#afi writes

[afi-writes]

Until the Dawn Breaks

Oda Nobunaga x female reader

Mature

Losing in the game of Go can be a win on another battlefield, can it not? Once again, you are trying to beat Nobunaga in his own game while you both know how it is going to end. But which part of you he will conquer this time?

You stare at the Go board and your pieces on it. There is no doubt in which direction the game has turned once more. You did your best, yet the result is spreading right in front of you. Trying to predict Nobunaga’s actions, you had made yours. And for a moment it had seemed that you would succeed. But now, everything is lost; there are no actions that could turn the tables for your benefit.

Nobunaga’s gaze is glued to the board as you wait for his next move. He’s taking his time as if the decision was difficult even though he must see what you are seeing.

You can’t help it. A warm bubble pops in the depths of you, making your skin tickle all over. You force your breathing to stay calm and your heartbeat steady… but it is as useless as to tell the birds not to chirp in the spring breeze.

Long fingers grab a black piece and move it on the board. Nobunaga is expressionless as he lifts his gaze. “Your turn.”

Your hand trembles as you shove a white piece forward. It’s pointless to pretend that you have choices. No matter what you do, the final outcome will be the same.

“Aren’t you eager~?” Nobunaga smirks at your movement, responding with his. It’s the last one, and he pushes the Go board aside. Some pieces roll on the tatami, but he doesn’t bother to pick them up. The carnelian eyes are now completely focused on you as restless waves course through your veins.

You lean your hands against the tatami, fingers brushing the material. Shallow breaths vibrate between your lips as you stare at the man before you.

Nobunaga is still smirking, getting smugger by the second as his gaze doesn’t waver from your curves. “Tell me you wanted to lose.”

So unfair. A couple of evenings earlier you had another game of Go. One you lost, obviously. That moonlit night, Nobunaga conquered your voice, telling you that you can only say what he wants you to say. Back in your day, that would have caused a serious discussion about consent… but then again, you both know that you already consented to his game. Now, you play by his rules.

That doesn’t mean, you happily admit his win and your loss. Gritting your teeth, you meet the carnelian gaze. “I wanted to lose.”

One day you will win yourself back. Perhaps.

Unless you will stop wanting to.

“I see.” Nobunaga inches closer. “Craving to know which part of you I’ll conquer tonight?”

You stay silent.

Nobunaga leans even closer until you can smell the sake in his breath. His fingers are reaching for your obi belt and manage to open it with a couple of fast tugs. “Admit it.”

Grabbing your yukata, you gasp. No way, you allow him to slide it off. You wouldn’t…

You would.

You know you would.

But no way you are telling him that.

“Tonight, I will conquer your sight.” Nobunaga rises. He roams behind you and brushes the wild strands of your hair behind your ears. “Close your eyes.” A mere whisper against your left eardrum.

Not obeying isn’t an option.

You let your lids flutter down, and the silk fabric caresses your face, wrapping around your head. The knot presses slightly to the back of your head but doesn’t hurt while you feel a fingertip toying with your earlobe.

“This already belongs to me.” A touch sweeps your hair just before the teeth meet the sensitive skin of your ear, pulling you into the borderland between pain and pleasure. You try to swallow your groan yet fail as it escapes from your mouth anyway.

You’re about to rest your body against Nobunaga’s chest when he retreats and crawls to your front side. As you still hold your yukata, he grabs your left hand and raises it. Your stomach churns from anticipation.

“This, I conquered first.” Nobunaga’s lips touch the tips of your fingers. He sucks your index finger into his mouth, his tongue sliding underside of the said digit and playing with it as if he hasn’t tasted it before.

Small quivers run from your fingers to your wrist and up to your arm until they reach your heart which bouncing quickens with every teasing suckle. You remember that first game of Go very well. You thought that was your way to redeem your way back home from Azuchi Castle. At the time, you lost and agreed to give your left hand for Nobunaga to use as he wished, and ever since then, he has not missed a single opportunity. Or lose a single game of Go either.

You never redeemed your return home. But don’t they say the home is where the heart is? You voluntarily succumbed to Nobunaga as he told you that first night. He conquered you piece by piece until even your heart didn’t belong to you alone anymore. It is his, like everything in you. Yes, every now and then a tiny voice in you rebels, yet in the end you know it’s vain, for this man has sneaked his way into your soul.

Nobunaga kisses your palm and advances to your wrist, his tongue meandering up your arm and finally reaching the bend of your arm. A giggle whirls up your throat, and you try to yank your arm from Nobunaga’s grasp.

But he doesn’t let go, instead, sucking the skin on the sensitive spot. “I didn’t give you permission to escape.” The words vibrate against your skin.

Nobunaga nibbles you before his tongue continues to trace your upper arm while his hand pushes the sleeve out of his way. You would yearn to see his face but don’t shove the blindfold aside. You made a promise after all. You lost, so you can’t do anything else than submit to his will.

The sleeve slides down to your arm when Nobunaga releases your hand. You can hear him moving a little further on the tatami. However, it only takes a moment before the warm fingers are already brushing the toes of your right foot. His hand snatches your ankle, lifting it so fast that you need to take support from the tatami.

Nobunaga toys with your pinky toe. The urge to pull your leg away from him radiates through your muscles, yet you fight back and stay still.

“We were visiting the hot springs when I made this conquest.” Nobunaga breathes onto your toes. A sigh escapes from him. “Sadly enough, we were interrupted that night. But today, I have made sure no one will bother us.”

The fact makes something heated smolder deep within you. You have all night without disruptions, and if you have come to know Nobunaga at all, that night will be long.

Hot, wet mouth wraps around your big toe, tongue traveling along it. A moan erupts from you as sparkles rush from the toe to your ankle, searching its way to higher and higher. Your hand slips and your back hits the tatami. At the same time as your hand squeezes the yukata, preventing it from sliding off, the other scratches the tatami, not getting a grip on it.

As Nobunaga’s tongue follows the curve of the instep of your foot, your body arches, and a groan presses past your lips. Laughter sweeps your skin before the lips stop to kiss your ankle. Nobunaga traces your calf, shoving the fabric of your yukata out of his way until he reaches your knee. You can’t help but moan when his fingertip teases the bend of it.

You want this man. The mere thought of him makes your innermost parts tremble and his touch is enough to make you lose your mind. You can feel how your depths turn into a moist swamp, ready to take him in. His hands run along your thighs as his lips cover them with kisses. His fingers brush your right butt cheek, which also belongs to him, while he slides his tongue on your thigh and gazes at you. As a fabric brushes your leg, you realize that Nobunaga has already tugged his obi open as well.

Digits dig into your buttock’s skin, causing you to inhale deeply. The tongue leaves a damp trail as it proceeds upwards. Before you know it, you have spread your legs for the man who owns you.

“All this is mine. Only mine.” Nobunaga’s voice is dark and rough.

Your heart skips a beat when Nobunaga lets go of your butt and shoves himself against you. His hand detaches your fingers from your yukata and hustles it aside. Even though the evening is warm you shiver when he reveals everything for his eyes while you don’t see a thing. His finger runs in the valley between your breasts before he presses his palm against your chest right above where your heart thrums.

“Say it belongs to me. Your heart.”

“You don’t have to ask.” You can’t but whisper. “It’s yours. Forever.”

Nobunaga’s hair tickles your skin as he presses his lips where his palm rested just a moment ago. However, he doesn’t stop there but nibbles your breast, making you whine. You raise your hand to sweep his head aside, but he grabs your wrist, preventing your intentions. “Are you not enjoying this?”

“…it tickles…” you manage to muster out.

A smile shudders on your skin. Nobunaga passes your hips with his foot, taking your other wrist as well and pinning them both against the tatami. Nudging you, he drowns you in a kiss that steals your breath while his groin rubs on your belly, revealing how much he craves for you too.

Pulling your lip, he groans into your mouth. “I want you. I want you completely. Tonight.”

You lift your hips to meet his. “Take me then.”

The response is a chuckle. Tugging your lip with his teeth, Nobunaga grinds against you. His tongue conquers your mouth without mercy, and you submit to him. Willingly. Completely.

All too soon, he breaks the smooch, tracing your chin with the tip of his tongue. It meanders along the column of your neck until the greedy mouth captures your breast once more, imprisoning the perky bud that cries to be touched. He sucks it in, teasing it with his teeth and forces moans out of you as your back arches and fingers curl as if trying to grab something. Heat courses through you and makes you pour for him.

As Nobunaga’s mouth travels south, he lets go of your hands. You comb his hair with your fingers, allowing the shower of kisses on your lower belly. He stops right there, just above the hairline. A whimpering sigh escapes you as you push his head slightly.

A hot blow caresses your curls, but Nobunaga doesn’t mind about your commanding fingers. He simply toys with your hair as if that would be all he wanted. Then… he slides his hand up your inner thigh, finger slithering up… up… up… and stopping. “You have to ask for it.”

Unbearable flaring rushes to your cheeks. He must know what you want. It should be obvious by now.

“Remember, I have also conquered your voice. You have to say it.”

You swallow and suddenly you are more than grateful for the silk in front of your eyes. At least you don’t need to see his smug smirk right now. “I… I want you to…”

Why is this so difficult? You’re on fire, your heart pounding so fast it’s almost painful as your breathing is growing fierce. No one can hear your words. No one but him. Whatever you say, it’s for his ears only, and because of that you have nothing to be ashamed of.

“Say it.”

Turning your head to the side, you draw breath. Yet that doesn’t calm down your heart. “I want… you to…” You swallow again while your fingers entangle with Nobunaga’s hair. “… kiss me…”

“Oh? I think I already did.” Such a teasing voice. He is doing this on purpose, isn’t he? “Try again.” He inches his finger closer yet doesn’t touch the area that yearns for it the most.

“I want you to…” You are scorching all over. “…lick me.”

That’s all Nobunaga needs. Without further ado, he buries his face between your thighs, his tongue finding its way over your already plump and opened petals. He sucks the throbbing nub of yours, circling it over and over again. A sigh erupts from you and turns into a series of moans as he keeps going while digging his digits into your buttocks.

Soon, one of his hands leaves your butt. He skims along your folds, dipping a finger into your dampness. You raise your hips, and he dips again, refusing to go further. All the while his tongue never stops.  

“Please…”

Nobunaga pushes his finger further in but makes it retreat right after. Not saying anything, he continues dancing his tongue on your most sensitive spot.

“Please, please, please. I need to feel you… your fingers inside me.” A groan follows your words. You’re gushing against his mouth, hanging on the edge of pleasure without really getting there.

In that instant, not just one but two fingers push past your barriers, commandeering even this region of yours and making it his. If there was shame before, there is none now as you wail in bliss while he finishes his triumph. Tugging his hair, you succumb to his control over you. The lamentation of your lust probably carries through the door to the castle’s hallways, but you do not care. Every cell of yours is Nobunaga’s realm now, and if he wishes to make them sing, he will. And you sing and sing until you have no voice, and you simply tremble in his grasp out of breath, nearly sobbing from the pleasure that is almost too much to bear.

As Nobunaga separates your fingers from his hair, you try to steady your wheezing. He crawls next to you, releasing the knot behind your head. You blink while the familiar scent of your own desire wafts into your nose, making your face flaring all over again.

“I will never stop loving the view of you when you surrender to me.” Nobunaga lifts you in his arms bridal style and carries you on his futon. He scoots by your side, brushing your hair behind your ear. “And I’m going to enjoy that view over and over again until the dawn breaks.”

[plushyluke]

this energy forever 🪩🤍🩶

[irwinsblender]

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[callsignspark]

anything for you | part one

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Rebecca Hermann (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, implied violence against women/children, discussions of murder (nothing explicit/gory), inaccuracies about hotel ownership, eventual smut, warnings to be added as needed 

word count: 4.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist

note: I wrote and edited this in about eight hours on Tuesday last week and then got my appendix out on Wednesday, so it's a bit later than I said it would be. Some friends and moots are tagged at the end, have a good weekend!

Friday, February 10, 2023 | San Diego, CA | 2100 PST

It was late. Later than she ever worked. But the project was done, the week was over, and now the weekend could be enjoyed. Daydreams of a hot bath and chocolate are interrupted by an alert from her security system.

Someone is in her house.

A quick review of the cameras told her it was one of the idiots that hung around her father – the insignia on his jacket sleeve a dead giveaway – and her heart rate slightly slowed. She would have to find out the identity of the man in her home once she got there. Whoever it was, he was lucky enough to avoid facing the cameras but apparently not smart enough to realize they were there. Maybe she’d introduce him to the baseball bat that had a permanent home in her trunk. Pedal to the floor, she stewed in her anger on the drive home and created a simple six-step plan:

1. Park around the corner to avoid detection. 2. Sneak through Mrs. Klempner's backyard. (Do not destroy the roses.) 3. Review live footage and determine best entry point. 4a. If identity of man is unknown – subdue with baseball bat. 4b. If identity of man is known... subdue with baseball bat anyway. 5. Deal with idiot once consciousness is regained. 6. Suffer consequences from dipshit father at a later time.

As she slips through the gate of her back fence, arms covered in scratches from rose bushes and rage simmering in her chest, she reminds herself to be grateful that her neighbor's overgrown rat of a dog (and her mortal enemy) is already inside. A normal day would find Rufus barking from sunrise to whenever the elderly Mrs. Klempner remembered to let him back in the house. Taking his unnaturally high anger level out at anything and everything from the mailman (who agreed the obese Jack Russell terrier was a spawn of the devil himself) to a leaf that dared to fall within a 50-foot radius of his dog house.

"Never barks at anything actually important, though, stupid four-legged ball of blubber." She mutters to herself as she hides under the dining room window. "Okay, fuck head, let's see where you are."

Flicking through the feeds, she finds the man standing in her kitchen with his back still to the camera, drinking from one of the nice crystal glasses gifted to her by her mother. The nerve of this man!

Stashing her phone away, she peeks through the dining room window, only to find her mystery guest rummaging through her freshly stocked fridge. Her mouth drops when he comes back out with one of the peanut butter hearts she had bought herself as a Valentine's Day treat. I haven’t even had one of those yet! 

She doesn’t recognize the blonde man just from his ridiculously wide shoulders, but she does notice the flex of his arms as he unwraps the stolen sweet. None of the guys in her father’s crew are that broad. That means it’s someone from the Daggers. Which can only mean bad news. Or maybe she’ll get lucky, and the intruder will have news that her father is dead. Then he turns, she can feel the blood drain from her face as nausea creeps up her throat – luck was not on her side tonight. She knows the man standing in her kitchen.

Jacob Seresin. The Hangman.

Using the shadows of her house as cover, she slowly begins to move back toward the fence gate, trying to give her scrambling brain time to think of a new plan.

1. Slowly, quietly move to the gate – keep eyes on the house the whole time. 2. Sprint back to the car. Hit the highway. Head south. 3. At the first rest stop, pull as much cash from the ATM as possible. 4. Buy gas, scissors, hair dye, and as much non-perishable food as possible on a credit card. 5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 two more times. Create a paper trail. Keep moving south. 6. At the third stop: ditch cards, phone, and ID in the garbage on the way out. 7. Continue south for another 10 miles, then swing back to the north. 8. Head for Canada. Drive safe. Don't get pulled over – remember, no ID. 9. Once in Seattle, contact Vinnie for help crossing the-

"Where do you think you're going?"

The next ninety seconds happen fast. In just a few moments, the bat is swiped from her hand, and her mouth is bound with what she can only hope is a clean cloth. Two sets of hands restrain her arms, and a third her ankles. But only after she makes contact with someone’s family jewels. The satisfaction at the sound of his grunt and the thump of him dropping to his knees doesn’t last long as she’s dragged toward her own home. All of her attempts to break free or scream for help are woefully unsuccessful.

The back door opens, the silhouette of The Hangman filling the frame. "Will you get her inside already?"

"Something isn't right, Jake." The tall, bespectacled man on her left grunts, struggling to get the wiggling woman into the house without hurting her.

"She's been fighting us the entire way! Bob, let go; I’m just gonna carry her in." The even taller brunette on her right throws her into a fireman's carry and brings her into the house. "I don't think she knows what's going on."

"Ya fucking think, Bradshaw? Just get her in a chair and make sure she can't move. Where the fuck is Javy?"

A man with a thick mustache chokes back laughter. "Oh man, he took the bat out of her hands, and she got him right in the balls. Direct hit. Took him right down to his fucking knees. He's still out there trying to catch his breath."

"Someone, please go get him." The exasperation is clear in his voice, and even as she fights getting tied to a dining room chair, she can't help but think that the most feared man in the city looks exhausted.

"You don't know why I'm here, do you?"

The question catches her by surprise, allowing the men to finish securing her feet. She hadn't been directly addressed since being grabbed in the backyard. She stares at him, hoping her expression properly conveys the "I can't speak because your fucking goons gagged me, you idiot" that she's trying to project.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

She knows her "yeah fucking right" comes through clearly because he huffs a laugh.

"I'm not. And clearly, your father didn't tell you I would be here tonight, or you wouldn't be tied to a chair right now." The room’s attention is stolen by movement at the back door, "You alright, Machado?"

"I'm fine.”

“Man, she got you good!” A curly-haired man crows at him.

“Garcia! Shut up, all of you!” He hisses at the men trying not to laugh before nodding at his boss. “I'll be okay."

"Good. Would hate for your lovely wife to not get those children she so dearly wants." He crouches in front of her, "Now, back to you. I'm not here to hurt you, so I'm going to take this off, explain why we're here, and you're not going to scream. Do you understand?"

She takes a second before nodding, only agreeing because the cloth in her mouth is starting to make her gag reflex act up. "Alright, lean forward a little bit."

She does as she's told, slightly shaking as his hands come uncomfortably close to her neck. She knows what damage those hands could do; what damage they have done. She closes her eyes, and next week’s headlines light up her eyelids like a Broadway marquee.

Local woman found strangled in her San Diego home. 

Local woman with ties to organized crime found tied to dining room chair. 

Local woman unfairly paying for the crimes of her idiot father at the hands of his boss, city's wealthiest entrepreneur.

“Hey, open your eyes. Look at me, Rebecca.” The command is given gently but firmly. She obeys, not wanting to upset him now that she has no hope of escape. “There we go. Oh shit. Please don’t cry; I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already.”

“Forgive me, but you’ll have to excuse me for not believing you.” She sniffles, tears escaping without permission, voice shaking even as she snarks at him. “Especially since you mentioned my father.”

“You’re like he said you would be. You know who I am, then?” Amusement dances in his eyes and his smile sharpens when she nods. “Who am I?”

“Jacob Seresin: CEO and chairman of Eagle Hotels and Resorts. But better known around the city as “The Hangman” – head of the Daggers.” Her resolve strengthens, and she vows not to show any more weakness. “How did you get in my house?”

“Very good. You can call me Jake.” His smug, condescending tone brings her blood back up to boil.

“Okay, Jake.” She spits his name back at him. “Why are you here? What did my father do?”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Six months ago, on my sister’s birthday. How did you-”

“Delilah, right?” He interrupts, waiting for her confirmation. “I’ve met her a few times. She seems like a good kid.”

“She is.” Her words are almost silent, heart pounding from the terrifying knowledge that this man knows who her sister is. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t reply; instead stands and grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge, “Got any straws?”

“Why are you here?” Her voice is stronger again, more concerned with why her baby sister is part of the conversation than the beverage needs of the dangerous man shuffling through her kitchen drawers.

He tuts at her, “One thing at a time. Where are your straws?”

“Why are you-” She cuts herself off, sighing when it becomes clear that he’s not going to stop until she answers his question. “Drawer to the right of the stove, clear container.”

“Oh, reusable kinda gal, huh? Save the turtles and all that? Rock on.” He grabs a chair and sits across from her, so close that their knees touch, before cracking the bottle and plopping the straw in. “Take a sip. I’m sure your throat is sore from all the screaming.”

She shifts forward, hesitant but willing to drink it since she saw him open it. She thanks him, the manners her mother instilled in her automatically coming out, and immediately scolds herself for being kind to the monstrous man in front of her.

“You’re welcome.” He sets the bottle on the table and leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. “What do you know about the Daggers?”

“Not much. Why are you here?”

“You’re very stubborn; has anyone ever told you that? Explain how much “not much” is, and I’ll answer your questions.”

“I know how the Dagger Organization was formed. I know you’re the head of the Daggers, a position you inherited from your father, who inherited it from his father, and so on. You have a large group of advisors made up of two smaller groups. One group you trust because they’re your people. I’m guessing the men in my kitchen are part of that group.” She takes a beat, glancing at the five men around her island, pretending not to listen. “The other group, not so much. They were your father’s advisors, and more than one of them is rumored to be the reason you inherited your position. My father is part of that group, and likely the one you trust the least, given how he was your father’s right-hand man at the time of his death. Not to mention the fact that he’s a huge idiot. That’s all I know; I don’t understand how the hierarchy works or anything like that. Why are you here?”

His eyebrows raise – surprised or impressed, she can’t tell. “You know more than I thought you would by your “not much” response.”

“Yeah, well, gotta know your family history, right?” He stifles a laugh at her sarcastic tone. Her father warned of an attitude, but he didn’t mention her sense of humor. “How did you get in?”

“If I untie you, you gonna try to run?” He avoids the question, lips quirking when she squirms at his eyes running up and down her body, trying to assess if she’ll fight him when she’s untied. “Or kick Javy in the crotch again? His wife really is hoping to get a few kids out of him.”

“I won’t run.” She confirms, then mutters to herself, “It’s not like I would get very far anyway…”

He hums in agreement as he moves to free her legs first. “You’re a smart one.”

“I do alright.”

“Rebecca, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. A bachelor’s degree in mathematics and two master's degrees? Seem pretty damn smart to me.” He moves behind her chair to unite her hands. “How are your wrists, sweetheart? Did Bradshaw do it too tight? I’ll let you take a shot at him if it was too much.”

She forces herself to ignore how her stomach flips at the term of endearment and the way his hand gently rubs her shoulder on his way back to his chair. She examines her wrists and rotates them to check for injury, reminding herself of the games men like him play. It’s not real. He brought up Delilah as a threat. It’s not real. He’s being kind, so you’ll trust him, and that’s when bad things happen. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not- 

“Do your wrists hurt?”

“They’re fine, thank you.” Her voice sharper than she means it to be. Calm down. Don’t give him a reason to make them hurt. 

“You sure? They look a little red.”

“It’s fine; I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” His eyebrows lift in doubt as she rubs her wrists, trying to soothe the slight rope burn she got from struggling.

Play him back, don’t give him the upper hand. “I was sorry to hear about your dad; he was always kind to me.”

“Drink some more Gatorade.” His voice is stiffer than before.

Bullseye. 

She looks up from her wrists, eyes darting between the orange liquid and the man opposite her. When she doesn’t move, he nods at the bottle, a silent order to drink. He continues on after she complies, looking pleased. “What do you know about the Tomcat arrangement?”

She shakes her head. “I know it exists. I heard my father mention it once or twice in passing; when I still lived at his house, but I don’t know what it is. You still haven’t answered my questions.”

“When my great-great-grandfather created the Daggers, he did it with three other families.”

“The Bradshaws, the Kazanskys, and the Hermanns.”

“Yes, as you know, Albert Hermann – your great-great-grandfather – was one of the four founding members. What started as equal power between the four families changed over time. My family ended up as the leaders, and an agreement was made during our great-grandfather’s time. First, so long as there is a male heir to lead the next generation, the Seresins stay as the lead family. The other three families remain at the top of the chain of command. The leader taking their advice and counsel. His most trusted allies. The second part of the agreement is that whenever possible, the heir – the future leader – will marry a daughter of one of the other families. To keep the power balanced as much as possible between the families. As a way of ensuring that the Seresins don’t end up with too much power. And now that I’ve taken over my father, it’s time for me to get married.”

She stays quiet, stomach twisting at the information. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Rebecca, your family is the only family with the right lineage and daughters suitable enough to satisfy the Tomcat arrangement.”

“Daughters? Daughters! My sister is being considered?!” She lunges at him. “She’s eighteen! You vile, disgusting pig! You fucking piece of shit!”

“Will you stop it?” He easily stops her attack, her five-and-a-half-foot frame no match against his six-foot-two body. She struggles against his hold on her wrists, unwilling to stop fighting until she gets a decent hit. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to tie you back up.”

When she doesn’t listen, he flips her around, gathers both wrists behind her back, bends her over the dining room table, and uses his weight to keep her in place, “Enough.” 

It kills the fight in her. “She’s only eighteen! She’s just a baby! I was trying to get her out of there. I was supposed to get her out of there! I promised! I promised I would. I promised…” Sobs wrack her body, choking the words in her throat.

The house is silent except for her crying, the sound amplified from where her face is pressed against the table.

“Stop crying. Please stop crying. Jesus, your fucking father was supposed to have explained this to you already.” Jake sighs, resting his head against her shoulder blade. Nothing had gone in his favor today. “I don’t want to marry your sister.”

Her heart skips a beat, and her voice is thick with tears when she asks, “...what?”

“I don’t want to marry her. She’s practically a child. C’mon, take a drink.” He lets her up and grabs a tissue from the sideboard in her dining room. “Per the Tomcat agreement, after taking control, if I’m not already married, I have six months to get engaged to a woman who meets the requirements of the agreement. And then a year to marry her. My advisors reminded me today that I only have two months left to get engaged. Your father ever so kindly reminded me that your family is the only one with women that meet the Tomcat terms. He was quick to offer your sister to me, who I refused even quicker. She’s young enough I could practically be her father. It has to be you.”

“No.” Her answer comes swift and firm. No more playing into her father’s hand.

“If you refuse, he’ll kill you – he’ll do it himself if he has to – and then he’ll force your sister to marry me. And I won’t be able to stop it.”

She scoffed as she wiped at her nose, “You are the most powerful man in the city, probably the fucking state. To say you couldn’t stop it is absolutely ridiculous!”

“I wish that were true, but there’s still too many of the old guard, too many stuck in the ways of our fathers and grandfathers. I refuse, they’ll kill me, and your sister will be forced to marry one of my uncles – for the sake of keeping the Seresin name in power. Or worse, your father will try to take control, and god knows what will happen if he gets a taste of any real power.” He takes a breath, trying to gauge the reaction of his future bride. “I know this isn’t what you want. It’s not what I want either, having these archaic rules forced on us. But if we don’t play along, things will get much worse.”

“I- I… is this really the only way my sister stays safe?”

He didn’t think he had ever seen such sadness before and tried to answer as gently as possible. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, but it is.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

“I guarantee she’ll be safe from harm of the Daggers. You know I can’t promise anything more than that.”

She nods, eyes distant as she thinks before she straightens and looks him in the eye. “I have conditions.”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands.”

“I think I am, actually. Sure, if I refuse, I end up dead. But so do you. And my father will make your family’s life a living hell, I have no doubt. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s being a bastard to women. Besides, they’re not demands; they’re… conditions – compromises, really – and quite simple ones at that.”

He grits his teeth, knowing she’s right and wishing she wasn’t quite so smart. “Fine. What are your conditions?”

“My sister is allowed to do whatever she wants. And we’ll pay for it, whatever it is. If she wants to go to college, her tuition is fully funded. If she wants to stay in San Diego, volunteering at animal shelters and surfing all day long, we’ll buy an apartment for her. I don’t care what she does, as long as it’s her choice, and she doesn’t have to live with my father anymore.”

“Agreed. We’ll get her out of there as soon as the wedding is over. What else?”

“She can’t know the circumstances of my agreement. She’ll obviously know why I’m the one you’re marrying – why we’re getting married in the first place, she’s not an idiot – but she can’t know that she was the one offered up by my father and I’m only doing this to save her.”

“Done. What else?”

“I know we’ll have to announce our engagement, but I need a month before we take it public. That’s how long I need to give my notice at work and do a proper turnover so I don’t screw my team over.”

“You don’t have to quit, you know? You can keep working if you want to.”

“I know, but let’s face it, as the wife of one of California’s most widely known men – in good ways and bad – it’d be hard to keep working like I do now. And with your reputation, there would be cries of corruption and protests. I’d end up constantly harassed by press and, honestly, probably my coworkers. They’re not exacting your biggest fans. But I do want to keep working. I can’t be someone who sits at home all day, not having anything to do. I’ll go crazy.”

“We’ll find you something at Eagle. Anything you want – the business side, the volunteer and charity team, anything. Or you can start something of your own. We’ll figure it out, Rebecca.”

She breaks eye contact for a second, feeling flustered under the intensity of his attention.“I assume I’ll be moving in with you?”

He nods, “I’d actually like you to do that as soon as possible. You’ve always had a target on you because of your father, but being with me just makes it grow a hundred times. I want one of my people with you wherever you go out in public. Not only will our rivals be a problem, but I’m not counting your father out either.”

“My sister gets a guard too. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I would do anything to protect her. She is my- our biggest vulnerability.”

“Done. What else?”

“If I’m moving in with you, I’d like to sell this house. And the money from the sale will be mine.”

“You don’t have to worry about money. You’ll have full access to all of my accounts.”

“The money will go into my account that you will not have access to.”

“I’m not going to steal from you.”

“I’m not worried about you stealing. It’s to protect myself… just in case.”

His face softens in understanding. “The money will go into your account, which I will not have access to. I will pay for the realtor and any fees associated with the sale; you’ll get to keep as much as possible.”

“That’s not necessary; I can pay for-”

“I’m sure you can. But I’m going to anyway.” He holds up his hand when she attempts to protest. “You’re not going to win this one, so save it for another fight. What else?”

“Fine.” She huffs an annoyed breath out of her nose. “I’ll need to update my will to account for all of these changes.”

“I was already planning on bringing in the lawyers; we’ll get everything set before the engagement announcement.”

“I’d like my own lawyer to review everything.”

“You have a lawyer? Why?”

“Does it matter?” Her voice is sharp again, but it’s different this time – the word defensive flashes in his mind.

“No, I’m just surprised. Who is it? We��ll get them on retainer, but their office will be solely dedicated to you.”

“Peter Spartz of the Spartz Brothers.”

“Really? He’s good. I’ll have the legal team set up a meeting to get everything in place. What else?”

“I want to manage the size of the wedding. I know between Eagle and the Daggers, you have an obligation to invite a ridiculous amount of people, and they are all welcome to come to the reception. But I want the ceremony itself to be as small as possible. I don’t want to get up there and vow myself to you in front of a thousand of your closest business associates if I don’t have to.”

“We can do that. What else do you want for the wedding?”

“What do you mean?”

Her confusion confuses him. “What do you mean “what do I mean”? What do you want the wedding to look like? Flowers? Your dress?”

“Oh, I guess we actually have to plan a wedding. Fuck.” She looked annoyed at the prospect of having to plan their nuptials. “I really don’t care what we do.”

“You don’t care what your wedding looks like?”

“I- no? Should I? It’s not like we’re doing this because we love each other. Or even like each other. We’re fulfilling an obligation our grandfathers put in place a million years ago so that we don’t end up in shallow graves in the middle of the Mojave. Besides, I don’t know how you would even begin to plan a wedding…” Her voice trails off, slightly embarrassed that she isn’t prepared with this information already.

“That’s fine. We can get a wedding planner. My mom can help, our sisters can too. I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine.”

“You’re not going to help?”

“Oh, I’ll be giving input on the important things. Cake flavor, what’s being served for dinner, of course, the booze, and the honeymoon… But the only thing that matters to me is that we're legally married by the end of the night. I don’t care what it looks like to get us there, just as long as you like it.”

Her face twists deeper, unhappy at the thought of having to make all the decisions by herself. “So, if I make our colors Barbie pink and vomit yellow, force you to wear a kilt that’s five inches long – even though you’re not Scottish – and insist that we decorate with nothing but rare and expensive orchids that you’re extremely allergic to, you’re going to be good with that?”

“I’m fine with all of that.” He smirks at the surprise and annoyance on her face. “Oh, don’t be shocked, sweetheart. Like I said, whatever you want. Happy wife, happy life, and all that. Anything else before I propose, you say yes, and we live mildly ever after?”

“One more thing.”

“Anything for you, my dear.” His teasing tone makes her smile briefly, but it disappears as quickly as it came, her expression hardening.

“This one stays between us,” she nods towards the kitchen.

“Out, now.” His men move immediately, the soon-to-be-married couple watching them file out the back door.

She turns to him once it clicks shut, face made of stone and eyes full of fire. “I don’t care how it gets done. If you do it yourself, if you have someone else do it, it can be messy, or you can make it look like an accident – maybe it looks like a heart attack. I don’t care. But the first time the opportunity presents itself: you kill my father.”

The Hangman appears before her very eyes, his smile sending chills down her spine and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. For the first time all evening, she truly sees the blonde in front of her as the ruthless, cold-blooded man he’s known to be.

“Anything for you, my dear.” 

tagging:

@bussyslayer333 | @callsignvalley | @gretagerwigsmuse | @hangmanapologist | @hangmanbrainrot | @mothdruid | @mouseymagines | @notroosterbradshaw | @princessphilly | @rhettabbotts | @roleycoleyreccenter | @roosterbruiser | @ryebecca | @theharddeck | @withahappyrefrain

credit for dividers here

[honeyedlashton]

✨Admin reveal time✨

[emometalhead]

Aftershock 2023 Lineup

[smashgirltommo]

Police officer : you are under arrest for driving a motorbike with three people on it

Michael : for fucks sake

Ashton : I told you guys it was illegal

Calum : omg my mum’s gonna kill me

Michael : hang on a second- did you say three people ?

Police officer : yes three people

Calum : jesus-

Ashton : holy shit Luke fell off!

[loverofthine]

vulnerable l.h. - cologne

At a particularly loud clack, Luke looked over to Calum and Seph, who had been dominating the air hockey table. For a college town on a Friday, the bar wasn’t so busy, although that didn’t mean much, since most of the seats at the bar had been taken by groups of people hanging out. Luckily for them, the majority of their group was well over average height and wore varying levels of threatening expressions, so they’d had their respective games to themselves. 

Luke leaned against the bar, keeping Calum and Seph’s drinks company, nursing his own. Michael, Ashton, and Priya had gone to play skee ball across the room with someone from one of Priya’s classes. 

Priya hurried over, followed shortly by Ashton and Michael almost as soon as Calum and Seph had finished their fifth game. Calum won, again, as he had the past two rounds. Priya leaned over to whisper something to her roommate, which the latter agreed with, and the two girls were gone quickly. 

“Where’re they going?” Calum asked, taking a sip of the soda Luke handed him. The group had considered trying to get actual drinks, but figured a college bar, no matter how old they looked, they were all going to get carded. Michael and Seph definitely would have, either way. They both looked nineteen and no older, and had even gotten ID’d at the entrance to the bar.

Michael shrugged, settling into a seat at the end of the bar, next to Luke. “Priya just said ‘girl stuff’.” He said, adding quotation marks with his fingers. “They’ll probably be a while.” 

Suddenly finding themselves with nothing to talk about, the boys fell into an awkward silence, trading glances among themselves, taking sips of their respective drinks. Calum and Michael seemed oblivious to the strange tension that existed between the four of them, but Luke and Ashton weren’t. 

“So, Ashton, how do you know Michael and Seph?” Calum asked, taking a long, awkward sip from his soda. 

His attempt to break the silence fell flat when Ashton shoved off of the bar, brushing past Calum as he walked past. “I’m gonna go check on Seph.” He muttered right before he was out of earshot. Calum and Luke traded a glance, but the latter shrugged and returned to his drink. 

Ashton and Priya returned, sharing a laugh over something Priya had on her phone, nearly tripping over one another as they made their way back to the bar. Seph followed shortly behind, seeming even more tired than she had been before, and Luke was keen to recognize the bags under her eyes. They didn’t seem very out of place, although he figured with how tired she had seemed in class most of the time, that they were. 

“So, air hockey?” Calum asked, once Seph had taken a long sip of her drink. He nodded eagerly towards the table, leaning against the bar, almost directly between her and Ashton.

Seph offered the slightest of grins, rubbing her under eyes gently. “I would, but I think I just need to recuperate for a minute. Why don’t you play Ash? He taught me everything I know.” She suggested, seemingly ignoring the frantic glare her friend shot her from over Calum’s shoulder. 

Spinning around to Ashton, Calum grinned and took the other boy by the shoulders, steering him towards the table, despite Ashton’s refusal. Michael and Priya agreed upon yet another round of skeeball, both making their way back to the machines. That left Luke and Seph, who hadn’t even acknowledged each other since dinner. 

Luke didn’t even realize that Seph hadn’t gone with her brother until something pressed against the back of his shoulder. He turned slightly to find Seph, who had been facing away from him, so their backs were nearly pressing against one another’s, with her head tilted all the way back, leaning against his shoulder, apparently napping. With a chuckle, he readjusted, lifting her head and dropping it once so she rested against his arm, almost exactly the way she had earlier that day. Seph didn’t stir during the interaction until she was situated against Luke’s arm, sighing and nuzzling into it, clearly unaware of her actions. 

The girl who leaned against Luke’s arm was gently snoring, one cheek pressed into the boy next to her, lifting her lip just enough to reveal white teeth. Her front teeth jutted out just slightly over her bottom teeth, despite the obvious signs she’d worn braces. Her nose was the same as her brother’s, save for the small white scar just below the bridge of her nose that contrasted with her tanned skin. For such a tired girl, and with the skin tone of her brother, Luke would have expected her to be much paler, but Seph was gorgeously sunkissed. 

“Is she sleeping?” Ashton asked, unusually quiet, in the lull between games. He had crept over to sit next to Luke, who jumped at his question. “If you want, I can take her home.”

Luke turned to Ashton, trying not to disturb the slumbering figure on his other side. “It’s all good, not bothering me.” His arm was falling asleep, but no one needed to know that. “You can go back to your game.” He continued, waving his hand toward Calum, who was staring intently at the air hockey table.

With a cautious, nearly poisonous look, Ashton turned away, draining his soda and dropping the glass on the bar with a thud. He cast one more look over his shoulder to Luke, who had already turned away in favor of glancing at the girl who slept against him. 

The pair at the bar looked surprisingly good together, although no one doubted that anyone in their group was attractive. Seph and Luke had one of the more dramatic height differences – although not as dramatic as the foot between Luke and Priya – but her head was the perfect height to press into his arm. 

It wasn’t long before raised voices came from the air hockey table, but Luke didn’t very much care to listen in. Calum and Ashton had been butting heads all night, over some issue Ashton took up, but Calum seemed oblivious to his dislike. Luke figured the arguing was just them getting it out of their system. 

“You knew we had to leave early.” Ashton was practically shouting as the pair walked past Luke and Seph. “I asked for the time.”

Calum was following shortly behind the other boy, sighing. “I told you the time. How is this my fault?”

Ashton snapped around, eyes narrowing both at Calum and the couple at the bar, the latter of whom he hadn’t noticed were still in the same position. “It just,” He waved his hands fervently. “Whatever, let’s go.”

“We’re going.” Ashton said, laying a hand on Seph’s shoulder as Michael handed his card to the bartender. “C’mon, Squish.” 

Unlike earlier, Seph was quick to blink awake, blue eyes blinking open suddenly, just as quickly as she sat up and brought her hand to her cheek. Her cheeks were red, but just as she opened her mouth to apologize, Ashton yanked her off of the barstool by her wrist. 

“Ash, what’s the matter?” She mumbled through a yawn, stumbling over her own feet as Ashton dragged her behind him, following Priya and Michael, who were rushing towards the bus stop. Bringing up the rear was Calum and Luke, speaking lowly to one another as they practically ran to catch up with the group. 

Despite it being midnight, the downtown was alive with people, so much so that they were dodging others in their rush to the bus stop. At a particularly sharp turn around a highly populated beer garden, a large, rather drunk guy slammed straight into Seph, knocking her into Luke, where he quickly caught her by the shoulders. By the time both of them had shaken off the confusion, Ashton and Calum had disappeared around the building, and were nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry.” Another very drunk guy muttered, spilling himself and his beer over Seph as he followed a group of his friends. He didn’t even seem to notice the lack of beer in his cup as he raised it in a celebratory shout and followed his friends. 

Unspeaking, Luke grabbed Seph’s hand, sweeping her under his arm to lead the pair away from the bar, and back towards where they had come from. The bus stop they had been heading for was lined with bars, likely to be surrounded by similar incidents that neither of them really wanted to deal with. 

“Are you okay?” Luke asked, once they had safely found sanctuary next to a print shop, ducking down to inspect Seph’s shirt, doused in alcohol. “That guy barely even apologized.” He muttered, scowling at the mess. 

Seph stifled a yawn, plucking at the shirt, although she seemed mostly nonplussed about the incident. “It’s f-” Her eyes finally met Luke, widening almost instantly. “Why are you taking your shirt off?”

With another scowl, Luke finished pulling off his jacket and tossed it to the girl, rolling his eyes. “Please, princess, this isn’t a peep show. It’s cold out.”

“It’s, like, seventy degrees.”

“Shut up and put the jacket on.” 

She didn’t complain further, only obeyed, slipping the jacket over her shoulders and tightening the fabric around her waist. Seph wasn’t so small, but Luke’s shoulders were broad, so the jacket hung off of her in a way that had her shoving the sleeves up to reveal her hands. “What’re we gonna do? The next bus is in, like, forty minutes.”

Luke didn’t really have a plan when he pulled Seph away, but the bus was almost certainly gone, and there was little chance of their friends waiting for the blondes. “Walking, I guess.” 

“Walking?” Seph echoed in a much smaller voice, peering up at Luke like he was crazy. “It’s a twenty minute walk through Greek row at midnight on a friday. I wouldn’t go through there even if I was your height and a hundred pounds heavier.” There had been multiple instances of her walking back through the neighborhood that laid between campus and downtown that ended with a punch and Michael bailing her out of trouble with a frat. 

The boy said nothing for a moment, although he started towards the heavily tree-lined streets of the neighborhood just south of the buildings. “No need to worry, princess. No one fucks with me.”

True to his word, Seph’s normal encounters were nowhere in the realm of what they experienced. They were approached by the occasional drunken party-goer who recognized Luke, but he didn’t stray. 

The moonlight made Luke’s eyes look grey, flashing as they met the streetlights. Seph could make out the smallest imperfection on the left side of his lower lip. It was a scar she was very familiar with, since she shared the same mark. 

“Can I ask you something?” Seph asked, breaking the peaceful quiet the pair had fallen into. Her arms came around herself to quell the shiver that ran down her back. The sigh that followed seemed like permission to continue, so she did. “What’s with Princess? I have a name.”

Luke cracked the slightest of grins, lips curling to one side as he looked down at Seph. “What, you’re not into it?” He paused, catching Seph by the wrist just before she brushed past him, and spinning her to face him. “At least zip up the jacket.” He muttered, mostly to himself, as he zipped up the jacket. 

“I didn’t say that.” The blonde girl muttered, cheeks reddening. She couldn’t quite figure Luke out, and was sure that was just the way he preferred it. Still, Seph enjoyed the company, and for the first time, she didn’t have the urge to start running when someone stumbled out of a house.

Seph wasn’t a violent person, but there was just something so punchable about a frat guy. And Luke. 

She’d heard the name before. Hemmings was an infamous whisper amongst the dining halls, of whatever he and Hood had been doing the night before. Upperclassmen friends she made would warn her away from anyone with an H last name. 

Despite her friend’s warnings, Seph couldn’t help the way her cheeks warmed when Luke glanced down at her with that grin. But she’d always been a proximity person, and she chalked the fluttering in the depths of her stomach up to the fragrant depth of Luke’s cologne that flooded her senses. It was mild, not too heavy, which she appreciated, and she hadn’t even noticed it until she was wearing his jacket. 

His demeanor was entirely different to how he had been in class. It wasn’t that he was any less confident, but he kept his head down in class, and didn’t say much. He had friends, quite talkative ones, that he enjoyed the company of in class, people Seph didn’t like to associate with, but he wasn’t much for speaking. However, it was a stark difference to the confident way he greeted people and carried himself while they made their way down the pavement. 

He fit right in on Greek row. 

“So, what does-”

“Luke!” 

Luke scowled at the interruption, spinning around to find the source of the exclamation, brow knitting when his eyes finally fall on the person. Under the streetlight that shadows his features, he can’t see the figure very well, but that problem is quickly solved by their emergence into the light. 

This girl is gorgeous. 

Long legs that seemed to go on forever in the skirt she wore, beautifully golden, compliment the blonde ends of her dark hair and white smile. “Lu, I didn’t realize you were around. You should’ve said hi.”

“Just passing by. This your party?” He nodded towards the house she had come from, alive with a loud party that would definitely fizzle out in a few hours after a noise complaint. 

The girl’s cheeks seem to redden as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, tittering nervously. “Uh, yeah, not mine. Sneaky link, you know how it is.” The two shared a soft chuckle, apparently recalling their own, before the girl’s dark eyes fall to Seph, who couldn’t look more nervous. “You’re cute. I’m Mya.” 

“Seph.” 

“Oh, you know, when I was in high school, I had this freshman. Her name was something like Steph, but it wasn’t quite.” Mya exclaimed excitedly, turning her attention to Seph completely. “You know, Steph, you look a lot like her.” 

“Seph.” Luke corrected, nudging Mya gently to hammer the point home. “Her name’s Seph.” 

There was a beat of silence before Mya squealed and spun back to Seph. “Ohmygod, did you go to Rainer High in Toulouse?” Seph barely had the time to nod before Mya was pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “Girl! It’s been too long.” She suddenly gasped and pulled back, holding the shorter girl at arm’s length. “Sephie, didn’t we tell you to never go home with the tall ones with pretty eyes? I know they’re cute, but it never goes well.” She leaned in, although she didn’t lower her voice, so Luke heard everything. “Believe me, this one definitely isn’t worth it.” 

With an affronted look, Luke cocked his head to the side, scowling at his friend as he pulled her away by the back of the bralette she wore. “Alright, you. This has been nice, but I think Seph’s brother will kill me if we don’t head back soon.” 

“Oh, right, you’re Michael Clifford’s sister, right?” Michael was much more known around the town than Seph was. She didn’t have the time to go to nearly as many parties as he did, but she definitely had him beat in the theater department. “And Ashton Irwin! They were always nice.” Mya paused, slinking after Luke as he started to walk away with Seph under his arm. “For boys. You know, Sephie, if you wanted a hookup, I know a lot nicer guys.”

“We’re not-”

“Mya, we’re not hooking up. I’m walking her home.”

Mya’s expression soured as she slipped off her heels to carry them, catching up with the blonde pair. Without heels, she was shorter, although she was still taller than Seph, albeit, not by much. “Like hell you are. Sephie, never let boys know where you live.” 

Despite the way Luke glanced down in a silent question if Seph was done with Mya’s presence, Seph giggled at her old friend’s proclamations, filing each of them under the other advice she’d been given. “I’ll keep it in mind. Luke, I can go home from here.” She muttered, just as they approached the greenhouses on the edge of campus, poking Luke gently in the ribs, in case he hadn’t heard her. 

“Like hell you are.” Luke said, glancing up at Mya, who giggled at his echo. “Do you realize how much Michael will hurt me if I let you walk home alone?” 

“Luke, I’ll be fine, it’s a ten minute walk-”

“Plus she won’t be alone,”

“Yeah, exact- wait, what?” 

Mya scoffed, as if the question was dumb in of itself, but she just as easily slung her arm around Seph’s shoulders, to drag her along. “You never let boys know where you live. You also never walk home alone. That’s what sisters are for.” She added with a jostle of Seph’s shoulders. 

Rationally, Seph knew that she should call Ashton and have her meet him halfway, which would avoid the worst-case scenario of both options, but something told her to trust Mya. Maybe it was the way that she smelled the exact same as the entire cheer team used to, a group of some of the sweetest and best friends Seph had ever known. It might’ve been her infectious smile that made Seph want to grin instantly. 

“Yeah, okay.” She admitted, sweeping a lock of soft blonde hair over her own shoulder. “Luke, I’ll see you in class?”

Apprehension was written across Luke’s face, but he nodded after brief hesitation. His blue eyes searched Seph’s for any second thoughts, but apparently finding none, he took a step away from the girls, running a hand through his loose curls. “Tomorrow. Do you have my phone number?” 

“I’ll get it from Mikey.” 

Still hesitant, Luke nodded, slowly, taking another step away. “My, text me when you drop her off and when you get home.”

“Goodbye, Lu.”

“Bye, Mya.” He lowered his gaze to Seph, waiting for her gentle nod to take another step away and spin around. “Tomorrow, Princess.” 

Both Mya and Seph waited for Luke to lumber around the corner to turn back around and continue towards the dorms, not turning until they saw his tall figure disappear from the road it had been cast on. 

“Okay, Seph. You have to fill me in on everything.”

Seph hadn’t realized she still wore Luke’s jacket until she burrowed into it and found a surprisingly pleasant whiff of the cologne she’d become a big fan of.

[radionotfound]

The existence of DREAMCAR, the rock group featuring three-fourths of No Doubt and AFI’s Davey Havok, felt like a fever dream. They came out of nowhere, released one album, and disappeared. Did this happen, or did we make them up? As weird as it sounds, they were a thing. They popped up in 2017 for a summer fling before returning to their respective bands. Seemed like a one-and-done deal. Yet, out of nowhere, the band quietly reunited this year. Not only will they play Pasadena’s Cruel World Festival this weekend, but they also released a new three-song EP dubbed Dream. A DREAMCAR reunion wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card. Even stranger, they returned just as I rediscovered the band.

Read my retrospective about DREAMCAR at genre is dead!

Link in source.

[afi-writes]

Winning the Battle

Final Fantasy VII

Pairing: Reno x Tifa

Rating: Mature

Summary: The Turks spend the evening at 7th Heaven, and once again, Reno can't take his eyes off Tifa's perfect body. This time he decides to fulfill a long-time dream and finally get what he wants.

CW: Reno's shameless male gaze

Translated from the original Finnish version.

Written for @marikamalia.

"Have Lockhart's bazookas got even bigger?" Reno's question was never answered, but instead, he received a glare from Elena and a remark about his attitude.

"Huh?” Reno drained his whisky. “I love women in every possible way."

Lockhart worked behind the bar as usual. Sometimes it seemed as if she knew the next customer's order before they had even voiced it out. The pints were filled, the bottoms of the whisky glasses rattled with ice before the heavenly drink was poured, and the perfect knockers bounced Lockhart's every move. It would have been great to cum between them.

Reno leaned back in his chair and raised the pint to his lips. Nowhere was the beer as good as in the 7th Heaven. Where did Lockhart order it? Had she secretly started her own brewery? The thought brought a grin to Reno’s lips and the beer guttered toward his lungs, making him wince.

"Damn it, Reno," Elena snorted. "Can you be any more disgusting?"

Tseng was as expressionless as ever but set his pint on the table and glanced at the coughing Reno.

One of Rude's eyebrows rose slightly. The gesture was likely to be noticed by no one but Reno, who over the years had trained himself to notice his partner's every micro-expression.

Reno had just finished coughing when Lockhart sailed over to the table to collect the empty glasses. burgundy eyes gave Reno a look that made his stomach churn. Jest aside, the woman made his heart race with her mere presence, but she was as unattainable as the moon. Although there was a persistent rumor in Edge - okay, Rude had said it once - that Strife and Lockhart were no longer together, Lockhart had reportedly not warmed to anyone's attempts toward her. Reno had seen how deftly she'd shooed the candidates out of her sight and, if necessary, thrown them out of the bar with her bare hands.

On the other hand, that wouldn't have been a bad option either, at least it would have given him a chance to get up close and personal for a while. A stiff fist would probably leave a sore jaw, but that was a price Reno was willing to pay.

"Are you okay?" A soft, friendly voice. Customer service clearly.  Reno knew the Avalanche still didn't look kindly on the Turks, yet Lockhart leaned in. "It looked like you were choking on that ale."

“…m fine…” Reno wasn't usually at a loss for words in any situation, but now such a moment had come close.

"Good. It would have been unfortunate if anything had happened.” Lockhart smiled in a way that made Reno’s heart rate take a rapid turn. Fuck.

“Bring me one more.” He raised his pint.

Lockhart nodded and continued to collect glasses from the other tables. A short black miniskirt barely covered her backside. There was an area between its skirt and the over-the-knee socks that made you want to grab her thighs. With her hips still swaying with each step, Reno was finally forced to look away for a moment. Gotta-Get-Laid-beer and Lockhart were a hazardous combination.

The evening went as usual. When the last call came Reno wasn't sure how many beers he'd downed. Tseng and Elena had sneaked away earlier, and even Rude hadn't stayed in the bar through all night, announcing that he was going home. He had even offered a ride, but Reno had refused. This would be his night. Tonight, he would find himself either plowing Lockhart or on the street in front of the bar, depending on her compliance.

The last customers roamed out just before the bar closed. Reno emptied his pint and slammed it on the table in a way that made Lockhart flinch. Had she even noticed that Reno was still sitting in the corner?

"We're closing for the night." Lockhart grabbed the handle of the pint.

Reno placed her hand on Lockhart's wrist and made the woman stop. Burgundy eyes met his gaze, and her lips parted in a silent question. Damn, it would be great to stick a tongue between them and maybe something else too.

Lockhart pulled her hand from Reno's grip and hurried to take the pint to wash. Reno hauled himself out of his chair and staggered towards the table. Damn, the level of drunkenness was higher than he'd thought. He should have taken that offer of the ride.

Reno wobbled towards the door. Shit, he hadn't spent the whole evening in this taproom for nothing. As he turned around, he was greeted with arms crossed under the bouncy twins and a stare that could pierce his brain.

"That's a waste." The words slipped out before Reno could stop himself.

“What’s a waste?” Genuine confusion rounded Lockhart’s lips. Or was it genuine? Perhaps it was a deliberate attempt to tempt Reno because surely Lockhart could read any man like an open online forum.

Reno’s mind felt sticky. There must be a way to save the situation. Yes, even Reno knew you couldn’t just say whatever to a woman’s face. A certain amount of subtleness combined with a slight lewdness was needed. The trick was not to cross an indefinite line.

Lockhart lifted a brow. “Hiding your bazookas behind your arms perhaps?”

Shit. How good was her hearing?

"Should I call you a taxi?" Lockhart continued before Reno could respond.

"I do it on my own.”

"Good. You know your way out, don't you?" Lockhart turned her back, walked behind the counter, and dampened a tablecloth, which she began to use to wipe the surfaces. The said chichis jiggled with the force of the motion, causing an unbearable ache in Reno's crotch.

"The door is behind your back." Lockhart didn’t bother to look at Reno.

"How about offering me a place to stay?"

Now Lockhart straightened up. Reno looked her straight in the eye and let his signature smirk curl on his face – at least he thought he was doing that. The one that made the nightclub chicks go wild. The I-know-I-look-fuckable-smirk.

Lockhart strolled across the room. Her journey seemed to take forever, and Reno didn't know whether he'd rather be looking at the tight top covering her hooters or her deliciously well-formed hips.

Reno made sure his grin widened as Lockhart stopped in front of him. Burgundy was unwavering. It dug in and left a lasting imprint on something people usually called the soul. Not that Reno was sure if he had such a thing. But he had, Lockhart was free to carve anything on it.

Lockhart raised both hands, and Reno's gaze instinctively dropped a couple of notches as huge hooters were finally within touching distance. However, he didn't have time even to hook his fingers as cool water trickled into his hair and down his face.

Lockhart dropped the tablecloth on the floor, grabbed Reno's coat collar with a grip quicker than his gaze, and dragged him toward the door. She managed to push it open, and Reno plunged into Edge's night. The street stuffed his cheek, leaving a mark he could wear with pride.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs until the crimson combat boots stopped at Reno's face. Another tug on the collar of his jacket forced Reno back to his feet. Unable to focus his gaze, Reno could only stare at two pairs of burgundy orbs that drilled through him, until the view became clearer, and eyes melted into just one pair.

"There are often taxis leaving from that street corner." Lockhart released her grasp on Reno's jacket. She took hold of his chin, pushed closer, and suddenly soft lips brushed Reno's cheek. The kiss felt all the way to his groin, though it was too quick.

"Damn it, Lockhart..."

"Ask me again when you're sober and have offered me at least three coffees somewhere other than my own bar." Lockhart turned, marched up the stairs, and slammed the door behind her.

The smirk returned to Reno's lips.

[plushyluke]

most likely to be a model 🏆

[whoslaurapalmer]

honestly the gold to me is more a lemony/olaf song (my playlist choices always make sense to ME but i think trying to explain it. wouldn't work out. i can't tell you in words why the gold is for them. but it is.) but this particular version. idk if it makes me think of the pairing for The Fic or if i just got attached to this cover and went with it on vibes alone

[callsignspark]

anything for you | part two

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Rebecca Hermann (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, implied violence against women/children, discussions of murder (nothing explicit/gory), inaccuracies about hotel ownership, implied child neglect, descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks, discussion of insecurities, eventual smut, warnings to be added as needed 

word count: 5.5k

series masterlist | main masterlist

note: here's part two, thank you to everyone who read the first part and left such kind comments - you're all so lovely!

Thursday, June 22, 2023 | San Diego, CA | 1332 PST

“When you asked if I was free for lunch, I thought this was going to be a fun, sexy thing.”

“And you thought garlic-and-onion-filled gyros were the appropriate pairing for a sexy lunch?” She snorts, rolling her eyes when he keeps talking, ignoring her teasing.

“I wouldn’t have said yes and ordered your favorite-” Jake pauses to shove a huge bite into his mouth “-if I knew you were just going to torture me with this stuff.”

“That’s disgusting, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Rebecca looks at him with disdain when he opens his mouth to show off his half-chewed food. “How you were voted California’s most eligible bachelor eight years in a row is a complete mystery to me.”

“I never had lunch with the selection committee.”

She smiles at his joke, then straightens up, getting down to the matter at hand. “So, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I don’t care what color our napkins are.” He groans, flopping back into the loveseat where they’re sharing lunch.

“Well, neither do I!” She huffs, flapping the fabric samples toward his face. “Pick one: pearl white or ivory cream.”

“Those look fucking identical.”

“They basically are.”

“So why does it matter?”

“Because Michelle needs an answer today on what we want for the reception, so please pick one.”

“I want whatever you want, darling.” Her blood heats up; the combination of the condescending pet name and how attractive he manages to be while lounging on the uncomfortable corporate-chic cushions is practically lethal.

She practically whines his name, tired of the back and forth on a conversation they’d already had three times. “Stop being a patronizing dickhead and just pick one of the nearly identical napkin options.”

“The right one.”

“Perfect, a fantastic choice.” She tosses the samples on the table and pulls out her phone to text the decision to their wedding planner. “You know, it would be nice if you would help make some of the real decisions for this wedding, too.”

“But you’re doing such a great job! And besides, I’m giving valu-”

“If you say, “valuable input on the honeymoon” one more time, I will sit on you and shove that salad down your throat, I swear to god, Jacob.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll shove more than just the salad.”

He sits up, a huge grin lighting up his face. “Wow! You are so feisty today, Mrs. Seresin!”

“I’m not Mrs. Seresin yet; you pompous, jacka-” Her joking tirade is cut off by his desk phone.

“Honey, as much as I love it when you’re mean to me, gonna need you to hold onto that thought. I told Ginger to hold all calls while you were here unless it was an emergency.” He hustles to his desk, brushing his fingers against her cheek as he passes. “This is Jake Ser- okay. Okay, hold on, sweetheart, she’s right here. Just a second.”

He waves her over as he holds the receiver away from his mouth, “It’s your sister, and she’s crying.”

“What?!” She trips getting up, her mind immediately going to the worst-case scenario. “Delilah? Are you okay? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“Th-they-they aren’t-t-t…”

“Try to breathe, honey. Are you okay? Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

“N-not hurt.” It’s a relief to hear, but Delilah’s breathing is too unstable to be comfortable.

“Alright, okay. It’s okay. I’m right here. Don’t want to trigger an asthma attack, so we’re gonna take deep breaths together, okay? Just like we used to when you were little.” The sisters breathe together, the older one making sure her inhales and exhales are loud enough for the younger one to hear over the phone.

It takes a few minutes, but Delilah’s breathing starts to level out. “Thanks, Becca.”

“Of course, kiddo. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“My academic awards ceremony is tonight, and I’m probably getting a big math award, but Dad just called me to tell me that they’re not gonna make it because it’s Mom’s birthday! They’re going to dinner and then to the bars with the guys from Dad’s crew! Can you believe it?” Her voice is weak but borderline shrill. “It’s my senior year – the last big thing besides graduation – and they’re not coming!”

The last three words send Rebecca’s mind into a spiral. All the times she had heard that exact phrase and then been the one to care for her sister flashing through her mind. At seventeen, being forced to be a primary caretaker to an infant Delilah during the limited free time she had in between school and work. At twenty-eight, and parenting her preteen sister because her biological parents decided to go on a month-long trip to the Caribbean. Every time they had deemed something else more important than their child. The countless volleyball and softball games missed, cash wasted on tickets for the school musical, parent-teacher conferences that were straight-up ignored half the time. When Rebecca was younger, she would mourn the gas money burned and the free time stolen as she acted as a personal assistant and valet to her sister, driving back and forth to practices, dentist appointments, dance classes, play rehearsals, haircuts, anything that Delilah needed. Looking back now, she was grateful they had gotten to spend that time together.

“We’ll be there.” She interrupts without thinking.

“You will?” Delilah’s voice is soft but pleased. The intention of her call was just to vent to her big sister, let out the frustration of being ignored again by her parents. “You don’t have to. I know you’re both busy.”

“Never too busy for you, babe. What time does it start? Do you want a ride?” She sinks into the desk chair, crossing her legs and leaning back, hoping the pressure building behind her eyes doesn’t turn into a full-blown migraine.

Rebecca can feel Jake hovering before he squats next to the chair. She ignores him in favor of letting the now happy voice of her sister wash over her. It’s a solid plan until a large hand lands on her thigh. His palm is warm where it lays against her skin, and his fingers gently rub the material of her skirt, letting her know he’s there. She turns her head to the right and peeks an eye open, watching him watch her.

“Is she hurt?” He mouths the question, looking relieved after she shakes her head.

She hesitates for a second before putting her hand on his, rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand in thanks. Jake takes the opportunity to hold her hand, playfully squeezing her fingers a few times, a ghost of a smile on his face. The sisters talk a bit more, confirming plans for the evening and saying “I love you” before hanging up. Rebecca drops the receiver into its cradle and leans back, looking at the ceiling. The office is quiet, the clock on the wall making the only noise in the otherwise silent room.

“Since we’re not preparing to storm Normandy, I take it everything is okay now?” She hums in confirmation, still staring at the ceiling. “What happened?”

“They’re not coming.”

There’s something about the way she says it – voice hollow, emotionless – that sets warning bells off in his head, but he still asks, “Who?”

“Fucking Seymour and Brittany.” She starts pacing. “It’s Brittany’s birthday, so they’ve decided that it’s not necessary to attend Delilah’s academic awards ceremony. Her senior year academic awards ceremony. Her last one. Where – because of her intelligence, hard work, and high academic ranking – it’s extremely likely that she’ll be receiving a boatload of awards. My father called her and told her they weren’t going to make it because they’re going out to dinner and then drinking with those idiots that hang around him! As if they couldn’t do that after the awards are over! It starts at six, and it’ll be like, at a maximum, an hour and a half!”

Jake stares in shock at the woman trying to wear a hole into his carpet. It wasn’t uncommon for her to curse or to be louder than usual when joking around, but the last time, the only time, he had seen Rebecca raise her voice in anger was that fateful night in February when she reamed him out after breaking into her house. Since then, her demeanor has matched the woman she had always been known to be. A kind and thoughtful person with a quieter disposition, one that hid a tough side she brought out only when needed, and a wit sharp enough to cut glass. Her voice is scathing, decades' worth of built-up frustration and resentment being released, and it freezes him in place.

“It’s just so unfair! I know they don’t like me, that I’m the “black sheep” of the family, or whatever the latest lame-ass attempt at an insult my father has taken to calling me. I don’t care about that. I worked my ass off junior and senior year to get a good scholarship, and I did. I practically put in full-time hours to save up enough to get out of that fucking house, and I did! The day after my eighteenth birthday, I packed up that crappy Camry – that I bought with my own money! – and moved into that sketchy apartment with five roommates. I worked hard to be the “outcast” of that family! I escaped, and they don’t like that, and that’s fine. I don’t need them to like me!”

Her voice was getting louder, the pacing and hand gestures more frenzied. She could feel her blood pressure rising, but she couldn’t stop. She hadn’t been this mad in years. She actually couldn’t remember the last time she was this angry.

“But it’s not fair that Delilah is treated like that! Like some show pony they can trot out when it pleases them. I know she’s the kid that was created on purpose, and I was the mistake no one wanted, but they just show her off like she’s some shiny object! Bragging about how smart she is and her amazing grades, her talent and how she gets cast in lead roles in the school plays and musicals, her athletic prowess, and how she definitely could have gone D1 if she wanted. But she doesn’t want to because she’s going to dedicate herself to helping others – something they know nothing about – but, of course, none of that actually matters to them! I can count on two hands the number of things they’ve actually showed up in the last eighteen years and still have fingers left over! And the worst part is she still believes they’re going to show up! That they’re suddenly going to give a damn about anything she does. That they’re going to treat her as more than a way for them to make themselves look better. And she doesn’t have anyone else because the only other family left is our grandfather, and it would take a fucking miracle for him to show up to an event where there’s even the slightest possibility that his son might be there. There’s no one else, so I said we’d g- oh my god.”

She stops on a dime, turning on her heel to Jake, who was shaken out of his stupor after the third curse word and now is staring in disbelief at his fiancé. “I said we’d go. You don’t have to go. I’m sorry I said you were coming without checking first-”

“I want to go.”

“-I just got caught up in the moment and didn’t think about it. You don’t have to-” His words register. “What?”

“I said it’s okay that you RSVP’d yes for me; I want to go.”

“You don’t have to. It’s not your sister.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I’m aware of that. Otherwise, this engagement would be kinda awkward. And illegal.”

“What?” The joke goes over her head; she’s only half paying attention, her body still on a high from anger and the adrenaline rush that hit when she heard her sister crying.

“Because if she was my sister, then we’d be related, which is illegal or at the very least frowned upon…” He trails off, realizing he’s not getting through. “Wow, that really got to you, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m used to their bullshit; I usually don’t get so mad. But hearing her cry on the phone like that, she was practically hyperventilating when you answe- wait. How did Delilah even get through?”

“I put her on the allowed caller list.”

“You did?” She’s surprised.

She probably shouldn’t be anymore. Except for the rough start to their engagement in February, Jake had a perfect gentleman.

His generosity is unfamiliar to her, unexpected from a man of the Dagger organization. And she hadn’t been expecting the same care to be so easily extended to her sister. She assumed she would have to make more demands to ensure Delilah was taken care of properly. But he’s done everything she was planning to ask of him, and more, before she even had the chance to bring it up. A college fund set up with safeguards in place so only a select few have access, protecting the money from her greedy father. A brand-new car: one that’s cute and practical, with a top safety rating, in her sister’s preferred color. A week-long trip over Delilah’s spring break to the three schools she was considering so she could make what Jake called “the most educated decision possible.” He even almost bought a house that neighbored the campus of her final choice, a decision that Rebecca had to talk him down from. She’s still suspicious that he secretly bought it, despite a lengthy lecture on why that was a dumb idea.

Despite his kindness, it was hard for them to interact with each other at the start of their engagement. The first month was awkward, filled with distrusting glances and silted conversations as she settled into the guest room of his ocean-view property. Their proposal announcement was spent answering questions about the financial impact of Rebecca joining Eagle Hotels as the head of the newly reformed community and charity outreach division instead of their whirlwind romance. The press conference was supposed to be the way to launch the couple to the public, grabbing attention and headlines at the fact that California’s eternal bachelor was taking a wife who was going to use the profits of his multi-million company to pour money into cancer research and other worthy causes. Instead, the next day, the media was speculating about the financial future of Eagle and the validity of their relationship, not believing they were in love – or even liked each other – due to the lack of chemistry and the visible discomfort radiating from them both.

After reading that even reputable publications questioned the engagement, Rebecca realized they needed to become friends. Being comfortable with each other would allow them to sell the relationship to the public and investors while having the bonus side effect of convincing the older members of the Dagger organization that were still doubtful. Getting to know each other on a surface level and becoming friends would allow that to happen without having to get too close. Her plan had worked. They became comfortable with each other, the speculation stopped, and the gushing over their relationship started.

It also had the unintended effect of him becoming even more thoughtful, taking her into consideration and asking her opinion, even when it wasn’t necessary. He makes her laugh, a perfectly timed terrible pun lifting her spirits on tough days. He gives affection freely. Keep gestures subtle in public, a hand on her lower back or whispering in her ear just to follow it up with a kiss to her temple, all done to get perfect paparazzi shots of the couple. In private, around friends and family, his hands are bolder but never disrespectful. A strong arm around her waist, a gentle kiss on her neck, a warm hand on her thigh.

It's not what she’s used to from men, and it flusters her, even knowing it’s an act.

Then, the reminder that it’s an act puts her guard back up. Reverting to constantly reminding herself that this is a business agreement, a marriage of convenience.

Nothing more.

It’s hard, though. He makes her feel safe. Something a man hadn’t done in a decade.

Even when something happens that rips her back to reality and she’s reminded that this isn’t a real relationship, she feels safe. She knew what she was signing up for when she agreed to the marriage. What it would mean to be the wife of The Hangman. That he was a dangerous man who had done horrible things. There’s been several nights when he comes home late, knuckles intact to ensure plausible deniability of the Dagger leader, but with dark red flecks on an otherwise pristine white shirt that betray his innocence. It’s clear from the fact that Jake lets her see him on nights like that, nights when business had to be taken care of, that he trusts her. She trusts him, not fully, but enough to know that with him, she’s safe. She knows that as long as it’s not his blood that he comes home covered in. But another night, another ruined shirt, and the reminder runs through her head on eternal rotation.

This isn’t real. It’s to protect your sister, your family. This isn’t real. It’s to protect your sister, your family.

“Of course I did. She’s family. Oh honey, come here.” He pulls her close after catching sight of her lower lip wobbling and hugs her soft body into his harder one. Mentally admonishing himself after the moment he takes to appreciate her curves when she’s practically crying. “It’ll be okay. She’s going to school; it’s paid for, and she can stay with us during her breaks. Or we’ll get her a good internship, so she doesn’t have to come back at all. And after we get married, she doesn’t ever have to see them again if she doesn’t want to.”

“I know.” She rests her forehead against his collarbones, breathing to try and stop the tears threatening to escape. “I’m just worried.”

“About what?” One of his hands starts rubbing her back, the other drifting down to his favorite spot on her hip. “We can fix it, just gotta tell me.”

“Everything? I don’t know; I just feel so guilty. For the longest time, I was resentful that I had to take care of her so much, and of course, it was them I was mad at, but I’m afraid it seemed like I was upset with her. And then there were so many years where I was more distant than I wanted to be because dealing with them was just so awful. And I couldn’t get her out of there, and I’m worried that those two have hurt her in ways that I’ll never be able to understand or fix.” Her voice gets tighter as she speaks, cracking on the last word.

“Hey, breathe. It’s okay. I know you feel bad, but you did everything you could for her. You did what you had to do to protect yourself. And even though you were kinda distant, you still spent so much time with her. She loves you so much; she wants to be just like you. And let’s face it – with both parents alive, no documented history of abuse, and your father being who he is, no judge in the county would have dared to give you custody. You did the best you could do, and it was enough. She’s kind, smart, and funny, and I’m 110% certain that is all of you.” He wipes a tear that falls. “And I’m here now. Together we’ll keep her as safe as we possibly can. I will do everything in my power to protect you both. Okay?”

She sniffles, “Okay. Thank you, Jake.”

“Of course, anything for you, you know that. Now let’s see a smile!” Her weak attempt at a smile is met with his wide grin. “There’s my girl!”

His smile turns confused when she bites back a laugh. “What?”

“You have lettuce in your teeth.”

How the fuck did I get here?

Rebecca has had that exact thought countless times since February. If someone had told her five months earlier that she would be sitting in the back of her high school’s auditorium next to Jacob “The Hangman” Seresin, and not only would he be her fiancé, but he would be willingly and eagerly attending her sister’s academic awards ceremony, and that it was his idea to buy a bouquet of daisies and make a reservation at the nicest steakhouse in the city to celebrate afterward, she would have taken that person to the emergency room for fear of horrific brain damage.

After the call with her sister Jake had cleared the rest of his schedule, insisting they spend the rest of the afternoon together. He spent the next few hours driving them around town, completing a to-do list that existed in his head. The first stop was a jewelry store to pick up two necklaces. One he immediately put around Rebecca’s neck. A beautiful white gold pendant with a teardrop-shaped peridot gemstone that rested perfectly on her decolletage. August’s birthstone for her and her sister’s birthday. The second box had an identical necklace, a graduation gift for Delilah, he explained. She didn’t have a chance to protest the much too expensive gifts before he was dragging her down the street to a bookstore where they argued over the best author of the twentieth century for almost an hour. Leaving with multiple books by Ian Fleming and Sue Grafton for comparison purposes and a promise to the owner to return. They popped into Rebecca’s favorite bakery for a snack and left with a baker’s dozen of treats and two iced teas. Splitting a chocolate donut, they dropped the rest of the pastries at the Machado household for Javy and Julianna to enjoy on their anniversary weekend. The last stop was a florist on Main Street to grab a bouquet before they picked Delilah up and headed to the school.

It had been a perfect afternoon.

The more she thinks about how smoothly everything went, how natural it felt, the more stressed she becomes. It shouldn’t have been easy. It shouldn’t have happened at all! He had more important things to do than spend the afternoon together. Why would he do that? She’s attempting to distract herself from the overwhelming feelings threatening to send her into a panic attack by flipping through the awards ceremony program when she sees it.

Her brain disconnects from her body; she can feel it happen. She knows the room is loud; it had been loud when they sat down, but now everything is muffled, and the only thing she can hear is blood rushing in her ears. Her body suddenly feels like concrete, heavy in a way it isn’t usually; an invisible pressure pushing especially hard on her sternum, making her breathing staccato and shallow. The folded booklet in her hands is now blurry, her eyes so unfocused she’s seeing multiple of the program swirling in front of her. Her hands start to shake in a way they haven’t done in a long time.

It’s the goddamn program. A voice in her head tells her. How are you supposed to deal with this? Seeing her name out of nowhere!

Another voice interrupts. No! It’s his fault. He’s being too nice; it wasn’t supposed to be like this! He wasn’t supposed to be like this.

She distantly thinks both of the voices are probably right. Because for the second time today, she can feel Jake’s concern from where he’s seated next to her – the auditorium is old, and the seats are packed together, reminiscent of a time with laxer safety regulations – and Rebecca knows that his eyebrows are scrunched together. They do that when he’s confused or worried; she noticed a few weeks after she moved into his place. She can feel his hand land on hers, and his breath is warm against her cheek where he’s leaned in close to check on her. He’s probably asking if she’s okay, asking what’s wrong, asking if she needs anything, shockingly sweet for a man suspected to be the cause of twenty-two deaths, but she can’t focus on him because right there, printed in black and white, is her mother’s name.

Monroe Mathematics Scholarship - $5,000 Given to the graduating senior who completed all the advanced mathematics courses with the highest overall four-year average and is pursuing higher education in medicine, engineering, or education. Established in 2009, this scholarship was created in loving memory of Laura Monroe and is generously donated by an anonymous alumnus. 2023 Winner: Delilah Hermann

“-ecca? Honey?” Her ears come back into play as a hand turns her face to the left. Dazed brown eyes meet worried green ones. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Liar.

The green eyes narrow. “You’re lying. What’s wrong?”

“I- just… flipping through the program and seeing her name sprinkled throughout it right next to the words “graduating senior” got to me. She’s not a baby anymore. She’s going away to school, at a school that’s far away from me. And I’m going to miss her.”

Not a lie. Not the truth either.

“Oh, honey.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder, right hand absentmindedly playing with her hair. “I know, it sucks. It was hard to send all three of my sisters off to school, especially Kayla, and we’re not nearly as close as you two are. I don’t have any words to make it better, but I get it if that helps?”

“Yeah, it helps a little bit.”

“Good. Now!” He pulls her in close, pressing their cheeks together as he dramatically gestures toward the front of the auditorium. “Who exactly is that punk sitting next to my sister-in-law?”

“You don’t recognize him? That’s Travis.”

“Travis Kazansky?” She nods as she settles back into her own seat and firmly closes the program, she still felt dazed, but the weight of his arm was grounding. “Actually, where are the Kazanskys?”

“Sarah mentioned that Tom’s treatment was harder than usual the other day. I think they were planning to stay home so he can rest. Poor Travis. His senior year has been pretty rough.”

“God, he got big. What happened? Why are they sitting together?”

“Well, he went through puberty; that tends to happen to children, especially those that are 18 years old.”

He lets out a sarcastic chuckle, “You’re so funny I almost forgot how to laugh. Why are they sitting together?”

“Probably because they’re friends, Jake.”

“Friends?! How did those two become friends?”

“Delilah was his trig tutor, and they became friends… how ever kids become friends these days. TikTok or whatever. I don’t know anymore.”

“I thought she was taking calculus?”

“She did take calc, but she was a tutor for lower-level math classes this year.” A small smile forms on her face, watching the two teenagers shyly flirt with each other, surrounded by their friends.

“Jesus, you two are smart. I don’t know where you got- Look!” Jake interrupts his own muttering to aggressively point down front again. “Look at that! He put his arm around her!”

“I see that. It’s very sweet.”

He looks incredulous. “Sweet?! That’s not sweet! He’s taking advantage of her!”

“You’re being ridiculous! He puts his arm around her, that is not taking advantage of her. He is a perfectly nice boy!”

“No, he is not “a nice boy” – he’s a teenage boy! He's the starting quarterback and captain of the lacrosse team!”

“Hmm, wow, sounds familiar.”

“Exactly! I know what he’s like because that’s who I was!”

She rolls her eyes at the overprotective brother routine. “And you turned out fairly decent. I think we’ll be okay.”

“No! He’s not good enough for-”

“Jake. What he’s doing is totally harmless. He’s a good kid, and we know his parents very well. I’m not worried about it. And I’m actually glad a cute boy is flirting with Delilah. I didn’t get that, so I’m happy she’s getting to experience it.”

He freezes, looking sideways at her, noting her wistful expression as she watches the younger blonde boy play with her sister’s perfectly curled hair. “No one flirted with you in high school?”

“No, which isn’t surprising. I was a dork and so painfully shy. Besides, no one wanted to be known for being the guy that flirted with the too-smart-for-her-own-good, fat girl.” She shifts in her chair, dislodging his arm from her shoulders, uncomfortable with the vulnerability she had accidentally shown. His response is interrupted by Principal Scott attempting to start the evening, the entire audience cringing at the feedback that reverberates through the hall.

“Well, it’s nice to know some things around here never changed.”

Jake is worried about the woman in his passenger seat; she hasn’t once made fun of his music choice or criticized his bad blinker habits. She’s been staring out the window since they left the restaurant, just watching the bright lights of downtown. “You didn’t cry as much as I thought you would.”

His bad joke works, as it so frequently does with her. “Oh, like you’re so tough! I heard you sniffle when Delilah got the math scholarship.”

“How could I not be proud of her? She won seven awards, and that was the biggest one I saw listed in the program, and she won it!” His eyes go big as he defends himself.

She leans back into her seat, crossing her arms across her chest. “It is a big award, must be a pretty successful alumnus who donated it. Wonder who it is…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool of them, whoever they are.”

She goes to question him – fairly certain the anonymous alumni donor is him – when he makes an unexpected turn. “What are you doing?”

“Ice cream.”

Her eyes narrow, “I thought you didn’t want dessert?”

“Maybe I just wanted to have some alone time and get a lil something sweet with my something sweet.”

“You said no at the restaurant, that you were “too full” for dessert.” She points out.

“Well, I’ve since changed my mind.” He sniffs. “A man is allowed to do that.”

“Mmmhm. You’ve done that a few times tonight.”

He plays dumb. “What do you mean?”

“When Delilah mentioned that we were going to Morton’s for a celebration dinner in front of Travis, I thought you would blow a gasket. But instead, you invited him to join us; I didn’t even have to nudge you. And you didn’t complain once when you called the restaurant to adjust our reservation.”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

She starts chuckling at him. “Stop it! You are so full of shit. There was nothing! No complaining, no protesting the, the- oh, what did you call him when he put his hand on her back? Oh! No protesting the “devil child” joining our dinner? And by the way, I can’t believe you suggested that Travis drive Delilah home and then stuffed fifty bucks in his hand so they could stop and get ice cream!”

“He’s not a bad kid.”

“Oh, and what pray tell has caused this sudden change of heart, Mr. Seresin?”

“He was very polite and respectful.”

“And?” She pokes his arm, poking him harder when he mumbles something. “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“…and he called me sir without any prompting.” He backs into a spot, completely avoiding eye contact once in park.

“Oh my god.” Her chuckles turn into full-blown laughter. “You are so ridiculous.”

“You’re so mean to me.” He looks genuinely sad, pouting in the driver’s seat.

She unbuckles and leans across the console, getting in his personal space with a smile bigger than he had ever seen from her. “I thought you liked it when I’m mean to you?”

Her voice is low, sexy, even as she’s mocking him with his own words from earlier in the day. Suddenly his whole body feels hot, and he laughs to deflect, praying to any available deities that his neck isn’t turning red. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Just for that, you can pay for ice cream.” He climbs out of the car, smile growing as he listens to her protests about how she wasn’t even the one that wanted ice cream, so he should be the one to pay. She’s still making her case when they meet at the bumper, but he doesn’t respond, distracted by how she hooked her hand through his elbow without thinking. He stares at the ring adorning her fourth finger, and his heart thumps.

This is what the rest of our lives are going to be like.

She gently pinches the inside of his bicep as she presses into his side to give more room to a young family juggling a stroller and three young kids on a sugar high, wiggling her fingers at the baby propped on his mom’s hip. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Always, my dear.”

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credit for dividers here

[honeyedlashton]

CARAMEL!!!!!

[fyodorkitkat]

Rewrite the chapters poem to accommodate more chapters vs have a doubled length chapter. The battle.

[personasintro]

Patiently waiting for MH58 but I’m equally excited for Monachopsis and AFY, so underrated yet just as good as MH and i can’t wait for new chapters 🥵

Thank you!!! I can’t wait to write and finish them 🥹💓