#Hazy Shades of Spring

[arcielee]

Hazy Shades of Spring

Summary: A professor runs into one of her students.  Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader  Word Count: 3483 Warnings: Nothing too spicy, so please don’t report. ♥ There will be a part 2 though for the smut.  Author's Note: This is for the poll you all voted for. I hope you enjoy and a huge thank you to @sapphire-writes for your read over/feedback, your modern Aemond has definitely set the bar (for me anyway).  Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​

It was the fourth walk-by from your waitress when you decided to request your bill and just accept that you, in fact, had been stood up. 

You were single and freshly thirty and dating had seemingly become a monstrous thing to attempt. You kept your humor with dating apps, but you also held a mild regret that curled in your abdomen that you ended things with Cregan; as amicable a break-up as it was, you were beginning to believe that complacency might have been the best option. 

Now you only had yourself to blame because you finally caved to the incessant needling of your colleague, Johanna Lannister, when she cornered you, again, and pressed her suggestion of a blind date with her husband’s brother. 

“It’s his twin brother,” she added to her attempt to make her point. “So you know he’s handsome…”

Your nose involuntarily scrunched with her closing statement, but you decided to set aside your judgment and agreed to it, if anything to shut her up.

Numbers were exchanged and you texted back and forth a bit; he was amiable enough with some wit to him, though not enough to laugh out loud, but it was enough to agree to meet for dinner. The semester had ended and you had submitted your grades, allowing you several weeks of freedom before the spring semester would begin. 

He suggested and seemed adamant about the new upscale restaurant that opened up downtown, which was an old theatre that had been purchased and repurposed for fine dining. When you arrived, its renovation was breathtaking: the inside arched upwards and there was a new mural of brilliant colors on the ceiling, with marble columns that led to a grand staircase and red carpeting that was a walkway over the polished floors. 

You knew it would be ritzy and opted for a black, flitted dress that complimented your figure and cut off just above your knees, with tights that showed a definitive black seam centering the backside of your legs and a heel with a clasp. You removed your cardigan before you approached the hostess, checking your phone to see the text, running late, be there soon.

Your grip tightened on the phone, with a fleeting moment to retreat homeward but you had put effort into your look tonight and you ignored the call of comfort for a baggy shirt and sweats. Instead, you get a table and order a glass of red wine while you wait. 

The time rolled away and your glass neared empty; you checked your phone to see that the courtesy text you sent to see if he was still alive had been left on read. It sends a bolt of vexation in your chest and you finish the wine; you were nettled by the inconsideration being shown by the damn Lannister twin.

An annoyed sigh leaves you and you can feel the pitied look of your waitress. “We do have a bar upstairs,” she offers with a small smile. “It isn’t as crowded as down here.” 

Fuck it. You tip her well and decide to climb the grandiose staircase, to make most of your night out as well as escape the music and murmur of the dinner crowd. The lighting was not as harsh and you seated yourself at the end of the bar, ordering a second glass of wine and retrieving a small notepad you have tucked into your purse. “Do you have a pen?” You asked the bartender and he is polite enough to retrieve you one. 

You allow the new scenery and your new muse, the feeling of absolute annoyance, to help create something for your editor; lost in your scribble and half a glass later, you are interrupted with a question.

“Professor?” 

Your hand stilled on the glass stem, your grip so tight you would think it would crack under the  pressure. 

Living centrally downtown did mean you would often run into students, present and sometimes past. You knew you were not as old and dusty like some of the other professors, but you kept your reservation with social interactions, giving a tight smile when they acknowledged you and looked for a segue out of any pleasantries they attempted to exchange. 

It wasn’t that you did not care for them, it’s just that you did not want to be reminded of your occupation outside of your working hours. 

This voice was familiar, with a distinct, low hum from the chest.

Aemond Targaryen. 

He was one of the top students at the university; he was never late with assignments, would always push for extra credit, and would meet any opinion with his own educated intellection, which often led to heated debates in business law. 

In the beginning, you struggled with your prejudice when he entered your classroom; you noted his gait and composure, how he held himself with an eerie elegance as opposed to his brother and his frat boy persona. Aegon had been a handful, often showing up under the influence of something and once making a crude pass when he asked about extra credit. 

You halted the attempt immediately and pushed him from your office; the thought of fraternizing with a student never crossed your mind.

That was until you had Aemond.

His family was known in King’s Landing, their family empire owning most of everything and their standing revered, with a hand in everything within city limits. Aegon only had passed your class, begrudgingly by you, due to the family’s repeated and generous donations to the university, though he hardly deserved the lowest grade you gave him. 

It was why you were not surprised when Aemond followed the same academic route, as it was expected for him to get a business degree of some sort and contribute. He had a different drive than his brother, he was present and moved with a determination, some unforeseen drive that pushed him and it gave him an almost arrogant air. 

The interactions you shared throughout the semester was a stark contrast to his stern demeanor; his voice was low and commanding, with a genuineness to his tone. He was never inappropriate and you found you actually enjoyed the interactions shared. 

He is also so very handsome, you cannot help but admit to yourself, your cheeks flushed when you turned to see him standing and watching you. 

Despite the scar that marred his face, a childhood accident was all he shared with you, his mien was still breathtaking. It was apparent he came from old money with the sapphire stone chosen to replace his missing eye and you could still see the gash that cut through from above his brow into the sharp contours of his face. His lips were curled, his head with a slight tilt as he peered at you. Tonight, he wore dark, fitted slacks and button up shirt, with a cashmere sweater and dress jacket. His silver chain peaked underneath his collar and his long, silver hair was not knotted back in his usual low, messy bun, but instead was draped over his broad shoulders.

“Oh, hello, Aemond, how nice to run into you,” you are quick to tuck the notepad back into your purse. “What brings you out tonight?” 

He always had this damnable, perpetual smirk that played at his lips, like he is aware of the effect he has on you. Aemond moved to take the seat next to you and you notice how the bartender is quick to serve him a drink. “My father insisted I help my uncle with the grand opening,” he explained, touching the glass but not drinking it. “I am shadowing the ordeal.” 

Of course they own this restaurant, your cheeks burning with the realization, but before you could excuse yourself, he instead asks, “You look lovely tonight. What brings you here?” He looks around, “Were you meeting with someone?” 

You fidget with your glass, clearing your throat. “Um, I was supposed to meet for a date and…” you faltered on the lie prepared on your lips and instead admitted, “I was stood up.” 

His expression is unreadable and he shrugs. “This seems to happen to the best of us,” and he finally lifts his glass to you. “Cheers to the best.” 

You give a small smile and the cheers allow you to finish your drink. Aemond gestures for a refill, but you push to stand. “Thank you, but I should probably leave. You are a student, I’m your professor…” 

“The semester is over,” his voice is low, his expression almost amused and you note how his eye takes in your form when you stand up. You pull your cardigan on, but it does little to cover your black dress and you burn from his steady gaze. “I’m hardly a student, except for a few filler courses this spring, but then I will be done. And besides, I already turned in my paper and you, actually, already submitted my grade.” 

“Oh, did I?” Of course I fucking did. 

Aemond hummed. “Yes, in fact. I appreciate the good score.”

The bartender rests the new glass in front of you and you lift it, “Well, it was well earned. And cheers, then, to the semester ending and good grades.”

The soft plink of glass and you see his perpetual smirk playing on his lips again. “You do look lovely tonight and I am obligated to be here. Enjoy your glass of wine and keep me company until it’s finished.” 

Since you had not eaten and were on your third glass of wine, it makes you agreeable to accept his company; you know your cheeks are rosy as you are swept up into conversation with him. Aemond always had a wit that would make you laugh, or maybe it was the wine, but either way you found you were enjoying yourself. 

With your third glass almost gone, your eyes catch sight of the cigarette case he placed on the bartop; the embossed design glinted under the lighting. “It’s a family insignia,” he explains, pushing it towards you. 

You pick it up, your finger trailing the dragon design. “This is in the mural in the lobby,” you muss and he nods. There is a satisfying click when you open it and the waft of cinnamon reaches your nose, which crinkles with your smile. “Clove cigarettes?” You cannot help but giggle with the discovery. 

He narrows his gaze on you, but his lips are still curled upwards as he leans over to take it from your hands. “It is my guilty pleasure, a treat when the semester ends,” he closes it. 

“We all deserve a guilty pleasure,” you agree, your attention falling to the empty glass in front of you. “I will have to ask for one, though,” you gestured towards the case. “I feel I need to indulge just a bit more, on this night in particular.” 

Aemond stands up and pulls your chair back, his hand offered to you so you can find your balance on your heels. You look up at him through your eyelashes and notice that even with your heel, he is taller still. 

He is gentle to take your hand in his own, his other hand on your lower back to guide you as you weave through the few patrons and staff. You eventually slip through a threshold that leads out to a secluded balcony that is decorated with lights, giving a golden hue. 

With the approach of spring, the night air is crisp and you wrap your arms around yourself and your thin cardigan. “Oh, this view,” you cannot help but smile, despite your shiver. 

Aemond hums his agreement, pulling off his dress jacket and handing it to you. You try to decline, but he insists, “I run warm. It’s a family trait.” 

You pull it on, engulfed in the fine fabric and his scent, a mixture of clean laundry with an expensive cologne. He walked towards the ornate balustrade that stems around the balcony and leaned his elbows on top; you followed him, the soft clicks of your heels on the stone and rested on his visible side, peering out towards King’s Landing. 

He pulled out the case and retrieved a black clove cigarette, lighting it and passing it to you, smoke pouring from his smile as your fingertips touch to take it. The drag is a mixture of the best and worst feeling; you allow your exhale to snake over your features and lick your lips to taste the cinnamon on them. “I haven’t had one of these,” you blush again. “It has been a while, but thank you, this is just what I wanted.” 

You watch him pull another and balance it between his lips. Wordless, you tuck yours into the corner of your mouth and place your hands to cup the flame as he lights it. With his exhale, he says, “Thank you.” 

The silence allows a moment to enjoy the city bustle below, but the sound of him clearing his throat brings you back to the balcony. “What about you?” You tilt your head to look at him, your brow quirked and he clarifies, “I had answered your questions and shared about my interests outside of my degree, but what about you and your passions?” 

You take another drag to mull over your reply. “Perhaps teaching is my passion,” you reply, your brow raised at him. 

He hums a moment. “I don’t think so,” his voice is so low that you need to turn to hear him, facing him and leaning one elbow on the bannister. His brow is cocked and his perpetual smirk playing on his lips. “I saw passion when you were focused on your notebook earlier, you had a glow with your penning.” Aemond blows the smoke above his head, “You do not have that same expression with your lectures.” 

You turn away and focus straight ahead, hoping the city lights would wash away the embarrassment that rushed to your cheeks. He makes almost an aha noise and steps closer towards you, peering at you. “I am correct about your passion outside of your teaching,” his tone is teasing.

“Well, yes,” your mind is buzzing from the wine, the cigarette amplifying it ever-so-slightly. He graduates after the spring, you reason and then decide to share, “I enjoy writing.”

This confession breaks the levy and your passion spills as you babble about your love for science fiction and how your interests were piqued by the classics like Ray Bradbury and Kurt Vonnegut, plus his pseudonym. Then you stop, your hand covering your mouth. “Sorry, I am rambling,” you blush again. 

“It’s cute,” he encourages. “Please, continue.” 

You sigh. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to add. Science fiction does not have the same audience  it once did and it definitely isn’t what sells as far as digital books,” you finish with a grim smile. “What sells then?”

You focus your eyes on him and cannot stop the fit of giggles that spill from your lips; he peers at you, his cheeks dimpling with a pursed smile of his own. “Smut, mostly,” you confess and he chuckles. “It is all,” you wave your hand flippantly, “porn with plot and I happen to have a knack for it. Plus, I am very fond of the residual income from my sales,” you finish your cigarette. 

“A knack for it?” His tone is still low and he flicks his own cigarette over the edge. “Like, the ability to incorporate it into any situation…?” 

“I mean, within reason,” you are unable to hold his gaze, feeling almost childish in his large jacket, your fingertips playing with the button stance. “It depends on the ratio of porn to plot, really. It kind of comes down to a science with the method.” 

“Oh?” He sounds amused and shifts himself, edging closer still, his gaze still locked on your face. “Enlighten me.” 

“Well,” you hem for your words, your wine-addled brain unable to stop them from leaving your mouth. “Obviously, as a writer, you wish to set the scene for your reader, the build-up to the moment, but you also don’t want clutter it so much when they are obviously looking for one thing-” 

Your words are stopped by the soft press of his lips to your own, his hands covering your hold on his jacket and bringing you against his chest. Your eyes widen for a moment before you relax against him, enjoying his taste, the mixture of clove cinnamon, smoke, and whatever whiskey he had at the bar.  

His large hands move to your hips, pulling you closer with a soft squeeze and you moan into the kiss, your fingers curling around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. Aemond presses against you and your back against the bannister; you can feel him through his dress slacks, your own body betraying you by the warmth pooling between your thighs. 

“Wait, wait,” you break the kiss, your eyes wide again and looking him over.

The pupil of his eye is blown, almost black with his stare, and his lips curl upwards. “We should do this somewhere else,” he suggests, his tone velvet. “Take me home?”

You bite your bottom lip with your pregnant pause before nodding. You feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting your head to meet with his gaze. “I require verbal consent,” his tone still teasing you. 

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks are red, and his usual stoic expression brightens slightly. He takes your hand into his and you follow, Aemond pulling his phone and texting, his grasp tight as he helps you down the stairs. You avoid the looks of the staff and follow him to exit the restaurant. 

Out front is some black luxury car idling and Aemond moved to open the door for you, helping you seat yourself before closing the door and walking to the other side. Your eyes burn into the back of the driver’s seat, who turns and offers a smile, asking for your address before he closes the partition. 

You can feel the shift in the back seat as Aemond sits next to you, his expression unreadable once again. A beat of silence follows as the car begins to drive and only then does your liquid courage take its hold. You reach to pull him towards you and his mouth finds yours. His lips are so soft, so warm against your own, his tongue moving into your mouth and yours meeting with his languid movements to continue to taste him. 

He pulls you to straddle his lap, your dress bunching around your hips and his large palms are warm as they grab into the softness of your thighs, pulling you slow to grind against the growing bulge of his pants. A soft moan spills from your lips with the pressure and his mouth falls to your chest, his tongue following your clavicle and closing on the junction of your shoulder to your neck. You mewl when you feel his teeth bite into you, moving your hips against him which elicited a guttural groan from the back of his throat. 

You had forgotten how much fun kissing could be, the intimacy of hands pawing with purpose and the soft pants from the passion. The car stops and when you realize it is parked in front of your apartment building; you break the kiss and fall into your seat, your hands moving to righten your skirt. 

Another beat of silence follows and he finally says, “Is this your place?” His voice is gentle. 

You nod your head yes, you mind whirring with what had unfolded this evening and your eyes falling to his hands; you watched his slender fingers slowly drum the leather seat between before moving to palm your hand, his thumb gentle to run the length of your knuckles and back. “Nothing more needs to happen,” he offered you an escape. “But could I ask for a kiss goodnight?”

Your eyes lock onto his, your tongue wetting your lips and leaning to find his mouth once more. His lips fit so perfect against your own, his tongue trailing your bottom lip with a soft nip before he pulls back. 

You open the car door and climb out, hearing him shift in his seat to lean forward. “Goodnight, professor-”

But you turn on your heel, leaning over and well aware of your cleavage in this little black dress you wore tonight. “Aemond,” your eyes rest on his face, your cheeks growing warm once again. “Would you like to come up?” 

With the familiar curl of his lips, he tells the driver to go home. He pulled himself from his seat and reached again for your hand. Your cheeks burn with the feeling of how your hand fits in his own and you lead him inside. 

[rebelwhodoesntknow]

Emo songs to walk to class to when it is November but it’s also 70 fucking degrees for some reason

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Three) (18+) / Part One | Part Two

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 6.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Dinner is a tense affair, but by the end of it it feels less like walking on eggshells and more like walking around hard boiled eggs on the floor. There won’t be a goopy mess if you step wrong, but no one wants a squashed egg.

You and Jake seem to be getting on as friends, as long as you ignore all of the blatantly romantic elements of your current situation. You’re unfortunately subjected to a man beside you fingering his roommate beneath the table cloth, and you’re glad that Jake also agrees that despite being on a sex boat, that kind of thing is better done in private.

“Unless, of course, everyone’s into that,” He shoots you another one of his patented winks, and you delight in reaching across the table to steal the cherry off of his black forest cake.

“Hey! Oh, whatever,” He scoffs at your triumphant grin, reaching for his glass of wine. There’s not much left in the bottle; he’s a heavy pour and you didn’t bother counting his glasses- you just know he’s had more than one. His cheeks are just the slightest shade of pink, and you plan on snapping as many pictures as you can as soon as you can get him hazy enough to let you. 

“Here, Hangman,” You feign kindness, taking hold of the bottle and trying to line the neck up with the rim of his glass despite him pulling away, “There’s only a little bit left, finish it off so you don’t waste your money.”

“No, ‘can’t.” He insists, gulping the rest of what’s in his glass in a manner rather contradictory to his words, “Gotta sober up again if we’re going out tonight.”

“I’m going out tonight,” You remind him firmly, finding woozy, pliant Jake much easier to talk to than sharp-as-a-tack Hangman, “You were all set to head to bed earlier; I thought you were some sort of kissing fiend on wine.”

“That’s why I’m soberin’ up, darlin’.” Jake drawls, and though he’s blinking slower than normal, his tone indicates that you’re the stupid one.

“Can’t be much of a security guard if my eyes are goin’ all dizzy,” He says, his tongue lazing into a southern twang that’s sharper when he’s oiled up with booze.

“Security guard?” You echo incredulously, “Hangman, what possessed you to think I’d need a security guard? I’m in the Navy, we both know how to aim between the eyes.”

“No, you know how to aim between the legs,” Jake licks the bitter wine residue from his lips, most likely tasting a sweet tinge of chocolate there, too, “I just don’t feel right leavin’ you with that Daniel guy.”

“He’s nice.” You speak with a tight clench to your teeth, and though you have to separate them to fit your dessert fork into your mouth, they still feel tense. You supplement the need to snap at him by grinding the pastry dough on your tongue into shreds with your molars. Perhaps you’re brutalizing your pie instead of enjoying it, but you’re not in much of a state to enjoy anything right now, except maybe liquor.

“If you’re not gonna drink this, I will,” You secede, waving the bottle at him, “If I’ve gotta spend the night with you I don’t wanna remember it.”

“Finally,” He scoffs, reaching now for his water glass where it’s sweating on the table cloth. His cold, calculating smooth-talk has been reduced to a petulant fit, “Only reason I bought the damn wine was for you, ‘then you had to make a big fuss about it, ‘n all of a sudden you’re suckin’ it down just ‘cause I’m gonna crash your little date later.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very unfair, Hangman,” You drawl, the only thing stopping you from drinking straight from the bottle being the elegant setting around you, “I’m unreasonable and I think you should ask someone to switch roommates because you can’t stand me.”

“Oh, nice try,” He levels you with a glare, water beading at the corners of his lips as his hand trembles slightly around the glass, “That’s that reverse psychology bullshit. Nah, I can handle you. You jus’ need a good kiss, that’s all.”

Annoyance prickles in your chest; he’d been shaming you for kissing earlier, now he’s prescribing it?

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“Mhm.” He nods, his eyes slipping shut as he braces his hand against his forehead, elbow on the table to support his weight. He looks pitiful- like he’d worked 14 hours and not like a man on vacation. Perhaps the water is working, loosening the effects of the sweet wine and leaving him drained in its wake.

“It would calm you down, I think.” He mumbles, somewhere hazy between sleep and wake, “Jus’ gotta arm wrestle Damien for it.”

“Daniel.”

“Whatever.”

--

Jake has mostly sobered up by the time that you’re all four bathed in multicolored strobe lighting one deck down from the restaurant. He’s sticking to strictly water now which is bringing his awareness back, but he has to take trips to the bathroom every ten minutes. You don’t mind- you appreciate having the time alone with Daniel.

“So,” He hums, hands framing your waist and chest pressed to your own, “He’s a little protective, isn’t he? You guys have a thing going on?”

“No thing.” You snap, “There’s no thing going on between us.”

“He acts like there is,” Daniel muses, and it’s somewhere between disappointed and resentful. But his hands never stray from your skin, so you hope it’s not directed at you.

“He just- he likes to be the best in everything,” You explain, the words escaping in a sigh, “You should see him in the cockpit, he’s insufferable. ‘Always has to win. I think that’s all it is, Daniel. And- for him to win, I’d have to lose. So I think he’s trying to bully you away from me, then he can boast about how I’m lonely and he’s not. He does it all the time back home.”

Daniel’s face curves into a frown, “He seems like a douche. ‘Like the kinda guy you should stay away from.”

“Trust me, I’m trying to stay away from him,” You scoff, tucking your nose against Daniel’s chest while the music lulls into a more heartfelt melody, “But for the next seven days we’re stuck on a boat together.”

“At least Danica likes him. Maybe we can unofficially swap.” Daniel nods towards his roommate, who’s now offering Jake a beer where he’s just exited the restroom. 

You watch as he grins charmingly- the same one he’d leveled at you during dinner only an hour before, “No thanks, darlin’. I’ve gotta keep an eye on that one over there.”

The pair glance at you when Jake gestures, and you realize they’ve caught you staring when you hadn’t even realized you were doing it yourself. You press your face back against Daniel’s chest, a strange breed of embarrassment heating your cheeks. 

“You can drink,” You call to Jake, agonizing as you’d rather keep your voice to a low murmur against Daniel’s ear, “I don’t need to be babysat.”

At that exact moment the four shots you’d done of something they’d promised you was mild all flood to your ankle and weaken it so that it gives out under your weight. You stumble, your foot bending awkwardly as you shriek, gravity trying its best to drag you down to the scuffed floor.

Daniel’s eyes widen but he works quickly, and his strong arms brace against your back as he keeps you pressed tight to his chest. He glances over your shoulder at Jake who’d lunged forwards to catch you, and there’s a tightness in his jaw, a hardness in his eyes as he straightens up that spells irritation close to bursting. Daniel smirks at him.

“What were you saying?,” Daniel chuckles, letting you ease your hands off of him where you’d gripped tight to his biceps, “I’d make a ‘falling for me’ joke but it’d be so bad I’d throw myself overboard afterwards.”

“Sorry,” You bemoan the surely stinging handprints on Daniel’s toned biceps, “I didn’t mean to- aah,” You hiss, gingerly raising your tweaked ankle, “I rolled it or something, I’ll- ooh, I’ll be back. Just gonna ask the bartender for some ice.”

Both men step forwards to brace your weight against theirs- even Danica offers her hand, but you wave them off with a sheepish laugh.

“I’m okay, guys, really. I can walk, it just-” You wince, a twinge of pain shooting through your ankle, “It just hurts a bit. I’m gonna go sit in the bathroom for a minute with the ice on it, ‘see what that does.”

Daniel looks hesitant to leave you, but he lets you hobble to the counter. The bartender looks suspicious of your request at first, like you’re somehow cheating him out of profit by asking for six ice cubes in a plastic bag. But one glance down at your elevated ankle gets him moving, and he wraps it once in a paper towel before passing it over the counter.

The bathroom counter is not an ideal resting spot, but it does give you a chance to glance at your makeup in the mirror. It’s mostly in-tact, but you note that your lipstick has faded some, partially from pressing it to the rim of your glass and partially from pressing it to Daniel’s own mouth. You’d shared a few more dizzying kisses on the dance floor, and they make your rolled ankle worth it a thousand times over.

The ice bleeds condensation through the towel after only a few minutes, and you turn the package so the dry side is now pressed to your sore limb. You hear footsteps and you ensure that your dress is draped over your lap- sure it’s a sex cruise but no one wants to see you on display, and glance at the doorway to see who’d come in through the hall.

It’s Jake.

In the women’s bathroom.

“Hey!” You scoff, glaring at him while your fingers numb with cold, “Get out of here, you creep. This is the women’s bathroom.”

“I know. But you’re treating it like a hospital, so I’m gonna do the same. How’s your ankle?” He glances towards your foot braced on the counter, “Dalton can’t be that good of a dancer if he’s steppin’ on your feet the whole time.”

“First off, it’s Daniel. Second, I didn’t roll my ankle because he stepped on me, I rolled it because I’m drunk.”

A satisfied smile flits over Jake’s face, “So you do need babysitting, then?”

You neglect to respond verbally in favor of trying to melt his face off with your glare. It doesn’t work- in fact, his own expression only gets brighter.

“So, whaddya say we just drop right down on the tile and go for it?” He offers, gesturing towards the dingy bathroom floor, “Or- this counter might work,” He leans forwards to brace his biceps against it, shaking to no avail as the fixture stays tight.

“Oh, yes, that would be very comfortable,” You gripe.

“It could be.”

“Get out, Hangman.” You grimace, shifting the ice against your ankle, “I just wanna freeze this pain away and get back out there, and I think your presence is somehow making it hurt worse.”

“You really know how to make a man feel special,” He cocks his head slightly, leaning against the counter and glancing at your ankle, “Is it throbbing?”

“No. Just stings a bit.” You grumble, keeping your eyes off of his dress shirt and the way he’s rolled the sleeves up. It’s a pretty color, nice against his tan skin.

“Right.” He murmurs, voice similarly soft as the music leaks in muffled through the walls.

“You can go,” You nod towards the door, “I think Danica really likes you. Which is weird, because she’s heard you open your big fat mouth, and that’s usually what sends ‘em running.”

Jake rolls his eyes in an excellent impression of Penny’s daughter Amelia now that she’s in the throes of teenagedom. 

“Anyways, you should go and drink with her. Have fun,” You offer, hesitantly kind to him, “You might as well get lucky even if you got stuck with a prudish roommate.”

“You’re not prudish,” He narrows his eyes at you, “You and Devon dry-humped in an elevator.”

“Daniel!”

“You didn’t even deny it,” Jake mock-gasps, “I bet the two of you were rubbin’ up on each other-”

“Get out.”

“-from decks 1-8. Hey, what’s that Ed Sheeran line that Rooster likes? Up and comin’ like I’m fuckin’ in an elevator?”

“Get out!”

Your ice pack doubles as an excellent projectile, but Jake was raised with older sisters, and is fantastic at dodging things flying towards his face.

He catches it with that infuriating grin he’s always shooting at you, and he tosses it into the trash while extending his other hand as an offering towards you.

“C’mon, Roger Clemens, let’s get back out there, shall we? Or are you too drunk to stand?”

“I can stand,” You insist, ignoring his hand and sliding off of the counter onto your feet, though one protests the weight with a sharp jolt of pain up your leg.

“Sure,” He scoffs, once more rolling his eyes skyward as he grabs hold of your bicep anyways, hoisting part of your weight onto him, “Let’s just get outta here before a gaggle of you ladies decide they’re all going to the bathroom together. Why do you do that, by the way?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because men have a habit of wandering in despite the clear sign on the door that says Women’s.” You glare up at him, but you let him help you hobble out of the bathroom.

“I go where I’m needed. You needed a medic,” He shrugs, angling you towards one of the barstools so that you can rest your weight again, “And you needed someone to tell you to stay away from that David guy.”

You snap your eyes shut instead of correcting Jake yet again, instead focusing on why he’s being particularly dickish this evening.

“Why do you care so much? He’s a nice man, why are you so angry that we’re connecting?”

“Because I don’t think he’s a nice man,” Jake’s face scrunches in a frown packed with judgment, “He defiled you in an elevator and he’s leaving his roommate high and dry.”

“No he’s not,” You scoff, “They’re dancing right now!” 

You jab a finger towards the pair now pressed together on the dance floor, ignoring the newly familiar tinge of jealousy in your chest when you see Daniel’s hands pressed to Danica’s waist just the same as they’d been to yours. It’s fine. You’re on a sex cruise; he signed a lot of contracts but monogamy wasn’t one of them.

“That’s worse,” Jake sneers, his hand sliding from your bicep to your back to steady you on the barstool, “He’s not loyal to either of you.”

“I don’t need his loyalty.”

“That’s not right. You should want loyalty. You don’t see me chatting up everyone’s roommates, do you?”

“You’re certainly friendly with Danica! And I don’t need your loyalty either, Jake!” You gush, voice raising, “Loyalty is for relationships! This is sex! Heated, messy, sloppy, dirty sex!”

Jake’s eyes dim of their usual fire, but you wouldn’t know it by the way his grin stays plastered in place. Then, slowly, bitterly, it fades, and he looks away towards a water ring on the surface of the bar, “Sex ain’t all there is in life. One day you’ll want loyalty.”

Your indignant laugh comes immediately, “Hangman, I can’t believe you of all people are lecturing me on loyalty. You’ve cycled through every tourist that makes the unfortunate mistake of wandering too close to the naval base. You’re not even loyal to your friends, why do you think we call you Hangman?”

The fire in his eyes is back, but it’s hot and not warm. Low blow. Maybe if you weren’t so drunk you wouldn’t have said it.

His jaw is tight when it opens for him to spit, “That’s ‘cause I ain’t got a girl I wanna be loyal to. And- and that Hangman shit is old, I don’t leave you hanging anymore. Not in the air, and not on the ground. Not after-”

Neither of you say it, but you both remember the sheer terror you’d felt when Bradley had gone down trying to save Maverick. How Jake had begged to be launched in a search and rescue, how they’d held him back until they were certain the two pilots were already on their way back. Like they didn’t want to risk one man to save two. Like Jake’s pleading wasn’t proof enough that they were more than just soldiers, more than just numbers, that they were people, too. You owe him that; he’d shown loyalty there, even if his pride had been hurt. Perhaps that proves his ego doesn’t win out, even if its what he likes to display.

“Fine.” You murmur, biting your cheek, “But- but just stay out of this, okay? If I wanna fool around with someone then I can, doesn’t matter if he won’t be here after this cruise is over.”

Jake’s face sours impossibly further, “Fine.”

He storms off through the crowd, and there’s a handprint-shaped cold spot on your back. 

You scoff at his dramatic display, but before the bartender serves you the drink you order in a huff, Daniel comes weaving towards you through the crowd.

“He asked to swap,” Daniel informs you, “And he called you my ‘side chick’.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” You take a bitter sip of your drink, eyes widening at the strength, “Oh, god, if I can even aim.”

“Aim?” Daniel asks, slight trepidation clouding his features, “You gonna punch him?”

“Nah, I’ll shoot him down in a fighter jet.”

It draws a laugh out of Daniel, and you enjoy the rich, warm sound. It sounds a little how your drink tastes, but it’s not as sour.

It’s just as intoxicating, though, and you let it make you dizzy as he takes your hands and spins you on the barstool to the rhythm of the music, dancing with you as much as you’re capable of.

--

“I think she’s one drink away from falling off of that stool,” Danica muses, and Jake’s eyes snap to her own where her head reaches his shoulder.

“What? Y/N?”

“Yeah. You’ve been staring at her for the last six songs.”

“Sorry.” Jake grimaces, “I didn’t mean to zone out.”

“It’s fine.” She pats his chest and god, it’s pathetic and oozing with pity, “She was giving you a hard time earlier?”

“She’s always giving me a hard time. Can’t just let me help her, she’s gotta make a big stink of everything.”

“Mm-hm,” She nods along, and Hangman begins wondering if this is how people feel when they speak to him. Patronized and condescended.

“Well, I don’t think she’s capable of giving you a hard time anymore,” She narrows in on the way you’re slumped against Daniel’s shoulder, face stretched into a permanent lazy grin, “You wanna head out for the night and get her to bed before she passes out?”

“I dunno,” Jake shrugs, but his eyes never leave your slouched frame, “I’m having a nice time dancing with you, doll.”

“No you’re not.”

He turns to her, brows furrowed, “What?”

“No,” She repeats, but there’s mirth in her voice instead of reprimand, “You’re not. You’re worried about her. You two are friends?”

“Something like that.” Jake hums, but pointedly never denies her accusations, “She’s just- pardon me for speaking ill of your roommate, Danica, but I don’t want him messing around with her.”

“Mm. So you’re her father?”

“No,” Jake’s face wrinkles, and he tugs his arm an inch tighter around her waist, “We’re friends like you said. Sort of. The kind of friends that are always at each other’s throats, y’know the type.”

“Oh. So fuckbuddies.”

“No,” Jake laughs, and it eases out some of the worrisome creases in his face, puts new, happier ones in his skin instead, “See, I suggested that this cruise partnership was a work’a fate, that it’d give us a chance to blow off some of our steam, but she won’t have it. So now I’m just a glorified babysitter.”

“Ooh, so you’re not even in the friendzone,” Danica grimaces, a dry smile on her face, “Well, Jake, for what it’s worth, I think she’s lucky to have you as a roommate. And as whatever sort of friend you are to her.”

Jake nods tersely, head still turned to watch the way Daniel keeps you upright with an arm around your waist. 

“She said-” Jake starts, then remembers he’s talking to a woman he barely knows, then remembers he’s got nothing to lose, “She said all this shit earlier about me not being loyal. Reliable, trustworthy, all that. And- I wasn’t, okay? I was a… not so great person. For longer than I’d like to admit. But,” His throat feels tight now, and it tenses in his jaw as Danica listens, “I’m not like that anymore. And I haven’t been for long enough for her to notice. If she’s lookin’, that is. Which- I guess she’s not. But I just thought maybe- I thought maybe she’d see it and we could be different. I still wanna tease her, of course. But at dinner she told me she thought I was just trying to ruin this for her. And I’m not,” His eyes gleam, not with tears but with something close and soulful as he blinks into Danica’s eyes, “I’m trying to make it better. I’m trying to make it the week of her life. The week of both of our lives. I’m just…” He hesitates, weighing the word on his tongue, “I’m afraid she won’t let me.”

Danica squeezes gently at his bicep through his dress shirt, and briefly mourns that the beefiest man on this ship is 100%, prime-time in love with you. She’d have loved to spend a night with him, but she kisses her chances goodbye as she smiles sweetly at Jake.

“You’re a good friend. You’re a very good friend, Jake. You’re trying to be very good at being much more than a friend. But she’s not seeing it, right?”

Jake nods, and she mimics the action, “So you need to show her. Show, not tell. Even if she’s resistant, even if she tries to gripe at you, it’s because she’s still seeing the man you used to be. And hey, maybe she won’t want the man you’ve become, even if you worked hard on becoming him. But there’s no reason to throw up your hands now, is there? Let her see the real you, then she’ll decide whether she’s willing to have you. Be patient. It’s all up to her in the end, so be this new-and-improved version of yourself, and she’ll take care of the rest. Okay? Remember, you’re a good friend.”

Jake nods at her reassuring words, steeling himself for a week of patience that he doesn’t typically possess.

Danica continues through the silence, “Aaand a good friend would make sure she gets back to her cabin before she blows chunks all over her hookup’s shoes, right?”

“Oh.” Jake’s eyes widen momentarily as his head jerks towards you - he’s only ever seen you upchuck twice before, both times after rowdy nights out with the group, but he is noticing a familiar pudge to your cheeks that can’t spell anything good. He’s tempted to let you ralph all over Daniel, teach you a lesson about mouthing off to people that are only trying to be nice- but that’s what pre-dagger squad Hangman would have thought. That’s old Hangman, the aviator who’d have sold his wingman out for fame and glory. Now he’s an entirely different Hangman, the one with a rope around his neck that tightens each time Daniel squeezes the pudge of your hip.

“Thanks, Danica,” He breaks away from her embrace with a kind, chaste smile, none of his usual toothy sleaze, “Hey, uh- enjoy your night with Daniel. Careful, though: I’ve heard he does terrible things in elevators.”

“I’ll keep it in mind!” She calls, her voice a melodious laugh as she waves goodbye at him, “Straight to bed, Jake! And leave water on the nightstand!”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” He’s happy to let his southern drawl take over, nodding at her with a wink before spinning around to face you.

Daniel glances up at him, and his attempt at keeping a neutral expression over his face is valiant, but some of the wariness seeps through in the way that his arm tightens almost imperceptibly around your shoulders. Your eyes are desperately trying to stay open but they still lock onto Jake no problem, and you raise both of your eyebrows in what Jake is certain was an attempt to only raise one.

“Yes, Hangman?” You ask, your voice thick with booze, “You need somethin’?”

“You look like you’re about to need a trashcan,” Jake tentatively reaches for you, “C’mon, it’s gettin’ late. We should head back to the cabin for the night.”

Jake expects another jab about the nature of the cruise, but what he gets is drunken compliance, an easy reach of your hand for his own and a mumbled, ‘kay’.

“Hold on,” Daniel catches your waist, keeping you suspended between them, “You sure you can get her back okay?”

There’s a sharp tilt to his brow that makes Jake think Daniel’s not questioning whether he’s strong enough to carry you. The thought both offends and disgusts Jake, and he takes pleasure in swatting Daniel’s arm away from your hips to tug you into his embrace.

“She’s safe with me,” Jake scoffs, “But your roommate’s gettin’ lonely out there, Dallas.”

“It’s Dominic,” You gripe, the stench of liquor hitting Jake full-force now that your face is only inches away from his own, your forehead bumping his jaw.

Daniel hadn’t found Jake’s jab to be very funny, but a smile quirks the corners of his mouth at your slip-up, and he finally lets you go with a pat to the hip.

“You can call me any name you want, Y/N,” He offers, but his eyes pass darkly over Jake’s tense face, “So long as it’s not Jake.”

“No, no, he’s- he’s Jake.” You jab a sharp finger into Jake’s chest and he flinches back slightly, hissing at the contact.

“Good memory, darlin’.” Jake commends you, “Now let’s head for the elevators, m’kay?”

“I love elevators,” You sigh, no doubt remembering the feverish embrace you’d shared in one only hours prior, “Daniel, are you coming too?”

His face turns down in visible pain and he shakes his head, “No, I’m not. I’m gonna go find Danica - she’s probably looking for me.”

“She’s probably found someone else by now,” Jake laughs, haughty and biting, “I wouldn’t wait around for someone if they were hellbent on fooling around with someone else.”

“Really?” Daniel speaks like he’s snapping at Jake, gnashing and snarling like a fighting dog, “It seems like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The weight of your head slumped in the juncture between Jake’s neck and shoulder feels like shackles. 

For a moment the two men stare at each other, and if you weren’t slowly losing consciousness between them, they might have given into their tension-fueled urge to scrap like feisty teens. But you release a soft, tender sigh against Jake’s chest, and he hikes his arm up under your thighs instead.

“‘Gonna lift you, darlin’.” He informs you, waiting only a second before he scoops you into a bridal hold. Your head is quick to loll backwards at a grotesque angle, and before Jake can balance you out, Daniel reaches over to assist.

“Here, honey,” The man croons, nestling your head against Jake’s bicep, and he watches in abject horror as Daniel leans down to press his lips to your forehead, “We’ll see each other tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you.”

Jake is desperate to know whether your responding smile is dreamy from the liquor or from the sight of his face, “Mm, okay, g’night.”

“Night,” Daniel murmurs fondly, and Jake is all too happy to drag you away from him. 

“Slow down,” You plead when Jake is ten steps out of the bar and beelining for the elevators, “I’m gonna spew.”

“Not on me, please,” Jake jolts to a stop in the middle of the hallway, noting the rhythmic rocking motion of the boat and cringing, “Can I go for the elevator?”

“Slowly,” You mumble, and evidently you hadn’t heard his begging by the way you nestle your nose into his chest.

Upon hearing the ding of the elevator your eyes snap open, and you seem horrified despite having heard the word mere seconds before.

“Wait. No elevator.”

“What?”

“No elevator. Please, I can’t- ugh,” You groan, leaning away from Jake to hang your face over the ground beside him, “I can’t take the pressure of moving up in an enclosed space.”

“Well we’re one floor away from our room, how do you expect me to get you up there?” Jake gripes.

Approximately thirty seconds later he’s hauling you up a flight of agonizingly shallow stairs.

“This is bullshit.” Jake scoffs, “Should’ve had Daniel do this.”

“Dean,” You correct him, “His name is Dean.”

“No it’s not!” Jake laughs incredulously, rounding the corner to the second half of the staircase, “See, if you can’t even remember his name, you shouldn’t be foolin’ around with the guy.”

“What’s the name of the last woman you took home, Hangman?” You shoot him a glare with narrowed eyes where you’re still held in his arms, and he stops in his tracks to shoot you a menacing glance of his own while his chest heaves from exertion.

“Touche. That’s why I stopped foolin’ around with her, though. Couldn’t care enough to remember.”

“You never care,” You grumble groggily, and Jake tugs the both of you up the remaining four steps until he’s on your cabin’s level.

Your words are slashing relentlessly at a wound that’s been gaping for longer than Jake can remember. He thinks it's worse when you’re drunk- you’re shitfaced enough to forget your new boytoy’s name, but you still remember how shallow and vapid of a person Jake used to be.

“Right now, I care very deeply that you’ve got your room key with you. Or that you can reach mine; whichever works. You got it on you, darlin’?”

“This dress doesn’t have pockets,” You lament, “Where’s yours?”

“Uh.” Hangman glances over his shoulder, “Back pocket.”

Alcohol courses through your veins in the same quantity blood does when you reach with no inhibition for Hangman’s ass.

Jake’s eyes widen as he feels your fingers prodding and poking liberally around his dress pants, finally finding the pocket and slipping inside. He stays frozen solid at the door while you root around for his phone, finally pulling it out and squinting to focus on it as you bring it towards your face.

“Room key,” You pull out one of his debit cards out of the sleeve on the back, handing it to him expectantly.

“Uh- no, not exactly,” He strains to keep you suspended- he’s starting to wonder if you’ve got more muscle mass than he does, “The red one in the front, Y/N, that’s the room key. And I don’t have a hand to unlock the door with, so you’ll have to do that yourself.”

You toss his debit card onto the floor like it’s garbage.

“Hey! That’s- oh, just get the key.” He kicks it forwards, keeping it propped against the toe of his shoe while he waits for the door to open.

“Got it,” You drawl, and this time you’re right. You lean forwards without waiting for Hangman to move with you, and he nearly drops you where you’re aiming the keycard for the slot on the lock.

“Jesus, just- stick it in!” Hangman snaps, eyes on his debit card still discarded on the floor, “Let’s hope you never use a strap-on, you’ve got terrible aim.”

“I got it,” You grunt and a green light flashes while the lock clicks open. You manage to jiggle the door handle until the heavy slab of wood swings open, and Hangman is glad you’d remembered to leave a light on before you’d left.

He takes his final steps towards the bed and sets you down on the side he’d left open earlier. You’re too shitfaced to remember that you were vehemently opposed to sleeping in the bed earlier, and he’s glad for it when you sink willingly into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed, lashes resting over your cheeks.

“Hang on, ‘gonna get you some water. You- uh, change while I’m gone.”

He ambles off to the bathroom, and when he hears rustling outside the door he shuts himself inside to give you privacy. He decides to change into his own sleeping clothes, but it’s less of an outfit and more of a strip tease until he’s standing on the cool tile floor in nothing but boxers. He hadn’t planned on wearing much of anything for the entire week, and he definitely hadn’t packed sleeping clothes.

He fills a glass of water and knocks briefly on the inside of the bathroom door, “Hey Y/N, I’m coming out, m’kay?”

There’s no reply.

He assumes you’d shout at him if he tried barging in on you changing- in fact, you had only hours prior. He takes your silence as permission to exit the bathroom, but when he finds you curled up in bed, your dress is still on.

Evidently you hadn’t been changing.

“Y/N,” He groans, reaching out to prod tentatively at your shoulder, “No, don’t do this to me. Wake up, c’mon.”

Your eyes are firmly shut, glued there by booze.

“Shit.”

Jake sets the water on your square nightstand, ankles sturdy despite the rocking motions of the boat. He’s well used to being at sea, and it doesn’t make him unstable as he leans over to inspect your sleeping face. He can see your eyes flitting this way and that, barely covered by the thin skin of your lids, and he marvels at your drunken ability to knock out like you’ve been concussed mere minutes after hitting the mattress.

He lifts your arm and when he lets go it falls pathetically over your chest - there’s no waking you.

“Okay,” Jake grimaces, reaching for one of the straps of your dress, “For the record, I don’t wanna be doin’ this.”

“If you were awake you’d be yellin’ at me for breathing towards you,'' Jake rambles, a running dialogue making him feel slightly better about stripping you naked in your sleep, “But if you wake up tomorrow in this deathtrap you’re gonna be pissed, so I’m doin’ what I think is best. I swear it’s not a ploy to stick my hand down your shirt.”

And- speaking of sticking his hand down your shirt, he has to ruck the fabric of your dress up and over your breasts to slide it off of your head, “Aaand, there they are, and they’re out now, and that bra looks really uncomfortable, so I’m gonna-”

Jake slides his hands beneath your back, locating the series of clasps easily. 

“Please don’t kill me,” Jake begs, blinking up at the ceiling as his neck aches with the way he cranes his head upwards, “I’m not lookin’, I swear.”

He peels your pushup bra off of your chest, and the fabric is warm where he tosses it in the vague direction of your suitcase. He wants nothing more than to linger on that, to press his hand to the pad that had just cupped your flesh and let the warmth travel south. But he is a Southern gentleman, and you’re sleeping, and the bra remains discarded in the hallway.

“Right. Now the pajamas,” He continues his stream of consciousness if only to reassure himself that he’s not a creeping perv in the darkness of your cabin, “For both of our sakes, Y/N, I hope you packed better nightwear than I did.”

Upon discovering nothing but lacy chemises neatly folded among your other clothes, he gnaws at the inside of his cheek.

“Okay. Don’t go gripin’ at me in the morning for sticking you in one of these things. It was your poor packing skills that led us here.”

He plunges a hand into your suitcase and comes out with a red lacy contraption. He feels, to his own incredulity, a blush rising over his cheeks, as if he’s a teenage boy thumbing through a porn mag and not a decorated naval aviator. He drops the red thing, and reaches for something less sinful. What he finds next is a softer pink garment, silky and longer than the red- though he’s sure it’ll only barely cover your ass. All he wants is to cover his own, though, to make sure he won’t be in trouble for cramming you into a sexy getup while you’re passed out drunk, and the pink is looking better than the red for that purpose. Although- Jake has to admit, the pink is sexy in its own right. It’s soft, and smooth, and delicate, and he’s getting uncomfortable down south so he really needs to stop staring at it.

“Pink it is, darlin’.” He hums, “Hope you don’t mind. Maybe when we dock you can find something a little more conservative. Up you go,” He slides a hand beneath your back, his eyes trained dutifully on your forehead and absolutely nothing down below, “Hope y’don’t mind your hair getting a little messy. I think you scruffed it up when you hit that banister earlier, anyways.” Technically, that had been equal parts yours and his fault. He’d been carrying you, so he could have been a little more careful about swinging you this way and that as he’d navigated the ships’ halls, but you kept reaching out to touch things, and you’d collided square with a metal post in your curiosity. He bunches up the chemise and slides it over your head, careful not to scrape the lace over what little of your lip gloss remains. He doesn’t want to add staining your clothes to the list you’ve surely got of all his transgressions against you.

It’s rather hard to dress you blindly, and his hand does accidentally dip between your tits as he tries settling the material against your skin. He jerks it away like it’s burnt, hissing as his eyes widen where they’re staring at a particularly boring ceiling light.

“Accident. It was an accident. I swear.” He vows, hoping against hope that you’ll stay sleeping as he clumsily dresses you.

“Christ,” He yanks the material down your thighs, settling the chemise into place, “‘Knew how easy it was to take one off’a woman, never knew how hard it was to put it on. I think,” He muses, blinking long and hard before peering down carefully at you. You’re fully clothed, “That’s good. Okay. Done.”

The silence in the room is deafening now that he doesn’t need to keep up a stream of dialogue to soothe his fraying nerves, and his footsteps seem to pound against the cabin floor as he rounds the bed to his own side. There’s plenty of room, but he still feels like he’s sinning - crawling into bed beside your sleep-limp, pink satin-swathed form in nothing but his boxers.

With one click of the remote beside his bed the lights turn off, and there’s no sound besides the ship’s motor to distract him from the gentle inhales and exhales of your peaceful breathing. He licks his lips, settles into his typical sleeping position, sniffles briefly, fiddles with his hands, lifts a leg up to stretch his muscles, readjusts his neck on the pillow, clears his throat, wriggles his toes beneath the blankets, itches his nose, and comes to terms with the fact that he’s unable to sleep. Something’s not right, and he thinks little before he turns to his opposite side to see if sleep will meet him there.

It doesn’t, but your face does.

His neck stiffens and he nearly rears his head back when his nose brushes against your own, your warm breath fanning over his face. He snaps his eyes shut and breathes deeply himself, lashes fluttering when he deems himself brave enough to open his eyes again.

You’re there, looking like sleep was made for you the way it lulls your face into peace and erases the wrinkles Jake puts around your nose and mouth. There’s no longer the prominent frown lines that you’re always sporting around him, and your lips are blessedly relaxed, almost pouting with the way your cheek is squished into the pillow instead of disapprovingly downturned in his direction.

The silence suffocates him, rushing into Jake’s ears and clogging them until tv static fills his brain. The only words he can form, the only thing he’s capable of doing is murmuring a gentle, “Goodnight, Y/N,” In a voice far softer than he’s ever aimed towards you before.

Then he turns, rolling back onto a shoulder that aches from carrying your phantom weight, and shuts his eyes for the night.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[charliehoennam]

cat-n-mouse

summary: David embarks on a chase and ends up with a date

pairing: David Loki x GN!Reader

warnings: questionable police procedures, language, mentions of drugs gif credit to the most amazing person in the world nd this whole fic is dedicated to you <3 @stephendorff

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

"This is 13-40 responding. I'm 5 minutes from the park, I'll look into it. Stand by."

The call from dispatch was to send a unit to the local park after receiving a call about a mysterious person hanging around the area with possession of drugs; more specifically, marijuana.

David personally didn't care too much about this sort of misdemeanor. God only knows he had his good ol' days smoking pot back in high school and he figures this could just very well be a not very bright teenager.

Pulling into the parking lot, he climbs out of his unmarked vehicle and takes a look around the vast park.

At this time of day, people in the park isn't very common especially with the approaching winter weather that is fairly harsh on the people of Conyers.

The sun had already set, leaving a pale blue glow in the sky as dusk begins to cover the small town. The early winter evening darkens the naked trees against the sky, bringing a familiar sensation that you could never quite explain but admired nonetheless.

The abstract silhouettes of the woods became shadows as a shade of hazy gray covered the town, hypnotizing you as the warm sunset faded into dusk.

After roaming a bit, David spots you from a distance staring up at the haunting treeling. He watches and wonders if you were the one who made the call or if you were the one the call was about. Either way, he can't understand why anyone would stay out in this weather any longer than they had to.

Your tree-gazing is cut short when you catch the shape of this mysterious shadow from the corner of your eye; his stare boring a hole into your side. You can't tell who they are, but what you can tell is that it's the figure of a large strong man.

Slowly turning your head to look over at the stranger, the winter chill slithers up your spine and makes your hairs stand on end.

Even though you don't want selfishly assume anything or jump to any presumptuous conclusions, at the same time, you can't seem ignore the increasing sense of danger. Or his thick-browed stare which is fixed on you and it's intimidating enough to make you squirm.

Maybe it's the start of dusk or the unsettling silence that exudes an eerie energy from his presence. But, when he begins taking slow steps towards your direction, that's when you decide to it's time to leave.

You turn your gaze to the ground as you begin walking towards the park trail that leads back to the main road. Glancing over your shoulder, you realize the man is now following you.

The frozen earth crunching under your boots does nothing to ease the adrenaline that starts coursing through your tense body.

You become even more uncomfortable when his footsteps become audible, growing closer and closer.

Trying to pick your speed, you walk as fast as your legs allow you to. Your heart is thumping loudly in your head. Not enough to drown out the sound of his footsteps when he does the same to catch up with you.

Panic overtakes you. You try to hide until you suddenly burst into a spring, running down the pathway. You want to look back, but the fear pumping in your veins demands that you keep running.

"Hey!" The man shouts as he begins running after you, ensuing what is now a pursuit.

Being much taller and faster than you, he catches up eventually and tackles you down to the wet ground, forcing a grunt from your lungs as you land hard on your side.

"Get off me!" you plead trying to wriggle away from his grasp. "Help! Help!"

He ignores your cries as he forces you onto your front. There's no one in sight. Shouting is useless and, if you don't try to help yourself, no one will.

You're not going down without a fight.

A strong elbow to his gut is enough knock the air out of his chest and loosen him off of you, so you try to quickly spring to your feet. But it's no use. His hand quickly grabs at your legs, pulling you back down to the ground.

His large frame overpowers you and he holds your hands behind your back. Metallic sounds ring from behind you as handcuffs lock around your wrists.

"Suspect is in custody" you frown as the man speaks into a walkie -talkie.

"Suspect?! You're a fucking cop?!"

"Get up," he orders breathlessly, ignoring your question as he climbs off you and forces you on to your feet.

"What the fuck are you even arresting me for?!"

"Whatever you were running for."

"I was running because you were fucking chasing me, you creep! You could've at least identified yourself! I wanna speak with your captain!"

In the back of his mind, he knows you're right. He didn't think about how freaky it could have seemed for you, being alone in the park with a stranger approaching you suddenly.

His body acted before his mind could process the protocols. Captain O'Malley is bound to rip him a new one for fucking up standard procedure.

He catches his breath in silence as he escorts you to his car for a pat-down. His guilt only grows when he doesn't find any illegal possessions on your person.

Your loud protests echo through the parking lot until he helps you into the backseat of his car.

He shuts the door to let you calm down and informs dispatch that back-up isn't necessary, assuring that everything is under control. Once your muffled ranting quietens down, he opens the door to talk.

"I need your name."

"Oh, sure. It's Y/F/N Go-fuck-yourself Y/L/N."

He repeatedly blinks hard before closing the door again and shares your name into the walkie-talkie, understanding why you're angry. He fucked up and it could cost him and the department, but as a cop, he knows he's entitled to stop and search given a certain level of suspicion. It doesn't mean he doesn't feel about giving you the scare of your life.

Looking through the belongings in your bag over the truck of his car, he locates your I.D to confirm your identification and shares the information with dispatch, who informs him that you have no warrants or any history of issues with the law, so he puts your things back into your bag and walks over to open the car door once more.

"Am I under arrest?" you ask impatiently as he helps you out and positions you against the cold surface to release you from the cuffs.

"No, you're not. I apologize for the scare. We got a call about a mysterious person lingering around the park with drugs and it's obviously not you."

"You can't just treat people like they're all criminals, you know."

"I'm sorry. If you'd like my badge number, you can make an official complaint at the station."

Although you know you probably should, there's a glint of guilt in his eyes that beg you not to. And, looking at him much closer and under the bright street light, you realize where you recognize him from.

"Aren't you the cop that found those little girls? The Thanksgiving kidnappings?"

"I was assigned to the case."

"I remember. I saw you on the TV," you nod with a pause. "I'm not gonna file a complaint, alright? Just don't chase people without any cause at night. It's fucking creepy."

"I'll make sure to identify myself next time. But, just out of curiosity, the fuck are you doing out here? It's cold as shit."

His big blue eyes narrow at you as you rub the soreness from your wrists.

"I cut through the park on my way home from work."

"It's not a very safe route this time of year. Empty and far like this..."

"Yeah, I didn't realize that until you tried to kidnap me."

"I wasn't kidnapping you. Although, I understand how you would have that impression in hindsight and I really am sorry about it. Why don't I give you a ride home? Make sure you get home safe?"

You look towards the road and think about how far you still are from your house. After the scare you just had, walking home alone in the dark doesn't seem very appealing.

Your gaze moves to the badge on his hip. You remember what your uncle taught you when you were younger: how to tell apart a fake badge and a real one.

"Yeah, alright."

You climb into the passenger seat as he opens the door for you and settle inside with your bag on your lap. Once he's back in the driver's seat, you tell him your address and he starts the drive there.

"I heard you're a tough cop. Made that boy kill himself."

He stays silent and glances at you guiltily.

"That never shoulda happened."

"But it did."

"I had two missing little girls to find. My methods may have been questionable, and I was reprimanded for them. But there's no excuse for them. And the girls were safely found alive. That's all I cared about."

You watch as he blinks nervously. He doesn't seem like an intentional asshole. You've met plenty of them to tell them apart. Despite his social awkwardness, he seems like a sound-minded guy.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job. You seem like the kinda cop that actually cares about his victims. 'm just saying, not everyone is a suspect."

He nods silently with another firm blink. You sound just like O'Malley.

The rest of the drive to your house is quiet. The car rolls to a stop in the driveway, so you unbuckle your seatbelt and thank him for the ride.

"Just do me a favor and take Norma Lane next time? It's safer and busier this time of night."

"Fine. Just as long as you promise you won't go randomly kidnapping innocent people."

"I wasn't kidnapping you."

"Could've fooled me" you smirk jokingly at him, reaching for the door handle. "Thanks again for the ride."

"You uh think I could maybe get your number?"

"Seriously?"

"Just in case I need to bring you in for questioning or something?" he tries to smile slyly. "I'd like to make it up to you."

"You take everyone you falsely arrest out on dates to make it up to them?"

His cheeks turn a shade of pink as he looks away from your mischievous gaze.

"Not everyone, no."

"Well, I guess it's only fair" you nod unable to fight back a smile as he takes his phone out. "I mean, I don't really date cops but I could make an exception. I think I'm entitled to some compensation."

"I couldn't agree more" he chuckles handing you his phone, open to a new contact screen. "Although you did give me a mean elbow to the ribs that's probably gonna bruise."

"You deserved it," you smirk as you finish punching in the numbers to your cell phone. "You'd better call, Detective Loki."

He frowns curiously, trying to remember if he'd told you his name earlier but he can't remember if he did.

"How do you know my name?"

"Saw it on the news back in December. I have a good memory for names. Besides, Loki is a pretty cool one. Hard to forget."

"Makes sense" he smiles impressed. He admires the fact that you're smart enough to look out for yourself.

"Don't break my heart, detective" you smirk climbing out of his car.

As you walk up to the front entrance, you don't miss how he waits until you're safe inside to start the car back up and pull out of your driveway.

Despite the rocky introduction, you enjoy the way he made you feel safe. You just know you won't be able to stop thinking about him all night.

As you go on about your routine, settling in on the couch with a plate of dinner, getting ready to watch your favorite TV show, your phone flashes with a text.

"Now you have my number too. Better call me, Y/L/N."

[thelonelyarchon]

📮RETURN TO SENDER ᯓᡣ𐭩

014 - his love letter

warning/s: alhaitham's actions being questionable, fluff? (his letter), grammatical errors

As you hit the “tweet now” button, you wait for the floodgates of questions and shocked replies to fill your notification bar. A chuckle escaped your lips as you twirled the letter by holding its ribbon.

You knew they were hungry for your reply. You could technically smell the desperation and eagerness of the people following you both, and you were glad to see that your instincts were right because after a few moments the comments on your last post had filled up with people oogling and frothing at the mouth.

“ALHAITHAM!?”

“THAT’S ALHAITHAM’S SIGNATURE!”

“So it’s true that Alhaitham sent her a letter!? HOW ROMANTIC!”

"I never thought that cold hearted model would like someone like her."

You let out a melodic laugh in response to their shocked reactions. You shake your head, your mind still hazy and your heart still pounding in your chest.

It’s been forty minutes since Alhaitham dropped you off your dorm and Hu Tao was there to greet you. She didn’t pry when she saw how your face was practically a shade darker with how flushed it was or how you were practically bouncing as you walked towards the mail box.

As soon as you arrived, you dove into the pile of letters on your desk. Most of them were from universities around Teyvat, but your eyes were locked on finding one.

Alhaitham’s letter.

“Aha!” You exclaimed as you found the elegantly wrapped letter. It even has a seal on it! He didn’t have to be so extra with it, but it made your heart swell. As a fan of love letters, his thoughtfulness and careful planning made it obvious that he valued this particular letter and your hands were itching to read it.

But you reminded yourself to remain calm. Carefully peeling off the seal and unraveling the ribbon that tied the envelope, you read his letter with a bated breath.

Dear [Name],

I am ashamed to write this letter for a reason which may come as a surprise to you. Before you begin to assume that I wrote this letter because I felt the need to write back to you after the one you gave me, I would gladly say it is not as I have already given you my reply to that particular letter. For this letter… I have written on my own accord to inform you of my intentions.

Truthfully, I do not know how to write a proper love letter. As you can see, my words are rather… stiff and too formal, is it not? I tried following your videos to see if it could help soften my tone when writing to you, but as you can see it hasn’t and you may have to deal with this hahaha.

I have written too much already. So I’ll make this quick.

[Name], admittingly I read your letter and replied to it without giving it a proper thought and I am well aware that I have hurt you unintentionally. Back then, I know you. But now that I have gotten a glimpse of you back at the show last spring, in the spirit of “first love’s” and whatnot, I decided to give you and I a decent shot.

I asked myself, “what am I afraid of trying?” I know that love isn’t my strongest pursuit, but with you, if you allow, I may understand myself a bit further and I may learn to give you that kind of love which you yearn from me.

Though I have to warn you… with the way that I am, whatever relationship we may create may be short lasting. However short lasting it may be though, rest assured that it will be worth your time. So please… I hope you consider this.

May I court you, [Name]? I would like to get to know you better.

Sincerely,

Alhaitham

P.s. Do you like my letter? I re-wrote this three times and asked Kaveh to help me. I hope you don’t mind that he knew of its content first before you. Also… I realized after writing this letter that I do not despise writing love letters. I simply did not have a chance to write one. I find that it’s my favorite way of correspondence. I do not mind receiving more of it, especially if it’s from you.

The edges of the paper have began to fray a little as your clammy hand held it as you read through its contents over and over again. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to sleep after this.

But one thing’s for sure is that Alhaitham has a way with words. Though he may seem too formal and stiff to your liking, there is beauty and eloquence beneath it that draws you in and makes your heart flutter.

You resigned to your doomed fate as you dramatically sigh and laid down on the couch. You were sure that the feelings you’ve long buried for Alhaitham have resurfaced once again.

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TAGLIST: @makimakimi @yura-4life @matchablossomsss @kookiibun @ayanokomu @ilikecoffeejelly @aixaingela

[delirious-donna]

The Most Delicious Tears [Sting Eucliffe]

Oct. 13 - Sting Eucliffe x female reader

He just wants to spoil you rotten, that it's enough to make you cry? All the better. Sting is going to lick away those tasty tears, but he's not gonna stop...

warnings: overstimulation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, mark marking, rough sex, mentions of multiple positions and implied marathon sex

Masterlist

Shades of blue, from the palest sky blue to the deepest navy, filled the opulently decorated room. Your gaze swam, focus wavering from the constant mounting pressure in your abdomen but you tried to take it all in.

It was only fitting given you were in the room of Sabertooth's guild master, that he would be housed in the most well-dressed room in the guild hall, but it still left you a little speechless.

The memory of entering the grand suite for the first time was hazy at best, swept into an all-consuming passion of tangled limbs and hungry mouths. 

Your flirtation with the downright ruggedly handsome guild master had been going on for months, it was long past the time that you should have thanked the guild for their hospitality and moved on in your wanderings but he kept you sticking around.

Sting Eucliffe; tall, blond with piercing navy eyes and a smirk that could curl toes.

His strength was evident from the very primal way he had hoisted you around his waist with less effort than it took to exhale deeply. Finally provoked into action, no longer able to resist the provocative jut of your hip, the flutter of your lashes and your obviously salacious words.

At first, you had thought he might suffice with shutting you up by having you sit upon his lap, forcing you to bow to his overwhelming presence and tease you coyly with his broad palms spread across your thighs but he wanted much more than that.

Conversations abandoned midflow, he had strode for the hallway that led to the private accommodations he and some of the guild members occupied. Not a word was spoken as he carried you off to a gale of wolf whistles and laughter. His dark eyes never left your face, arms hooked around his neck and legs curled around his slender waist.

The second you were alone, he’d slammed you against the nearest wall, a palm cushioning the back of your head to prevent the stonework from cracking your skull from the force he used so casually.

For a long second, you had stared at one another, a challenge to see who would snap first. Your heartbeat had never pounded so hard, the organ straining to burst from your chest and you witnessed the dark of his pupils contract to pinpricks like a predator ready to spring. 

In the end, you had moved simultaneously.

Lips met in a furious breaking of tension, hands tearing at clothes until you had made it into the room you now occupied with your bra on display and the shirt Sting wore torn wide open.

So, that was what had led you here.

Your burning hot cheek pressed into the soft pillows, thighs trembling and your ass arched to the perfect angle for the blond Dragon Slayer.

Once more he teased your drenched pussy with the slide of his thick cock along your slit, angling the head down so that it hit against your clit each time and laughing when you jerked from the contact.

You whimpered, the hot flood of tears pressing your eyelids shut as they fell to the sheets. Sobbing, broken and raw. Every inch of your skin felt like it was ablaze, each touch of Sting’s molten-like flesh upon your own only wrung your insides all the harder.

Sting was insatiable, an utter beast whose sole purpose was to bring you to orgasm over and over by any means possible. Sweat clung to you, muscles ruined from the various positions he’d twisted you into and you were spent - well and truly.

His lips were swollen from making out with your aching pussy, chin glossy from your arousal and prominent fang marks on your inner thighs.

The hand that flattened on the small of your back, keeping you in the arch that he wanted was wet from the lust he had dug from your drenched cunt. Slurping down your essence as if it were the only thing in this world that could slake his demonic thirst.

The twitch of his cock evidenced how close he was to his own release and you marvelled at how long he had lasted through the multiple times he’d pushed that monstrous cock into your tight cunt.

The first time, the stretch had been enough to have you wriggling on the bed and he’d chased you, planting his hands on either side of your head as he kissed you senseless. Used those moments you were wrapped in the warmth of his mouth to surge forward, swallowing your moans and cursing under his breath.

“Oh my… fuck! Never felt anything like this.”

His touch was electrifying, at times as gentle as touching the petals of a rare bloom and at others rough and demanding, grabbing so harshly that you squealed.

“St-Sting,” you managed to splutter around the mouthful of pillow you were biting down on to keep your sobs at bay, “please, s’too much.”

A devilish laugh sent searing dread down your spine, and the muscled frame of his body reared over your back with an arm hooking across your breasts. The friction against your tender nipples forced a hiss from your lips as you were flipped over once more.

Sting’s handsome face swam into view, the image wobbly as you blinked the tears from your eyes. A smirk lit up his expression and before you could take stock of things he was fucking into your pussy until he was fully sheathed on one thrust.

“So fucking pretty, fucked out and gorgeous. You drunk on this cock, pretty girl?”

His head dipped, you assumed he would kiss your already kiss-swollen lips but his tongue flicked out to lick away your salty tears.

“Delicious,” he growled by your ear, nipping at your lobe whilst he set a frantic pace with his hips.

The loud sound of skin slapping skin bounced off the walls, wailing at your most tender folds being met with the press of his steel-cut abdomen and pelvis.

You cried out his name in raw, broken syllables. Your velvet walls tightened to an unbearable degree as you tried to force his fat cock out of your cunt with the pressure of your approaching orgasm. 

“Ah ha! Oh yeah? Got another one for me s’soon? C’mon girlie… gimme what I want!”

Sting’s jaw clamped down, teeth bared and head thrown back with the prominent stretch of his neck filling your sight.

With your thighs pressed to your chest, you ached all over but the swell of pressure was too great to be denied. It burst over you like shooting stars, squirting and bucking like a wild animal.

The guttural groans from above tipped you off that he was on the precipice. Through the dense fog of your release, you clawed at his toned chest and caught against his dark nipples.

Sting’s hips stuttered, plugging you fully as rope after rope of thick hot cum painted your insides. He slumped down, bearing most of his weight on his wrists whilst he kissed a path up your neck and licked at the series of bruises he had left for you.

Air slowly filled your lungs, the tingling in your extremities receding as you panted together in a lust-filled melody. 

You twisted around him like ivy, skin sticking to stick from the rivers of sweat coating your bodies and you kissed his cheeks and jaw.

When the golden-skinned Dragon Slayer slowly started to move inside your ruined pussy, you hiccuped loudly in protest. Head swinging from side to side and true tears of overstimulation fell from your eyes.

Sting caught them on his thumb and sucked it clean with a grin that flashed his sharp incisors.

“Thought I was done? Nah, baby. I got more to give, best get comfortable 'cause I’m not done until you’re screaming my name for the entire guild to hear…”

It was going to be a long night!

[writingcold]

Finally! It's starting.

Greetings! I’m so glad to start sharing this story with you - it’s been nearly a year that it started haunting my thoughts. There were a lot of wipeouts, restarts, fist fights against it, tears - before it finally started to come together in a way that made sense. Today’s start harkens back to October ‘23 and a Halloween fic challenge to which was the catalyst for the whole story. The blurb has been updated and has become the prologue to this love story.

Content Warnings:  I need to put this here - this is a work of fiction. There will be imagery of violence, character deaths, inequities, poverty, heavy angst, and adult sexual situations throughout the story. Please read at your own discretion. All characters are fictional, though some of the big events that are shown are historical, but may not be historically accurate. 

Thank you to @edgingthedarkness for all of her help as my all mighty beta for this fiction. She listened to me drone on and on about it for months on end. She really took a bullet for this one! She created the banner for this story as well! Also thank you to @katuschka for her amazing skills in bringing our hero Jakub to life. Divider art by @ firefly-graphics.

The Dead

Jake X Fem!Reader

Prologue word count: approximately 3200

Warnings in this part: None, just a ghost lamenting.

Prologue: The Entity in the Graveyard

     It was a season of newness. Rebirth. I had slumbered for a spell. I was certain. My body, for lack of a better term, swam in the dirt and filth of my grave, feeding off the sludge that allowed for me to rekindle my being. I was aware of the substance and colors around me, more than I was able to see. My vision was as blurred as a newly borne babe. The sounds of life beyond my plot kept me company - the wind in the trees, the stirrings of small animals and perhaps even a deer or two. The hum of a modern vehicle whizzing by polluted the air at times, and even the trod of one who was visiting my graveyard prickled in my ears as if willing my form to rise and be part of the world.

      I slithered from the ground to huddle before my stone. Human time held little meaning. It was more a marker to seasons, but even those had little sway over my attention. That’s not to say that I did not appreciate the tender greens of Spring, nor the long, hazy heated air of Summer. I found myself lingering across thoughts that cherished the crispness of the Autumn and the indiscriminate viciousness of Winter. A swish of lilacs frilled with dew was the first shadow of form I took in. I could almost smell the fragrance as it tumbled across days and weeks. 

      The air did not welcome my presence. Why had I stirred? I should have slept through the years until the time of the Thinning. I climbed up onto my headstone, perching myself like a gargoyle to force my form into the shade of the kingdom. I was alone at the time - the lone wraith inhabiting the space of the dead. The music of the cosmos twisted and twirled amongst the stars. My senses finally began to stretch across the craggy grounds. No new flesh inhabited the land. But there was something…  I felt a metallic bite against my tongue. There was a vibration against my…  How strange. A normal person would say they could feel it in their skin. I stepped from the top of the stone and hovered, allowing my boots to drift across the overgrown blades of weeds and wild grasses. I am aware there had been a time when my feet planted themselves squarely on the Earth. I’m sure I knew at one time the weight of a human form around this construct of a soul - or whatever one would consider me to be in the present.

      I paused to look up at the glow of the moon above. I pretended to breathe in and felt it again - that vibration. Iron. Metallic. Bold. Life. It was life that I could feel beckoning me. It was not far from my plot. It was upon the path. I soared across what I supposed would be no more than ten paces and froze my visage upon the bordering stones - one in particular claimed my attention. I stooped low, passing my wispy digits over an odd stain upon the dull colored mass. I moved my face closer and realized the stain carried the rapacity of cells; the heaviness of iron. It carried life. I became solid enough to touch it with a glee that I seldom felt. There had been life amongst the dead. My body did a little jitter as I recoiled back to the path, eyes cast down as if willing the cells to join me. My vision danced across the cruel looking rock, taking in the faint glow of what once was living.

      My thoughts swirled across who could’ve been visiting upon my plane of existence. Surely it was not him - the caretaker. He would not be so careless. Unless in his age riddled body, he was finally beginning to break. How odd that the idea of him coming to harm made me giddy. A memory that was diminished surely could explain the reaction, but more often than not, those memories refused to return. It had been years since anyone new had been planted in the grounds, and all of the families of the rotten in the graves were long since healed from the loss. So why would… I paused when I reached my stone once more. Youth. The remnants of the stain felt young. Strange.

     I pushed my hand through the headstone that anchored me every day of the human year. The pad of my index finger traced the deep cut ‘J’ in the polished stormy granite that marked the first letter of my name. The letters no longer held the same meaning as they once did. No one was left to mourn me, no matter what form I took. No one was left for me to remember through faded fondness and cooled over warm memories.

      It was an odd feeling whenever it struck. No one was left to remember me. How many ancient cultures believed that if the soul was remembered by those of the living, then in fact the one who was dead lived on? And wasn’t it also believed if the one who was dead, and not remembered, the soul would simply not exist? And yet, I lingered on the grounds of my original death. Chained to the stone my long melted corpse resided beneath. Imprisoned on the grounds that only the dead could dare to know on such an intimate level.

      I was not always alone. So many disappeared; embracing the light or welcoming the fire when the solitude gripped too tightly for too long, or perhaps when their patch of ground grew too putrid and obnoxious that either eternal joy or damnation would be accepted readily. Not for myself, however. The radiance was never offered, while the hellfire never beckoned either. I am what is known as an in-between. Not that it bothered me. The Thinning time was my glory, even though it was rare and erratic.  Each Thinning, she would appear. She was neither of the living nor that of the dead. I wondered if she was a goddess - eternal like time, ethereal like nature. Perhaps she was a forgotten entity, purged to make way for man and his foolish and mostly stupid beliefs that he was any better, any smarter, any stronger.

      Time flowed beyond my attention. The grass began to push through the patches of stubborn snow that clung to the hope that the cold would remain. There was a brightness that curled and sweetened the sky with a life’s breath that only the dead and those of the in-between could appreciate enough to see. Vibrant peach and lavender of the sun’s trail caught my eyes long enough to push wildflowers from the earth to bring forth the swarming of the crickets and bugs of early summer.

      ‘A’. The letter had a chink in the cross where the stone cutter botched it up. I dragged my finger across the flaw for human hours at a time, grimacing over the tortured frame of what it meant to be the letter ‘A’. The fog was growing thicker as the supposed witching hour of the night drew forth. What was the purpose of such an hour? Time never affected the dead or those of the in-between. The so-called witches that the time was meant for never were concerned to wait for the practice of their sacred rituals. Perhaps it was used for those who were of the veil but not of my own likeness. I smiled as my sight passed over those who were my incognizant companions in the graveyard. They never acknowledged my presence, nor that of each other for that matter. It was a point of contention when I first discovered my grounds had been deemed a cemetery. Why would there be such division beyond the veil of the living? Was it the casting of purgatory to punish those who were arrested in the frozen state of death before the larger powers to claim their own dead beings? Baffling.

      I lazed before my stone, my thoughts stretched out beyond the land I was bound to, images of lives I had lived projecting out of me like a film, though I scarcely could remember what I could only identify as vague memories. How could I have sailed the Great Lakes and built ships, and know of the plight felt in a great war of independence? How could I have painted the intimacy of the land, and stained my hands in a vineyard as a farmer and strum the frets of a guitar for the enjoyment of so many? Surely not just in one lifetime. There were overwhelming moments of fragility, pain, love and… ugliness.

      The toil of thoughts became stabbing torture. I moved across the fractured landscape to the wrought iron gates. The chain of my headstone gave me a gentle tug with each inch that I progressed away from it. The air of the living billowing on the other side of the fencing, dancing in the sunlight of the day. Wasn’t it just night? I glanced back to find indeed the sun had risen and passed overhead. A wanton expression tickled at my otherwise unmoving lips.

      I drifted north, following the breaks and twists and flaws of the aging fence as if I could ever leave the boundary of my world. I paused at the edge and forced my vision to dim to darkness so that I might feel nothing. It would be easy enough as only fields of early crops and a singular road stretched out before me in an endless roll of land. 

     A light on the horizon sparkled like a star, but cooled as it drew closer until it faded into a mortal form. A human-shaped woman in all her delicacy and vigor was walking along the broken asphalt of the road. Dressed in a flowing fabric drenched in light, she demanded my attention through her silence. I trailed behind her until finally, we stood face to face as she reached for the cemetery gate. For a moment, I thought she was reaching out for me. Her skin, smooth and without the tarnish of age, shimmered with a perfume that I’m sure smelled of apple blossoms, or perhaps delicate lilacs. Her graceful gait made her appear to be floating over the hidden rocks and fissures of the ground. I was enthralled by the creature as the corners of her eyes began to fade and signs of aging began to whisper across the skin of her hands and throat. Her hair began to thin and lose its luster. I had never come across such a human as to grow old before me. Perhaps she was wraith, untethered and unseeing of my own being.

     I followed her step for step through the graveyard. Her body grew small and bent by gravity. Her face dwindled, becoming ancient and heavily marred by time. Her eyes clouded over as is always the case of the elderly, as if they can take in no more of the world around them. And yet - she was beautiful. Delicate. Alluring. Her light was like light beaconing me towards shore.

      “What are you?”  I whispered into the scraggle of her hair that had loosened from its tether.

     She appeared to nearly tumble across the stone path as I stood in awe as she came to a stop before my own headstone. Her body was fully aged. Her clouded eyes blurred and closed as her breath labored to enter and leave her body. A badly twisted hand snaked out from her shroud and landed against my name. I watched silently as she lowered herself to her knees, resting her forehead to the granite before her. Her breath became shallow…  unmeasured.

     “Are you dying?”  I asked, my eyes wide as I drifted down next to her.

     She stretched out onto the hardness of the ground, her cheek resting upon her brittle arm. I laid down beside her as if I could be of comfort to her. I found myself longing to touch her. To caress the soft satin of her skin; to breathe in the perfume of her hair; to…  to ease her pain as she mumbled a sting of ache. For a span of minutes, there was nothing. No breath stirred within her. No sound slid through her relaxed lips. No life seemed to be before me. I watched in utter fascination as I brought my flaccid digits up to trace along her wisdom battered face, and felt the solid mass of her. I touched her. I felt her flesh beneath my fingertips. 

      “Are you…?”

     My words failed in the mess of shock that I could feel this creature. I could move this being that lay next to me. A note of gauzy familiarity clawed and scratched at my mind like it was trying to force me to remember something that refused to be revealed. I stared at how my hand pressed to her face and was rewarded with a wealth of human emotions that washed up and drowned my brain. The creature gasped and sputtered and choked, startling me to lose my connection with her. One gnarled hand, followed by the other, began to push against the earth. I rose up over her, stunned as in painfully slow fashion, she gathered her knees beneath her once more. Her noises were guttural and deep as she used my headstone to make her way back to standing. I moved around to the back of the monument as she paused to capture her breath once more. I looked into her face and a pang of awareness crashed upon me. I knew her. I knew this woman but all of that knowledge was gone.

     Achingly slow, she began her journey back towards the gate. I drifted around her, unsure if I needed to have her at least acknowledge me, but honestly, I needed to know if she could see me. The breeze tickled shades of blush and orange against her hair and I noticed that the age that had bit and battered her skin was reversing. Her back became straighter with each step. The deep lines of wisdom and life were fading. The full curve of her lip and striking beauty of her skin bloomed before me and fully returned by the time her hand pulled open the heavy gate.

     For the briefest of moments, I stood before her. Her eyes appeared to be locked upon me. I wondered if she saw me as I once was - wisps of chestnut strands that floated across my shoulders and curled around its tie that fell between my shoulder blades. Did she see the coyness of my smile? Did she see the dark swirl of earth tones in my eyes? Or did she see what lay six feet below my headstone, mottled and riddled with decay?

      Her eyes shimmered as I dared to reach my hand out to brush against the plump of her cheek. I pressed my palm to her face and passed the pad of my thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone. For a fraction of a second, she seemed to lean into my hand like a welcomed lover. And then…

.

.

.

     She walked away from me, dragging a light that grew brighter the further away she moved. I watched the glow, beaming like a star until it disappeared beyond the horizon.

     The ‘C’ of my name was the most elaborate, but most shallow of the cuts into the stone. It was scrolled with a flourish that left me to wonder if it was created to remind me of a flamboyant moment that I once lived. Or perhaps the stone cutter thought he was being funny, perhaps cryptic with such a deliberate act. Regardless, it could keep me enthralled for days, tracing the intricate loops and noticing how quickly the craftsmanship faded over the years.

     There was not much of my human self that I remembered. Shades of the larger pieces of life I knew, but the fine details were long gone. I could not recount the number of spirits who cried over their being, only to wail as their loved ones drifted through the tall grass and treacherously uneven earth to mourn their passing. I wondered if time had given me so much distance from my human nature to no longer realize that simple magic of the world and thus, have I been released from mortal memory to allow the wonderment of the dead in.

      The days were stretched to the limit, gobbling up each extra second like a greedy tick. I felt the air shimmering fat around me with a heat and kiss of life that I seldom took the chance to relish. My fingers pressed into the center swirl of the ‘C’ as my thoughts bent towards the creature. She was not present on the mortal daily, but her appearance had become fixture - stretching from the horizon, her light bellowed in like a tidal wave. I could not help but to follow her as she tread through her aging process to stoop before my headstone, lay down, only to rise again and leave me behind. I tried to grab her attention. I tried to test to see if she could see me. Each time, I was left to wonder. Her reaction was always the same, one that could be construed as the human tilt of her head, a longing look to join me, maybe. There was no definitive proof that she knew of my existence that she offered in her visits.

      ‘O’. Never ending. No beginning. No ending. Maybe the ‘O’ was like myself in that manner. How in a blink of an eye I could find myself removed and forwarded by whole earthly seasons. The air had turned. It no longer held the breath of warmth and sunshine of summer. Instead it held the darkening, faded breath of life. The line between those of the living and those of the dead was growing tired. I could feel it where my skin once resided. If I had been amongst the living, I would inhale this air until my lungs could hold no more. I would take it in to the point of it burning and almost painful but the perfume is too beautiful to not relish in such a manner. Alas, my body required no lungs, nor that of skin.

      The creature’s visits were sporadic. I watched her from up close and from afar. I tried to touch and tried to ignore. It did not matter. Her tread was always the same. Her return to the horizon was unfettered by whatever antics I would attempt. To say that it was maddening would be to admit to feeling something of my residual humanness. Was it impatience? Curiosity felt more correct. Whatever it was, I did not like being centered around this being that could come and go, taking my attention and thoughts with it.

      ‘B’. My final letter allowed me to return and finish my own name. The letter resided just as deep as the ‘J’, but the flag at the top bent backwards in a trail that wove through the loop of the ‘O’ and tangled with the flair of the ‘C’, like a tree branch. It skewed the ‘A’ and hovered over the ‘J’, providing a fancy little cap to the name I had known as my own for all my time. Jacob.

      It was not the first incarnation of my name. There were older forms of the epithet that I had known. All meaning the same thing - the supplanter. I wondered if I had been a good man. Or possibly, had I been evil in a good world? The fuzziness of my memories were mere echoes of what could have been but never concrete. Certainly, they were never accurate. 

      The brittle leaves of the few poplars and birch that dotted across the grounds rattled like an old sick man’s breath and were yellowed like his teeth. I tilted my chin upwards, looking into the gray sky beyond the canopy above and caught sight of the swirl of the cosmos that only those beyond the veil were privy to. The stars were dancing and singing, though no human could ever hear the beauty that was always wrapped around them in their ignorance. And yet, I tapped my toe and hummed along like a human would to their most favorite melody. The crinkles at the corners of my eyes deepened over the idiocy of the moment, but then, who was I not to enjoy a little morsel of what it was like to be the human I once was? Music stirred deep within me like nothing else. The notes touched and twirled something within that still could feel emotions and a longing for memories that always seemed to be just beyond my grasp. Had I been dead so long that life was no longer allowed to be remembered? It was then that I realized, I had no idea how long I had indeed been dead.

      The days were shortening. They were becoming like a careworn silk belt on a robe. I enjoyed sitting on my headstone, watching the wind play against the grass. Humans couldn’t see the colors that are pushed around, flying like dandelion fluff, carrying the fallen leaves and bits of life that survived upon its host. Perhaps it was one of those things that were put forth to mesmerize the eyes of the dead to distract from the living. I didn’t much care. If the colors of the world and cosmos of the sky were placed there to keep me from terrorizing the grander scale of being, so be it.

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[hwaightme]

Sangshine

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🌅 pairing: sun god!yeosang x gn!baker!reader 🌅 genre: fluff, fantasy, soulmates, studio ghibli-coded 🌅 summary: when yeosang opens the door to your bakery, and a new chapter of your life begins, you cannot help but feel as though you had met before; yeosang is elated to relive every sunrise and sunset, and fall in love with you again. 🌅 wordcount: 5.4k 🌅 warnings/tags: solo edit, food/eating/making food, destiny talk, discussion of time, discussion of deities/olympus, kiki's delivery service-inspired setting, multiple lives, mortal/immortal, summer fantasy, seaside town, baker's assistant yeosang, his precious self, (not quite) strangers to lovers, falling in love again... and again, waiting for love, sun magic, mention of lacking sleep 🌅 a/n: when i say i listened to the playlist on loop, i mean it. this yeosang is dear to me, as is time, the sun, and the cusp of spring and summer, bringing transformation. this fic is also an early celebration of yeosang, our beautiful, talented malberman~ I hope you enjoy, love you, any and all reblogs, comments, asks and notes appreciated!

🌅 playlist: Suzume - RADWIMPS, Toaka ; Time for two - RADWIMPS ; A Town with an Ocean View, The Baker's Assistant, You're in Love - Joe Hisaishi, Path of the Wind (Piano Version) - URE Relaxing, Summer - Joe Hisaishi, Pekka Toivonen

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🌅can't be tagged: @yunbug @hjoymyluv @memoriesofwoo @mystar1024 @ate-ez

Once upon a time, on a day when the weather forecast had promised, and the grim steely clouds delivered ceaseless downpours, and you were stuck inside watching rain turn window views into a hazy blur and scare away any potential customers with its ferocity, the sun, cautiously, with a bashful grin on his face, apple cheeks and a boundless kindhearted disposition hinted in every gesture, entered your store.

Raven locks, slightly curled and framing his heaven-sculpted face, inquisitive eyes that were a complex painting, an entrancing shade of grey - one which, much to your surprise, you were fond of, unlike the endless expanse of rain summoners hanging above your shop. You attempted to regard him like you would any other customer, but stopped on your tracks, barely finding the counter with your hands as his form became the sole focus of your vision. It was as though the rain had purposefully passed him by, left an avenue just for him to enter the bakery and keep his leather dress shoes and black outfit pristine, the man crowned by a lucky spotlight. As the young man fumbled for a way to proceed, you wondered if he was a ray of sun himself and that was how he stayed dry in that torrential catastrophe. Forcing your mouth into a more amiable shape than blatant gaping, you returned his shy smile and inquired whether there was anything in particular that he was looking for - after all, if the man was in your store, and managed to expertly dodge what had to be the worst rainfall in a decade, he had to be determined to buy something, anything. Silently, you were hoping that even if he were a passing face, that he could keep your business, and you, afloat. 

You left him a moment to ponder and watched him amble towards the counter. This allowed you to study his features at proximity, with bated breath as he leaned towards the glass display and looked at some of the pastries. The drifting of a couple of unruly strands as he lowered his head revealed the hints of a birthmark, a rosy pink blossom on the left side of the beautiful man’s face. Delicate, elegant. You looked away in an effort to appear more professional than usual for the sake of first impressions - you were not sure why this particular man had inspired the urge within you, seeing as you were so used to serving only locals and speaking in an array of neighbourhood inside jokes that you would think any newcomer would instead inspire callousness and aloof behaviour. But the unmistakable warmth emanating from him, the soothing balm of a brighter day that he appeared to carry made you want to grow closer, aim higher, beam instead of scowling.

He caught you as you were smoothing your apron, your break in attentiveness allowing his gaze to travel over you the same way that yours had done when he had crossed the barrier into the delicious safe haven from the atrocious weather that he had to schedule - unbeknownst to the residents of the town, he had actually negotiated to carve a few more sunny days, more days for him to search. It was rare, for someone like him, to stumble across little paradises. After all, for the most part the planet was a blur for him, a daily task and a routine roaming that he had to carry out and maintain. The last thing that the young god needed and had to want was the experience of mortal pleasures - the responsibilities that the deity, in the form of a young man, had were drilled into him again and again, and none of them involved doing what he was doing right this second. But the calls had grown too persistent as he passed by this town, too strong to dismiss, and the sky was curtained by clouds, much to his fortune. It was not that anyone would notice if a blip in the sunlight ever happened. He knew what he needed, and he knew that it was time to achieve it.

“Um, sorry. Do you have melon pan?” the young man addressed you, his deep, dulcet tone like music to your ears. The tilt of his head as the question permeated the air, subconsciously mirrored as you broke into a series of nods, setting off to the bread rack that was located behind the counter, off to the right. Seems it was good to give into your own cravings sometimes and impulsively introduce new items to the menu.

“With cream or without?”

One thing that you would have never expected was that a sun god would make it a habit to visit you in his free time, and be it for a sweet treat or for reasons known only to him, would put on an apron and fall into your beloved routine. What the deity never expected, and remained pleasantly surprised about, was just how readily you had accepted him, and instead of obviously falsified reverence that he had grown accustomed to from mortals who were graced with knowledge of his existence, you treated him as ‘Yeo’. That was the nickname you had given him after he had introduced himself with a human name - Kang Yeosang; a key which, upon turning, made him your new friend, and he would be lying if he said he did not feel elated when you happily shouted out his name from the back of the store, instructing him to move some trays around, or asking him to help you with some bags or dishes. 

If there was another heaven, it would be in the rhythm that he had rediscovered with you. In the cosy space of your bakery, Yeosang was at ease, in a tranquillity that he previously thought existed only in books and in mortal movies, in myths about eternal bliss, a paradise in the palm of one’s hand. Something that belonged to other lifetimes, other avenues that he had traversed. He thought that he was the one to have the better cards, the advantages, but it was you who had him figured out, despite his abilities, immortality and near-invincibility. After a particularly scalding hot day, the first words that you had spoken to Yeosang once he made the chimes that were hanging right above the door ring exactly at sundown, were: “you made the sun shine brilliantly today, Yeo,” leaving him awestruck. To you, it was only a matter of putting two and two together, making the man, or not quite exactly a man, into the legend that he truly was. After that, you simply delivered him a melon pan with cream, and pointed at the little table you had put out at the front of the shop, asking if you could enjoy the last of the rays together. He had happily obliged, stars in his eyes as you guided him out, balancing a jug of freshly made lemonade and a couple of glasses on a board resting 

As the days grew impossibly long with the climb of the spring into the summer season, so did the opening hours of the bakery, right up until you were stretched so thin over the day that you introduced a midday closing time with a break for a few hours, much to the surprise of the locals. At the same time, it turned out to be a welcome one, seeing as with the arrival of Yeosang, the number of people coming through the green-painted door increased considerably. Of course they would never say it, but you could detect a curiosity and admiration in them as they spotted the beauty strolling around in the kitchens, and the dreamy sighs when Yeosang would peek out, and even interact with some of the customers were far too obvious to ignore. If you knew any less, you would probably find yourself jealous, but at the same time, how many people walked under the sun, day in, day out? That was what you tried to tell yourself when the crowds of students would blast past, buying up the stock on one occasion and simply loitering around on another after their gruelling hours of cram school, and the odd brave youngster would try their luck to flirt with the god. His responsive stoicism, however, dispelled any of your itching doubts, and with a couple of polite nods and a step in a direction farther and farther from whoever was his unwanted interlocutor, Yeosang returned to the rhythm. 

He did not mind the visitors of the shop, nor the delivery men who brought you fresh produce and ingredients. In fact, he had made some new friends in this way. But it was when he could catch your grin, listen to your melodic laugh and feel a light playful tap on his shoulder that the light was truly brighter. Aside from the laborious maintenance of the glowing orb, patrolling his part of the world before he needed to pass it on, he was now a baker. Technically an assistant at best, but you proudly called him ‘the real deal’ when you applauded him for helping you with the brioche loaves. The coolness of the morning before dawn never felt warmer as his heart swelled with your encouragement, as if the sun really did set and rise in this bakery, home to nature’s magic and the adoration that he held for the world, reflected in your eyes that caught the hints of the rising sun. Nothing could be more beautiful. 

“Good luck for today!” you chirped with excitement evident in your voice, adjusting his shirt absent-mindedly, a habit that he had allowed you to form, the few precious seconds where he could let himself imagine a timelessness with you.

“Good luck to you too, and see you this evening. We have the Summer Solstice event opening!” Yeosang answered, matching your joy. While you adjusted his collar and clapped your hands a couple of times, satisfied with the neat look, Yeosang remained more still than the verdant green trees that cast calming shadows over to the side of the shop in the early hours.

“That’s right, so you better be prepared to work the till until you become the till,” you should have known that your attempt to move the blackboard sign would be intercepted, and the deity’s arms were already guiding themselves between yours to grasp onto the wooden frame. Whispering out an apology, a light blush coating his cheeks when your fingers barely brushed as you detangled yourself from the kind intervention, Yeosang moved the elaborate logographic art onto the street in its rightful place, continuing with his encouraging ponderings:

“First day sales are about to beat all records for this beauty.”

“They better, or the seasonal specials will-”

“I can always call my friends if you’re worried.”

“So I can have Olympus in my shop?”

“Why not? Your treats are heavenly…” he trailed off, partially in disbelief at his own choice of words. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, Yeosang decided to let the moment carry itself forward, listening to the trickling of time. 

Again, the gentlest touch of your hand on his chest as a laugh escaped you, and what had struck fear in his heart dispelled to reveal a brilliant sunrise. It was always you behind those sun rays, wasn’t it? The question crept out of a deep slumber, having lied dormant for what had to have been decades, now crawling up the walls of his consciousness, melting away doubts that came with every first meeting.

“You really are too sweet. Now go, can't keep your colleagues and the world waiting.”

As you peered into his eyes, clear, bright, hopeful, you felt as though you were looking at the sky itself, admiring its infinite expanse and omniscience. An odd sensation hinted at its existence as you did not dare look away, letting yourself sink further into ever-changing blues and greys, highlighted with flickers of a mahogany flame right by the pupils. Almost as if you had seen these very eyes before, gazed into the summer sky and caressed the sun itself as though it was an ornate glass marble. Perhaps this was another one of the peculiarities that came with interacting with the divine, you concluded and brushed it off, simply glad that in the now, in the early dawn on what was to be a hot summer day, you could look forward to more than ever before.

Yeosang bit the corner of his lower lip, in nervous contemplation, before tentatively reaching for your hand which had been resting by your side, and giving it a soft squeeze, barely there until you responded, fingers intertwining, answering to his unsaid hopes. Gaze not leaving the unity, thumb running over the edge of your palm repeatedly in an attempt to memorise the presence, he whispered out, half to himself, half to the divinity above and around him in sacred promise:

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Even as he departed, and you watched his figure evaporate into the morning mist as he approached the reddening horizon, the feeling of his hand in yours remained as vivid as that feeling that you must have known Yeosang before, or at least the irreplaceable, unique warmth that he shared with you was something akin to the idea of home itself. Supported, quietly cheered on as you continued your daily duties and finalised preparations to open the store for the first half of the day, Yeosang was there in your every thought and movement.

The glints of sun as the trees, having been ushered awake by the earliest hints of warmth that the red tiled roof of the bakery caught, commenced their serene rustling, were ciphers, music to your vision that danced over the concrete of the street outside. The way in which the colours changed as the sun grew more prominent and energetic was a masterpiece in the making, white paint turning into a glowing fantasy. When you closed for the day break, setting off on a daily walk around the neighbourhood in your favourite linen dress and wide-brimmed straw hat, you were embraced by the luminance that ambled across the ultramarine heavens, Yeosang matching your stride.

Running your hand over the top of the stone fencing that lined the hill on which your bakery found its home, you let your gaze rest over the breathtaking scenery of your beloved town, the terracotta roofs, the cream walls that were highlighted with wooden planks that stood the test of decades, the cobbled streets and hustle and bustle of squares and markets, and the glistening ocean that was always the first to wave to Yeosang, all shining thanks to the summer sun. It was fascinating, how with the marvel of the seasons, the town transformed into a fantastical land that you could only hope to spend all your years in. It had always been your home, your calling, and even in the times when you had gone outside of the town’s boundaries, your heart remained right here, come rain or shine. Perhaps this was the true reason why you were so drawn to Yeosang - in his eyes, you saw the same place, the same time, the understanding of a home that was so personal you were convinced he was taking the threads from your very soul, and singing the melodies right back to you. Your own, only sun that you could not believe returned your daring, unwavering gaze. You waved at the midday orb, chuckling to yourself as a flock of birds dashed past, hoping that your cheers would be delivered. 

As you turned to give the bakery a once-over before turning the corner to head down the stone stairs that would lead you to a busier part of the neighbourhood, you gasped as the sign, a dainty metal pretzel right above the entrance rocked back and forth on the rod, as if waving back to you, and caught a sudden sun ray, reflecting the warmth for it to fall at your feet like a thousand stars, decorating the cobble to turn to an illuminated path of glowing marble. Unable to contain your beam, you bowed your head in gratitude and curtsied, wondering just what your neighbours would think if they were to poke their heads out from their bedrooms and shops. But you did not pay it too much mind, instead twirling around, and with a newfound lightness, found yourself on a mission to surprise the precious sunshine.

The longest day of the year, marking the moment when the sun would begin its slow journey to a hibernation for the northern hemisphere, and Yeosang would find himself growing that little bit less busy as a god, busier as your loyal assistant. He rushed down the streets as soon as his feet hit the concrete in a secluded spot that he liked to use for his returns, counting every second that passed and matching it to the start of the event. Seeing the small crowd that gathered by the bakery, waiting for their much adored pastries and cheerfully chatting away, pride swelled within him as he thought back to the wishes you had made, what you had been working towards and what you had now achieved. He glided into the store in efforts to find you, picking up the apron that you left for him behind the counter. You were in the middle of carrying a new tray of buns and motioned for him to take his position by the till - back to his favourite rhythm.

Customers came and went, the event turning into a hit, and by the second hour, your specially decorated melon pan was officially sold out; all except one for a certain someone, tucked away, kept safe. You almost felt guilty for keeping this tiny secret from the god, taking notice of his momentary confusion and barely restrained pout as he caught sight of the empty basket, and his disheartened stance as he picked it up and removed it from the display. You swore you saw what was already the night hour darken, and stifled a giggle, instead tapping Yeosang on the shoulder to give him a thumbs up for his hard work and mouth the words promising a gift. With a re-discovered vigour, the deity hurried off to assist an elderly customer who was trying with all her might to contain a loaf of sourdough and make it past a busy line - your store being the only one in this part of town to sport one in such late evening. As the chimes rang out again, you thought back to the little present you had acquired during your afternoon walk, barely containing yourself, bursting at the seams as you imagined what you wanted Yeosang’s reaction to be over and over again.

With the last of the customers came the quietude, a lulling blanket of deep navy decorated with stars that had been lying in wait outside of the bakery, a moment of rest for the sun god, a cooling serenity that you could share with him as you closed up, cleaned up, and ushered him to the little table outside - previously folded away and hidden behind an antique delivery scooter bike out at the front of the shop, so as to not attract attention, nor occupy the space that had always been set out for idle chatter of the visiting locals. As you let Yeosang finalise the furnishing of your makeshift lounge, you recalled his curiosity of the wheeled machine, and your suggestion that one of these days, he could use it as a chariot, much to his child-like excitement. You turned and made a beeline for the store, almost running into Yeosang in the process, your balance restored only by a pair of strong hands on your upper arms.

“What’s the hurry?” as though electrified by the contact, his hands flew away from you just as suddenly as they had caressed your skin, though, much like the heavenly reassurance of his presence on your wrist, the ghost of him remained around you, seeking an embrace. Retraining your focus on the man before you, you huffed and continued past him repeating “just you wait”, over, over like a mantra, a spell that you wanted to use to keep him in place.

Thankfully, he did not follow, instead stepping closer to the window that was now exposed to the moonlight since he folded the ruby red awning, faded with the years of sunlight and rain storms. Yeosang folded his toned arms, smiling to himself as he watched you throw one item, another onto a wooden tray, and shuffle back outside, not once breaking focus from balancing what had to be priceless treasure, considering how carefully you set it down in front of him.

“Sit.”

“But you’re standing.”

“Yeo, come on, sit down, I am just energetic!”

“After that shift? Are you sure you are not a god or demi-god yourself?” he countered, tilting his head.

“I- hm. Okay so we are standing then?”

“I want to be energetic with you!” the innocent comment made your chest ache, and what had previously been utter conviction that what you were doing was casual, customary for colleagues, friends, passing faces who had grown familiar, shattered into a vulnerable confession.

You stilled, the nervous rocking on the balls of your feet ceasing to bring you comfort, the erratic motions and gesticulations as you struggled for a response disappearing into the night and leaving an entrancing clarity. There was no other way to present this, and you had accidentally pushed yourself over the edge, a stance, a dare that you were no longer able to back out of. Facing the sun, you stepped closer and closer to it, and reached for the first item on the tray.

“Here is a little… thing I kept for you.”

“No… no way, is that melon pan!” he exclaimed, taking the small paper bag from your hands and peering inside, amazed to find his, and your favourite sweet bun. The crisp cookie dough layer solidifying the neat, recogniseable hatching, containing a custard cream inside, another homemade specialty. 

“You know, I recently found out that melon pan has another name,” dropping the bun back into the bag to give you full attention, Yeosang glanced back at you and pushed a stray strand of black hair behind his ear, preventing it from blocking his view. Gesturing for you to continue, he nearly squeezed the custard out of the bread upon hearing your elaboration: “a friend of mine, she works at a bakery in a city down south, and there, they call this sunrise bread. Funny, isn’t it?”

“So you bake suns in your oven?”

“Guess you could say that.”

How was it that you managed to leave him breathless regardless of the time you met was forever going to remain a mystery, but one Yeosang never wanted to solve. Instead, he was waiting with a fluttering heart for the moment you were going to say the words that had imprinted themselves in his eternal being, and travelled across from heaven to earth, from the east to the west, echoing in his mind as he searched for you over and over again until finally, your dawn could greet him. He remained silent, glancing at you and at the last hidden object on the tray, a box leaning against the glass jug, this time filled to the brim with a peach ice tea. 

“I… was at this antique store today. Don’t really know what brought me there but as soon as I saw this, I knew I wanted you to have it. I-... well, I don’t know if gods have birthdays but since it is the Summer Solstice, and you are basically the sun itself, I wanted this to be a little celebration of… you?”

“Of me? But-” never, not a single time could the divine being find rationality in your kindness, only the crossing of stars that tugged the fragile lonely hearts together into an intricate waltz woven in the skies. 

“Check it out!” 

Yeosang counted the seconds that passed once more, this night, this fateful night being so cruelly short, but so full of promise. His hands, trembling ever so slightly as he attempted to remove the lid, a trepidation taking a hold of him. Your infinite pools hurried him on with their anxious darting, and inhaling the sweet scent of the sea and his earthly home, he opened the box to reveal just what he had been anticipating, a relic, centuries-old masterpiece passed on from one you to another. Forever yours, finding its place in the same antique shop to return to him and to you, making another beginning. 

He searched for the ring at the top of the sun chimes, stained glass beauties attached by sturdy strings to a hook that, the next dawn would find purchase at the base of the bakery sign above the light grassy green door, there to remain for a measure of time. Lifting it out of the box, Yeosang admired the stars, the crescent moon, the sun that had been crafted and immortalised just like himself, ready to attract and dissipate every ray that would grace them. A miniature galaxy contained in impossibly intricate artwork, with every sparkle appearing to house a memory and still hold space for the near and far future. Your future, his future. Lost in the relief of meeting the object as though it was a good friend, he barely registered your diffident approach.

“So… what do you-”

“I love it, Y/N.”

“You do?”

“I do. And I think I know just where to hang it. If you do not mind, of course,” upon seeing your nod of approval, he lifted his arm to turn and point at the pretzel, gleeful when he saw your face light up brighter than the sun he was tasked to carry. “Let’s do it now, before it is too late to sleep and before the sun rises. So that I can visit you more while the days are still too long.”

Insisting on saying your morning goodbyes to him, even though barely a few hours had passed between the hanging of the chimes and the palette of the skies gaining lighter blue, lilac and pastel pink hues, you stood under them, huddled in a wool blanket to minimise the contrast of the cosiness of your bed and the breeze travelling down the still, somnolent streets, alive only thanks to the the scattering of lamps and the world surrounding them, watching over them. One blink, another as you tried to rid yourself of sleep to convince Yeosang that you were perfectly fine and ready to start the day. In reality, you simply wanted to catch the first glints on the chimes and follow his journey across the sky, dreaming of his sunset back in your bakery.

Hands concealed by the thick material and unable to smooth his shirt, you could only take a step towards the divinity, the action turning symbolic. What you did not anticipate, however, was that this dawn, he was more than happy to take over your duties and instead of him melting under your softness, your ears were turning red as he pulled the blanket tighter around you, taking its edges that were close to your face, adjusting the ticklish fabric like it was a one of a kind ball gown - unbeknownst to you, that was was exactly how Yeosang saw it, and when he saw you trying to nuzzle into it and away from his amused expression, he could not resist any longer, and with one final pull rested his forehead against yours, noses colliding briefly causing you to let out a feeble yelp.

“I’ll see you in the chimes later, yeah?” he whispered against your skin, the proximity proving intoxicating as you could only just register and make sense of his words, initial shock wearing off to lay down the path for the return of the same feeling from the earlier night, only this time more real, more certain fully reciprocated.

“And later. I’ll make more sunrise bread for you.”

“I think I know something even sweeter. If you will let me indulge, of course.” the last moment before the break of your dawn, a question by which the world was hanging in intimate suspense. 

The past, present and future collided as, in response to Yeosang’s careful request, you boldly closed the already practically nonexistent space between you, finally understanding the true meaning of being sunkissed. It did not take any time at all for the god to return the revealed fondness that you had kept guarded until it only felt natural to bring to light. Like the balmy immersion of the elements, suspended on the cusp of spring becoming summer, Yeosang leaned in with immeasurable affection as if he had been carrying it for all his eternity and kissed you like a long-lost lover who wanted to, through every movement, recollect the memories made, the days spent together, retrace the unity of two beings colliding into one entity, set alight like the brightest star in the universe. 

As he tried to remain more level, gentle in an effort to not expose you to the early dawn’s winds, you grew frustrated from the lack of true warmth, wanting to fly closer to the sun, into it, be consumed by it. Gliding your hands out from under the blanket, you reached for Yeosang’s shirt and pulled him towards you, dragging him impatiently to the open door where you promptly shrugged off the material. Perplexed and worried, Yeosang momentarily broke away from the kiss to ask you whether the action was comfortable.

“Aren’t you going to get cold?”

“Are you saying the sun god cannot keep me warm?” chuckling at the fluttering of his eyelashes, abashedness at your ambiguous choice of words evident on every part of his face, you let your arms rest on his broad shoulders, gleaming back when his own found your waist, playing with the material of your top.

Touching your nose with his own, he was shy in his advances, seeing every wrong turn and prospective hurt unfold in accompaniment to the tragically perfect duet of a mortal and an immortal soul. Knowledge of the lives you had lived, while it was a blessing, at the same time was a series of unbearable lessons that decorated Yeosang's heart like untreatable scars. The mark on the side of his face, your first ever caress, a peppering of butterfly-like kisses on his face, celestial stardust, which has manifested itself as a symbol joyously tying you to him, now emitted that familiar dull burning, having re-encountered its creator. This was an ache that he would give up the sun to experience again and again, the pizzicato thrill warmer than the coming heatwaves, than the surface of the galaxy's centre. 

"I don't want you to ever burn, Y/n." He murmured, understanding that the words would not hold as much weight in your interpretation. You took another step towards him, pressing yourself close, surrounding yourself with his solar flare.

"I trust you. Do you trust me too?"

"More than the skies above us, always."

"Then I know that we will be a beautiful sunrise."

He peered into your gorgeous eyes, looking for anything to stop him, convince him that he needed to step away, knowing full well that he would find nothing except his love returned, amplified by your own. Such was the merry-go-round of life that had been set out for you and Yeosang, an unstoppable turning of the gears that were set in motion by destiny. Now, the light began, soon there will be darkness, and in the future, foreseeable by the god, there will be more light. The sun will peek out from the edge of the planet, crawling across the foaming waters to call the residents of this town awake again and again, whether there was to be a town here, or not. The sun remained, and so did Yeosang's eternal wait for the next turn of the divine clock's hands. As he shut his eyes and kissed you once more, feeling heaven and earth collide, his musings reduced to a simple melody. He was happy that in this lifetime too, the sunshine found you.

[hannahssimblr]

Once, years ago now, Aunt Maureen took me to visit her eldest daughter, Karina. In the midday heat, beneath the shade of a fig tree we sat in a Venice restaurant, where bougainvillaea draped over the front of flat roofed houses and fragrant blooms edged the terrace. 

I loved Los Angeles. The food was always better, the people happier, the streets more colourful and picturesque than in Albuquerque, where everything was brown and beige, blending with the dust land. Karina laughed when I said this, sitting back in her chair in her oval sunglasses, a cigarette balanced between long slender fingers. 

“You should see where I live downtown, then I’ll ask you again how much you love it here.”

I didn’t know what she meant. I was thinking about those cool guys I’d seen on a basketball court earlier with their hats on backwards, the loud, bass heavy music they played from a speaker, and the skaters who dropped lazily into concrete basins on their boards. I wanted to be one of them, though I knew Maureen would never buy me something dangerous like a skateboard. I played things a bit fast and loose at the best of times and once almost rollerbladed clean off a pier, so she’d developed a fear that I might one day die of pure stupidity. Maybe when I was older and she wasn’t watching me from the kitchen window anymore I would move to LA, get myself a board and skate around on it without wearing a shirt, and get muscles and a deep tan like everyone else here. 

These were the kinds of thoughts I lost myself in as Maureen and Karina had conversations that either weren’t interesting or which I was unable to understand, but I was content sipping on my Fanta with ice, lurid orange, and so fizzy that it stung the back of my throat and thinking about being a grown up in LA while Maureen had her white wine and Karina her cigarettes. Soon they would order a plate of oysters that looked too much like boogers for me to sample and speak more about things happening, things that had already happened, and plans they’d made for the summer. 

“What’s your favourite time of year?” Karina said to me suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. I knew this is the sort of question you ask a seven year old when you don’t know how to speak to children, but I thought hard about it anyway to make sure I gave her the best answer I could. She was my cool, mature cousin, and I always wanted so badly to impress her. November and December, I told her, because I got presents on my birthday, then time off school on Thanksgiving and both these things on Christmas. I was still reeling from the PlayStation console that Maureen and her husband Mario had bought me last Christmas, slotted perfectly within its square, silver box, which I still had, stored carefully beneath my bed just in case I ever needed to pack it away and move it. 

“What about you, mom?” She said, and Maureen didn’t have to think. 

“The spring,” she said, “I just love to be out in my garden then, with all the flowers and that lovely sun, it’s not too hot. It feels like everything is just on the brink of bursting to life.”

I thought about that later as we passed the canal, all the beautiful spring flowers that erupted from the banks, and of home too, where by now, in the hazy days of mid May, the desert was blanketed with spring grasses, with violets and golden poppies and bluebonnets, burning a trail of vibrant indigo all the way to the mountains. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Ty to @scrapplesims for suffering living in LA once upon a time and for answering my weirdly specific questions about what it was like

[arcielee]

Hello. For the ask game, I was hoping to participate and ask a few questions regarding "Hazy Shades of Spring" and "Ask Me Anything" ☺️

1. What inspired you to write the fic this way?

6. What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

10. Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

My favorite lurker 💜

1. What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I was very obsessed with the idea of modern Aemond, especially after reading Down in Flames by @sapphire-writes (it is fucking amazing) and thought, "Fuck it, let me try." 😂

For my modern Aemond, I imagined him being grounded, more reserved in his family, but still somewhat aware of his affect on women. Also, I had read and loved several Professor!Aemond stories and decided to take a bit of the Alysmond F&B by making it his professor, which allowed another plot point that kind of pulled part 1 & 2 together.

6. What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

It's a little self-indulgent? I use Arcie lore in it.

I am actually 6 years older than my husband and had a lot of hesitation when we first started dating (something I clearly got over since we are now married 😂), but it held similarities in that aspect.

Also, I loved the idea that her true passion is writing, that she's a sci-fi classics kind of dork, but realized she has a knack for writing smut (more Arcie lore). It also allowed me to incorporate how he found her story through her alias (my husband figured out my ao3 penname) and when he confronted her + her reaction, I just adored writing that (this came from when my husband would use the names of my titles from my Call It Dreaming series, dropping it in casual conversation when we were out with friends, and I would burn like I was calling to Rohan for aid).

10. Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

It really stemmed from Alysmond. I am curious how HBO will handle their relationship, but I feel (and this is my personal opinion only, so please feel free to disregard as I am a hopeless romantic) that there was some sort of love between them.

But this might be coming from this amazing stories I read by honeydwine on ao3.

Thank you for these questions. I will probably say this each time, but damn I really loved writing this series. 😂💜

Ask game.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"But the Entwives gave their minds to the lesser trees, and to the meads in the thicket, and the wild apple and the cherry blossoming in spring, and the grasses in the autumn fields."

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, "Treebeard"

@lotrladiessource's lotr ladies week || day 1: fairytales/legends + music/lyrics || the entwives

[ID: a picspam comprised of 18 images in shades of golden brown, with some light blue accents.

1: Swirling tree bark / 2: Two pears hanging from a leafy branch, lit from behind by the setting sun / 3: yellowish text reading "when summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown; when straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town" on a brown background / 4: A basket of mushrooms and moss / 5: Wheat / 6: Cows in a hazy field at sunset or sunrise / 7: Grasses against the sky / 8: The hands of a person with brown skin cupping some cocoa beans / 9: A traditional Ohlone thatched house / 10: text reading "entwives" in all caps / 11: A fruit hanging from a bough, half lit by the sun / 12: Brown fields / 13: Tree roots / 14: The sun setting through trees / 15: same format as Image 3, except the text reads "when honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the west, i'll linger here beneath the sun, because my land is best!" / 16: A basket woven in a traditional Ahwanechee style / 17: A carved face in brown rock / 18: sun shining through grain /End ID]

[clone-lover]

Water fall showers

Tbb head cannons + Boba Fett and Rex

This was definitely made in a fever dream but it was a good idea so... Enjoys your boys showering in the waterfalls

Masterlist

Crosshair:

This man is definitely bathing in a hot spring waterfall. Individual circular pools pouring into each other. The air is drafty and steam floods from the spring. Toads and crickets chant in the bright moonlight that is dancing across the steam.

The land is gray and barren but he will tell you, "you bring this planet life." (EW CHEESY!)

The waterfall isn't loud but rather a soft and comforting trickle.

He doesn't bring towels and if someone Wreaker walks in, you are left to hide in the steam. Crosshair will look over you with a grin.

Tech:

The shower is very organized to insure no one will disturb it. He still brings you towels. The towels are nicely folded and pressed. he also set up candles to "set the mood." (AKA he heard that it helps people relax and wanted the same for you)

It is sun down by a wooded stream. The water fall is on the louder side but the white noise is heaven to you're headaches. You find peace in the white water and its rocky accent.

He will ramble on about how this stream is unique being that similar falls in the area were flattened by erosion. This one was harder to erode because of the plant life and rock found on the cliff. Also due to the glacier path that made a valley.

The air is humid, warm and stuffy. The kind of air that makes your hair/clothes stick to you skin. Fortunately, the stream was cool and helped ease your aching muscles after another failed Cid mission.

Echo:

Cottagecore King!

The water's are slow and soft. They fall from a three foot ledge into a 3 to 4 foot basin below. The white foamy waters work well to clean you if you duck into them.

Because the drop isn't steep, the noise from the "water fall" isn't loud but rather like an open bathtub facet.

It's a hazy morning time shower. There are birds chirping in the background. Fresh bread wafts the air and although there is a hazy, the air isn't sticky. Air and water temps are just right. Maybe the water is on the refreshing side of cold.

I picture it is before breakfast and the morning after some romantic and passionate sex.

You know this man has towels but trust that no one will walk in.

Wrecker:

Beach waterfall!!!

Loud, rushing white waters pouring into the ocean.

Bright, warm sunny air with a very playful feel.

Cool waters after a fun beach day.

Towels are some where by the marauder but they didn't matter because if someone was to walk in, You were both in bathing suits.

Somewhere after this i imagine he would throw you over his shoulder and run into the sea, getting you both dirty again.

You would probably dry in the setting sun as he combed your hair and feed you food. Or he would cuddle with you and feed you food.

Hunter:

This man is 100 percent in a cave. The smells and sounds of a regular waterfall make it far from relaxing. not to mention, he is completely bare so the sensory buffer his armor provided is now gone.

The cave is dimly lit (Think the cave omega and tech where in on episode 9 season 2)

The water is refreshing to him but incredibly cold to you.

echoes of laughter and water would bounce off the cave walls.

He would hug you from behind while alternating between kissing your neck and telling you how perfect you were.

He forgot towels. With all the stress and guilt of having some alone time. All he could think about was omega being alone, having to be naked Infront of you, you being naked Infront of him, etc.

Boba Fett:

Of course this is on Tatooine. It's the run off from an oasis just above it.

You are standing in sand but the oasis trees above you provide cooling shade.

if the trees weren't enough to keep you sheltered from the twin suns than the refreshing cold water would be.

No one would dare interrupt the daimyo so he doesn't bring towels. instead you will dry off in the shade of the oasis. Plus he wanted to see you naked.

Speaking of which, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you. He would be very touchy! It will probably lead to some fun... and you would have to take another shower.

Rex:

Ashoka planned this date for you two because she thought y'all could use the break. The waterfall was on Shili, her home world.

No one would interrupt due to it's isolation but rex brought you towels... and snacks... and extra, extra clothes. he was overly considerate.

He also also brought a blaster. he said, "There is no telling what we could run into out there, better to be safe than sorry." He was on edge the whole time.

To add onto his paranoia, it was nighttime in a thick ass forest.

Whether it was the local wildlife or the empire, he would keep you safe.

[devotioncrater]

early morning static rated: E (smut in chapter 2) Words: 1,307 Chapters: 1/2 Summary:

And Ted tastes like an early dawn. Or maybe that’s just the first imagery to spring up in Trent’s sleep-addled mind, because his bedroom window faces the East and the clouds begin to color into a hazy shade of purple. Beautiful in a temporary way. Slow in a temporary way. There’s a promise of light to shine out, out, out and stun him blind with its beauty. Slowly, Ted begins to trail his fingers up and down Trent’s palm, forearm, elbow. A touch that wants to believe in the real, tangible proof of Trent's existence. That Trent won't disappear or fade away like some yearned-for dream had in a bed all the way in Middle America. "I'm here," Trent whispers by Ted's ear, gentle. "You're here. We're here together." “That’s all I want,” Ted responds, vulnerable, and kisses him again.

[jungle-angel]

Lazy Hazy Days Of Spring (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: You and Calvin finally have enough time to spend with each other and now that school is letting out, you decide to make the best of it

Warnings: Parenthood, mentions of pregnancy and birth etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @ateliefloresdaprimavera

Calvin crept his way downstairs, wanting to surprise you and Ellen, the two of you thinking he was still upstairs asleep.

Six-Thirty woke right up from where he, Rosie and their new puppies were all asleep, the curly little ones and the runt of the litter nestled between Six-Thirty's paws. Calvin gave him a few ear scritches, smiling at the sight.

"You big Casanova you," he chuckled. "I was wondering when you'd settle down and have a litter."

Calvin made his way into the kitchen and sure enough, there you were in your pretty spring house dress with Ellen on your hip, the both of you in matching salmon pink. The window was open to let in the warm air and the birds were singing in the backyard, the sunshine filling the whole sky.

Ellen suddenly began babbling and making grabby hands and when you turned around, there was Calvin. "Well good morning, Daddy," you teased.

Calvin laughed as he took a wriggling Ellen from you, her little hands bunching up his blue button down. Calvin kissed your cheek before littering Ellen's with kisses.

"Something smells good, Momma," he remarked. "What are we making this morning?"

"Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee," you rattled off, taking the jar of fresh jam from the fridge. "Henny gave me some of her homemade blackberry jam."

Calvin's eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. Henny King's homemade jam was almost as legendary as her backyard garden.

You and Calvin ate together before cleaning up and headed outside as soon as the dishes were done. You let Six-Thirty and Rosie out to do their business and for them to get a little exercise before they retreated back into the house to tend to their puppies.

You, Calvin and Ellen enjoyed the afternoon as it came, the three of you snuggling in the hammock that lay between the two crape myrtle trees in the backyard. The three of you slept long and peacefully in the hammock, shaded by the canopy of trees with your arms around each other. Spring was already giving way to summer, but you both wouldn't have had it any other way.

[thebabblingbrookenook]

From A Father To A Son

Pairings:  Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton & Edmund Bridgerton

Summary - Benedict has held his father’s words close to his heart for his entire life. The model of love that his parents provided set an uncompromising standard. All of the pieces to the puzzle didn’t fully align until he fell in love with you. Although his father is gone, Benedict gets to experience the love of his life through the lens of his father’s parting sage wisdom.

Warnings - This one is pretty tame. I toned down the angst and dialed up the romance. It is sickeningly sweet.

Word Count - 3.1K

Author’s Note - The song inspiration for this one was If You Love Her by Forest Blakk. It isn’t necessary to listen before you read, but if you want a soundtrack... This is where my brain was lol

_______________________________________________

Spring was always Benedict’s favorite time of year, in spite of the fact that it held some of the most painful moments of his life. The world was coming back alive. Colors brightened, days grew longer, and the sun soaked into everything it touched, greeting those in its embrace with a warm hello. It was a time for new beginnings. A time that embodied promises of better things to come. That’s probably why it seemed to be the time of year when the world fell in love. 

Wedding season was in full bloom. He had already watched three of his old friends from school tie the knot this year. Each time he witnessed a bride take her first steps toward the rest of her life, he would turn and look at you. You were always there, right by his side, looking more lovely with each passing day. He watched you, as you watched her. Your eyes would mist over with joy, and when you felt his gaze on you, your skin would turn the most alluring shade of pink he had ever seen. That was always his favorite part.

He could never resist the urge to reach over and join your hand with his, watching together, as the two people before you joined their lives in a sacred union. Naturally, it would always send his mind down a certain trajectory. With the warmth of your palm pressing into his, it was easy to imagine your future, and he would think to himself, some day. 

He felt it the moment that vague, hazy some day, transformed into an urgent and sure, right now. He held you close, as you swayed together in time to a beautiful melody. He could see his little sister, Daphne, over your shoulder. She wore the smile of a radiant bride as she looked into the eyes of her new husband. He let the peaceful warmth of happiness wash over him and he knew. You were the one his father was talking about all those years ago…

Edmund Bridgerton’s words would forever be seared onto the soul of his second son. They were the words that shaped every decision Benedict made in life. The words that defined his understanding of love. That’s probably why it took him so long to find you. Nothing that fell short of the wisdom his father instilled would have been enough. 

~~~~~~~~~~

One spring morning, when Benedict was sixteen years old, he accidentally overheard an argument between his parents. His mother was pregnant and swollen, and behaving, in Benedict’s opinion, completely without reason. His father, while visibly frustrated, never once raised his voice to her. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, kissed her on the head, and apologized. Through her sniffled breaths, he heard his mother whisper, “I’m sorry too.”

It was the strangest argument he had ever seen. That wasn’t how things played out between his siblings when someone got into a row. There was usually a lot of yelling, and on occasion, maybe even some physical spats. Sometimes there was crying, but never hugs. And it most definitely didn’t end with mutual apologies. Not unless prompted by the staggering weight of disappointment dispensed by their mother. 

His father, always so aware of his surroundings, had known Benedict was there. Later that afternoon, he pulled Benedict aside and asked him what he knew about women. To which Benedict replied, “Absolutely nothing.”

An understanding smile spread across his father’s face, and he clasped his large hand affectionately on Benedict’s shoulder. “A stance of humility is the right place to start, son.”

They walked together through the fields of their country home and Benedict absorbed every word his father spoke. He didn’t know why, but something about this moment felt pivotal. He felt the need to see every detail of his father’s expressions, and hear every small inflection of his words. It was important that he never forget. He wouldn’t understand until later that it was because this was the last private moment they would have before he was gone.

“Benedict, women are a gift that we will never fully deserve. They are beautiful and strong. They inspire passion and embody grace. We think ourselves the brave ones, but can you imagine the kind of strength it takes to willingly surrender in vulnerability? To hand over any power you might have, and trust that it won’t be misused? They are brilliantly complex, but somehow breathtakingly effortless.”

Women had always been a mystery to Benedict. A riddle that he couldn’t quite solve. “But, what does that mean exactly? How can something be complicated and simple all at once? I can’t make any sense of that.”

“What that means, son, is that they should never be underestimated or undervalued. What they have to offer should never be taken for granted. They are not props to support our selfish ambitions, but rather partners to help build a life worth living. Everything you give a woman, she multiplies and gives it back to you. You give her ingredients, she gives you a meal. You give her intimacy, she gives you a family. You give her safety, she gives you a home. She gives you love. And that, my boy, is the effortless part. The innate way in which they love. If you love them, they’ll love you like that.”

Benedict was mesmerized by the way his father spoke. Even if he didn’t fully understand it, he knew that he wanted it. “How? How do you love them?”

“See her, Benedict. Truly see her. Set yourself aside and pay attention. Listen with more than just your ears. The beauty and the answers are in those small details. In one way or another, she’ll tell you exactly what she needs. Exactly who she is. Then you’ll know how to give her safety. You’ll know how to be a place of refuge. A place where her shame goes to die. Her trust is the most precious thing she has to give you, but it is also the most precarious. It has to be earned. You’re not entitled to it. If you’re the one she lets in, take it. Treat it with the reverence it commands.”

Benedict knew his eyes must have been wide in his face. His father laughed to reassure him. “What’s the matter, son?”

He replied in earnest, “That feels like a lot of pressure. What if I can’t do it right?”

“Yes, it can feel overwhelming at times. But with a heart built like yours, it will come as second nature. Of that I have no doubt. Once you meet her, once you know her, it will stop feeling like something you have to do and become something that you want to do. Something that you were made to do. No pain or burden will be too much to bear. You’d take on anything for her without a second thought.” His statement was a matter of fact.

Edmund’s kind eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled reflectively. “It won’t always be so serious. You will laugh harder and deeper than you have with anyone in your entire life. Oh, son… make sure you learn what makes her laugh and never stop doing it. Watch her light up the world around her. Learn to be childish together. And never, ever, let her forget how cherished she is to you. Don’t even spare her a second to doubt how much you want her.”

Heat rose to color his face, “How much I want her? You mean… uh…?”

His question hung silent in the air. When his father spoke again, his voice was gentle but stern. “Physical affection isn’t something you need to feel ashamed about. It’s important. It brings pleasure but it can also bring healing. You will crave each other. Ache for each other. Use it as an anchor point. Don’t wield it like a weapon. Touch is powerful. Sometimes it says what you cannot. Kiss her. Kiss her well, and kiss her often. Run your fingers through her hair just to remind her that you’re there. Touch the places on her body that she hates and worship them. After she meets you, she should never go another day without hearing how painfully beautiful she is. Watch her transform under your fingertips, showered in passionate words.”

Benedict gave a wry smirk, “That sounds nice.”

“Oh, trust me. It’s nice. Nice is putting it mildly. It’s euphoric. Addictive even.”

They were almost back to the house now. The garden was coming into view and Benedict could see his mother waiting among the hyacinths. He watched his father watch her and knew that everything he had just told him was coming from experience. The look in his father’s eyes as he took her in almost felt too private to observe, but he made himself look. He wanted to memorize it so that he might recognize it on his own face one day.

He had one last question he was dying to ask. “How will I know?”

“If she’s the one?” Edmund intuited.

Benedict nodded his head in affirmation and hung on his father’s next words. “Everything else will feel like hate in comparison.” 

Sensing his son’s trepidation, he said, “Don’t worry Benedict. It will be as easy as breathing.” He looked back up at his wife and smiled. “On days when it feels like the sky is falling, stand together and know that she’s the best thing that you’ll ever have. She’ll love you if you love her like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head was resting on his chest and he inhaled the scent of you. This was another moment he wanted to commit to memory. His father had taught him the importance of all those small details. It made sense now. The small things added up to the big things. They were the confirmation. The whole picture. The reason he knew…

Good and the bad, they added up to make you. You were everything he needed, but more importantly, you were everything he wanted. He loved your sense of adventure and your willingness to let him lead you into things that scared you. He loved that you trusted him enough to follow. It made him feel like a man. A man capable of loving a woman. A man like his father. 

He loved your sense of humor and how easily you could laugh at your own shortcomings. It made it easier to extend himself the same kindness. He watched you in awe as you picked yourself back up, time after time, and tried again. And when you couldn’t do it yourself, you came to him and let him help you. 

He loved your horrible taste in movies and how excited you got when he agreed to watch one with you. And he adored to watch you read. The way your eyes darted across the pages in wonder. He was desperate to know what words evoked a giggle or a tear. He wanted to understand your mind and know your soul. Sometimes after you had put the book down, he would flip through the pages and try to find you there.

There would never be a day when he would get enough of watching you interact with music. Everything about you stood at attention, devoted to the rhythms and notes. Your body would move in sequence, every chord an experience. You didn’t discriminate where music was concerned. If it made you feel something, you were all in. He found it unbearably adorable that you had two different answers when someone inquired about your favorite song. There was the answer you freely gave, and then there was the real answer. The one you kept secret, just for yourself. 

Sometimes at night, when you had trouble falling asleep, you would rub your foot back and forth in small circles on the sheets in an attempt to self soothe. And on nights when that didn’t work, he would reach out for you, pull you close, and you’d melt into his side. He would lay next to you in silence and wait for the moment when he could feel the tension leave your body. He liked that he could chase away what tormented you. 

He even loved your anger. It was magnificent to witness. You were an unstoppable force of justice, fueled by passion and grief. Sometimes the two would meld together, and in an instant you would go from yelling to weeping. Vulnerable and exposed in either state. And you let him see it all. Sometimes it was even directed at him, and the impulse to throw up his hands and walk away would be so strong. But then he would remember the image of his father pulling his mother into an embrace to confess a whispered I’m sorry. Instead of walking away, he would stay. He would listen. He would tell you how he felt. And in the end, the reciprocated amends always came. 

He could list all the reasons to love you until the day he died. But when it came down to it, the thing he loved the most was the way you loved. You loved fearlessly, and sometimes recklessly. You loved with your entire heart and then you loved some more. There were times when it overwhelmed him. There were times when it made him want to hide. Times that he preferred the company of shadows, afraid of what the light might unearth in him. Even when he found himself frozen by its magnitude, you were patient with him. You loved him enough to afford him mistakes. You left room for the ugly parts of him. You left room for him to grow. You encouraged him and challenged him. You inspired him and stoked the flames of desire in his soul. He could get lost to the sounds that left your lips when he touched your body. Drown in the ecstasy of the way you arched and pulsed around him. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that he could find fault in. When he was buried in you, he was home. 

Your outer beauty was undeniable, but the essence of you was unparalleled. It wasn’t possible for him to be in your orbit and not walk away a changed man. Everything about you made him better. You pushed each other forward. Built each other up. Forged a life worth living.

He knew by the way you loved your family that his would be immediately adopted into the fold. He was your heart, and to you, his family was simply an extension of him. You would protect them at all costs. Kill for them. Die for them. And all because he had the privilege to be loved by you. It was all stunning, but the love that held his every waking thought captive was the way you loved children. It was unadulterated, with no expectations or conditions. His favorite thing in this world was to watch you hold a baby. Your body could never physically contain the amount of love that erupted in you. It wouldn’t be ignored. It would flow out in the form of tears as you looked into the face of someone unbroken. He knew he would not be fulfilled in life until he saw you become a mother. A mother to his children. He needed to witness the miracle of your body creating and sustaining life. He wanted to give you the gift of intimacy and watch you multiply it until you gave him a family. 

Some Day was here. It was time. He needed you to be his wife. He needed you to be his future. He needed you to be forever. He had done it. He had solved the riddle. He had figured out how to love a woman. 

His father would have been proud. He would have congratulated him and welcomed him to the club of the hopelessly devoted. But most of all, he would have loved you. Of that much, Benedict was sure. 

As the song came to a close, Benedict broke free of his reverie. You were staring up at him with an adoring smile on your face. “What are you thinking about Ben?”

The words left his lips before he even had a chance to think. “I was thinking about how much my father would have liked you. I wish you had gotten to meet. I think you would have liked him too.”

You pressed your hand to the side of his face to hold his attention. “I know I would have. He’s the man who raised you. How could I not? I wish I could say thank you.” 

He leaned forward to press your lips together. When he pulled away he said, “I know how you can thank him.”

His expression was cheeky and it made your heart race. “Oh yeah? And how is that, pray tell?”

Two strong hands entwined into the back of your hair, tilting your head up and locking your gaze with his hooded eyes. “You could marry me.”

It took you by surprise. You weren’t ready for the intensity of what he had just unlocked in you. Tears were threatening to unleash themselves.

His knowing smile was so warm. “It’s okay, my perfect, perfect girl. You can cry. You can join right alongside me. It’s only a matter of time, no matter what answer you give.”

You laughed at his perfectly timed joke and marveled at the unshed tears pooling in his eyes. “It’s about time, Bridgerton. I was starting to worry you didn’t have it in you.”

His hand left your face long enough to wipe away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. His vulnerability was doing things to your insides. “So, is that a yes?”

You nodded, not sure you were able to trust your own voice at the moment.

He pleaded with you. “Please… I need to hear you say it. It won’t feel real until you say it out loud.”

Both of your hands came up to entwine with his long fingers that were still holding you in place. “Yes, Benedict. I will marry you.”

The heat from the breath he had been holding rushed across your lips before he kissed you. He kissed you deep and he kissed you well. 

You had been loved before in your life, but you had never been loved like that. 

He was the best thing that you’d ever have…

Tag List - @faye-tale , @angels17324 , @eleanor-bradstreet , @bridgertontess

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom 🎶

The rest of Zelda’s pregnancy passed by in a hazy, happy stupor. As her belly grew, she could no longer sing at the club, so Antoine had begun taking gigs out by the lake, playing picnics and parties just to pull in a few extra dollars. This meant that most of Zelda’s days were spent with her mother, as they caught up on the four long years they had spent apart.

As spring turned into a warm summer they walked every inch of the city, Zelda showing her mother her favorite sights or the streets where she had walked when she had first arrived.

They would only pause their sightseeing in the middle of the day when the summer heat became oppressive and Zelda’s swollen feet began to ache. Then they would seek out shade and a comfortable place to sit where they could share cafe au laits and pastries.

Under the cool awning a happy chatter filled the small cafe, people’s laughter only broken by the sound of the steam ships arriving in the background. Hours and days passed that way as Florence told a stream of stories about Isaiah’s new baby or answered Zelda’s seemingly endless questions about parenthood.

As the months continued to go by, Zelda realized that despite the discomforts, she enjoyed being pregnant. It was the calmest she had felt since she had arrived in New Orleans. She could just be alone, no pressures or expectations, and enjoy the quiet.

She liked sitting silently in the parlor, listening to the gramophone as she imagining her baby hearing music for the first time. Part of her missed her library from England, so she would try and scan her mind to remember lines from her favorite books as she recited them to the music.

Antoine also seemed to grow increasingly excited about the prospect of a child, seeking Zelda out in the parlor as soon as his gig ended just so they could sit together as he hummed piano tunes or felt the baby kick.

Part of Zelda never wanted it to end. She knew that once the baby came her mother would leave and she would have to go back to the stage; more than anything she knew that whatever tenuous quiet she had found now could be shattered by tiny cries all through the night.