened slightly, just enough to give her a glimpse of the man behind the rank and she wondered if, for half a second, it had anything to do with the fact that he had a daughter her age. “You’re going to do great things here. Your dad’ll be proud, no doubt.”

Ellie nodded again, murmuring her thanks, feeling an odd pressure bubbling under the surface. Truthfully, she had expected some bluster about her family, some comments about her father and his Radar Intercept Officer being wingmen for the late Fleet Commander Tom “Iceman” Kazansky. She hadn’t expected it this soon.

“Admiral Stark and I will take a look over your documentation and see how best to get the testing started. I trust you’ll let us know if you need anything in the meantime?” Admiral Simpson stood then, and an Officer stationed outside the boardroom opened the door from the outside.

The meeting adjourned, and as everyone began to filter out, Ellie felt herself unraveling by the second, anxiety pushing its way to the forefront. She wanted to scream or laugh, possibly both. Instead, she was rooted in place, unable to decide whether to escape to the nearest empty room or brace herself against the wall and breathe. If she didn’t leave this room for the rest of the day, what were the chances she’d run into him again? Probably slim.

This was her first day here. The first day and she was thinking about how she’d been laid bare and fucked out of her mind by a man she’d never thought she’d see again, much less work with. All in the middle of one of the most important presentations of her entire life, in front of the people who could make that research into something tangible, a finished product, a cornerstone of new technology in aviation, a reality.

The lights in the boardroom automatically flicked off and Ellie sighed, gathering up the last of her things before exiting the room. She could hide in the women’s bathroom, right?

“Ms. Neven.” RADM Stark’s voice approaching from the hallway behind her startled Ellie. As she turned, Ellie watched as Stark appraised her with a mix of curiosity and approval. “Impressive work. It’s good to have some estrogen in the room for once.” Her lips curled into a slight smirk, and Ellie let out the measured breath she’d been holding.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m—excited to work here,” Ellie's voice was a little steadier now, a bit of genuine enthusiasm breaking through her nerves as she reminded herself why she was here in the first place. Her work. Her career. Her tech.

Stark raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Don’t get too excited,” she said, producing a small stick of concealer from a crisp tan pant pocket. She held Ellie’s gaze, a message or a warning behind her cool eyes, Ellie couldn’t be sure, as the ranked Officer handed the makeup to Ellie. “I think we might be the same shade.”

Ellie’s heart stuttered as the realization hit her, broad-sided. Her hand shot to her neck before she could think, the heat in her cheeks flaring brighter than before as she accepted the concealer, mumbling a mortified thank-you.��

Stark gave her a knowing smile, a curt little nod as she tapped the side of her nose, before walking away, her stride as calm and confident as when she’d approached.

Ellie waited until the RADM was clear from sight before making a beeline for the bathroom, practically stumbling into the mirror over the sink. She tilted her head to confirm what she already knew was there: a very visible, very damning mark on her neck. The scarlet letter.

Great.

She didn’t waste a second applying RADM Stark’s concealer, muttering under her breath as she blended it carefully with the tips of her fingers, dabbing. “One day at Miramar, Ellie. One day.”

As she swiped on the secondary layer of concealer for good measure, she felt the rush of everything hit her again. The tension of the presentation, the equal parts pride and pressure from the Admiral’s praise, and him—Lieutenant Seresin, Hangman, with his easy, cocky grin and the piercing eyes that, despite everything, she could still feel on her.

tags: @mrsevans90 , @avengersfan25 , @hookslove1592

taglist if you want to be added/removed!

#glen powell #smut #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #hangman smut #hangman x oc #top gun fanfiction #tom iceman kazansky #rick hollywood neven #(i love you) it's ruining my life #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun

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natihoneybee · 3 months ago

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Kagi-kun & the Basketball Team and HiraKagi Theories Post Chapter 29

In my free time, I spent the last few days rereading all of Hirano & Kagiura (including the novel) and then skimming through all of Sasaki & Miyano for Easter eggs. I wanted to compile as many details as I could find that’s related to Kagiura and his basketball team. I’m doing this to organize my thoughts better, and piece together details about the team.

While going through the material, I did come up with more theories for the upcoming chapter(s). But I might have to make a separate thread depending on how long the post gets. Anyway, I want this post to have facts and key details, so I’ll try to include volume and page numbers, too.

The first half of the post about Kagi-kun & the basketball team possibly has some spoilers for Ch. 29 but not really. Just in case I’m putting it under a “read more” line.

What we know about the basketball team

These are the names of basketball players mentioned so far: Shirahama Kyouji, Tomonori Kuda, Yamada, and Muroi Yuuki. These are the basketball players’ numbers we know about so far: Kagiura is #11 and there are two players who are #7 & #4 from a Shirahama flashback (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-19).

We know that Kagiura and the basketball team go to the city to watch basketball games or play outside of practice at a gym (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Kagiura tells Hirano that there’s an arena nearby where a pro basketball team plays. And that the school basketball team sometimes takes the school buses (Vol 1, chapter 4, page 17). Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in the next volume. But I will address that idea at the end in the “Basketball Retreat Theory” section.

Kagiura Akira

*I'm gonna be brief with Kagi's section because I could go on and on about him hehe

I’m really excited to see more of how Kagiura interacts with his teammates on the basketball team. While rereading, I focused on the scenes of Kagi with his basketball teammates and these scenes from (Vol 5, ch 23a) really stood out to me. Kagiura overhears another player complaining about him “getting out of cleaning” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3). And when he meets up with Hirano later that chapter, it’s revealed he’s late because he stayed behind and that “they needed help cleaning up” (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 8). I think that really goes to show the type of person Kagi is and how much he cares about the basketball club. He really works hard at it and doesn’t want anyone questioning his dedication to it. I'll get into this trait of his later in the Basketball Retreat Theory.

Jealous-kun

*I saw someone in another post say that this guy^ complaining about Kagi “getting out of cleaning” from (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3) is the same guy in (Vol 6, chapter 29). And OMGG you are totally right!! GAAAHHH!! Idk his name though. If anyone could come up with a nickname while we wait, that would make talking about him easier (i’ll prob just call him jealous-kun for now). I'm assuming based on the translation, that he's also a second year.

Back to Kagi

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is a scene from (Vol 3, chapter 14, page 10-12) where a girl tries to give chocolates to Kagi on valentines day. I think her near confession is very precious. Kagi is so sweet about kindly turning down her chocolates. He seems really serious about what she has to say to him, too: he’s genuinely listening, asks her for her name, thanks her for watching their games and offers to walk her to the station. And the words she used to describe him “you looked so cool and mature when you were focusing”, definitely stuck with him in the context of Hirano: “I wonder if he’d think I’m cool and fall for me if I acted more mature”. Just something to think about. Now, this valentine’s day scene reminds of a scene in sasamiya with Shirahama, but I’ll get to that in his character section below.

Shirahama Kyouji

Shirahama in HiraKagi

Shirahama and Kagiura seem to be close, they frequently play basketball together even when there’s no practice scheduled, like during lunch (Vol 3, chapter 12, page 9-19) and on weekends (Vol 4, chapter 11, page 7). Someone in another post called them “basketball buddies” hehe. I think we’re definitely going to see more of their friendship as teammates in the upcoming chapters. Shirahama talks a lot about wanting a girlfriend, and often whines about how Kagiura is so popular with girls (Vol 4, chapter 20.6, pages 2-5). In the extra “Something About White Day”, Shirahama learns that Kagi has an unrequited love though, so I’m wondering if they will talk about love later on or if Kagiura will open up about his crush on Hirano to Shirahama. And even though Shirahama lightly complains about Kagi’s popularity with girls, he definitely cares about and respects Kagi enough to defend him from other players who are jealous of Kagi (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 3).

Shirahama in SasaMiya

Now jumping to the sasamiya series real quick in their third year: Something I’ve noticed is shirahama becoming more of a regular character since Vol 8. And we finally get a character name tag for him in (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4). Since he’s becoming a bigger role in the sasamiya series, this goes back to my idea of shirahama possibly having a bigger role in hirakagi, too (i.e. he and kagi talking more about crushes or relationships). When I reread the parts of how Shirahama reacted to sasaki and miyano’s relationship (with the context of hirakagi) I started thinking: Does Shirahama know something about Kagiura and Hirano (to some extent)? Like maybe he knows that Kagiura has a crush or at this point is in a relationship that’s secret. Before learning about Miyano and Sasaki, maybe shirahama’s only example of how a couple acts was Kagiura and his experiences. Since, Shirahama seemed really surprised that Miyano wasn’t keeping his relationship a secret, I wonder if maybe Kagiura ever confided to Shirahama about his feelings for or eventual relationship with Hirano and if it was kept secret at some point because they were roommates (this is only the case if they start dating while being roommate, but I think they start dating in Kagiura’s third year tbh).

For Reference, here are the page numbers in sasamiya with Shirahama that I’m referring to: (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4-8), (Vol 9, chapter 43, page 8), (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). And these are the specific Shirahama scenes/lines that stick out to me in the sasamiya series that may or may not back up my hirakagi theory involving shirahama (or I’m just delulu *shrug*):

In (Vol 8, chapter 42, page 4) Shirahama says “I’m never gonna get the chance to stay late at school getting everything ready for the cultural festival and then leave with a girl after I tell her it’s dangerous so she should let me walk her home!” He says it’s from a sim game, but it’s really specific and actually reminded me of Kagiura on valentine’s day haha. I wonder if this will happen to Kagiura in his 2nd year in the upcoming cultural festival.

“Let’s say I don’t find a girlfriend before college. Then I’m gonna end up getting a job and going out drinking, saying, ‘I wanna get married…!’ I feel like I’m gonna end up sounding like this guy on the team, and I don’t want that.” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 5).

“You scared me…!! You can’t just say that! It’s a secret!” (vol 8, ch 42, pg 7)

Shirahama says “Is that really what couples usually do…? Guess I was overthinking it.” (Vol 9, ch 43, pg 8)

I’m really interested in what y’all think about the scene in (Vol 10, chapter 49, page 18-21). It seems like Shirahama really doesn’t want to miss basketball practice and the flashback scene he recalls actually hits a nerve. Do you think maybe Shirahama is feeling insecure about his role in the basketball club here? Like maybe he’s not always part of the main team in tournaments? I initially thought that this was a Kagi cameo, but the jersey’s say #4 and #7, and I’ve read somewhere that Kagi’s jersey number is #11.

*Side note: I can’t remember which page in sasamiya it was, but Shirahama mentions going on group dates a lot. Is he going with some guys from the basketball team? If anyone knows, please please pleasee let me know. Obviously, I don’t think Kagi would go, but I can imagine him being asked to go to help the other guys out or “evening out the numbers” haha OR being asked NOT to go because he’s too popular with girls. It could be a funny scene to see idk.

Okay, I think that’s all I have to say about Shirahama on the basketball team for now. I’ll probably refer back to him later though.

Tomonori Kuda

I think he’s the one Kagi mentions in these passages in the HiraKagi light novel on pages 22 and 26. And I think that they might have a “rivals to teammates to friends” type of relationship. At least, that’s the impression I got from the novel when Kagi cheers for him at the Sports Festival and thinks “I’ve gotta tell him how glad I am that he joined the basketball team.”

Also, you can see the name “Tomonori Kuda” in Kagiura’s phone call log, and before Hirano called, he was the last person Kagi talked to on the phone (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 31). So, I’m kinda hoping that they’re close and we see more of that. When the regular players are called over at practice, Kagi and Kuda’s names are both called, and we get to put a face to the name (Vol 5, ch 23a, page 4).

Yamada “Run, Yamada!”

Someone is named Yamada (unknown given name) on the basketball team. This is literally just based on this one background character during practice when Shirahama is talking to Sasaki in (SasaMiya Vol 9, chapter 46, page 11 ) lol.

Muroi Yuuki “headband-kun”

I saw someone referring to him as “headband-kun” in a tag and I thought it was the cutest thing. Muroi Yuuki is a newer character we’ve just been introduced to, and we know he’s Kagiura’s kouhai. He’s a first year, while Kagi is a second year. I believe his first appearance is (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 4 & 7). In the scene where Kagi is helping Muroi with paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), we see a close up of his name and his reason for staying off-campus. We see quite a bit of him in Chapter 29: where he’s on the school bus with the basketball team, he asks Kagiura which activity he’s doing, introduces himself to Hirano telling him he’s on the basketball team and then asks to have Hirano’s contact information. So we know that 1) he will be at the off-campus basketball retreat, 2) he’s a kouhai on the basketball team, 3) He really looks up to Kagiura. I think he’s adorable and I am soooo looking forward to seeing more of Kagiura and Muroi’s kouhai/senpai relationship. I am so glad Kagiura finally has a kouhai of his own! Also, that part where Kagi gives Muroi his phone to watch a game… so cute, it’s giving ipad kid lmao 🤣😭.

HiraKagi Theories (Spoilers for Chapter 29!!!)

Okay! So that’s it for what I have on the basketball team profiles. I’m gonna get into what I think is going happen after Chapter 29. This section is definitely going to have spoilers!

Basketball Retreat Theory

I think there are going to be multiple arcs coming into play during the months May-October of Hirano’s 3rd and Kagiura’s 2nd year (Hirakagi Vol 7 and onward). First, I’m going to address my Basketball Retreat Theory. Based on some paperwork in (Vol 6, chapter 27, page 7), it looks like there is going to be an off-campus basketball retreat in the near future, which I think is actually going to come up in the next chapter and might be part of a larger arc in this coming up volume.

I can’t remember exactly where this image^ is from, but it got me thinking: Does Kagi become the new captain for the basketball team? I don’t think that’s something that has been confirmed or not but it just makes sense, right? I just get the feeling there’s gotta be more behind the question that Hanzawa is asking Shirahama, especially since Hanzawa is so familiar with Kagiura and his character. I mean like Hanzawa had asked Kagi about being an RA at some point. Kagi was in the running for being an RA without even realizing it! Tashiro (who became ping pong captain) mentioned that he started getting scouted for the position during the summer/ cultural festival season, which is coming up soon in the hirakagi timeline.

Now, back to the basketball retreat and upcoming tournaments: If Kagi’s senpais on the basketball team are going to start scouting for the new team captain, I am absolutely positive they are going to partially determine who to choose based on how well things run smoothly at the retreat and tournaments. Going back to Kagiura’s profile from earlier, we know he’s Basketball Team Captain worthy and Hirano has even said to Kagi that “They’re well aware of how hard you’ve been working” (Vol 5, chapter 23b, page 6). Not to even mention, Kagi in his 2nd year has now been training and teaching the younger members too! So, following this theory that Kagi is in the running for becoming the new basketball team captain, I think this definitely adds to the possibility that we will see some basketball team drama. Especially if Jealous-kun is another 2nd year basketball player in the team interested in that position.

Homophobic Jealous-kun Theory

Now, this other theory involves Jealous-kun much more. My other theory is that Jealous-kun, who has a history of intently watching Kagiura, catches Kagiura having a moment with Hirano—and like Hirano with Inchinose—Kagi makes eye contact and realizes they were caught. Only, Jealous-kun isn’t as sweet about it and reacts homophobically. If this does happen, I actually think this might go a really angsty route where Hirano and/or Hanzawa get involved. Like… I’m wondering if there will be a physical fight between Kagi and Jealous-kun (which just thinking about that scares me so much cause idek if Kagi can fight??) But the reason I think this is a huge possibility is because of some clues in both hirakagi and sasamiya series.

It’s been brought up multiple times that Hirano is good in a fight, in (Vol 1, chapter 3, page 14) Sasaki tries to reassure Hanzawa that “Hirano’s good in a fight. If anything happens, he’ll be fine… I think”. To which Hanzawa replies “That ‘I think’ doesn’t really make me feel better”. So I’m wondering if there will be a point in the story where we will see Hirano get in a physical fight. Either he fights someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* to defend Kagi or Kagi is in a physical fight with someone *cough cough maybe jealous kun?* and Hirano gets involved to try to split it up.

If this does happen, I think Hanzawa could be a witness to this situation. Fast forward to the scene from sasamiya (Vol 6, chapter 30, page 12). Hanzawa says “Some of the guys in my life are gay, and I’ve seen them get in fights before. It’s scary. Whenever they get hurt, I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends…” Now, when I first read this scene I only thought about it in the context of Hanzawa’s brothers past relationships (maybe they dealt with domestic abuse). BUT in the context of hirakagi (it’s interesting that Hirano is pictured here), it’s definitely not the case of domestic abuse or toxic relationships.

I think the wording here is on purpose because 1) Hanzawa used the phrase “some of the guys in my life are gay” instead of just using “brothers”. So I immediately thought of Kagiura. 2) When he says “I always worry that something happened with one of their boyfriends”, I feel like it could have a double meaning where “that something” that “happened with one of their boyfriends” could be Hanzawa and Hirano finding out that Kagiura is in a fight with someone and Hirano dashes to him (we all remember how fast he ran when kagi was overtired).

*sigh* Just thinking about this situation is stressing me out. So for now I’m moving on to another thought process and that’s Hirano’s confession, but I’ll get back to Hanzawa later.

Hirano’s Confession

As of right now it’s May in the hirakagi timeline, the sports festival just happened and in the sasamiya timeline this is when Sasaki (awkwardly) confesses to Miyano.

In the sasamiya series in (Vol 3, chapter 15, page 21), we have this beautiful moment between Hirano and Sasaki that happens in June. Hmph. So, Hirano’s reaction definitely feels personal, right?? Because there’s definitely a window between May and June, I wouldn’t be surprised if Harusono stretched out that period of time. Still, I’m pretty positive that Hirano is going to confess in June right before or right after this scene with Sasaki. Hirano’s comment: “Stop making excuses and just tell him already!” Absolutely confirms to me that there is going to be something on Hirano’s mind that he might use as an excuse to wait to tell Kagi, that will delay his confession, or that will just make him feel hesitant. And I think that something could be related to the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous kun theory, or how Hanzawa feels about gay relationships (at this point in the series). And when he tells this to Sasaki, I think he’s also saying this to himself (maybe).

Hanzawa’s Involvement

Time to get back to Hanzawa. In the sasamiya timeline, we’re officially introduced to his character with a name tag in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8). At this time, it’s July. I think it’s really interesting that Harunsono chose this point to officially introduce Hanzawa, especially with Hirano’s dorm life brought up on the same page and Hanzawa seeming to be unphased. Later in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 22, page 19-20 & 24) Hanzawa and Miyano are discussing what love is. At this time, it’s September during cultural festival preparations. I saw someone in another post say that it feels like Hanzawa is repeating someone else’s words. I believe this is definitely the case. In the Sasaki and Miyano anime, Hanzawa’s speech actually overlaps with scenes of Hirano & Kagiura and Kuresawa & Ogasawara on the phone with their respective girlfriends. And the reference to Hirano and Kagiura feels like such an obvious clue now looking back at it. The conversation between Hanzawa and Miyano (in the anime and manga) goes like this:

Miyano: What do you think it means to like someone?

Hanzawa: I think it depends on the person. Like wanting to do stuff with them? Or like wanting to be together. Wanting to hold hands. Wanting to touch them. Wanting to kiss them. Wanting to hold them. Or wanting to have them all to yourself. … Love is when you can’t stop thinking about the other person, or so they say.

Everything that Hanzawa says and uses as an example of Love literally relates back to Hirano and Kagiura. So, it could be that this is a speech that Hirano has said to Hanzawa before. Even the phrasing reminds me of Hirano. Like in hirakagi (chapter 29, pages 12-13 & 16) when Hirano is talking to Ichinose, Hirano asks “Have you ever wanted to kiss someone? … And try various things. … I’m fine with touching them”. Hirano is sorta still figuring out the type of “like/love” he feels for kagiura (although in chapter 29, page 34 it looks like he’s realized it’s the same as kagiura’s like/love), but once he figures it out completely, I think he’s going to share this information with Hanzawa. And explain it to Hanzawa with personal examples:

Kagiura and Hirano feel love differently (it depends on the person)

Sometimes it’s wanting to try various things (like wanting to do stuff with them?)

Wanting to continue living together as roommates (like wanting to be together)

Wanting to hold hands (something Hirano and Kagiura have done)

Wanting to touch them (the 10 seconds touch everyday)

Wanting to kiss them (something Kagiura or Ichinose want to do when they like someone)

Wanting to hold them (hugging)

Wanting to have them all to yourself (dating and Kagi's "More than anything, I want to be with you" in chapter 29, page 28)

When you can’t stop thinking about the other person (literally Hirano every moment of everyday and Kagi when Hirano leaves)

And I think this is going to happen in July, since that’s when Hanzawa was introduced to the sasamiya series and seems to be more open to gay relationships by this time. I just think that Harusono is very intentional with their characters and would set it up this way. Especially since in (sasamiya Vol 4, chapter 19, page 8) Hanzawa doesn’t seem to be as worried as he did before about Hirano and Kagiura’s dorm life as roommates (him no longer being an RA might be a factor as well, but I think it’s mostly because Hirano has talked it over with Hanzawa regarding his closeness with Kagi).

*Side Note: Now this isn't really about Hanzawa's involvement, but on the topic of Hirano’s feelings and for the sake of sticking to chronological order with referencing chapter 29 so much, I'm going to put it here. Are we going to get a kiss in the next chapter?? Before they were interrupted by Muroi (chapter 29, page 30), it seems like they were talking about trying it (when they have more privacy, like maybe back at the dorm?). Because like… Hirano didn’t say no, just not here. Ya know?

Hirakagi Timeline Post Chapter 29

Okay, so I think I’ve addressed everything I wanted to. But to lay it out in a more organized fashion, here is a timeline based on all my theories and how I think it could pan out post chapter 29:

May -> Right now we’re at the Sports Festival

May - June -> basketball retreat/tournaments/team drama that Kagiura is gonna have to face; the basketball retreat theory, the homophobic jealous-kun theory? (could happen anywhere between May-July)

June -> Hirano’s confession!! (hopefully)

June - July -> Hirano and Hanzawa’s heart to heart moment

September - October -> Cultural festival; possible basketball tournament (shoutout to @rubyrose143 for finding this easter egg in sasamiya chapter 23.1)

December - January -> New Year’s Eve (Kagi is sick; Hirano goes to the shrine with Sasaki and meets Miyano, Kuresawa and Tashiro there in the "Special Drama CD My Wish", also shown as an extra chapter in sasamiya Vol 3)

Well, that's it. I hope this was somewhat helpful and entertaining to read. Thank you all for interacting, please let me know if I missed anything, and please please please tell me what you think! ❤️

#hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #hirakagi #kagihira #shirahama kyouji #hanzawa masato #sasaki to miyano #shou harusono

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