#i just realized i don’t have a tag set up for record stuff

[will2will2will2]

record rambling pt 1/whatever

this weekend i found a really neat soukous record from the ivory coast at a record store so i thought i’d share a little clip with you. african records are notoriously hard to find in good condition so be mindful of clicks and pops. that’s all part of the charm though, isn’t it?

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3658

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

3. Cream filled Sponge Cakes (with chemicals)

Bucky

They plan out what they’re going to do when they get to the hospital on the car ride over.

“I think it’s best if you wait outside at first,” Bucky says, glancing away from the road for a second to try and gauge Steve’s reaction to this. He looks neutral. “Just because she’s already pissed,” he adds. “And it’ll probably be overwhelming having one person telling her they’re taking custody, let alone two.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That makes sense.”

Bucky holds his hand out over the center console, waiting for Steve to take it. He does, and Bucky grips his hand tight. “I’ll get the initial stuff out of the way. I’m sure there’s gonna be a ton of paperwork.”

“What if she refuses?” Steve worries. “She can, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t have any legal hold on her. Yet. I’ll just have to try and talk sense into her, get her to see that we’re better than the alternative.”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze back. “You can do it.”

Bucky sighs. “I hope so. I really do.” Inside though, he’s already not so sure.

They get to the hospital about forty-five minutes after Bucky’d hung up from the phone call with the police officer. He spots a cruiser parked outside when they approach the emergency room, and it rankles his nerves to think of Mary being forcibly shoved into the back seat of said car.

He goes to the check in desk with Steve and asks for Officer Santiago. “I got a call about an involuntary hold. My submissive,” he says. 

The woman at the desk does a double take at that, looking up and down Bucky where he stands like she’s just realized he’s a different species. “Oh,” she says. “You're one of those?” 

Bucky ignores it, but he can sense Steve tensing up by his side, indignant on his behalf. “Yes,” he says. “I am.” He’s not going to waste time getting on his spiel about mental illness and stigmatization. They’ve got bigger problems right now. “I’m going to need her records,” he says, injecting authority into his tone. “And any paperwork for transfer of custody. The cops brought her in. Name’s Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look self-assured while he waits, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the woman demands a last name.

It takes her several minutes to gather everything up for Bucky. She hands it all over to him and says, “That’s the paperwork for custody. The attending physician should be able to provide you with her medical workup.” She points to a set of double doors. “You go down that hallway and to the left. Bed number four.”

Bucky nods and thanks her, then turns to Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, putting on a brave smile. “I’ll wait here.”

“Baby.” Bucky steps close, pulling him into his arms. Steve’s physically just a little bigger than him, and Bucky has always liked the novelty of that. He kisses him gently and then rests their foreheads together for a moment, letting Steve feel their connection. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the best thing I could ever hope for, you know that?”

Steve’s smile is more natural, now. “Yeah I know it.” He gives Bucky another kiss and stands back. “Hey, what about this?” He knocks on Bucky’s shoulder—the metal one. “She know about that?”

Bucky realizes that he’s not wearing his glove, and tries to remember if he’d had it on at the café. He frowns. “Oh well. I don’t think that’s going to be her main focus, not after I explain everything to her.”

“Yeah.” Steve gives him a light push. “I Love you. Now on and get the hard part over with. I’ll be here when you need me.” 

Bucky nods. He knows he will. He goes back to the check in desk, one last question on his mind. “Is there a food court or something around here?”

Mary

Mary’s taken a break from saying pissy things to the cop who’s guarding her. She’s been so angry, she’s felt like her skin’s boiling. But now she’s starting to get tired, too. She hadn’t slept last night, just stayed up and gabbed on the phone to that crisis counselor. 

She grits her teeth as she fumes about that, feeling betrayed all over again. That bitch had called the cops on her!

“You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

Liar!

“I hope you know I don’t have insurance,” Mary snaps at the officer. He’s sitting in a chair in her little curtained off area. He regards her coolly, saying nothing, and she jerks her head to indicate the emergency room. “And I’m not paying a single red cent for any of this.” So far, they’ve taken her blood, her pulse, an EKG, and sent in nurses, a resident, and several shrinks. They’d tried to put an IV in her but she’d ripped it out as soon as nobody was looking. “I’m suing the hospital,” she adds. “And you. I’m suing the whole police department.”

“Okay,” Santiago says, annoyingly calm.

Mary growls, rattling her hand where it’s cuffed to the bed rail. “This is unconstitutional!”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing, and then the curtain to their area is being pulled aside. Mary’s eyes go wide when she sees who it is. “You?!”

Bucky smiles politely at her. “Me.” He steps into the curtained room, a little snack bag in his hand. He holds it up to show her, and she sees the Hostess logo. It’s a bag of little … sponge cake pastries. “Best I could do on such short notice. They’re for you, if you behave,” he says, talking to her like a pet being offered a treat.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “Pass. D’you even know all the chemicals they put in those things?”

Bucky shrugs and turns to offer them to officer Santiago, who more than happily accepts. Mary pouts as she watches him rip open the bag and stuff one in his mouth.

“How are you doing, Mary?”

She turns her attention to Bucky and scowls at the way he uses her name like he knows her. “Awful,” she says. She jerks her head at Santiago. “Officer Dickwad over here won’t let me have my phone.”

“Language,” Santiago says dispassionately, through a mouthful of cake. 

“Shut up and eat your fucking donut, Rent’a’cop.”

Bucky

He puts his foot down once she starts flinging curses and insults at the officer. As a paramedic, Steve is always in and out of emergency rooms, often working in coordination with law enforcement to deal with uncooperative patients. So Bucky knows just how much drama and belligerence these guys have to deal with on the regular. 

“Hey,” he says sternly. “Don’t disrespect him. He’s just doing his job.” He’s not mean about it, but it’s verging on what Steve likes to call his “Dom” voice, and Bucky can see how it affects Mary. She freezes up, all of her focus on him. For a few seconds, she even forgets to be angry. Bucky takes the opportunity to step close to the bed. He eyes where she’s cuffed to the rail. “Mary,” he says gently. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I am,” she growls. “They just showed up and threw me in a cop car! Didn’t even give me a choice!”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand atop her cuffed wrist. It’s his metal hand. Her eyes widen when she sees it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry it happened that way. But do you understand why people were concerned for your safety?”

Her face tenses up as she tries to hold back some emotion (something tells Bucky it isn’t anger, this time). “They called the cops,” she pouts. “They lied to me.”

“They did,” Bucky agrees, wanting to placate her. “But you were hurting yourself, honey. And you were talking about doing worse, weren’t you?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead staring at where he’s holding her wrist. “I … I talked about a lot of things,” she mumbles. “It was just talk. I don't even remember half of it. I didn’t … I wasn’t really gonna do anything.”

“Can you show me where you hurt yourself?” Bucky asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Mary shivers, shaking her head sadly. Her hair is loose and hanging messy around her face, so Bucky reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. He hears her give a quiet, shaky inhale. “Come on now,” he coaxes. “Let me see.”

For a long moment, it seems like she won’t obey, but then her shoulders sink down and she takes a deep breath and lets it out, whispering a tiny little. “... kay,” as her hands creep down to take hold of the tee shirt she’s wearing. It’s extra large, going all the way to her knees, and it’s all she’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t know if the police brought her in that way, or if it’s something the hospital gave her to put on after being examined, but either way, he schools his expression as she edges the tee shirt up her leg, higher and higher, until it becomes apparent that she is wearing underwear, and she’s bared her hip to him.

Cutting, then.

Bucky looks her over, not as upset by the fresh cuts so much as the old ones. They litter the skin of her upper thigh and hip—some so old they’re scars, some still in various stages of healing. Bucky forces himself not to touch, even though his brain is screaming at him to fix fix fix! There’s nothing here that can be fixed easily—certainly not with a bandaid. Bucky takes a moment to calm himself down before he asks, “How long have you been doing this, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. She shoves the tee shirt back down and meets his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Moment of truth, Bucky thinks. “The police called me. They got my number from your phone. They wanted to call your Dom to come get you.”

She frowns, looking confused. “But … you’re not—”

“Officer Santiago,” Bucky says quickly, cutting her off. “Could you give us a moment alone please?”

“Sure.” Santiago gets up and takes his bag of cakes with him. “Just a couple’a minutes,” he warns, then steps outside the curtain and pulls it shut. Bucky can see as his shoes walk away.

“You told them you were my Dom?!” Mary hisses.

Bucky looks at her sternly. “No. They assumed I was. You had me in your phone.”

“I … I did?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs. “I’m not even submissive.”

“I think you know that’s not true,” Bucky says. He reaches up and gathers her hair back in one fist and pulls—gently, just enough to put the barest of pressure on her scalp—forcing her to raise her chin. She visibly reacts to it, softening into his grip, eyes slipping closed and features going slack. “You like that,” Bucky says, making it a statement rather than a question, because it’s obvious she does.

Her eyes open slowly. “S’nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He releases her hair, cupping the back of her neck instead. He grips her firmly in his hand, and this time she nearly moans, lips parting and the sound coming out before she can fully stifle it. Bucky’s mouth curls and he hums. “And that? Is that ‘nothing’ too?”

“Please.” She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact, which is typical. There’s a little pinch between her eyebrows that’s so sweet and needy, Bucky wants to kiss it. It makes her look like she might cry, and that thrills him too. “Please,” she whispers. “I just wanna go home.”

“You’re not going home, Honey,” he tells her, keeping the grip on her neck steady and petting at her hair with his other hand. She’s going down a little, likely so easily because of the alcohol in her system, because of how deprived she’s been until now. She whines a little at his words and he shushes her. “They won’t let you. You’re either gonna have to let me take you, or else stay here in the hospital, in the psych ward.”

Mary whimpers. “No.”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I know. I don’t want that for you either, but you have to make the choice. If you want to leave here, then you have to sign the paperwork that gives me custody of you.” He tilts her chin up. “Look at me now, Honey.” She’s sluggish, so it takes a second, but her eyes come up as she obeys. They’re a little glossy, pupils blown wide, and Bucky gives her neck an encouraging squeeze. “Good girl,” he praises.

She practically melts at hearing that. “Please …” she says again. 

Bucky would bet money that she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. He does, though. He knows down to the marrow of his bones what a ‘please’ like that means. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I will.” He bends and pecks a kiss to her forehead, then steps away. She makes a weak noise of protest and he shushes her. 

“I’m just gonna go get officer Santiago back. … And my husband, Steve.”

She blinks at the word ‘husband’. “Steve?” she repeats, shoulders shrinking as she pulls into herself. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “He’s a very nice man. You’ll like him.”

Mary looks unsure. Bucky’s glad she’s down, otherwise he’s fairly certain she’d be arguing by now, maybe even pitching a fit and cursing. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a hesitant little, “... He’s like you?” 

“No. No he’s not designated. He’s—”

“Normal.” She says it so sadly, sounds so demoralized. Bucky has to fight the urge to correct her, to give her a speech about how, ‘just because they’re designated, it doesn’t make them abnormal’. He bites his tongue. What’s more important right now is that she’s making progress in accepting the reality that she’s almost certainly submissive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Steve’s not like us. But I wanted him to come in here and meet you. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetie?” The pet names come naturally, are a part of his dynamic as a Dom, and Bucky can tell that she responds favorably to them. “Hm? Answer me, Mary.”

(And of course, the use of her name gets instant attention and obedience.)

“Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

He smiles and gives her a heartfelt, “Good girl,” wanting to show her that he’s pleased, that she’s doing well. “I’m gonna go get him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve

Steve is equal parts excited and nervous to meet the woman Bucky has found, the woman they’re going to be taking care of. … Maybe more, if things work out. 

He holds Bucky’s hand as he’s led back to where the emergency room beds are. Bucky draws back the curtain and Steve sees the cop sitting there, looking bored, … and her.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hey.”

She’s pretty—which is saying a lot, because that’s Steve’s first thought, despite the state of her. She’s got goo gobs of dark eye makeup that it looks like she put on once she was already drunk, and by now it’s been smeared to kingdom come by tears and her own hands. Her hair sits messy and unbrushed around her shoulders, and her eyes are glazed and tired from a high that’s probably going to wear off soon and leave her looking even more exhausted than she already does. 

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes flicking up and down her body where she’s sitting on the bed. She’s wearing nothing but a big tee shirt, and Steve allows himself one glance down at her shapely legs, then resolutely keeps his eyes trained upwards. She’s a disheveled mess, but even like that, Steve can see how she drew Bucky’s attention, that day in the café.

“Hi,” Mary says.

Steve smiles hopefully. By his side, Bucky squeezes his hand in encouragement, and offers, “Mary, this is Steve, my husband.”

Steve watches her face, curious to know what she thinks of Bucky being married. He’s expecting displeasure maybe, imagining that a submissive would feel jealous or upset, if their prospective Dom was already attached to someone else.

But she seems to stay calm, sitting there and taking Steve in with slow blinks, even looking a little bit shy herself. “... You’re big,” she eventually says. “I thought you’d be smaller than him.”

Steve grins and he hears Bucky’s scoffed, “Size has nothing to do with our dynamic.”

Steve knows he’s got half an inch on Bucky, more muscle mass too, but he’s never felt bigger than his husband. Bucky’s personality, his dominance, is larger than Steve.

Mary’s still staring at him, a thoughtful little pinch between her eyebrows. Steve waits in expectation of a question, but none comes. “What?” he asks. He pulls up the room’s extra plastic chair and sits close to the bed, offering her his hand. He’s surprised when she takes it. Steve stares thoughtfully at his hand as she drags her fingers over his fingers, his palm, still not saying anything. He looks over at Bucky, concerned. “Did they give her drugs?”

Thankfully, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s down,” he explains.

Oh. Okay. That’d explain her calm affect. Steve had come in here halfway expecting a screaming hellcat. He hadn’t expected this. He turns back to Mary, giving her a friendly look. “Did you have questions you wanted to ask me?”

She bites her lip, clearly working something out in her head. “Bucky said you two have a ‘dynamic’.”

“He did.”

“But he said you’re normal.”

Steve’s lips thin once he figures out what she means. “We’re all normal,” he scolds. “But no, I don’t have ‘Dominant or Submissive Personality Disorder’, if that’s what you mean.” He puts sarcastic quotes around words to clearly convey his distaste for the classification. He wants her to know how ridiculous he finds it.

“Babe,” Bucky warns quietly from behind. “We’re not getting political right now, okay? Just focus on her, on what we have to do.”

“Right, sorry.” He knows that Bucky’s right, so he tries again, telling Mary, “I’m ‘normal’, but Bucky and I still have a very intimate relationship together. We’re husbands. So yeah, we’ve developed our own dynamic. When I’m with him I tend to follow his lead, so to speak.” He smiles and shrugs. “It works for us.”

Mary looks like she’s thinking this new information over. There’s a slowness to her, a dreaminess in her expressions and her reactions.Steve figures it’s a combination of her being down, and not being sober. In fact, he can smell the vodka leaking out of her pores. It’s actually pretty horrible. “So does that make sense?” he prods her gently. “Mary?”

“… Yeah, I think so.” She eyes him up and down, looking back and forth between him and Bucky. “What will you do?” she asks Steve. She blushes a little from asking the question, so he deduces that she’s asking what he’ll do with her; what their dynamic together will be, outside of her and Bucky.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, because that’s all he knows for sure, and he wants her to feel safe. Steve knows that it’s absolutely crucial for this woman to feel safe right now, if they’re going to take her home with them. “Bucky and I both will.” He holds her hand—the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed—enveloping it between his. “It’ll be much better than staying here,” he promises. “You’ll be so safe. And much happier.”

Mary’s body draws in, seems to actually get smaller as she pulls back into herself. “I’m never happy,” she says mournfully. It hurts Steve’s heart to see it, so he knows it must be killing Bucky, given his overly protective instincts. Steve glances over at him. “Babe?”

Bucky has a clipboard full of papers, which Steve knows must be the custody orders. “Here, Honey,” he tells Mary, handing her the clipboard and the pen. “This is what you have to sign to be able to come home with us.”

It kind of bothers Steve that Bucky doesn’t encourage her to read through the documents more thoroughly, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows they have only the best intentions for her. She’ll be safe with them. He watches as she signs her signature in the places Bucky points out, trying to scan some of the fine print as she goes. Anxiety is written across her face and she starts to bite at the chapped skin on her bottom lip. “But, um … what if I’m not what you think?” she worried, not looking at either of them. 

Bucky pets her hair and reassures her. “You are, sweetheart. Trust me. And we’re gonna take you to a therapist anyway, to get an official diagnosis.”

Normally Steve would be scoffing at the word “diagnosis,” but he’s too busy watching the two of them together. There’s a strange feeling in his gut, at seeing his husband touch Mary like that, at hearing him call her pet names and calmly take control of her. Steve’s never seen Bucky dom another person before, and he … he kind of doesn’t hate it. In fact, it’s actually making him feel all the more attracted to Bucky, and curious about Mary. Like he wants to help, wants to get to know her.

She signs the rest of the documents without making a fuss, so Steve figures he’ll be getting that chance.

Series Masterlist

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Square G5: Dom!Bucky Barnes

[hangmanssunnies]

Sfumato

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary: Loving Jake Seresin isn't difficult but accepting that he won't ever love you back is. So you have to decide if what Jake does give you is enough. Can you with it? Can you love him enough that it fills the gaps in between? After all, how much does a confession really matter? At this point, you're pretty sure it can't rival how it feels to help Jake paint coyotes flying planes.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 23K

Playlist

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with the abuser (mentioned), Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles (mentioned), Rejection, Drinking, Lying, Arguments, Yearning, Deployment, communication, hyper-specific!Jake, Neurodivergent coded! Jake. Please let me know if I missed any for this part; I know it is a long one.

Authors Note: I am not sure what to say about this. I agonized over this for 8 drafts, and now I just I hope you enjoy at least some part. Thank you for your patience in waiting on this second part. Coyote and Hangman BFF supremacy.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

++++

It wasn’t that your attempts to convince Jake to be yours weren’t going well. It’s just that they didn’t seem to make any difference. You baked his favorite dessert which ended with the two of you dancing in the kitchen together to a slow song he had thrown on the record player. Just when Jake had been about to kiss you, his phone rang, and it was work so he had to take it. 

Another time you had been sitting with him in the garage, while he worked on your car. Jake had been wearing overalls, and you found it so hard to think that before you knew it you were pressed as close to him as his sharp elbow would let you, asking how you could help. If Jake hadn’t been covered in grease, and dirt you would have kissed him right there. Again, it just didn’t seem like the right time. These moments kept happening so frequently you had practically given up at this point. You decided that you two would happen eventually. You just had to keep doing the small stuff, so when the time came you would have plenty of supporting evidence for your case. Enough evidence that it would be impossible and illogical for Jake to not want you back. 

“Sugar, would you mind helping me out?” You hear Jake call out.

“What’s up?” You call back to him already standing from the couch and walking towards the laundry room. Jake smiles widely once he spots you near  the doorway. 

“Would you mind taking those upstairs?” He asks, nodding towards a pile of towels and sheets. 

“I absolutely cannot do that for you,” you tell him, sounding dead serious. However, you are already gathering the laundry up in your arms, earning a laugh from Jake. 

“Can you just put them by my sink? I would do it but,” he gestures to the heated-up iron he is holding. 

“No problem, Jake.” You tell him. You make your way upstairs with the laundry and into Jake’s room. It is as clean and tidy as it’s been all the other times you’ve seen it 

Although when you step into Jake’s bathroom you have the sudden realization you had never been in there before. It’s clean, of course, which is no surprise. You set the towels and sheets down on the counter. As you turn to leave, something catches your eye and makes you gasp: Jake has a bathtub. 

He doesn’t just have a normal bathtub, no, it’s a large luxurious looking porcelain claw foot bathtub. The walk-in shower and double sinks don’t even catch your interest after you’ve seen this. Almost immediately, you are flying out of Jake’s room and down the stairs, sliding to a stop by the laundry room’s doorway again. 

“You good?” Jake asks, confused by your sudden reappearance and slightly elevated breath. 

“Jake, you have a bathtub!” 

He nods his head and looks confused. “Yeah, and?” 

“Why did you keep it a secret from me?” 

“I thought you knew.” He responds with a small shrug. 

“I had no clue.”

“Honestly, I rarely ever use that thing, but I keep it clean. So, anytime you ever want to take a bath you're more than welcome to go right ahead.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah of course. I got Epson salt, some soap that’s supposed to make bubbles, and those bath bomb things in that chest next to it. Which, please use.”

You want to ask why Jake would have all those things if he isn’t a bath guy. The answer seems obvious to you though which doesn’t make it less of a stab to your heart. The only thing that’s better than a bath after all is a bath with someone else. 

“You wouldn’t mind?” you ask him, double checking. 

“No, Ma’am. You go right ahead.” 

“Thank you, Jake!” You exclaim walking to his side. You make sure you’re careful of the iron’s cord, so you don’t trip. Jake is leaning downwards waiting for his cheek kiss before you even reach his side. You place a quick soft kiss there. 

“Anytime. There’s also a speaker under the sink if you want music.” Then he starts ironing again, and you linger at his side longer than necessary enjoying his closeness. 

Just after you leave the laundry room and start down the hallway Jake calls after you. “Yell or text if you need anything.” 

Jake’s bathtub is just as nice and luxurious as you had anticipated it to be. His chest of bath items had a much wider selection than you were expecting. It was just like Jake to be over prepared with all the variation.  

You soak to your heart’s content, and you are fully relaxed before getting out of the tub. After that and your post bath needs you throw on some lounging clothes and head downstairs again. You feel warm and happy. You wonder if you’ll be able to coax Jake into cuddling with you on the couch. 

It normally doesn’t take much effort on your part. An offhand comment that you’re cold, or telling Jake he will really like the show you are watching with a pat on the seat next to you. Oftentimes it won’t take any effort at all, you simply just make yourself close and Jake would naturally gravitate to your side. 

When you get downstairs though you pause, hearing a dripping sound. Following the sound to the downstairs guest bathroom you gasp at what you find. There is a huge bubble in the ceiling with water dripping out. Luckily enough it’s mostly dripping into the shower. However, it looks like the rest of the trapped water could burst at any moment. 

You stare at the compromised ceiling as if keeping a watchful eye on it will prevent anything from happening. And you yell out “Jake!” 

You don’t hear anything, so you yell again a bit louder this time. “Jake, I need help!” 

 You hear a door slam just as Jake calls out for you. “Sugar?”

“In here,” you call back. 

“Are you okay?”  Hangman asks as he comes down the hallway. His eyes scanning your body closely looking for anything amiss. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. Then you point to the ceiling. “That, not so much.” 

Jake’s follows where you are pointing to the bubble and water in the ceiling. He lets out a low whistle, at the sight.  

“Well, this definitely isn’t great news,” Jake says. He sets his palm on your back to gently urge you to the side to enter the bathroom. His chest still brushes against your side as he passes. 

He starts to look more closely at water bubble. He pokes it experimentally and the whole things reacts by sloshing and shifting. 

Jake hums and steps back around you in the doorway. As he does it, he doesn’t even seem fully conscious of the choice to press a kiss to your brow while muttering a low thank you. You turn and follow his retreat with your eyes. When he comes back from the garage with various tools. Jake steps around you again but you don’t make any attempt to shift for him. He doesn’t seem to mind brushing so close though. 

“You might want to move, darlin.” Jake says to you this time. You have to make an effort not to pout when you aren’t gifted a kiss as he passes. 

“Why? What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to cut open the drywall, well wet wall now, and let the water out.” Jake chuckles at his own joke, clearly pleased with himself. “It’ll probably get messy.” 

You heed Jake’s advice and step backwards out of the doorway planting yourself in the hallway instead. You watch as Jake cuts a hole in the ceiling over the shower and the water releases in a rush. Once most of the water has drained, Jake investigates enough to determine that there isn’t an active leak occurring. Just as Jake predicted he is dirty now, soaked and covered in wet drywall. 

“Okay that’s fine for right now. Sweetheart, can you bring me a towel and a change of clothes? So, I don’t track so much of this gunk everywhere. 

“What do you think caused it?” You ask him while turning to the laundry room and grabbing his requested items. When you come back to the bathroom Jake has stripped down to just his boxers. 

You try not to let your eyes wander. You see Jake scantly clothed around the house less than you have fantasized when you first moved in. He is almost always fully dressed. Really the only times you saw him shirtless was days he went on extra-long runs in the mornings. He would come inside heated sweaty with his shirt draped around his neck. 

Those sightings were always so early in the mornings though. They were always tinted with glowing, sleepy haze, sometimes making a question if you were still asleep, and this was just another dream. 

Right now, there is nothing deniable about the way his body is on display, and by the time you force yourself to be respectful and focus on his face. Jake’s smug smirk tells you he has absolutely no shame or ounce of self-consciousness in him about this aspect of himself. The way you were staring doesn’t seem to have bothered him either. That bottom lip of his tucking in between his teeth, almost taunting you. 

You ignore the bloom of desire in you and hold out the towel first. Jake rinses his hands and forearms off in the sink before grabbing the towel.  The fact that it’s disrespectful only bothers you the tiniest bit while you watch him clean up. You don’t say anything the whole time or when you hand him the change of clothes, too worried it would break the spell. 

Jake catches your eye while he is dressing. The way he stares at you is so intense, it makes goose flesh prickle on your arms. You had always known how charged and heated taking clothes off was, but you had never imagined that putting them on could be just as much so. 

“You didn’t hear a thing I just said.” Jake says.

“Hmm?” You hum.

“You know why I call you Sugar?” Jake asks you breaking the silence while he takes the plain black t-shirt you are holding and pulling it over his head. 

“Because you can take the boy out of Texas but not Texas out of the boy.” 

“Hey, I ain’t no boy unless you’re putting cow in front of it,” Jake says, and it’s a tone that more than borders flirty. He has been doing that more lately, flirting with you outright. You are still stuck deciding between if he actually has become receptive to your efforts to impress and entice him, or if he has finally wholly become comfortable with you around so he isn’t so strict on his filter. 

“Oh of course Jakers. I’m sorry,” you say dramatically. 

“I can’t stay mad at you,” he says affectionately. His thumb grazing your chin tilting your face. “No, even though we both know I’m a Texian through and through. But the reason?  It’s because you are so sweet to me. Sweeter than sugar honestly.” 

Jake’s voice takes on an almost musing tone. His hand drifting and settles on the side of your neck. And you want to melt, his words repeat over and over in your brain melting any other thought. Your own hand reaches up and grips his wrist almost tightly. Mostly as a way to ground yourself because you feel like you might float away, and partly because you want to hold Jake in place scared that he will pull away. 

“Maybe I should be calling you honey instead. I might like that even better.” Jake continues. His thumb swipes across your pulse point and your breath hitches. 

“Which do you like better? Sugar, or Honey?” He asks you purposely and slowly drawling out each word. Part of you wants to back out of this interaction before it can tread into any more dangerous waters. However, this is just the kind of moment you wanted and were desperate for; times that gave you a glimpse Jake might have some sort of want and need for you. 

“I like both those just fine. However, there is a third option which I would like most.” You respond after thinking over the two pet names. 

“Cupcake?” Jake guesses. 

“Nope.” 

“Sunshine?” 

“What are these callsigns?” You ask him playfully. That earns you a small chuckle and Jake inches even closer to you. 

“Darling?” 

You hum in appreciation but shake your head. “I do love darling, but not what I’m thinking of.” 

“Fine, I give up. What is it?” Jake sighs admitting defeat. You have the word ‘yours’ ready to say it’s there on the tip of your tongue finally about to be out in the open. 

However, before you can there is a creaking ripping noise as a chunk of the wet drywall falls and slams hard and loud onto the floor below. Jake is turning to asess the situation while simultaneously gently urging you behind his frame in a quick reaction. It’s yet another moment that sucks all the tension out the air. The ones you and Jake can’t seem to avoid running into at inopportune times. 

“Jake, this isn’t something we can ignore. We should call the landlord to come out and fix it.” You say peering around his shoulder to look more closely at the mess that’s been made. 

“Oh, don’t worry too much, Darlin. I will take a look at it in the morning.” Jake says with a shrug putting his hands on his hips. “It needs to dry out anyways.” 

“I know that you are capable and can deal with it. But this isn’t something you should have to bother with.”  You explain to him. 

“Yes, it is. Who else is gonna do it? I ain’t paying someone to fix this when I know I can and have the time.” Jake says, shaking his head at you with a laugh. You stare at him a bit confused and then suddenly you feel a realization start to dawn on you. 

“Jake, I’ve got a question.”

“What’s up?”  Jake’s hands are on his hips, and he takes a few steps back into the bathroom towards the hole. 

“Who is our landlord?” You ask cautiously.  

“We don’t have one.”

“We don’t?”

“No, sugar.” Jake says, peering at the hole thoughtfully. 

“How is that possible?” You ask. 

“I own the house.” He says it in a duh voice, like this is something you should know. 

You snap your mouth shut, your teeth click together and stare at him.  It is your silence or the intensity of your almost glare that tips him off and Jake looks away from the damage in the ceiling to you. You meet his green sea glass eyes, and his eyebrows draw close together a frown pulling the edges of his lips down. You slowly shake your head and back away from Jake out of the bathroom. 

“Sugar,” he says soothingly. He takes a small step towards you, but you continue backing up quicker. Once you hit the hallway you spin on your heel ready to book it back to your room. Jake catches up to you on the top of the stairs clearly having taken them three at a time. 

“What’s wrong?” Jake calls after you. 

“You never needed a roommate. Did you Jake?” You ask him desperately hoping you’re wrong about the story you’re building in your head a mile a minute. 

Jake's eyebrows lift up his forehead but the way his eyes cast down to his toes and his tongue darts out to wet his lips you don’t even need to know his answer, it’s evident. 

“No,” the word is finally uttered. You have to squeeze your hands tightly into fists to release some of the hurt at hearing it confirmed. It’s like everything around you is shifting but you are frozen in place helpless to watch it change. Your perception of who Jake is threatening to bend with it. 

“So, I was a pity project to you?”

“What? No. It was nothing like that!” Jake denies. 

“Javy told you about his wife’s poor sad friend who was down on her luck, and you couldn’t help but jump on the chance to play savior. Wanted to be a big macho hero. That’s what you live for isn’t it, Jake?”

He stops looking shocked, and you see anger at your words spark up in his eyes instead. You are glad; You want to make him as angry and hurt as you are feeling right now. 

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” Jake responds in almost a condescending tone. You are almost shocked he didn’t throw a nice bless your heart on top of it. 

“No, I wouldn’t actually!  I don’t want to be seen as some fucking damsel in distress. I didn’t need saving.”

“Yes, you did!” Jake cries back throwing his hands upward. The knot that forms in his jaw when he clenches it appears as he grinds his teeth in frustration. 

“Wow,” you laugh shaking your head. You turn to go to your room needing to get away from him. 

“Wait, listen. Please.” 

“I don’t want to listen to you right now, Hangman.” 

“That’s not very fair,” Jake huffs at your answer.  

“Is it an apology?” You ask, turning to face Jake once more while standing in the doorway to your room. 

“No. It’s not.” Jake responds. You can hear the annoyance in his voice which just makes you feel angrier. 

“No?”

“No,” Jake confirms. His fists are clenched so hard at his side that his knuckles are white. “I would never let anyone stay in the situation you were in. There isn’t anything wrong with getting help getting out.”

You stare at Jake wide eyed he had never been this direct with you before. He never brought up you past or why poked at why you moved in. Not even after your dad had shown at the house and he refused to reference any of it. So, it’s startling to have it open in front of you both. Jake not pretending that he didn’t know or wasn’t aware anymore. Jake pulls his hands through his hair making it stand up at awkward angles. 

“Listen you can be mad at me. That’s fine, but don’t be mad at Javy and Marlee. They only wanted you to be safe. We all just wanted you to be safe.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“Why would that matter?” Jake asks coldly. Then after a few beats where you don’t say anything he continues. 

“I was never more thankful in my life than when I was able to move away from my father. How the hell could I have stood by and left you in that situation?” 

You start a little bit in surprise at his words. Only able to breath out a quiet, “Oh, Jake.” 

“I don’t care if you don’t like it. I don’t care if you feel like it was pity or a handout. I don’t care that you’re mad. I wouldn’t change it. It was the right thing to do,” Jake says steamrolling forward ignoring the hand you reach out towards him.  

“My feelings never mattered then?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I shouldn’t have to explain to you that the thing I care about, before anything else, is that you are safe. Once someone’s safe there is time and space to deal with everything else.” 

“How can I feel safe with someone who lied to me?” You ask him venomously. 

A soon as he fully processes your words Jake recoils in hurt. It’s what you wanted but you don’t feel any satisfaction from it. Jake looks disappointed as he shakes his head at you, which makes you feel even worse. Then with a sharp nod and grimace he tries to play off as a smile Jake spins on his heel and goes down the stairs. 

You go into your room shutting the door securely. Then you lay on your bed and try not to cry. Trying to think with any sort of a clear head proving impossible. You can’t stop wondering how you let such a nice night turn so sour. You are also plagued by thinking over every moment you have had with Jake looking to see if there was a layer of pity to him that you had just been oblivious to. 

The next morning you feel extremely nervous to venture out of your room. You had lived on egg shells before, and the feeling was sickening. The anxiety of the situation crawled up your throat strangling you a little bit. You and Jake have never had anything even close to resembling a fight, or whatever you wanted to call what had happened the night before. Despite the nausea gnawing at you, by mid-morning you finally work up the courage to venture down stairs. 

Cautiously you look around, but you don’t see Jake in the living room, dining room, or the kitchen. So, you tiptoe into the kitchen to look for food. Standing there you hear music coming from the garage. It takes you several more minutes to hype yourself up enough to peek into Jake’s workspace and confront him. 

As you open the door and step out the sound of rock music immediately envelopes you, your eyes scan the area until they land on Jake. He is measuring a sheet of drywall, making marks on it with a square pencil. 

If he noticed you enter the garage, he doesn’t indicate it in any way, continuing the task. You make you way over to one of the comfy Ergonomic Camping Chairs that Jake had set up in the shop. Sitting there waiting you are unable to take your eyes off Jake. The garage which was clean and orderly yesterday in now a whirlwind mess. Both your vehicles have been moved out presumably into the driveway, Materials for at least three different projects are strewn out. When Hangman finishes drawing the outline of where he is planning on cutting, he finally looks at you. 

Tucking the square pencil on his ear, Jake turns the volume of the speaker low. He doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the workbench and looks at you. While waiting his fiddles with the toothpick sticking out of his mouth. When Jake flips it before biting down again you decide you're going to have to say something first. 

“Good morning.” 

“Morning,” He responds tersely. 

You don’t know what to say, so silence descends again. Jake remains perfectly still waiting, the only movement is the occasional wiggle of his toothpick. You look at the wall behind him seeing it covered in new taped up project plans and half-finished sketches. 

“Can we talk about it?” You ask cutting through the silence again. 

Jake crosses his arms over this chest but nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, we should. If you feel up to it.” 

“So, you always knew why I needed to move?” 

“Yeah. Javy and Marls told me in not so many details. They knew I had a lot of extra space, and that I would never let anything happen.” 

“So, the three of you were conspiring behind my back.”

“Conspiring,” Jake scoffs in a sharp sarcastic tone. “We got you out of an abusive situation and home. We are such assholes.” 

“The point is you lied to me. You didn’t think I would want to know you owned the house?”

“You never asked,” Jake says, defending himself. 

“Typically, people like to know they are living with their landlord, Jake.” You snap back and rub your face tiredly. 

“It didn’t seem like it mattered. I’m not your landlord anyways. We are friends.”  

You consider his words and suck a breath in through your teeth. “Please tell me what I'm thinking is wrong.”

“What are you thinking?” Jake asks. 

“That you have been giving me an outrageous discount while living here. How when you told me to pay less in rent you were already subsidizing me living here.” 

Jake’s lips tighten and he holds his gaze past your shoulder. If you weren’t watching him intently you would have missed the small nod. 

“Are you at least using my rent to pay any of the mortgage?” Jake’s bottom lip tucks in-between his teeth for a moment and you know he is preparing to lie to you. Exasperated, you warn him, “Don’t lie to me.” 

“It’s been going into a high yield savings account I set up for you.” 

“Jake!” 

“What? I don’t need your money. Plus having a strong savings and an emergency fund is important.” 

You groan loudly and cover your face. It was ridiculous. It was honestly so hard to stay mad at him when he was like this. How he was caring and sweet but going about it in the wrong way. 

“I’m moving,” you say, throwing your hands upwards. 

“Why?” Jake asks, his eyes widening in alarm. “Because if it’s about the money that’s a stupid reason.”

“I’m not running away from anyone anymore, and while I appreciate your kindness, Jake, but it’s time for me to go.” 

“You won’t find somewhere cheaper.”

“Apparently not, when I haven’t been paying rent at all!” 

“Have I been a bad roommate?” Jake asks, he has that same look on his face as he does when he is trying to palace a particularly confusing puzzle piece. One he would often wear when he broke out the magnifying glass, he kept in his puzzle chest. 

“No, you’re a good roommate.” 

“What is it then?”

“Jake,” you sigh exasperatedly. 

“I need a reason besides money,” Jake requests. 

“It’s not just the money.” 

“Ah, Just. So, what else is it?”

It’s how you are embarrassed, it’s how you love him, ache for him. How Jake makes you happy to come home. “I still don’t understand what you are getting out of this. Isn’t your sense of honor bound duty fulfilled?” 

“Flew past honor and gentlemanly a long time ago, actually,” he replies slightly snarky. You roll your eyes at his answer. 

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the syllables. 

“Sugar, there is something you just don’t seem to understand. You make everything better,” Jake is plain in how he says this. The sunsets in the west, otters hold hands when they sleep, and Jake Seresin thinks you make everything better… It's that simple. 

You are stunned. You blink back at him owlishly trying to process his words. When you don’t respond Jake runs a hand through his hair pulling at it. 

“I did need a roommate,” he starts wanting to fill the silence.  “Having someone else here helps me. It gives me a reason to check the locks, use my shop, and talk to someone when I get home. I used to just sit here; you know. When I got back from the gym at night I would just sit alone, mostly in silence. Sometimes I would read, or do sudoku, other nights I would just stare at the wall waiting until it was finally a justifiable time to go to bed.”

That image is a punch in the gut. A quiet dark house, with a lonely quiet Hangman in it. You try to imagine what would happen when he enters a stress phase, but he is here alone, no one to reign him in, no one to tell Coyote that Jake needs help. Even if you’re hurt and mad, you love him. 

“Okay, Jake.”

“Okay, what?” He asks you. 

“I won't move, but you need to let me pay my share.” 

He grinds his teeth at your answer contemplating it. “Is that a deal breaker?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. 

“I’m sorry. It’s a no then.”

“No?” you gasp shocked. “You were just begging me to stay.”

“I will beg on my knees if you want. Money though? I’m sorry, Sugar. I won’t compromise on it.” 

“Why are you so difficult?” You ask. 

“Mama always said I was more stubborn than a mule. I can’t make my Mama a liar, sweetheart.” Jake says, he looks less sullen now that he seems to understand getting you to stay is possible. 

“We can’t have that can we?” You finally respond, deciding to give in. Jake whoops, and later once he wakes up from the nap you forced him to take, he doesn’t stop checking on you like he expects you to disappear. 

~~~~~~~

A few weeks later things seem to be back on track and normal between you and Jake. There was a full week where Jake seemed to be watching you nonstop, hypervigilant to everything about you. He has eased up though, and you were glad to have him at ease again.  

Jake had just finished his post morning run shower and come downstairs munching on a snack in the kitchen. You are on the couch and beckon for Jake to join you. Wordlessly, he bee lines to you only stopping momentarily to grab a blanket out of the blanket basket. Jakes sits next to you. He spreads the blanket over you first and then goes to tuck it over himself as well. 

However as soon as Jake does, he shoots up out of place, shoving the blanket off him. He flips it over and examines the underside. He frowns heavily at the white lining that doesn’t match the dark blue hyper soft outside. 

“What is this?” Jake asks you. 

“It’s sherpa?” you say looking at the blankets lining too. 

He reaches out to touch it again and it makes his nose wrinkle with a stern frown. Then Jake looks like he is at war. He eyes flick from your side to the blanket again. 

“What wrong?” you ask reaching out a hand for him and making a grabby hand. 

“I don’t like that,” he says waving to the fabric. 

You laugh at Jake, but it is born of pure affection. You refold the blanket quickly, and a bit sloppily and hand it back to him. “Then go get a different blanket.”

“We don’t have to.” He says. Jake is looking at the blanket as if he is mentally preparing himself to deal with the discomfort. 

“We have lots of other blankets, Jakers. I don’t care which one we use,” You wave back towards the basket. 

“No, no. It’s fine,” Jake insists. He starts to unfold and tuck the blanket around you again, not leaving any for himself. You frown at this choice, since it means no cuddles. 

“Jakobi Seresin, go get another blanket.” You order, push the blanket off of you as Jake is simultaneously pushing it off. 

“It’s fine. Just a blanket, I’ll get over it. ” Jake tells you sharply. You don’t think his frustration is directed towards you. You take a deep breath resisting the urge to flinch. 

“You don’t have to live in discomfort to prove a point,” you argue evenly. Jake sighs, your name exasperated. It’s such a rare treat for him not to fall into a pet name. It tells you that you need to press the point. 

“We should feel safe in our home. You’re always telling me that right?”

“Yes,” Jake confirms.

"Well, that includes being comfortable. So, you should be comfortable here.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable in our home,” Jake protests.

“I have a question for you.”

“Well then I imagine I have an answer,” Jake responds sarcastically, it was a known fact he hated when people asked if they could ask a question because that in itself was a question. 

“If I didn’t like this blanket, would you switch it?”

“Yes, of course,” Jake responds immediately. 

“Thank goodness,” you sigh, “Because I hate this blanky so much.”

He stares at you frozen. You wait patiently this time for him to react. Finally, after he has thoroughly examined every inch of you Jake’s frown melts away. Wordlessly, he trades the blanket out for a grey one in the basket. You watch him flip a corner to check the inside and make sure this one doesn’t have a lining. After confirming that he hold it up for you, clearly seeking your approval. You nod three times, and even give him a thumbs up. 

“I didn’t like how that stuck to my skin. It felt like it was a million tiny hands pulling at it.” Jake explains not embarrassed, because he rarely is, but something that shares a border with embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know we felt that way about it.”

“I don’t think I did either,” Jake says unfolding the newly chosen blanket. 

"We," you correct him. 

"We think this one is softer anyways," he supplies. 

"Yes, we do," you agree. 

He is once again tucking the blanket, fluffing it around you comfortably before claiming his own half. Jake sits there a moment and then readjusts the blanket again evening out the sides a bit. He starts to readjust again, stopping halfway through, he harshly pulls the blanket balling it up tightly. Jake huffs frustratedly as he starts again. 

You patiently wait unbothered and unhurried. Simply content while he gets comfortable. Only humming sweetly each time he tucks your side of the blanket in. Once he determines it is even Jake sighs clearly pleased with the soft texture of this blanket. Jake sinks back, relaxing into the couch, and you notice the distinctive space he places between you. 

Since the two of you had passed into the realm of touch being an easy given between you, Jake hardly ever didn’t take the chance to lean into it. You watch him pick up his Sudoku book, open it up to a page stare at it for approximately 30 seconds before he closes the book and trades it out of the sketch pad he has on the table. Even as he opens his and starts working, he doesn’t lean closer. 

You tentatively reach over and rub his shoulder. “You good, Jakers?” 

“Yes Ma’am.” He responds, as his pencil scribbles along the notepad. 

His response feels short enough that you pull your hand away from him, even going as far as to scooch a little further away on the couch. You wonder why he even joined you on the couch, while you resist the urge to pout. After turning your show back on, you try to ignore the distance between you and Jake but it bothers you nonetheless. 

“What are you sketching?” You decide to ask him a little while later.

“You,” Jake responds without missing a beat. 

“Me?” You ask shocked. Leaning over, you see sure enough, Jake has sketched you. It is a flattering but accurate rendition, that is surprisingly realistic. 

“Oh wow,” you breathe. Jake hums in agreement moving his hand out of the way so you can get a better look. 

“Thank you, Jake. You created a very nice portrayal.”

“Art’s easy when your subject is so beautiful.” 

 You fight against the warmth that blossoms in you at his compliment. “Aren’t you a sweet talker.”

“It’s true!” Jake says. 

“If you say so,” you tell him. 

“God, I need to take you to a museum. I can’t believe you don’t believe me. You are prettier than any of those artist muses.”

“Is that what I am then? Your muse?” You ask him playfully. 

“You are absolutely my muse. Nothing inspires me like you do, sweetheart.” 

God, you could faint at Jake’s words or kiss him. You don’t do either though, instead you just lean into his space until he naturally throws an arm around you, letting you settle close to his chest. He glances down at where you have cuddled against him. 

“Is this okay?” he asks gently. At first you aren’t sure what he is talking about. However, when you feel his arm start to shift from where it’s wrapped around you catch his wrist holding him in place. 

“Yes, always okay.” You tell him. Jake does still move his arm out of your grasp though. You feel confused, trying to consider if you have crossed any of his boundaries. Physical touch and affection was so natural and commonplace between you two that you didn’t even really give it a second thought anymore. 

“Is it okay with you?”  You ask checking in. 

“It is, but only if you are okay with it.”  

“Not really how that works,” you tell him.

“That’s always how it works between us,” Jake says. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Jake.” 

“I won’t,” he tells you with conviction. 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise,” Jake says, kissing your forehead. You can’t stop yourself from pressing a small kiss to his clothed chest. You try to disguise it by leaving your face there, breathing in Jake’s scent. 

He doesn’t comment on it. Jake just readjusts the blanket around you again, tucking it in around you until he is content. His arm wraps around you again pulling you even closer to his chest. With a little more shifting he is situated and goes back to drawing. 

It’s one of those nights that leaves you with the feeling there is nothing in the world you really have to worry about, not when Jake is at your side. 

— — — — 

"Do I look okay? I can't decide if this is too dressy," Jake asks you as he walks into the living room. Once he is standing fully in front of you, he adds, almost sheepishly. "It's for a date." 

Your eyes snap to Jake, and you inhale sharply, caught off guard by his words. You try to play it off, scanning him from head to toe. He is wearing a patterned button-down with the sleeves neatly folded to his elbows, and the top two buttons are undone. You could see the peak of his dog tags underneath. Jake has paired the shirt with some dark-wash jeans. He, of course, looks undeniably good. It doesn't help how your stomach is stuck on one of those whirly fair rides. You gulp down your bubbling emotions, trying to keep level and at bay. 

"You look great. What are you doing?" You ask casually. 

"We are going to some coffee shop," Jake tells you with a shrug. 

"Oh wow, that should be fun. "

"It'll be something," while he sounds confident, Jake doesn't really sound excited. 

"Normally, you are supposed to be excited about a date, you know."

"Yes, Sugar. I am aware of that." He says, rolling his eyes. 

With how hard you had been trying, you think that Jake would have acted on any secret or partial feelings he had for you. This felt like the final nail in the coffin. He wasn't going to love you back; he wasn't going to pick up any of your hints. All signs pointed to that he would never feel that way towards you. It seemed all other excuses now evaporated. It wasn't that he wasn't dating right now. It wasn't that he was too busy or wasn't looking for anyone. It was simply because it wasn't you, and it never would be you. 

God, he was so handsome; even in the trenches of your hurt, you can't help but think so. "It's your hair."

"What?"

"Come here," you tell him, motioning for him to come closer to your side. "It's your hair that is making you feel that way." 

Jake comes to your side and crouches down. You reach up and touch the gelled-back strands. Ignoring the product's texture, you run your fingers through it so that it falls much more loose and free.  

"You aren't going to work; you don't need your hair slicked back like this." You explain to him kindly. You fiddle with one of the strands absently, trying to decide how you want to place it. Jake's eyes flutter shut while you play with the strands. 

"Thank you," Jake says softly, his hand settling on your waist, holding you steady while you fix his hair. You ignore how big and warm his hand feels. It's like his touch burns you with how much it makes you want to cry. You pull away and lean back, making his hand fall back to his side. 

"Anytime, Hangman," you whisper. He pulls back from you and sits in his comfy chair. 

"So, tell me about it," you say after a minute of staring at him. 

"Well, she asked me out the other night at the bar."

The last time Jake went to the bar was on Thursday. That was four days ago, and he hadn't said anything. You feel the knife in your gut twist even deeper. 

"Well, how did it happen?" You don't know why you are doing this to yourself. You know that if you don't ask him any more questions, Jake will sit quietly and content in his chair on his phone until he has to leave. 

"Ah, she complimented my shirt. She is from Texas too."

"She just complimented your shirt, and now you are going on a date?"

"Yeah, I mean, she asked, and I didn't have an excuse to say no," Jake explains to you. It's true he didn't have an excuse; after all, the two of you were just roommates and friends.

"Oh, well, that's nice. She sounds bold," You respond.

"Bold's definitely one way to put it."

"What do you mean?" You are confused by his tone.

"Well, to put it plainly, Sugar. I think that she really only wants one thing from me." Jake gestures down the length of his body before pulling his toothpick case out of his pocket and popping one out to use.

“Gottcha,” you answer. 

Jake sits there with you for another ten minutes, bouncing his leg the entire time before he tells you he has to go. You manage to force out a polite goodbye telling him to have fun. You are anxious for Jake to get back. You try to distract yourself, but nothing seems to work. Finally, a few hours later, you decide it would probably be best for you to try and get out for a while. However, when you get to the garage, Jake is there. 

You are startled and set a hand on your chest, trying to calm your breathing back down. He is wearing a pair of earmuffs and hasn't seen you yet. You notice that he has changed clothes since you last saw him. Now he is in one of his ratty garage shirts and jeans. 

Walking across the garage, you call to him loudly, "Jake!" 

He catches your movement out of the corner of his eye. He raises his hand in greeting and pushes off the earmuffs, then takes out the headphones he had on underneath. 

"Hi, Sugar," Jake says. 

"Jakers! I didn't know you were home. How did it go?" You ask. Despite having prepared yourself to be happy for him, your tone doesn't quite hit as easygoing as you hoped.  

"Yeah, I got home a while ago. It wasn't the best date I've ever been on," Jake says, throwing the cloth he has in his hands over his shoulder. 

"No?" You question trying to fish for details. 

"No," he sighs and rubs his face. His hair, you playfully mused earlier, is now almost messy, telling you he had been messing with it. 

"I'm sorry," you apologize. 

"No need to be. I only went to be polite anyway." Jake says, giving you a smile. His answer raises your heart from where it had been residing on the floor. You drift over to the bench to see what he is working on and gasp. 

"Oh my god, Jake, is this it?"

"Yes, Ma'am. One puzzle table, almost done." 

You appreciate the stained juniper and the design that Jake made for the table. It folds open, and the top is removable as well if you want it completely out of the way, not just folded. It has a soft white felt fabric on the inside. On the sides, there are a few hidden drawers to store pieces. You can tell it's impeccably made. The table looks almost exactly like the final sketch he had shown you for your approval and feedback before buying the materials. 

"It's amazing, just like your design," You sigh, going to run your hand over the smooth-looking wood. Jake stops you, his hand catching your wrist in a gentle grip.  

"The stain is still drying," He warns you before letting go of your hand. 

"How did you get so good at all this?" You decide to ask him, turning your admiration of the table back to him. 

"Miss Celeste."

"No way," you say, shaking your head at him in disbelief.

"No, it's true!"

"Why exactly did Mrs. Celeste know about all this?" You ask, waving towards the table and bench. 

Jake chuckles as he twirls a square pencil in his fingers. "She is a very talented woman. But the reason she learned about woodworking was because she fell in love."

"Don't leave it there, Jake." 

"Well, one day Miss Celeste drove into town to go to the store. And while she was in the tool store, she had gotten all turned around. That's where she met my Pop, Mr. Russell, he was also there and asked if she was lost. Now, Miss Celeste would rather die than admit she was in the wrong, or ignorant. So she told him she was exactly where she needed to be. So he asked her, what she needed the wood for, and what was she going to do with it? Then she looked him dead in the eyes saying she was building a new bed frame. And poor Mr. Russ had been so shocked that he laughed."

"He laughed?" you ask. 

 Jake grins widely towards you at the memory of the story. As he chuckles at his grandmother and shakes his head. "Miss Celeste was so mad that she decided she had to do it. She made him carry all the wood she picked out and to the register and then also to her truck. Pops didn't complain once about this small polish woman meeting him and immediately bossing him around either. After all the wood was all loaded up, he wished her good luck."

"Miss Celeste doesn't believe in luck." You say, thinking of some of the other stories Jake had told you. 

"No, Ma'am, and neither do I." 

"She told him that, didn't she?"

"Of course, and she said she didn't need luck, because she had skill and work ethic," Jake's voice dipped into an extra twist of accent that somewhat replicated his grandmother's unique polish southern twang you would hear on the other side of Jake's phone sometimes.    

"Mr. Russ just shrugged, helped her in her truck, and told her that he would believe it when he saw it. And it drove her a little crazy. She became obsessed with figuring out how to build a bed frame. Not just anyone but a good one. She went to the library, checked out a bunch of books, and even took some classes. When Miss Celeste finished it, she had no idea what to do. All she knew about him was he had been in a tool store, and his name was Russell.  

"Miss Celeste went back to the store and tried asking around after Russell, but no one knew anything."

"What happened?" you ask him. 

Jake's eyes absolutely twinkle, and sometimes when he talks about the things he loves, he nearly glows. He turns towards his bench and grabs a trunk off the top shelf. 

You lean close to his side as he opens it. The chest has a few different photo albums and other keepsakes. You spot a watch, a compass, some pins, and some patches. Tucked in the corner, you see a cello bridge you desperately want to ask Jake about.

However, before you can jump topics, Jake traces over the photo album's spines until he grabs one with a dark leather binding. Flipping open the scrapbook, Jake starts turning pages before he stops on one and shows the page to you. You follow where he is pointing. Saved in the scrapbook is an aged newspaper clipping. It's an advertisement for two handmade bedside tables; payment only accepted in one matching bed frame.

"He put an Ad in the paper?" 

"Every single Sunday after he met her, for months." Jake sighs and runs his fingers across the paper. 

"So, Miss Celeste finally saw it?" 

"Yeah, she contacted him and invited him over. Pops pulled up to her house with two bedside tables that matched the bed frame. Miss Celeste demanded that he put the bedside tables in her room to go with the frame. He asked her if they could go on a drive and dinner after. She said absolutely not. They had to test out how sturdy she made the frame. Pops was a smart man who said yes, ma'am, and followed orders. They have spent every day since then madly in love." 

"Wow, that's such a beautiful love story they had."

"Yeah, it was something."

"So, you are close with Russ too?" you ask. 

"I am, even if he ain't my grandpa," Jake says.

"What? He's not your Grandpa?" You ask surprised. 

"My actual blood grandpa, the one I'm named after, died young. Mr. Russ and Miss Celeste fell in love later. He always bothered my Da', but Russ is a good man."

"And good to you?" 

"Yeah, and good to me too." 

Jake turns the page, and you see the couple. They are sitting in two rocking chairs side by side, holding hands. Celeste has a neutral, if almost stern, look on her face, but Russell is grinning wide, his face happy and bright. The only thing that gives Celeste's true feelings away is that she is leaning towards him. It reminds you vaguely of how the sunflower can't help but turn in the direction of the sun. 

"He's the reason I applied to the naval academy. Helped me get my congressional nominations and write my application. My namesake was in the army, but Russ is a navy man, just like me." Jake turns the page again. 

The next picture is a huge barn with Celeste and Russell standing proudly in front of it. Russ has an arm thrown around Celeste's shoulder. She has a hand on her hip, and a hammer in the other. Celeste has a pleased look but not an actual full smile, while Russell is once again grinning. You reach out slowly without thinking and touch the picture. While Russell doesn't look like Jake, there is something you can see in the picture that is reminiscent of him. They have the same sort of aura around them.

"He is your grandpa, then."

"Yeah, he's my Pops." Jake says, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. 

"They built a barn?" 

"Yes, Ma'am, and it's still standing today," Jake answers proudly. Then he closes the scrapbook and puts it back in the trunk. Before you can jump on the opportunity to ask about anything else in the trunk, Jake snaps it closed and puts it away. 

"Thank you for sharing with me, Jake." You tell him. 

"Thank you for listening."

"One of my favorite things," you answer almost cheekily. You glance over to Jake and find him already staring at you. 

"I can't imagine and don't understand people who settle for anything less than what my grandparents have," Jake says seriously to you.

"Is that why it didn't work out tonight with your date?"

Jake is quiet for a minute, like he is contemplating your question. "I guess you could say it's something like that."

"Wow. You really don't want to tell me about your date." You laugh. 

"You don't tell me about your dates," Jake says, a bit annoyed.

"Maybe that's because I haven't been going on any," you defend yourself. 

"You haven't?" He asks.

"No." 

"Oh," he responds. Then his eyes drop down to the puzzle table. He twists the top of the stain off and dips a rag into it. Your nose wrinkles a little bit at the smell, but you stay close next to Jake's side. 

"I would tell you about them," you finally say. 

"You would?"

"Of course, I would. I always want to tell you everything, all the time." You admit this like it's a secret. 

Jake sniffs before he bumps his elbow playfully into your side. "That's one of my favorite things, Sugar. Now, so this whole day isn't wasted, will you throw on some tunes and hang out while I finish this?"

Your mouth feels a bit dry at his words but you quickly reorient yourself. "Do you need help?"

"No, just company. Plus, now that the table is done, you have a job to do."

"What job do I have to do?" You ask, turning on the speaker in the garage and connecting your phone. 

"Honey, it's your turn to pick us out a new puzzle," Jake says. 

"Are you seriously going to let me?"

"Of course, I'll grab my puzzle chest for you to look through in a minute."

"What if I don't like any of those options?"

"Then we'll order one you do like," Jake shrugs. 

"What if you don't like the one I pick?"

"I'll like it," Jake says reassuringly. 

"Yeah, but what if you don't?" You ask again. 

"If you pick it out, I will like it, sugar," Jake tells you more firmly this time, leaving no room for questions or argument. It's reassuring and a warm sentiment, and it makes it difficult for you to stop grinning when you start digging through the handmade chest and examining the different puzzles in his collection. 

^^^^^^

It's a scene you wouldn't normally involve yourself with. However, it is Javy's birthday, so exceptions do have to be made for the holiday. You had never known how seamlessly Jake and Marlee could work together until watching them pull off this surprise party. 

 Jake had stayed up until two am the previous night finishing the banner. It said, "Happy birthday Javy!" with several planes on it, all being flown by very realistic depictions of Coyotes, the animal that is. You had been enlisted in helping put everything together, which you didn't mind, but Marlee and Jake had really taken the brunt of the work. 

Now, here you are in the bowling alley Jake had rented out, which is now filled to the brim with people enjoying the night. You knew Javy was funny, sociable, and well-liked, but this was genuinely so many people you were shocked. More than any of the bonfires or other parties the Machados threw. 

You were even actually having a lot of fun at first. You enjoyed talking and laughing with your mutual friends who had come to celebrate. You were still grinning from the feeling that had swept over you, watching how widely Javy smiled when Marlee walked him in, and everyone shouted surprise. After Javy kissed his wife silly and started to greet people, the high-five Jake and Marlee shared was so loud your own hand hurt watching it happen. It didn't make the scene any less heartwarming. Nothing quite paralleled the feeling of seeing the people who mattered most in your life together and having fun. All your enjoyment came to a screeching halt when you heard a conversation that definitely wasn't meant for your ears. 

"Showboating at someone else's birthday is a bit much, don't you think?" you hear coming from the conversation a few men were having near you. Curious, you followed where their gazes were turned. They were looking over at Javy, Marlee, Tazina, their little sister, and Jake. The four of them were playing doubles pool, and Jake was laughing at something someone had said while knocking balls into pockets effortlessly. 

"Showboats at work, during class, and PT, showboats at the bar. That's Hangman for you. I don't know why you are surprised. I don't think he can help himself, honestly," one of the men responds. 

"I don't know if his being dick helps anything or anyone." 

"Naw, man, you are just mad he nailed that maneuver before you last week."

"No," the first guy defends himself. "It's not that, dude. Plus you know I was flying earlier in the morning, and the weather was shifting."

"Oh yeah, Amber, you told us all about it." The third guy says, sounding exasperated like he had heard the excuse a million times.

"I don't know. Haven't you noticed something off about the guy?" Amber continues on, turning to more fully face his friends and you inch closer to hear better. 

"What do you mean?"

"The guy is an asshole. He's always making fun of everyone and then showing them up. The other day he had the audacity to tell me he already had the new manual memorized. We haven't had those longer than a week."

"Just ignore him, Amber." 

"Hard to ignore him when he is so loud and never shuts up." 

Jake did draw the eye and attention, oftentimes to an edge you knew he didn't even notice. Jake was high-fiving Tazina, after which he he picked her up and spun her around the table, gloating about their win loudly. It looked like a genuine celebration, though, not designed to specifically rub in anyone's face. And even though it was Javy's birthday, with his arm wrapped around Marlee and sipping a drink, he didn't look anything other than happy. You didn't like people talking about Jake; it made your skin crawl. They were the ones who could take a moment to celebrate whose birthday it actually was.

"Yeah, I don't know why Yote is always keeping Hangman around." One said. The comment shoots anger through you and short-circuits your brain a little bit. That was just one step too far over the line on these guys' part. 

You knew exactly why Javy kept Jake around. You knew just how close Hangman and Coyote were. You knew about the unbreakable bond they had foraged, brothers in every way that mattered to each other, wingmen, and best friends for life and death. Jake often joked that he and Javy would be bunked up together in hell just like they had been back in college. 

You knew about the time they went hiking, and a freak blizzard had trapped them together for two whole days. You knew the calls and hours they would spend together. You knew how Javy would pull Jake back from the edge, and Jake would do the same for Javy. The hours they would spend reading over a manual long after it was memorized, trying to find any hidden details together and discussing technicalities. You had been there before when Marlee called Jake, begging him to bring Javy home. Jake had gone to the gym to collect the aviator, who had been on the treadmill for hours. Times they were both struggling, Hangman would take Coyote to a wing restaurant there they would eat and have a beer before returning Javy home to his wife. 

The implication that their friendship was anything less than the bond of brotherhood, that Hangman somehow didn't give as much as he got from Coyote, was enough to boil your blood. The anger builds more and more, so much so, you decide that you have heard enough of the slander. Walking confidently over, you stop at the little partial circle they are standing in. 

"You guys are wrong," you tell them with a frown, capturing their attention.

"What's that, sweet thing?" One asks you, clearly confused. 

"Hangman is the one who put this together for him and flew their little sister out." 

"Okay, and?" Another one of the guys asks. 

"I heard what you were saying, and you are wrong. Hangman is the least selfish person I have ever met. If you can't keep up with him in the sky, that is a different issue. Maybe you shouldn't be paying so much attention to other pilots, and you might fly better. I understand not having a photographic memory must be hard for you, but I promise there are worse real handicaps people have to get over every single day." 

All three men's mouths fall open shocked at your words. One of them opens his mouth as if he is going to try and tell you off, but you don't give him a chance barrelling on.  

" And it's a real low blow for you to bring his brother into it like that on the man's birthday, too. You can talk shit about Hangman, and he will laugh it off any day. Say something about Yote; that's a different story. So, maybe y'all are the ones who should focus on the birthday boy while drinking the liquor Hangman paid for." You add sharply, nodding to the drinks in their hands from the open bar. All three men stare at you for a long moment, and you are surprised none of them has jumped into being an asshole to your face. You are a bit pleased when they all avert their gazes and look at least a little 

"Sorry, ma'am," the one in the middle utters, lowering his head. 

"I'm not the one you should apologize to." You say with a point towards the pool tables. The group nods and then scurries away and over to Javy, greeting him quickly and striking up a conversation. 

"You didn't have to do that," you hear a  familiar voice say. You turn around, shocked to see Jake lingering close. 

"What's that?" you ask, pretending to be confused, smiling at him. You aren't sure how much he heard or how long he had been there. 

"I don't care what those guys think, and Javy knows I care about him."

"I know," you say, and it's true. You know Jake cares very little about the opinion of people he doesn't deem impressive in their own right or part of his inner circle.

"I don't like hearing them say things that aren't true, though."  

"Unfortunately, whatever they were saying before was probably more on the side of truth than you want to believe," Jake says. 

"Hmm, maybe not about Hangman. They are wrong when it comes to Jake, though. And regardless, even Hangman cares about Coyote." 

Jake gives a full belly laugh at that statement, "Yes, that's true, Jake or Hangman, Coyote or Javy. We go together."

"Machado and Seresin, two peas in a pod."

"Wingmen for life," Jake confirms. 

"Best buds. In fact, y'all are so close I think that you are the only person that Marlee would get jealous over."

Jake only laughs more, but he doesn't disagree. "You didn't have to defend me. I've heard worse, and I'm sure they have said worse." 

"Of course, I will defend you, Jake. You would defend me," you say with a shrug. As far as you are concerned, it is easy math. 

"I wouldn't put up with you being lied about. If someone was saying something about you, I would do more than just defend you, sugar."

"I know you would," you say, taking a step closer to Jake. Jake welcomes your closeness and leans toward you as well.  

"I'm worried you don't know that I'm a bad guy." Jake suddenly says. He takes a pull of his drink and finishes it in one smooth motion. Setting his empty glass on a nearby surface, Jake steps even closer to you. The two of you are almost chest to chest now, only a few short inches between you. 

"You aren't a bad guy." You say, shaking your head at his words. 

"God damn it," Jake groans and rolls his eyes. He turns away from you and to the open bar full of alcohol behind you. He grabs a glass and starts to pour himself a shot. Jake throws the tequila back without flinching and licks his lips slating those intense eyes back on you. 

"I am, actually. You don't got to—" Jake says, but you cut him off. You don't want to hear anything less than nice and praiseworthy about Jake for the rest of the night, least of all, from him. It makes you too upset.

"You are good." You say insistently, needing him to understand. Jake just starts to pour another shot, his jaw clenching at your words. However, when he doesn't protest, you continue on, "I don't know who convinced you otherwise, but I am going to have a talk with them. 

"I would never let that happen," Jake says in a surprisingly forceful tone. 

"No?"

"Nope," he pops the p sound. "I would never have let him within a hundred feet of you, sugar. Let alone close enough to have a conversation." 

"Oh, Jake. Who?" you ask, trying to press him for details on the subject that has come up glancingly several times now. 

"Naw, I don't want to actually talk about it. I just wanted to set the record straight."

"You could talk to me, though." You set your hand on his arm, stopping him from hastily throwing back his next shot. 

"It's nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart," Jake grits out. 

"I'm sorry," you start feeling a little bad. "I won't push you anymore on it, but you can always talk to me." 

He does take the shot he poured, but it's much more deliberate and controlled than the first. When he sets the glass back down, he reaches for a lime slice and bites into it. After which, he finally utters a quiet "Thank you." 

Jake doesn't stay down for long. As often happens in social situations he blossoms, earning easy and casual attention by simply being himself, a feedback loop that puffs him up more, making his natural draw that much stronger. 

As the evening continues, everyone is pulled together to sing Javy happy birthday while he blows out candles on the massive cake Marlee had ordered. Once the cake is cut, everyone starts drinking more than any other activity, but the whole atmosphere is happy and warm. As the party starts to wind down and people leave. You observe and enjoy the atmosphere when an arm is wrapped around your shoulder. 

"Thank you," Javy says as his arm curls pulling you into one of his famous bear hugs. You squirm a little bit, trying to find breathing room, and laugh at him.

"Your callsign should have been Bear because of your hugs."

Javy finds this suggestion hilarious, and you attributed that more to him being drunk and less to do with your joke. As his chuckles start to enter the giggle category, you join in with him. 

"What are you thanking me for, birthday boy?" Once you two manage to stop laughing.

"Thank you for being so good to Marlee and Jake. I love them both so much. It's nice to have someone I know cares about them as much as I do." Javy says sincerely. 

"Well, they sure make it easy," you said with a shrug. Both you and Javy turn to look for the pair. Most people have left now, leaving only a handful of Javy's friends left as well as Marlee and Jake. Neither of you are surprised to see them sneaking over to the bar and picking out shot glasses together. 

"When are you going to give Marlee what she wants?" You ask Javy conversationally, settling an arm around his waist but pinching his side affectionately. 

"When are you going to give Jake what he wants?" Javy throws back just as casually. 

"Jake doesn't want anything from me," you say, deflecting that comment away. Javy just laughs and rolls his eyes. His laugh dies down, and he starts fiddling with his wedding ring. 

"I've been trying to give her what she wants. Well, I should actually say we have been trying for what we want, just no luck yet." Javy says it lightly, but you know your friend well enough to tell this is something that's weighing heavily on him. 

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Javy. Marlee didn't tell me." You rush out, feeling bad for bringing up the topic. 

"No apologies allowed. We have been keeping it on the down low. Just until there is something to tell, you know. If there is ever something to tell. It's been hard on us, though. Marlee feels like there's something wrong with her."

"That's not how it works," you say as concern fills you for your friend.  

"I know. We know. But I'll say this, you and Jake will probably be some of the first people we will tell.' 

"Oh, Javy, we'll be so excited for you. I'm here, you know. If y'all ever need anything. If she ever needs anything."

"Yeah, we know," Javy says and kisses your forehead. "Thank you for helping them put together this party. I know you helped more than you will admit."

"Anything for you, Coyote. You've had fun?"

"Yes, I have had so much fun. But I think that it is time for me to get the missus home." 

"Not before you have another shot. It's your birthday!"

"That's true," Javy says with a wide grin. "But only if you take one with me." You agree, as that had been your intention from the start. You tug a bit on his hip to get momentum going as you let go and move away from Javy. 

"Come on, before we miss another round," You say, starting to walk towards where Marlee was deliberating between different liquor bottles. Javy falls in step with you no hesitation. 

"It'll only happen when you say you are ready, you know." Javy throws your way. 

"What will? Shots?" you ask him, confused.

"No, what I'm saying is there is no rush with you and Jake. He is going to keep waiting. At this point, I'm pretty sure he will wait forever, as long as you need." 

"Coyote," you sigh. "He doesn't feel that way for me." Javy doesn't acknowledge what you said with anything more than a frown that quickly melts away. A few feet later, he throws his head back and howls at the ceiling tiles. 

The sound makes Jake's head snapped up and towards you two. With a wide grin, Jake throws his head back as well and howls in response. Jake is at your favorite stage of drunk, where he is giggly and overly affectionate. His eyes light up, seeing Javy. 

"Coyote," Jake says gleefully, borderline yelling. 

"Hangman," Javy replies, grinning back. 

"Where did you go? Jake asks, a pouty frown replacing his smile. He looks so upset you have to resist the urge to pull him into a hug and pet his hair. 

"I made sure Tazina got in her taxi safely, but then I was just over there, bud." Javy gestures generally in the direction that you two had been before. 

"Do you want to do a shot?" Jake asks, already pouring the drinks.

"Yes, we do." Javy agrees, gesturing towards you. He pats Jake's shoulder, giving him a little turn to face you better. Jake shifts his eyes off Javy to consider you for a moment, and his grin reappears. Once Jake moves, Coyote slips over to wrap his arms around Marlee, kissing her soundly on the lips. 

"Missed you," Marlee says, pulling Javy closer into a kiss that quickly starts to become less than PG-friendly. You snap your eyes back to Jake and away from your friends. Jake is completely oblivious to them, or more likely, it is that he is better used to their PDA. 

"Sugar!!" He says enthusiastically. "Thank god you're here. I have a huge problem."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" You ask Jake with a laugh. Marlee pulls her lips off of Javy's and turns to Jake wide-eyed. 

"Oh my god, Jakers! You are brilliant." Marlee gasps. You feel a tiny twinge of jealousy in you at someone else, even Marlee, using your nickname for Jake. 

"Marlene, of course, I'm brilliant. Has it taken you this long to realize that?" Jake says back to her sassily. 

"Hey, you don't be mean to my wife!" Coyote says, glaring at Jake. Javy untangles himself from Marlee, and then a few moments later, the two men are playfully roughhousing. Marlee drifts to your side, and you wrap an arm around her waist in a half hug. She immediately follows in kind, wrapping you in hers. 

"Love you," you tell her quietly. Marlee grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and squeezes you a little tighter. 

"I love you too, bestie." 

You both watch  Jake and Javy playfully shove each other a few more times. When Jake goes to put Javy in a headlock, you decide to intervene. 

"Hangman," you say. His attention is pulled off Coyote and to you instantly, his eyebrows drawn close together. 

"Yes, ma'am?" 

"What's this problem you were having?" You ask, directing the question half toward Jake and half toward Marlee. 

"Well, you see, Marlee and I have been trying to finish this alcohol, and we just desperately need help."

"That is something I think we can help with," you say, and Javy nods enthusiastically, which makes Marlee and Jake cheer loudly. 

The four of you all take some final shots. Then you ordered Javy and Marlee a ride home. Javy and Jake hug for almost five straight minutes while waiting outside for the taxi. You make sure to take several pictures, sending them in your group chat with the guys and Marlee. You are already looking forward to hearing them try to explain their behavior in the morning. You imagine that Jake will give a long-winded explanation about how it was Javy's birthday and there is nothing wrong with hugging his bestie on his birthday. 

Once your friends are headed home safely, you and Jake, who is still shockingly coordinated, clean up the remaining decorations, drink water, and settle up everything with the venue. Then you call a taxi for yourself. Now you two are waiting outside for your taxi. 

"We should repaint," Jake decrees. 

"Repaint?" You clarify. 

"Yeah," Jake says, and he hugs you from behind. His arms wrap around you snuggly, pulling you close. 

"What are we going to repaint?" 

"The kitchen, your room, the whole house. Everything, anything." Then he hums in your ear. Dragging his nose up your neck, giving you a small nuzzle. "Whatever color you want."

You take a moment, then think of Javy's words from earlier in the night. How Jake is just waiting. You wonder for a moment if that's true and what he could possibly be waiting for. What more did you need to show him for him to be convinced that you love him and it might be worth his time to love you back? You had been putting in the work and done everything you could think of. Not that the things you did for Jake were only to win him over, you did them because you loved him, of course. It just all seemed so obvious. 

"I don't get you, Jake," you whisper to him.

"Well, that's just not true. Honestly, I think you understand me more than anyone else," Jake says, squeezing his arms around you a minuscule bit tighter. 

"No. I don't think so. You build me tables, you cook, you make me laugh, and you cuddle with me. Now you want to let me choose the paint for your house. Why?"

"Why?" Jake echoes, sounding just as confused as you felt. 

"Yes. Why?" He spins you around, his hands find purchase on your hips holding you steady. 

"How could you not know why?" Jake looks visibly distressed, and his hands squeeze your hips almost tight. He is searching your eyes and face frantically, trying to understand. Then closes his eyes like he is trying to do some really hard mental math.

"I need to detail your car." He says a minute later with a solid nod. Then he turns you around and hugs you close again.

"No, Jake. I don't need you to do that," you squawk, having no clue where that idea even popped into his head from. 

He just hums against the crook of your neck where he settles his head. His breath is warm against your neck, making shivers run up and down you. 

"Seriously, don't," you reiterate. 

He nods his head against you, "It's happening, Sugar."

You are at war with yourself. You want to be upset at him; you want to love him. You want to shake him hard and make him see, really see you. 

"Jake, how drunk are you?" you ask.

"Hmmm, why?" He wonders. Jake doesn't get actually drunk very often. Normally he drinks in measured, careful amounts. Rarely brushing completely out of his limits of control. 

 "Because I'm wondering." 

"I'm not very drunk. I've been layering  in water all night." He tells you, and it's a relief to hear. Because maybe Jake not completely in control, is what you needed. There was a difference though, between letting loose and being entirely inebriated.

"I have a question for you."

"I have an answer," Jake replies easily. You are still deciding if you are going to take the jump when your taxi pulls up. You start to wiggle out of Jake's arms to greet the driver, but he holds you still.

 "What's your question, sugar?"

"I'll ask you when we get home," you say gently. 

Jake accepts that and unwraps himself from you. Once you two are settled in the back seat together, it is like a switch flips in Jake. He is alert, and if you hadn't been watching him do shots and drink all night, you would believe he was sober. He confidently gives the driver your address and makes an easy casual conversation. 

You can't take your eyes off of him, admiring what you can see in the dark. Your eyes flick down, and you watch as his hand slides across the seat, it is a confident movement. Jake's palm flips over, where he leaves it there open and waiting. 

You hesitantly brush your fingers against his but don't settle them. Jake's whole hand flexes, clenching, going to hold you but coming up empty. Then he relaxes again, letting his fingers spread a little wider. You look up and meet his gaze, which is now pouring into yours. He is still making casual conversation, but you know he is lasered in on you. 

So in the dark, in the back seat of the cab, you settle your hand into Jake's. As soon as you do, Jake curls his hand into yours, slotting your fingers. It's not the first time you have held hands, but it feels so charged and intimate that your breath hitches just slightly. 

Jake's thumb draws against the back of your hand the whole rest of the drive. It's a slow, steady repetitive movement. You try to figure out the pattern, and when you two are nearly home, it hits you that he is drawing a question mark, tracing it into your skin. 

You are home. Jake had let go of you only once, and it was to jog and open your car door for you. Your hand was placed back in his as he helped you out of the car. He hasn't let go of it again since then. 

Neither of you says anything as you make your way into your home. Jake stares at you expectantly, and you are considering chickening out of your earlier plan. Even more so when the time has stretched awkwardly that you've stood in the entry, and Jake pulls his hands out of yours.

However, before the panic can settle at the loss of his skin,  Jake is bending down on his knees, helping you out of your shoes. He massages each foot and then your ankles. You can't help the sigh of satisfaction that falls out of your lips. After which, he places your shoes on your shoe rack. He is much more methodical and quick about shucking his own shoes. Placing them in their spot, Jake stands and pulls off his jacket, still not saying anything.

Part of you wishes that he wasn't letting you out of it so easily, but the part of you that is scared, and a bit of a coward, is thankful, glad even. You expressed gratitude too soon. 

"Sugar," he says, following you as you start to make your way to the stairs. You turn to face him, swallowing down the nerves you feel. However, you don't say anything yet. 

"I have an answer," Jake reminds you steadily. His eyes are burning bright despite the dim hallway; only one of the nearby living room lamps you had left on provides light. 

"But you don't know the question." You tell him. Jake's eyebrows crease, and his lips purse. 

"I think I do." He says carefully. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a moment, and you watch intently as he bites it a few times before letting go. "Why don't you ask it anyways." 

"What's the answer?" You ask him. 

"What's the question?" He repeats. 

You clench your fists tight and drop your eyes to the ground, trying to steady yourself. He has never been explicit with you about any feelings and what you want to ask is a big jump. You try to think of how you can ease him into it, how you can entice him, let him know what you want, and spur him into action. You stare into his green eyes, looking for answers, and he gives you a tiny encouraging nod. 

"Do you care about me?" You finally ask. 

"Yes," Jake says almost before you finish the question. When he processes it fully, he nods his head again as if deciding that was actually true. His answer helps ease some of the tension you feel, and you feel slightly more confident. 

"I have another question." 

"I have an answer," he replies playfully. You step so you are close to Jake and rest your hand his chest. He dips his head down a little bit to get a better look at you. He adopts a soft sweet smile while putting his own hand over yours. You can feel the steady pace of his heart pumping. 

"Jake?"

"Yes, that's me, Honey."

"Do you want me?"

"Yes," he responds steadily, and the balloon of hope in you raises so high you think you might float. 

"Would you like to fuck me?" You finally manage to ask. The soft smile on Jake's face melts, and he physically takes a step back from you. Your hand falls limply to your side. Jake shuts his eyes tight and scrubs over his face a few times. Then he pulls at his hair before looking at you again.

"No," he responds quietly. 

"Oh," you whisper. 

"No," he repeats more firmly and adds, "I don't want just to fuck you." 

You try to think of something to say, but there is nothing. All you can do is force the closest thing to a smile you can muster on, and you nod your head shakily at him. You watch Jake's eyes widen as his eyebrows draw together. He starts to lean towards you, but you can't bare it. To feel his warmth close to you at this moment is the worst thing you can imagine. It feels as if you have hyperthermia; all the heat has been sucked out of your body. Jake's gentle touch would be like throwing you in the bath, the only thing you want and the thing that would only kill you faster. 

You hurt. You ache. You want to cry and scream and maybe some other dramatic reaction. You want to do anything that would help you get some of this hurt out. You know you can't finish this conversation. You stumble back a little bit. You briefly and wryly think it would have hurt less if he had physically hit you. Bruises fade from view; you just got to give it a few weeks. You don't think that your heart will recover this time.

As you back up, your heel hits the first step of the stairs. You quickly turn, grab the railing, and start to step up the stairs. Right now, all you can think to hold yourself together is that you need to get away and be alone. 

"Wait," Jake rasps and steps quickly after you. His hand catches your elbow, pulling you back a little bit, but you refuse to turn to look at him. He presses his face into your arm. All you can do to hold your sobs in is take short, gasping breaths. You couldn't fathom how he could touch you so tenderly after having just rejected you. 

"Stop it, Jake!" You beg him tugging on your arm. Jake lets it fall from his grasp. It's a slow movement, halting and trailing. You turn to see his eyes there, waiting to capture yours. His eyes burn looking into yours, the edges rimmed in red.  

"Just, stop." You sigh, again barely holding the lump at the back of your throat down. 

"I don't understand," Jake whispers to you. His hands reach towards you but drop back to his side quickly. Where he clenches them open and closed repeatedly. Jake's hands then fist into his hair and he rips at it as his leg bounces restlessly. You can't stop yourself from caring about him. You can't stop yourself from reacting. No matter if he just shattered your heart, you won't let him hurt himself. 

"What don't you understand?" You ask as you pull the hair elastic off your wrists and hand it to him. Jake takes it from you, and his fingers start working and fiddling with it. 

"I don't understand your reaction. Why are you mad at me?" 

"I'm not mad at you, Jake." You take a deep breath and release it slowly, "I'm mad at myself." 

"Were you wanting me to say yes?" 

You just shrug and step back up another step of the stairs putting more space between you. Jake follows, not allowing more than two stairs to separate you. 

"It's a yes or no question. I need you to be direct with me. Did you want me to say yes?"

"The question wasn't about what I wanted, Jake. It was about what you did." 

"Can I change my answer?" He asks you almost timidly. 

"No," you whisper. You are unable to stop the few tears that slip down your cheek. Your eyes are burning from trying to keep the rest of them at bay. 

"But it didn't come out the way I meant," Jake tries to explain.

"It was a yes or no question, Jake. It's okay that you said no," you rationalize, trying to use that as a balm to your own hurt. 

"But, if you let me explain," Jake says as he pulls the hair band so hard it snaps.

"I don't need an explanation. I just needed the answer, and you gave that to me." Then after a small pause, you add, "Thank you, Jake." 

"Please," Jake says in that same small voice. He has his lips pressed tightly together, and you see that this conversation has also upset him. 

"You are hurting my feelings," you whisper to him. Jake staggers three steps backwards down the stairs as soon as he processes the words. You take another step up the stairs, and he doesn't pursue after you this time. 

"Are we going to be okay?" He asks solemnly. You think about his words and what had happened. Sure he rejected you, but it was probably one of the kindest and easiest ways it could have happened. Plus, now you had your answer. You didn't have to wonder anymore. Now you and Jake could just be best friends and roommates. You would never stop carrying a torch for him, you knew you would always love him, and you would get to keep Jake in your life at least, which isn't such a bad thing. 

"We'll be fine in the morning," you tell Jake pushing away a few more tears. He nods but otherwise doesn't say anything. You nod back and go finally are able to finish your escape into your room. 

What you said is true too. In the morning, you and Jake are fine. Neither of you mentions what happened the night before, except for Jake complaining about the picture you took. You tease him back about if he really didn't like them, why did he save them to his phone's camera roll. Jake still details your car and provides swatches of different colors for your approval. It feels like you are both grateful that you can move past what happened. And beyond that gratitude is a lot of heartache. 

======= 

You had seen all the signs again for a few weeks now. It was yet another one of those times that you could tell something was stressing Jake out, but you didn't know what. It wasn't hard for you to assume it had to do with his work, either. Surprisingly, usually, if Jake could talk about something that was stressing him out, like his sports teams, family, friends, or the store running out of the specific brand of yogurt he liked, he would tell you about it. Now that you knew what the signs were, it was easier for you to try to intervene and suggest Jake use one of his outlets. He was always grateful when you did, one time having explained to you that he really didn't notice sometimes until he was in the depths. 

You could tell this one was gearing up to be bad. Jake had cleaned the house from ceiling to floor, literally. He had washed the walls and scrubbed baseboards. Then he power-washed the driveway. The cleaning wasn't enough. You could see it in how he circled around the house like a shark as if ceasing to move would cause him to suffocate and die. He was staying up and working on projects in the garage until midnight. He went through every single box and chest in the attic. He also forced you to climb up the ladder so you would see the entire section he cleared out and left for you.  

What finally set you into action about intervening though was when you came home and Jake had baked 300 Pierniki mini cakes for the Big Brother Big Sister program he was involved with. When you asked if there was an event, he told you his little brother, Ryland, had a bake sale. Checking the flier that Jake had put up on the fridge, you saw the sale wasn't happening for a month and a half. You had sat with Jake in the kitchen as he baked, cooled, and packaged the Pierniki so they could go into the freezer while he cleaned. All the while found and ordered a gift you thought Jake might really enjoy as an outlet. 

When the package arrived, you spent more time wrapping it than you had any other gift in your life. You made sure that every one of the corners was folded and taped perfectly straight, as well as the bow. You were so excited you couldn't wait to tell him like you originally planned after dinner. 

"I got you something," you tell him, trying hard to hold back the excited grin that was threatening to give away your feelings. You wave Jake over, asking him to join you in the living room. 

Jake, who is fresh from a shower, has wet floppy hair and then his eyes take in the wrapped box on the table, and he almost looks alarmed. He approaches the box cautiously and guarded. 

"What is it?" He asks. 

"It's a surprise!" His expression doesn't change hearing that, so you add on, "If you really want to know, I can tell you what it is before you open it. Or unwrap it for you."

"Is it a good surprise?"

"I think so."

"Did you spend a lot of money on it?"

"I will not be disclosing that information," You answer in an overly sweet voice. It makes the expression on Jake's face crack, his lips quirking in a half-amused smile. 

He is reverent about unwrapping the gift. You can see the hesitant excitement on his face as he methodically unties the ribbon and finds each seam to pull. However, once Jake gets a peek at the box underneath, the wrapping is tearing before he has a second thought. He spares the paper a mournful glance. You just nudge the large box towards him, silently telling him it wasn't anything to overthink. 

"An aircraft carrier?" Jake's eyes drop to the model ship box as he takes in the details, analyzing the picture on the front. 

"I know that it isn't the same as yours, but —" 

"Sugar," Jake says, cutting you off. However, you barrel onwards anyways. 

"Listen, I can tell things have been hard for you lately. I don't know what's wrong, and I know if I ask, you can't tell me what it is. But," you sigh, frustrated, trying to remember the planned speech you had been practicing for when he opened this. 

"I don't want it to get so bad I come home and find out you jumped the gun on starting our next puzzle," You say. Jake laughs wryly and grimaces at that reminder.

"Not that would be bad if you wanted to, I wouldn't stay mad about it, I promise. But I thought this could be something different for you to work on with the stress. I think models like this could be right up your alley." you finish with a forced smile.

A minute of silence grows from one to two then three. Jake hasn't looked away from the box once, gripping the cardboard so hard there are indents now.

"Jake?" you ask cautiously, confused by his reaction. He ignores you and stays frozen there.

"Jake?" You ask again, a little louder. 

"Hangman," You finally try. 

Hangman's eyes snap up from the box and meet yours. "I'm shipping out, and I haven't figured out how to tell you." 

"Oh." you are so shocked you have no idea what to say. The box falls from your hands, and despite Jake's death grip, it slips out of his, too banging against the table. Neither of you pays it any mind. 

"When?" 

"Got about two weeks left, now."

Now. Jake said, now. It clicks for you, and can pinpoint it. You know the exact day that he must have gotten the news, about three weeks ago. He had come home after being at the gym for an extra hour and made one of your favorite meals. Jake hadn't said much and had scrubbed the kitchen after until it sparkled clean. 

"Oh, that isn't enough time for us to do this or a puzzle," is what you finally say, gesturing to the model box. Because what else can you say? You can't be mad that he hadn't told you, not really. 

"I was going to tell you, I promise. I've just been finalizing a lot of stuff and getting all the ducks in line."

"What kind of stuff?"

"I," he goes quiet and then clears his throat. "I updated my will, and I've been setting all my bills on auto-pay, making sure most of the maintenance around here is taken care of for a while. You know, all the checklist stuff."

"How long are you going to be gone?" You wonder out loud. 

"I don't know, six, maybe nine months," Jake responds clinically. Your heart clenches. Six months without Jake. Six months alone in this house.

"I'm going to miss you." You eventually manage to whisper out. Jake inhales sharply, hearing it. 

"I'm mad about it," he responds in a similarly delayed manner. 

“No, need to be mad Hangman. You know better than me how the Navy is. You would be just as well off being mad at God." Your joke is rewarded with one small chuckle, but Jake's serious face returns just as fast. 

"I've got so much stuff I've been working real hard on," Jake admits. 

"And you will be able to keep at it when you get back."

"There is no guarantee of coming back with the Navy either, Sugar."

"You'll come home, Jake."

"You think so?" Jake asks you. You are slightly comforted by the playful tone he adopts. 

"Yes, or else I'll reorganize all your books," You say. 

"Hmm, I don't think I would care if you do. Put them any way you like, sweetheart."

"I'll use your tools in the garage then."

"You are more than welcome to the shop anytime. Don't forget the color coding system." You both chuckle and take the moment to draw a steadying breath in. 

"I won't ever change the batteries for the fire alarms ever again." That one does provoke a reaction from him. His eyes dart to his watch. Jake stares at it hard. 

"Good reminder. Thank you, I'll text Yote the battery schedule. He will take care of it." Jake then loosened his watch's dark leather band by one notch; he shook his wrist out after, and the watch twisted out of place 180 degrees being so loose. 

"I'll do the new puzzle with someone else," you say, deciding you have to break out the big guns. 

"You wouldn't dare." Jake snaps. His attention was drawn entirely back to you. He plays up the part of mock outrage with impressive theatrics. 

"I certainly would." You wouldn't, actually.  

"Well, that's it then. I have to come home to you." 

"You never have to do something you don't want. There is no 'have to.'" You remind him, throwing air quotes in around the words. 

"Yes, there is," Jake tells you plainly and honestly. 

"What can I do to help you get ready to leave?" You ask to steer the conversation back on track. 

"Nothing and I don't want you acting differently on me out of nowhere, please. I understand if you need space because I kept it from you. But leaving is just part of my life; it doesn't need to be the end of our universe." 

"I'll try not to be weird, and I'll have months of space later," you console Jake. 

He looks at you, hopefully. Clearly, Jake had been expecting you to have a more adverse reaction. When you don't, and you open your arms to hug him, Jake melts into you. As you pet Jake's hair, you use it as a distraction to not think about the fact that he didn't say he would miss you back. It was probably just another one of those things that he didn't want from you. 

"You got us a new puzzle?" He asks you quietly after a while. 

"Yeah, it was also going to be a surprise. I originally got it as a birthday present for you. But I also thought it would be a good backup in case you didn't like the model." 

Jake shifts on the couch so he is lying down and buries his face into your tummy. His body starts to shake, and alarm shoots through you. You don't know what to do except continue playing with Jake's hair and occasionally running your hand down his neck and back in what you can only hope is a soothing motion. 

"What kind of puzzle?" He asks when his shudders die down. His head is still pressed into you, the words muffled. 

"I had it custom-made."

Jake pulls his face away and looks up at you, his eyes slightly puffy and rimmed red. "A custom puzzle?"

"I found this company that makes high-quality jigsaw puzzles out of real wood and then does a replica painting on it." You explain to him. Jake makes a sound closely resembling a whine and buries his face into your tummy again. 

"What painting? Can I see it?" is the next thing he asks. 

"Do you really want to know what it is?" 

"Maybe not." he finally says after long quiet contemplation. "Then I probably wouldn't stop thinking about it." 

"Don't worry, I won't touch it while you are gone. It'll be here waiting for you." I'll be here waiting for you, went unsaid, but you were sure he must feel it; he must know. 

 Jake sits up then, and he is so close to you, only inches away. He is staring at you intently, his breath mingling with yours. You smell the lingering mint that his toothpicks always leave. It takes all of your willpower to resist leaning forward those last few inches to finally find out how much the taste lingers as well. 

Jake's green eyes examine your eyes keenly. Then he is leaning forward, and everything else freezes. Your breath hitches in anticipation, and your heart beats so loudly it drowns out all other sounds. You part your lips the smallest bit in anticipation. At the last moment, Jake turns millimeters to the left, and his lips catch your cheek and just the smallest corner of your mouth. Jake's nose drags up your cheek slightly, almost a nuzzle, as he shifts to press a kiss to your forehead as well. 

"Thank you for the model. It's a thoughtful gift. I'll find somewhere we can store it." Jake whispers into your skin. 

Jake's warm body pressed against yours saps the strength, and you lean heavily into him. It seems to be what Jake had been waiting for when he pulls you down on his chest and pulls the back of the couch blanket over your form, tucking in the edges. 

"Why did you pick this specific aircraft carrier?" He eventually asks, his hand smoothing down your back. You press your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, sighing and relaxing even more.  

"It's the same one Mr. Russ was on. I saw it in one of your pictures." You explain slowly to him, hoping he won't be upset you did a little snooping for your gift. He isn't. Jake makes a hum of acknowledgment but otherwise doesn't comment. 

"What do you need? What can I do for my favorite girl before I go?" Jake's asks, also sounding tired. His Texan twang deepens to a level you have only heard when he is half asleep. You would bet if you were to remove yourself from this embrace, you would find Jake's eyes had already drifted closed. 

"I don't want you worrying over me when you have 100 other things to think about." 

"So stubborn," Jake sighs. It's quiet then, and you relax more into Jake, starting to walk the line between napping and still awake. 

It was one of those naps you never wanted to wake up from. If the universe was kind, it would have let you stay there forever, or at least until you had your fill of Jake. But that request would be a bit longer than forever.  

Two weeks is a much shorter amount of time than you had previously thought. You could only hope the time would keep flying by when Jake was gone. There was packing, doctor's appointments, meetings, and so many goodbyes. Every day there seem to be more goodbyes happening than there were before. 

You had asked him one day as Jake was throwing together some lunch how he stood it. Jake shrugged at first, saying that he got used to it, and now it was just part of the process. Then he had opened up to you and admitted that goodbye sometimes could still exhaust him, and it felt like he was handing out more farewell memories than he had left in him. Jake tried to explain to you that he knew most of the goodbye weren't about him but rather the people he was leaving, so he made time for it. 

"I'm sure your barber would understand if you canceled the dinner with him after your next appointment," You suggest to Jake, trying to see where more time could be made for whatever his secret project out in the shop he had been staying up way too late working on. 

"Honey, I don't think you understand how important a man's barber is." 

"Okay, okay." You say placatingly. Better to leave Jake alone concerning the 2 and ½ hour appointment he scheduled for that. 

"Okay, well, I only see two other times you can cut into," You tell Jake, scrolling through the schedule he had made for his remaining time. 

"Yeah?" He asks from where he is standing by the stove. 

"Tomorrow, when Javy and Marlee come over, or you have this blocked-off time on your last night. The whole evening is blocked off. It doesn't say with who, though." You tell Jake while locking his phone and setting it lightly back on the countertop. 

"Those are the two worst things to shorten," he mutters. Jake blows out a long-frustrated breath. 

"Sorry, Jakers." 

"I'm glad you looked because I was setting that time aside for me. For us to say goodbye to each other."

"Just us?" You ask. 

"If you're free, yeah." You hadn't thought about confronting your own goodbye with Jake. Well, you had, but anytime you did, the emotions you were trying hard to bottle up would threaten to explode, rattling violently behind your ribs.

"That works out perfectly, then. We will push back hanging out by a few hours, giving you plenty of time to finish your project." You grin at him, pleased you were able to figure it out together. 

Jake picks up his phone, frowning. "Yeah, absolutely not. I would beg to monopolize you for the whole day if I knew you didn't have an appointment."

"Jake, what are you talking about? I cleared out that whole day." You check your own calendar to confirm this and run through your mental one as well. 

"I know you did. That's why I'm treating you and Marlene to relax and get your nails at the spa." 

You blink at him, not sure that you heard that correctly. He is typing on his phone, but you see the cheeky look he has every time he looks up. Jake is very pleased with his surprise for you.

"I think I would rather spend that time with you," you tell Jake honestly. He softens hearing that from you. His dimples make a full appearance, and Jake seems less exhausted and more alert. 

"I appreciate that, but I think it will be good to relax for a bit. I've been worried that you've been more worried and stressed than I am. It's important to think of your own needs." Jake reminds you gently. 

"Wow, thank you."

Jake's large hand is warm when it covers your and gives you a quick squeeze. "I'll be an hour or so late with the Machados, but they will understand."

"It'll all work out, Jake," you tell him confidently. 

"Yes, Ma'am. I think it will." Jake responds, but he breaks eye contact before saying it, making unease creep its way under your skin. 

Now, it was his last day. By this time, the next day, Jake would be gone. You had a lot of fun at the spa. It was mostly relaxing. Marlee knew the best ways to keep your spirits high and your mind from wandering too far. Jake had asked that you texted him when you were on your way home. You had but never heard anything back. Even once you got back to the house, you didn't hear anything. You got dressed in something cute but comfy, which Jake had told you was the dress code. After waiting a bit longer, you finally decided to seek him out. 

Downstairs, You hear some banging in the garage, which leads you there. You half push open the door but not so wide you risk ruining whatever surprise could be there, waiting a moment before calling his name. 

"Yes, Ma'am?" Jake says after a decent pause. Then you hear the slamming of three different heavy lids, probably one of his trunks, you assume. 

"Is everything going okay? Is there any way I can help?" You ask while opening the door wider. Before you commit to stepping out into the garage, though, a hand stops the door's movement. Jake standing right in the doorway with you now. 

"Just some last-minute list things," he says almost too cheerily. 

"I thought we checked everything off the list?" Just the day before, you and Jake had crossed off the last items on his pre-deployment checklist. Both of you had been glad to have things done a day early. After a high five, he had picked you up and spun you around the room twice before letting your feet touch the ground again.

"We did," Jake responds, reassuring you. "This is just something that popped up in my head. Not a big deal or anything you need to worry about. Plus, some of the last-minute stuff for tonight."

"Jake, I thought we were just being comfy, hanging out, and saying goodbye?"

"We are," Jake confirms. 

"You aren't going to elaborate, are you?" You ask. 

"I don't want to. But if you really can't take it being a surprise, I'll tell you." Jake admits. You think about it before shrugging and stepping back into the house. Jake follows you in and shuts the garage door firmly behind him. 

"I can wait," you sigh with a pout. Your answer makes Jake smile, though, so you can't really be upset. 

"I am going to change. Will you be ready in fifteen?" 

"Sounds good," you confirm. Jake gives you a thumbs up and starts to jog up the stairs, but halfway up, he comes back down three at a time. 

"I'm sorry. I forgot to ask about your nails." Jake exclaims, shifting his gaze expectantly. You show the design you choose to Jake. He compliments them several times, pleased you had a fun time before he ran up the stairs again. 

"I have a question that's going to shape our whole night. Do you want to go on a drive?" Is what Jake asks you when he returns in a different set of clothes. 

"Sure. Let's go for a drive." You agree. You know Jake has the whole night planned, a fact that makes you a little giddy. It also makes the idea that he built choices for you into the plan even sweeter. He guides you out the front door to where his truck is waiting before helping you inside. Then you two are on the road driving, and an almost painful tense silence descends. 

"This is nice," you finally say, fiddling with your seatbelt. 

Jake shoots a small smile at you like it is a hard thing to do. A harrowing sight on the face of a man born to grin. Jake's mouth never knew when to quit; whether a sarcastic remark quip or an easy smirk, it was up to something. 

"You can't relax, can you?" You ask when he still doesn't say anything. Jake's shoulders slump at your question. 

"No, I can't. My mind is flying faster than my jet."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, thank you." 

You hadn't expected him to take you up on the offer, but you had hoped he would.

"Let me help you," you beg softly. Jake's hands tighten around the steering wheel, and his knuckles whiten. 

"Six months is a long time. Nine, even more. I could come home in nine months, and you could have a baby." 

"A baby?" you splutter. Jake nods back solemnly. 

"A baby, a husband, new friends, a different car. You could have a whole new life." Jake says these like each one is not only in the realm of possibility but also that he expects them all to happen simultaneously. 

"Well, I'm not planning for any of those things to happen. And I can tell you, with certainty, there won't be a baby or husband."

"Never say never."

You did want to say never, though. You wanted to hammer that point home to him. The idea of having either of those things without Jake intrinsically involved isn't even fathomable to you anymore. You can't say that out loud. You can't open that conversation because, in a matter of hours, he will be gone. It was beside the point to tell Jake that you already had a whole new life, one with him. 

"Okay, Justin Bieber. Never say never." You tell him by throwing air quotes around the phrase with an eye roll. 

Jake cracks a weak chuckle at your joke and settles back in his seat, fighting the urge to fidget. Then he summarizes, "It's a long time."

"It's not so very long. Less time than I've lived here." You mention. Jake nods along with your words, but they don't seem to help him feel any better. 

"Come, Jake, what's really bothering you?" You pry again. 

"I'll tell you, just give me some breathing room, Sugar. Please." Jake requests. 

You apologize for being pushy, which Jake instantly forgives, and silence descends. Jake drives until he finds somewhere to park the truck for y'all to look at the stars. He had carefully led you across the uneven ground to the back of the truck. You gasp when you see the setup. 

In the truck back, you find a blown-up air mattress filling the space, along with ample blankets and pillows. There is also a cooler and picnic basket in the back corner. Jake helps you get in the back before anything else. As you get comfy, he rolls the canvas top of his soft-shell camper back, revealing the quickly approaching night sky. It's a beautiful setup, and your compliments over it are waved off by Jake nonchalantly. However, he can't completely hide the pink that dusts his cheeks either. 

Once on the bed, Jake settles infuriatingly far away from you, leaving a large gap. No part of you is even close to touching. He stares up at the stars, looking troubled. You have already tried to push him to talk to you tonight, though, so you won't again. Instead, you simply enjoy the moment and look up at the stars.  

"Thank you," Jake says a while later. You don't ask what for. It doesn't feel necessary. You also worry about how long he might drag out a list. 

Jake slides his hand across the space between you. You are alerted to it when you feel the light brush of his pinky along yours. You turn your hand and let it catch his. As always, Jake wastes no time taking what he is given. He threads his fingers with yours, and his thumb starts up tracing along the back of your hand and wrist. 

"Is this where you draw all the constellations out for me and wow me with your impressive knowledge of astronomy?" 

Jake huffs a small laugh, "Not this time, sugar."

"Have I finally found something you don't know about, Jake?" You playfully gasp. 

"Oh, please, honey. You know me better than that." Jake chastises, turning his head away from the sky to give you an unimpressed look. 

"Yeah, I do. You are probably about to tell me how you did an internship at NASA." Jake opens his mouth with a tiny smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. Your eyes widen, and you speak before he can say anything. "I swear you better not be about to tell me you did have a NASA internship. I will lose my mind." 

Jake snaps his mouth shut, but the small smug smirk doesn't fade from view. You move, so you are more propped up to see more of his face. You try to analyze any hidden information on his features there. 

"Goodness. Jake, no way. Did you actually?" You ask. The longer Jake leaves you hanging, the more unsure you are. 

"Do you know what my dream is?" He asks you, ignoring your question and changing the topic. You huff in annoyance. It's not annoying; you can't feel that when trying to be some porous surface attempting to absorb as much as possible. The fact that he will be gone haunts your every movement and word in hours.  

"What's your dream, Jake?" You respond good-naturedly. 

"To go on Jeopardy," he answers automatically. It's a quick, instant response. You laugh at him, and his chuckles join in moments later.  

"We could probably make that happen." You say when you can breathe properly again. You picture getting Jake on the show, where he would insist on wearing his whites. 

"It's not my only dream, though," Jake says warmly. 

"Is it not?" you say lightly. 

"No," Jake responds in a much more serious tone. You abandoned the pretense of looking at the stars. Turning on your side, you stare at Jake instead of trying to memorize him. The slope of his nose and of the line of his neck. 

"Has it always been your dream? When you were a little kid, did you want to grow up and be on Jeopardy?"

"It was one of them," Jake reveals. 

"What were some of the others?" Jake's hand goes loose in yours, and you think that he might pull away. That you had overstepped. 

"Common Jakers, you can tell me. It's okay if you want to be something weird." 

"They aren't worth mentioning, and I don't want to trigger you with anything, sugar."

"Why would I be triggered?" You ask him, giving his hand a small squeeze. 

"Not everyone would call my childhood warm, but it could have been worse. I know that isn't the best topic."

"I want you to tell me, Jake. I'll stop you if it's too much, okay?" You say after thinking of your boundaries and the likelihood something would trigger you. 

"You promise?" He asks. Jake turns his head again to meet your eyes deadly seriously.

"Yes, I promise. Now, what was little Jake's dream job?"

"It was to be a pilot."

"You're living the dream job, then?"

"Yeah, I sure am. However, back then, I wanted to be a pilot, so I could fly far away." The weight of his words isn't lost on you. 

"Jake, what happened? You can tell me if you want." He heaves a heavy hard sigh at your kind words. He is clearly preparing himself to speak about something difficult. 

"My dad wasn't a good man, and my mama let him break her. He broke me too. To the outside world, he seemed like the perfect loving husband and father. At home, it was a different story. My dream was to be free, be a bird finally let out of my cage. 

"The older I got, the better I was at taking the beatings. There was this one time I was 13 years old and chopping some wood for Miss Celeste. I was doing it wrong, I guess, so he threw a log at my head. It hit me so hard that I saw stars, and my ears rang for two days after. Tali had to superglue my head closed enough that I would be able to walk over to see Miss Celeste and get it properly stitched up." Jake reaches up his hand, and it ghosts along the back of his head, remembering the age-old hurt. His eyes briefly press tightly closed, shutting out the memory.

"After that, I figured I could take any beating, any lecture, any mean word. I could take it all. So, I did take it all. I wasn't going to let him hit my ma or my sister. I learned how it wasn't hard to capture his attention. Especially if he was already worked up." 

You want to cry for him. You can't get the picture of Jake as a young, bruised, beaten, and bloody child out of your head. That boy walking the five miles to his grandmother's house, half stumbling, half running. Jake having poked at his dad before a hand came down on his mom or sister. How it was probably a common occurrence. 

"Jake, I am so sorry." You squeeze his hand sympathetically, feeling your heartache painfully for him. 

"When I finished my first year at USNA, I decided enough. After plebe summer, I was probably the most fit I have ever been in my whole life. It's funny how he raised me to go to a military academy, and that was the same place that would be the end for him. I went home for winter break, and everything had changed. I was bigger than him, stronger, quicker. I knew I was better in every way than him. I hadn't just done well at USNA. I had excelled, thrived even. There was absolutely no reason to cower and take it anymore. So, the next time he tried to hit me over winter break, I took it, but I warned him. I said I'm a grown man. You hit me again; I'll hit you back."

"And?" You gasp. 

"I stayed true to my word like any half-decent man would. The next time he hit me I hit him back." Responds Jake not able to completely keep the hint of satisfaction out of his voice. Your fingers flex in his, and Jake takes a long-measured breath. He shrugs nonchalantly but you can see the tension he is holding. 

"I would always goad his anger onto me. If I found him already mad at Ma or Talia, I would find some way to make sure his attention came back to me. I could take a punch in the face, a slap, or some other punishment. It was easier to explain that Jakobi is scrappy and gets into fights with the ladies and church than for my mom to try and claim she fell again or some other half-ass excuse." 

"Everyone just pretends like nothing is happening," you say quietly. 

"Yup. They don't want to address it, but how could they not know?" 

"Exactly," you confirm, thinking of similar situations you went through growing up. 

"It was my first-time home since Winter, and Miss Celeste and Mr. Russ were even coming over for dinner. Dad didn't like how Ma set the table, it wasn't hard for me to step in. Then the next thing I know, he is in my face screaming everything under the sun. Mind you, not any of it was good, and then he tried to punch me. 

"I hit him back, and I didn't fucking stop. Not until there was blood, and then I kept going for a bit more. After taking it over and over for my whole life, I snapped. Don't know what would have happened if Miss Celeste and Mr. Russ hadn't shown up." 

Jake is squeezing your hand hard. Even though the air is cool and fresh in the back of the pickup, it feels tainted, full of long-past memories and hate. Jake takes a moment, clearly needing a breather, regulating the old emotions bubbling in him. 

"It was stupid and risky. If he hadn't been so ashamed, if he wasn't so full of pride, my Da' could have ruined everything for me. Wouldn't have been hard to get my ass thrown in jail and kicked out of the naval academy. 18 years of work and my future and life could have been down the drain in one fell swoop. I am lucky. He knew how that would look reflected back on him. Beat within an inch of his life by his own son, and then that same son was dishonorably discharged. It is probably the only reason I got away with it."

Jake shakes his head wryly; you watch as he uses his free hand to pull his toothpick case out of his pocket. He secures one tightly in his teeth, the minty smell drifting towards you as he snaps the case shut. 

"He deserved it. He deserved every blow, and a million more still wouldn't have been penance for what he did. I think he learned his lesson, in the end. He didn't try to fight me unless he was very drunk after that. Was better to Tali and Ma too."

"And now?"

"Now, he is dead," Jake says plainly, not betraying any grief or sadness over that fact to you. 

"Oh," you say. You think maybe you should say you're sorry, but that wouldn't be the truth. Instead, you are glad that this man who committed such evil and was so terrible to Jake is no longer around. 

"He died four months before I got my wings." 

"Oh, Jake. That is so much. I'm sorry you had to deal with all of that." You whisper. Pulling your hand, he still has clenched in his grasp up to his lips. Jake presses a lingering kiss to your pulse point. 

"No need to be sorry. It's in the past. I wish I could have stopped it sooner. Protected Tali and my Ma better. They never deserved to go through that." 

"You didn't deserve to go through that either," You add to Jake's statement. 

"I don't know. It was my responsibility to take care of them. I never should have let that all happen in the first place. I could have stood up to him much sooner. I will say, at least it gave me a leg up in basic." You try to contain your cringe hearing that mentality from Jake. 

"No, Jake, stop. You don't understand. You didn't deserve to go through that. You still would have made it through Plebe year just fine. And you're wrong. It was never your responsibility." You try to impress upon him. 

"Of course, it was my responsibility," Jake protests. 

You sit up, no longer able to handle the nonchalance of lying down for this conversation. He keeps your hand in his, not letting you pull away from him. Jake needs to know this, though. You need him to understand. Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you make sure his eyes aren't anywhere but on yours. 

 "You were a child, Jakers. A kid. I don't care if you're a boy or the oldest. You were a child. You had adults around you. It was their responsibility to protect you. It was your Ma's and Miss Celeste and Mr. Russ. They should have been the ones helping you. It was their job to do that, not the other way around." 

Jake's mouth drops in as he processes your words. Then he whispers. "I guess I was just a kid." 

"You wouldn't expect Franny to do what you did. Would you?" You ask him gently. At the mention of his niece, Jake's teeth clench together. You can practically see the anger bubbling in him at anyone even saying something unkind to his niece, let alone what he went through. 

"No, I wouldn't," he grits out. 

"No, you wouldn't," you agree with Jake's answer. 

His stubble prickles at your hand, but you ignore the feeling and continue watching him. His green eyes meet yours steadily as Jake tilts his face to kiss your palm. After which, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath like he is preparing himself for something. 

"I have to tell you something. I can't leave before apologizing or having this conversation. You deserve me to be fair to you, and you deserve to be treated right. So, I need to put something out there in the open, just in case you haven't figured it out or it hasn't been made clear yet."

"You can tell me anything, Jake." You tell him steadily despite that extremely ominous intro. You hope it will help him feel at ease, but if anything, he tenses up more. Moving so that he is sitting up, Jake's face is pulled from your hand. He retracts his hand from yours as well. Your palm feels cold without his and a little sweaty, which only adds to the overall chilling effect. 

"I am broken, Sugar. I think I know what you want from me, but I am too messed up. I can't give that feeling back to you like you deserve. I want it to be clear it's not you. I don't think I can truly ever feel that way. I don't know if I'm capable."

You briefly consider what you are hearing; Jake knows you love him and has probably known for a while. It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would. What hurts more is that he feels this way about himself. You do your best to swallow down your own feelings and put them in the corner to unpack and deal with some other time when you are alone. 

"Oh. I see." You finally manage to stutter out. Jake does look genuinely apologetic and upset as well, which is some small consolation. 

"I just. I can't. I'm not built for it. Whatever that part is in people that lets them feel and talk that way, I'm missing that piece. I don't think it's even missing. I never had one to start with. I wish I could. I wish for you, but I am broken, Sugar. I am so sorry." 

You want to protest. You want to shake Jake and tell him he isn't broken. He can love, he should love, and he does love all the time. You see that aspect of him constantly. You see it when he calls his niece every week. His phone calls with his Ma and Mrs. Celeste. The way he worries over his junior officers. You see it when he spends time with Javy and Marlee. More often than not, Jake is almost bursting at the seams with love. 

You suck in a deep breath as you consider how Jake can express love. You can't help but consider how he is with you. Jake has been showing he cares about you. You have never once questioned if he had any affection or positive feelings for you, only if any romantic ones were mixed in. That all the actions you thought were hints, a slight implication he might feel the same way, were actually declarations. 

And now here Jake is saying that is all he can give you. How Jake has loved you all along. He is trying to tell you, 'Here it is. Here is my affection. This is the best I can do. You won't ever get more than what you have right now. 

You think about that for a minute. You would never get more from Jake. He will never say the words he loves you, and he will never romantically love you. There won't ever be rings, or a honeymoon, no anniversaries. There won't be a cute baby with a mix of your and Jake's features. 

So, you have to decide if what he does give you is enough. Was doing puzzles with him enough? Was talking for hours on end? Was cuddling? Maybe not, you briefly think. However, when you think of the feeling of safety, he provides that you had never experienced anywhere else. You think of that, and you have your answer. 

You accept it. You can live with it; you can love him enough that it fills in the gaps. Knowing he loves you at all, even a little bit, even if he cannot say it. It's enough. It's enough to get to keep him. It's enough because even if Jake believes he isn't capable of love, that's part of him, and if it's part of Jake... well, water is wet, isn't it? 

"You aren't broken, Jake," you finally say after long and quiet deliberation. 

"I am," he disagrees. "I'm twisted and broken. I can't be good for you." 

"God, Jake. You already are. Sweet man." You firmly reach out to hold his cheeks in both hands, staring hard into his eyes. Your grip is firm. "Handsome, you already are a good man to me."

Jake shakes his head against your hold and slams his eyes closed. You soothe your thumb across the stubble on his cheeks, tracing extra softly under his eyes. However, he refuses to open them for you again. 

"Listen to me, Jake." He screws his eyes even tighter at the request. It reminds of a little bit of a petulant child, and despite your own heartbreak, you just want to smooth the lines of his face out and make sure this isn't hanging over him before he goes. 

"Jakobi," you beg in the softest, sweetest tone possible. You wait for him to open back up before going on. You hate trying to gauge his emotions when you can't see his face. He does eventually open them, with his gaze trained on you. In the dark, you can't wholly make out the green of his eyes, but that's okay. 

"You are good, and you are a gift, an absolute marvel. You are not broken. You don't have to feel any which way for me. You do not have to be anything more than you are right now. You could never change or completely change, but I will still love you the same."

"Thank you," he says. 

"No need to be thankful for the truth," you tell him kindly. 

He shocks both of you by crying. You are so surprised by it that your hands fall from his face. A tear falls down Jake's face, and he pushes it away, looking at his wet fingers in surprise. His eyebrows quirk, drawing together in the middle. Then more tears fall as he blinks in distress. The more he cries, the more upset he seems to be about the fact that he is crying. 

"Jake, can I hold you?" you ask him hurriedly but not wanting to trigger him further with any unwanted touch. Jake nods, and he turns towards you falling into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him and pull him into your chest. Jake's arms snake around your hips, pulling you flush to him.

The two of you just hold each other for a long while, breathing each other in. When Jake pulls out of the embrace, he doesn't go far. He only pulls away to fully look at your face. 

"You know, I can't leave without hearing your laugh. I think that's one of the last things on the to-do list."

"I didn't read that on the to-do list, and I checked it twice this morning." You say, pretending to be confused. Jake's fingers flex, gripping you tighter for a moment before relaxing again. 

"It's just my notes app one," Jake mutters, taking you seriously, his eyebrows creasing. 

"That makes two things that on this secret to-do list you are keeping from me. Is there something I don't know?" You try to urge him into the joke with you again. Jake just looks more and more removed from you, though. You are desperate to fight against that, wanting to keep him as close as possible for every second you have left. You nudge his leg with your foot playfully and let go of some of your inhibitions. If Jake will never admit to loving you, you might as well throw caution to the wind.

"I can't believe you have been keeping a second to-do list on the side and not including me," you tell Jake in a more obviously teasing way. You pull lightly at the short hair at the base of his skull. It makes him sigh in a way that leaves you feeling like you need to chase that high.  

"It isn't like that, darling. I promise," Jake says, catching up to the joke now. A playful smile smooths out his face, and his eyes aren't so distant now. 

"Oh, I've heard that excuse a million times."

"A million? That's a pretty big number."

“Well I grant you this, it’s not always to-do lists, sometimes it's calendars, calculators, personal planners, whiteboards, notepads. Somethings always being hidden from me. You hid a whole bathtub.”

“I did not hide the bathtub from you!” Jake protests light heartedly. 

“Sure you didn’t, Seresin. But I have to ask, are you hiding anything else from me?”

“Nothing! I promise.”

“You know you can be honest with me, Jake.” You remind him playfully pinching his cheek.

“I am!” Jake whines while pouting. 

“Okay. Well then I am sure you won’t mind telling me about what I found in your truck glove box…” You trail off trying hard to keep it in.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jake shrugs in denial. 

“Is that so?” You question him giving him one last opportunity to think. 

“Yes,” Jake whines dragging out the s for an unnecessarily long time. 

“Okay,” you sigh heavily. By his neck you pull him back a bit and try to maintain the straightest most serious face possible. He is nodding along already. “Then how exactly do you explain the 300 hot sauce packets in there?”

Jake gasps and pulls further away from the close embrace you two had adapted. 

“How did you find those?” He gasps. 

“You didn’t even hide them! They were literally under your gas, mileage, and maintenance tracking book.” 

“Sugar, I don't know what to say.”

“Did you not only four days ago tell me we were out of hot sauce?”

“That definitely might have occurred. But,” 

“You’ve been caught red handed, Seresin.” You sigh, shaking your head as if you are extremely disappointed in him. 

“Woah, hold your horses, now.” Jake request clearly ready to launch into an explanation.

“Sir, this is a sting. Please save your excuses for the MP. They are on their way to this location as we speak.”

Jake’s eyes widen and he looks around the empty and very far removed area he had driven the truck. Clearly pretending to be panicked, he turns up his drama meter to the max setting crying out pleadingly, “It’s a misunderstanding. There’s been a  framing, trickery, bamboozlement even!”

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah, by me. ” Jake says intensely THen he shifts his whole demeanor pulling on a serious confidence, and utters “Ma’am I work for the FBI we have been instigating you this entire time.”

“On what grounds?” You gasp in fake outrage. 

“There have been multiple reports that link you to the scene of several art thefts. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What can I say? I see something precious, and I just decide it has to be mine”  You say with a shrug.  “We live in a free country, that should be one of my god given protected rights.” 

“To steal? We should review the commandments, honey.”

“No, to have precious things.” You correct him before continuing, “Isn’t that your whole military shtick? Protecting freedoms and all that?”

It takes two beats before Jake can’t take it anymore and starts roaring with laughter. That’s all it takes for you to crack up as well. Was there anything better than Jake’s smile and laugh? You thought the answer was probably no. Nothing compares.

You and Jake laugh together and don’t stop. It keeps dragging on, cycling through all of Jake's laughs including a snort or two. It's that type of laughing that makes your diaphragm ache. The longer it's drawn out, the more deranged the sounds you two make become. Finally, it decrescendos, trailing off to You and Jake are wrapped around each other, and his forehead presses against yours. 

Your breath mingles together. You appreciate the warmth, the relief, and underneath it all, as is often found in Jake's eyes, the deep-seated sadness there. It almost feels easier for you now. Easier with the guesswork and hope gone, easier to focus on what it should have been about all along, you and Jake. You don't have to think about hidden meanings, secrets, or signs. 

It lets you be wholly consumed by the details of Jake instead. How he radiates heat and almost always manages to smell good. The sturdiness of his hands with their well-manicured blunt nails. The fine lines he had around his eyes. You try to memorize exactly what color green his eyes are in the dark like this. Each detail you notice is more catching and striking than the last.  

You categorize each part of him he is willing to share. Finally, with your chest still hurting, from laughing, from tonight, or from the lingering knowledge of a goodbye, it doesn’t really matter. Jake is here now though still with you.  So you offer him a soft smile and let more of your skull's weight press into his. 

"Ah, there she is," Jake breathes to himself. Then his hand is on the side of your neck, tilting you to meet his eyes a little more directly. He wears one of your favorite smiles, where the edges twitch upwards, and his eyes are tender.  

"I got a question for you," he mutters. 

"I got an answer," you tell him just as softly. 

"Are you sure?"

"Ask me your question," is all you give him for a response. 

Jake leans in closer to you, and his lips brush past your cheek dragging along the skin to whisper his question in your ear. You only take a moment to think of your answer. It doesn't take more than meeting the honest vulnerability in his eyes. The answer falls from you easily. After all, it was the question you were expecting.

It’s the last question Jake asks you for 6 ½ months, his entire deployment, with not one single word, complete radio silence. 

[wittlesissyb4by]

Chapter 3 - Dildon’t

Chapter 1 Here

Chapter 2 Here

“Can you uh…tell me where the dildos are?” I asked sheepishly. The girl behind the counter looked at me like I was an idiot, gesturing to the giant wall of rubber dicks behind her. 

“Do you need…help?” She asked.

“No.” I wanted to say, but I knew Persephone’s answer would be different if she were here. Instead, she just had to listen to my phone recording from my pocket. I cringed a bit when I said the words I knew she’d prefer.  “Yes please.”

Persephone’s task was a simple one: go to a sex store and purchase a dildo. In person. Do not order one online.

To be honest, the wall of dicks was a bit intimidating. There was a vast array of all shapes and sizes. Some were even shaped like dicks that weren’t of the human species. From her name tag, the clerk’s name was Britney. She smirked a bit at my discomfort. I’m sure she’s had 100’s of men walk in and timidly buy a dildo. Hell, they might have had a woman on the other line listening to them do it too. But that probably didn’t make it any less entertaining for Britney. She was very professional though, and was able to mostly hide her amusement as she waved her hand over the array of options.

“Do you want a hard, plastic material? Or more of a realistic, fleshy rubber?” she asked.

“Realistic.” I said before I could stop myself. 

Again Britney bit back a smirk, like she already knew that’s what I would choose.

“We have some with balls, and some without. Which would you like?” she asked almost rhetorically, still trying to maintain her professionalism.

I already had an answer prepared. Not only because I knew what would be the more humiliating option, but because Persephone explicitly specified.

“Make sure you get one with balls.” She’d said, “I can’t tell you how many losers we have come into the ER because they shove things up their asses that don’t have a flared base.”

Persephone had all kinds of horror stories from working as a nurse in the Emergency Room. When we weren’t discussing the kinky stuff, and she wasn’t making me feel like a submissive little bitch, we talked about our days. We talked about life, books, our philosophies on religion, metaphysics, and what an asshole Elon Musk was. 

“The one with balls please…” I answered Britney. 

She led me to the section of realistic dildos complete with a set of rubber testicles, and even a suction cup on the end, another specification I knew I’d need.

“What…size should I get?” I asked, still a bit overwhelmed. The rubber dicks ranged from anywhere between 3 inches, all the way up to 18. 

Britney threw her hands up “Hey, man…that’s your decision…” she said. But after seeing me deflate a little, she stepped in again. “I would say 6 if you’re just starting…8 if you’d like to be a little more…adventurous.” She paused again, “Can I ask…where you’ll be using them?”

I thought the answer was obvious, “Uh…at my house?”

“No..no…that’s not what I meant…” Britney laughed, unable to contain it this time, “I mean…which…?”

The realization hit me, and I felt so stupid. “Oh, my…my butt I guess.” I felt so ashamed to say it out loud, but Britney didn’t laugh at that part, just nodded in understanding. So I continued, “Maybe my mouth too…or…both? I don’t really know yet, but why does it matter?”

“It’s just that most…guys…that come in tend to prefer this one with a slight curve for anal. It hits your prostate better, but is harder to get down your throat. Whereas the straight one slides down easier.”

I looked back and forth between the two options. They both looked so realistic. The way the head was shaped, the way the shaft was bulging with veins, even the little indentations on the rubber balls. I found myself having to wipe away some excess saliva from my mouth at that moment.

“I uh…”

“You want them both, don’t you?” Britney smiled knowingly.

I sighed, looking down at the floor. “Yes…yes I do.”

“What size? 6 or 8?”

We both looked at each other, already knowing the answer.

“Eight.” we both said in unison.

“Chocolate? Or Vanilla?” she asked, referring to the color.

Again, it didn’t take much thought. “Both.” I smiled. 

I felt more secure now that everything was out in the open. So what if I was a guy buying a bunch of dildos? If I enjoy it, why is that an issue? Britney didn’t see any harm in it, Persephone certainly didn’t and I…wait, did I just admit to enjoying the thought of a bunch of dildos?

After Britney bagged up my new toys, she threw in a complimentary bottle of lube. “Always make sure to use water-based with these, silicon lube will ruin them.” she advised. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

I glanced over at the lingerie section. I could feel my clitty twitching in my panties at the sight. But instead of imagining a beautiful woman wearing them for me, I couldn’t help but picture how cute I would look in it.

Britney caught my eye, but let me take my time.

“That schoolgirl outfit…” I finally said, “Do you have that in a men’s large?”

******

“You were such a good sissy buying a bunch of dicks to play with!” Persephone’s voice message chimed. “You even got a slutty little outfit to wear!!”

I loved it when I got a chance to hear her real voice. Ever since she first sent that first video of a black screen with her seductive vocals I was hooked. 

She would only send me tidbits though. When I asked if we could have phone or skype sessions she refused. 

“I can’t have you getting too worked up and excited.” She said. 

“But I send you videos of me doing…stuff…all the time!” I’d retort. 

“That’s because you’re a pathetic little sissy and you like the humiliation.”

I couldn’t argue that. 

So it was only when I did something good, when I needed motivation to do something bad, or when she just felt I needed to be teased that she would reward me with vocal messages. Soundbites. Just enough to get me mewling and desperate to earn the next one. Like an addict looking for his next fix. A part of me worried ‘she’ was using a voice modification software, or one of those A.I. programs. Just the other day I saw a hilarious video just the other day of Joe Biden, Donald Trump, and Barack Obama all playing Rocket League and talking shit to each other. If they could make that sound so real, what was keeping this mysterious person from doing the same? I tried not to think about it too much. Ignorance is bliss afterall. 

“How did I know you would get a black one? 😂” she typed, “you even got them with balls!!”

“You told me to get them with balls!! 😫” I reminded her. 

“No…I told you to get one with a ‘flared base’, it was your decision to make the base a pair of rubber testicles 😜”

Damn it. She was right. Did I choose them because it was what I thought she wanted, or did I choose it because it was subconsciously what I wanted?

“Well I’m off to bed.” She said. “Sweet dreams, sissy. And try to keep them dry 😉”

That was it? She made me go through all this trouble to buy some rubber dicks and she wasn’t even going to make me use them?? I actually felt more than a little disappointed. 

I stared at them in their packaging. I even had them laid out next to my new schoolgirl outfit. She didn’t tell me to buy that either, but I did it anyway. 

Why would she make me buy them and not let me use them? Sure, I could just do it myself, I didn’t need her to tell me to use them,  but just the thought of doing it on my own accord made me feel dirty. “Gay” even. I’m mostly straight, so playing with rubber dicks on my own would hurt that image. For some reason, her telling me to do it would make me feel better about it. It’s not gay if it’s ‘forced’, right?

She didn’t even give me tasks the next day, or the day after that. I wore panties to work even though she didn’t tell me to. I figured she would if she could, she was probably just busy. 

But that didn’t stop her from talking with me about other stuff. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t find Ayn Rand to be at least a little bit pretentious.” She’d said, “Her writing is dripping with this ‘holier than thou’ attitude that unfettered self-interest is good, and any modicum of altruism is destructive.”

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy our intellectual conversations. I very much did. It helped humanize her and make her less of a fembot that only spewed orders and tasks. But at the same time, I kind of wanted her to give me orders and tasks. Something to do with the new dildos I just bought. Because…I didn’t want the money to go to waste… 

I wanted to ask her something like “when are you going to make me play with my toys?” But I didn’t want to sound needy. Or, at least, too eager to shove dicks up my holes. 

So on the third night of her not mentioning anything about them, I grew impatient. 

I’d already taken the dicks out of the packaging the night before. I just wanted to see how they felt…

Turns out they did have a realistic feel to them. Squishy, yet firm, like actual skin. 

So that night I decided to go all in. I put my school girl outfit on. It fit really well, actually. I liked how short the skirt was, how it was slightly revealing and made my pantied ass look so cute. I stuffed the blouse with some socks to give myself a little cleavage. It made my chest look a lot better. I even put my hair in little pigtails using some rubber bands. I didn’t have any makeup, I was always scared of buying it on my own. 

I examined the two rubber dicks. Attaching the suction cups to the floor so they were pointing straight up. I didn’t really know where to go from there. This is where I wanted direction from Persephone. 

I imagined she’d want me to touch them, so I did, wrapping my hand around each one. They felt big in my palms. They were big. I could barely wrap my fingers around them. But I liked the way they felt. I started stroking them, up and down one at a time, then at the same time. I thought about how I like to be stroked. Not that I’ve been stroked by anyone else, but how I imagined I’d like to be stroked. I put more tension on my thumb and forefinger than anything else. Stroking them up and down and circling around the heads. I did this for a few minutes. 

I knew what to do next, everyone does. No one wants to get a handjob all day. 

“You’re gonna have to suck it.” I imagined Persephone saying, or perhaps it was my own internal dialogue? 

I tentatively bent over. The cock seemed much bigger as I got closer. I opened my mouth, taking the head of the black one inside. It tasted like, well, rubber. It took up more of my mouth than I expected. I tried to go down as far as I could, but it wasn’t much at all. I gagged almost as soon as it touched the back of my throat. I stayed there for a bit, sucking and moving my head just a tad, trying to stroke the other one at the same time. 

I felt like such a slut. Sucking and stroking two dicks at a time, bent over in a schoolgirl outfit. I was a bit ashamed at how painfully hard my cock was inside my panties. 

I switched my mouth, sucking the white one now, trying to keep them both pleased. 

“Mmmphh!!” I heard myself moan, a bit too loudly with the cock in my mouth. Why was this making me so horny??

I pressed my head down as far as I could, trying to deepthroat. I barely even got halfway down before I choked so hard I could taste a bit of bile rising from my stomach. I smacked my tongue to clear the taste, then got back on it. Trying to focus on keeping my teeth from accidentally scraping along the shaft. The dicks were getting wet from me drooling all over them, it made it easier to stroke. I licked the balls the way I saw pornstars do, licking back up the shaft. 

Soon, my jaw started to ache. Turns out holding your mouth open for a while makes the muscles around it get fatigued. I took a break, continuing to stroke both. 

Again, I knew what the next step was. “Lick it before you stick it,” they always say. 

But these dicks were already pretty big for my mouth, I couldn’t imagine fitting one of them in my ass. Maybe I should wait for Persephone, I thought. But another part of me was saying I was already dressed up and horny, what better time than now?

I knew enough about anal sex to know that I couldn’t just shove it in. I had to get my hole ready. I slipped a finger into my mouth to get it wet with my saliva. Reaching back, I pulled my panties aside and pressed it in between my cheeks. 

I gasped as it entered. Persephone had made me do this a few times while I was rubbing my clitty. 

“Eventually I'm just gonna have you finger yourself and cum just from that.” She’d said. 

I still wasn’t quite used to having something in there, but I must have been more relaxed today because it went in easier than usual. I stayed there on all fours, using one hand to finger myself, the other to stroke a fake cock, with the other one in my mouth. I was kind of proud of myself for multitasking so well. 

After getting my entire finger inside, I got out the lube Britney had recommended to me at the sex store. I squirted a very generous amount onto my hand, and coated between my crack. My finger slipped in much easier now, so I added a second, and eventually even a third.

“You can never use too much lube.” Britney had said, and I took that to heart, squeezing a large dollop onto the head of the black penis. 

It was the moment of truth. Again, the cock seemed to be much bigger now that it was about to go inside my asshole. I brought it around behind me, trying to hold it upward so the lube didn’t slide off. The gel felt cold against my hole, and the head felt ginormous. I took a deep breath, biting my bottom lip, and pressed it inward. 

Even going slow, it felt like I was getting stretched open. With only the head entering my rectum, I felt like my sphincter was gonna tear at any moment, every muscle inside was trying to keep it from going inside. I pulled it out, sighing as the pressure released. Then gathered my breath, and tried again. 

It took several attempts of going back and forth to finally get it in a few inches. I still felt like I was getting split open, but less so the more I worked it. Over time, my ass seemed to relax and I was able to give it a small in and out motion. 

There was a certain spot where it felt really good when I pressed against it. I tried to focus on that, but it also gave me the feeling that I needed to pee. 

The position was too awkward to fuck myself and suck the cock in front of me, so I decided to take advantage of the suction cup. I stuck the black dick to the wall, hiked up my skirt, and backed my ass up onto it. I put my hands between my legs to guide it, brushing by my wet and sticky panties as I did so. It was as if there was a constant stream of precum escaping my clitty at all times. I put the other dick under me, able to focus all my forward attention on it. 

It was hard not to imagine being used this way. Some big black man behind me, fucking my ass while I sucked off another. My cock was throbbing again while I rocked back and forth on the rubber ones. I was able to take more in both holes now. My gag reflex seemed to have almost disappeared, and I had to have the black dick at least halfway up my ass. It was starting to feel good. Like, really good. I caught myself moaning again, even groaning when the cock accidentally slid out and my ass was left empty. I’d eagerly reach between my legs and aim it back in again. 

My panties were sopping. I was incredibly horny. Looking sexy as fuck in my dirty fucking schoolgirl outfit while I fucked myself like a sissy whore. I was pleasing dicks. Two dicks. BIG dicks! Persephone would be so proud of me. I was proud of me.

My thoughts were spinning. My head was spinning. I was in this circular haze of desire and submission. It all felt so wrong, but also so right. 

I wanted to cum. I needed to cum. And I wanted it to be while I was spit-roasting myself in the middle of my apartment.

I rubbed the front of my panties the way Persephone always told me. The way I'd made myself cum the last 20 or so times this week. But this was different, I was a slut. I was a whore. I was a sissy. 

Then I came, and I felt like a fucking loser. 

The post-nut clarity hit hard. After having one of the best orgasms of my life, I snapped back into reality with giant rubber dicks in both of my holes. My drool and ass juices were all over them. My own juices were all over my panties and my new outfit. The dicks suddenly didn’t have the same appeal.  The blouse suddenly felt binding. Everything about me just felt…gross. Used. Even though I basically just used myself.

I slid the dick out of my ass, stood up, and looked in the mirror. I really did look like a cheap slut. Outfit and hair all disheveled, I was sweaty, and I had juices leaking everywhere. 

I cleaned myself and everything else up while I tried to erase what I just did from my mind. 

******

I didn’t tell Persephone about what I did. I was too ashamed, too embarrassed that I let myself get to that point. What did it say about me that I couldn’t resist a pair of rubber dicks?

As the day went by and my libido built back up, I started finding ways to justify it: you spent a lot of money on them, you might as well use them. It’s not gay if they’re not real. It was just one time, what could it hurt? 

But it wasn’t just one time. Two days later when I was in the throes of horniness, I did it again. The next day I put one of them higher on the wall and practiced servicing it while I was on my knees. 

Persephone’s tasks had been too simple. “Lick the cum from your panties when you’re done playing with your clitty,” or “go to the restroom at work and shove your finger up your ass.”

It left me wanting more. Needing more. I found myself thinking about how much better the rubber dick felt up my butt instead of my thumb. 

It was like I wasn’t getting enough from her, but I didn’t know how to ask for more without it looking like I was a gay little whore.

“I’m going to ask you something and I need you to answer honestly.” She said one day. 

It always made me nervous when she started a conversation that way. Like when she asked me what my real name was (Alan), where I was from (Lousiana) and if I was a virgin (obviously. Unless you count my schoolgirl escapades…). I probably should have lied about those things, but I was growing to trust her more and more each day. 

“Sure.” I sent. “You can ask me anything…”

I always felt a little tension as the Persephone is typing… indicator came up. It seemed to take forever. Or maybe my anxiety just made it seem that way. Finally, her message bubble popped up:

“Have you used one of your dildos already?”

I gulped, a fresh flood of shame filling me. What should I say? Should I tell her I used them without her permission? Would she be mad? Did I even need her permission?

I could just deny it. She had no way of knowing if I was lying. She might even get a little upset and angrily make me use them in order to ‘punish’ me. 

I didn’t want to have to tell her that I used them on my own, but this relationship—whatever it was—wouldn’t work if I wasn’t honest. 

“Yes Goddess,” I sent, “ I did. I’m sorry 😔”

I cringed from the humiliation, knowing what I did and not knowing how she’d take it. 

“Did I say you could use them?”

“No Goddess…”

“But you did it anyway??”

“Yes Goddess…😣”

I braced myself for her wrath. Her reaction and resolution, but instead I got:

“Bahahaha!! How did I KNOW you would??”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The fact that I did it to myself was humiliating enough, but to know that she expected it…

“I’m gonna need you to tell me everything. And i mean *everything*! I want every single detail from how it tasted, how it felt, and how it made you feel.”

And so I did, I typed out every single detail of my adventures with the rubber dicks over the week since I bought them. I was hot with embarrassment the whole time, but I had that submissive chill as well. 

“The fact that you fucking spitroasted yourself is just so damn funny to me 😂” she said. 

“So you’re not mad?” I asked. 

“Mad? Of course I’m not mad! I always expect sissy baby girls to play with their toys! And I find it sooo much more hilarious when I leave them to their own devices, and they end up doing it without me even telling them 😈”

I smacked my face with my palm. She did it intentionally. She purposefully didn’t give me tasks with the dildos because she knew I would play with them on my own, and I played right into her hand. 

“This should go without saying,” she typed, “but from now on, you are not allowed to cum unless there’s a dick in your ass or mouth…or both. Unless I say otherwise. You need to learn to associate your pleasure with the pleasing of someone else at the same time.”

It seemed reasonable. I had already been following that particular guideline the last few days anyway. I didn’t have a single orgasm without at least one of those dicks inside me. 

“How will you know if I'm following that rule?” I asked. 

“I won’t.” She said, “But let’s just say…I trust you will have no problem acquiescing my request 😉”

Damn it, I hated when she was right, and so far she’d been right about pretty much everything. 

“Now, because you decided to be a little whore all by yourself, I think it’s time you send me another video, holding up your toys, and using your sissy voice to remind me exactly what a little slut for cock you are…”

To Be Continued

Chapter 7 just got released on my SubStar. If you'd like to check it out, head on over!

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks @eccaiia for the tag!

Rules: find the words given to you in your WIPs! Synonyms are welcome. Then tag people with new words!

My words: sight, sound, smell, taste

Your words: strap, small, scratch, study

Softly tagging @mk-writes-stuff @monstrouswrites @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @buffythevampirelover @mysticstarlightduck @jezifster @jessicagailwrites @gottestod-writes @willtheweaver @theeccentricraven @digital-chance @moonandris + anyone else!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites - soft tag

Keep reading for:

Lexi and Ash arrive at the Gateway

William makes a breakthrough

Ash uses the probes (no!)

Noelle is hurt oh no

Sight - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

“It seems weird,” I said looking at her as I turned around the corner of the school. “Like—ah!” My boot got caught on the grass, causing my feet to slip. I tumbled onto the ground and dropped my violin, the “oof!” that followed indicating Ash tripped over the sturdy case. It was eerily quiet and the smell of the exhaust was gone. I became hyper-aware of the grass I lay in and shot up to a seated position, jumping when I realized nothing was in sight but a dizzyingly-clear horizon. Ash groaned beside me. “Since when does Falcon have grass—” She cut herself off as she pushed herself upright, taking in the sudden new scenery. We sat in the middle of a seemingly endless field. The grass that stretched in each direction appeared freshly mowed, though it lacked the smell that usually came with it. Instead, a chillingly sterile air hit my nose. “Ash,” I asked, low-key freaking out, “where are we?” Ash looked around. “Where did—how did we get here? Where’s the school?” I couldn’t answer. The sun that had been burning in the late afternoon was no longer casting a deathly heat paired with Houston humidity. In fact, looking up, the burning mass seemed to be missing, despite the sky being a soft periwinkle. “Okay…” Ash said after a moment, standing slowly. “Maybe if we go back the way we came, we’ll return to the school.” “Right,” I said, rising to join her. “That—that makes sense.” We retrieved our stuff and tried to retrace our steps. We walked a couple yards, but nothing happened. “We could’ve gotten turned around,” Ash pointed out. “Maybe there’s one specific spot we have to step in to get back.” She sighed, setting her stuff on the ground and sitting beside it. “Give me a second to think.” “Think about what?” I asked, joining her. “A way out? A way back? What the hell is happening? “Maybe we’re dreaming?” “Isn’t that cliche?” “Then we’re hallucinating!” “More cliche!” “Well, you think of something!” We were both silent.

This passage used smell twice lol

Sound - from The Secret Portal Part One

“I was wondering when you were coming back to bed.” “No time soon,” William told his wife. “What are you doing up?” Atsila paused before saying, “I could ask you the same thing.” “You know I have to work,” said William. “You don’t miss me, do you?” Atsila laughed on the other end. “Not at all. I just want an estimate so you didn’t catch me doing anything embarrassing.” William chuckled. “Now, don’t joke like that.” “Who said I was joking?” William sighed, not understanding his wife’s sense of humor. “I’ll work another hour, and then I’ll come to bed.” “Let me know when.” “Will do.” “I love you.” “Love you, too.” Atsila hung up and William turned back to the bubbling chemicals. He jumped in his seat. “No way….” He grabbed the flask and examined it closer. Suddenly giddy, he turned to the snakefly behind him. Gingerly, he tilted the flask and allowed a drop of the chemical to drop on the insect’s wings. William opened the tablet and began recording. The snakefly’s wings continued to rapidly beat together, then slowed as if stuck in treacle. It froze midair, dropping to the ground by the forces of gravity. William let out a sound that would have caused him to flush if anyone was around to witness as he abruptly shot out of his seat. He cleared his throat, though still vibrating from excitement, then called his wife on the comm. “Atsila! Atsila! I did it!” “What is it, Will? You coming early? Do I have to clean up all this mess in five minutes?” she joked in response to his jubilant celebration. “I’m not coming to bed, hon. I’m sorry.” “What—” “I’ve reached a breakthrough.” “Good to kn—” William turned off the comm and continued his work.

Smell - from The Secret Portal Part Two (Ash POV)

Hannah closed the door behind us as I slowly sat on my bed. “I don’t remember pushing Amanda.” “You did,” said Hannah. “Just psychically. So, I told the truth. I think you were overwhelmed by being in that corner go. Just decompress here, kay? You have your phone?” I looked at where I’d tossed it on the bed earlier and nodded. “Text me when you’re ready to come out.” She shut the door behind her. I sat on my bed for a while, not moving. Trying to process everything. I felt a familiar tug from under the bed. I hadn’t gotten the telepathic devices out since my birthday. But I felt them every night. I remembered how they helped me wake everyone up. Maybe they could help me better control my powers. Or at least, make me feel better after the meltdown. I slipped off the bed onto the floor. I crawled underneath the bed and pulled out the puzzle box I’d put the devices in. I opened the box up. There they were. Coin-shaped. Small. Black but glowing a light purple. I placed them on my temples and gasped as a shudder raced through me. The room seemed to swell. Light up. Like I could taste every molecule. I could see everything… I could see their thoughts. Feel them from outside. Smell them, almost. I felt a small pressure on my brain. Spinning. The feeling of being on a rollercoaster. Falling… falling… until everything suddenly was still and quiet.

And this one had taste!

Taste - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

My tongue scraped my braces as I willed Noelle to stir. I caught a glimpse of Kelsey holding her neck, likely in pain from the ticking that had been aggravated. Still scratching my tongue, squeezing Wilfredo with my right hand, I placed the other one on Kelsey’s shoulder and squeezed it. She put her free hand on mine. Eventually, though, Noelle groaned and opened her eyes. We all let out an audible sigh. “What happened?” she muttered. “You hit your head when you came out of the portal,” Gwen explained softly, still applying pressure to the wound but putting her hand on Noelle’s forearm. “You may have a concussion. Can you stand?” “I don’t wanna try,” Noelle groaned. “I’m not getting reception,” Rose said, looking down at her phone. “We need to find civilization,” Gwen pointed out, eyes fixed on Noelle. “She needs a legit doctor, and that wound could get infected.” “How?” Rose asked, rubbing her nose. “Guys!” Kelsey said from a standing position. She pointed off to her left. We all turned to see that we weren’t too deep into the forest, as a neighborhood peeked through the trees. “Is it safe to move her?” Rose asked, standing. Gwen shrugged. “Not sure. Besides, no offense, I don’t think we can support her.” “None taken,” Noelle muttered. “Maybe y’all three could go off and see who you can find that could get her help. I’ll stay here.” I was surprised at how well Gwen composed herself in this situation, whereas I was so nervous, I’d run my tongue over my braces so many times that the strong taste of my own blood began to fill my mouth.

People love giving me prompts with taste. I feel like I've exhausted them lol.

[thelador-s-mclargehuge]

Episode 1 Behind The Scenes!

Welcome to Amateur Hour! I mean this whole series is amateur hour, but stating out was REALLY amateur hour. So most of the way our videos worked is we would do a weekly video (Either podcast or Over The Shoulder game review). And I’d release a Funny Joke Video every two weeks. I was given Carte Blanch over my videos and basically just kinda did them on my own. So everything I did was suuuper rudimentary My scripts weren’t formated very well, there were tons of spelling errors, stuff I’d cut out I’d leave in the document and just remember I cut it out. But all this worked just fine because I was the only one looking at them.

And the way I’d send people their lines was I would *send* people their lines over discord and have them send me back an audio file that they’d recorded. I didn’t even really do any audio directing aside from a couple of notes. I might have directed Dalsson and TheDragonLover (heretofore referred to as Dergo), but that was it.

For anyone who might want to make a narrative series, uh… don’t do this with your main cast. If you have a guest star who knows what their doing and might not be comfortable being directed in a discord call with a stranger, that’s fine. But for everyone else you’ll just end up playing phone tag for a a couple of VA lines that won’t be nearly as good if you just set the people down in a call and told them what kinda performance you want them to give. A thing that, And I cannot stress this enough, they will be fine with you doing and in fact would much prefer this to the alternative.

And if you sit multiple people down in the call and do their voice lines in one day, that’s just way better! Your actors will be more comfortable with more friends around, and after the session is over, you have multiple scenes worth of voice lines to work with! It’s one of those “We do this thing like this for a reason.” kinda deals.

But ultimately a lot of the What Worked for those videos I’d put out every two weeks, and the video essays, did not really work here. But anyway lets look at the actual video.

The like first scene you can see how the cutting around is really off. That’s because the footage of me just standing there lasted, like, 3 seconds and I had a minute of dialogue, so I HAD to keep cutting if I wanted to use that footage. I should have just started a new save and rerecorded it but… again amateur hour.

But. The first joke here I think is really good. I have a lot of thoughts about it, so I’m going to make it a separate thread. There’s quite a bit going on there and I’m really proud of it.

But the beginning of the video, and the beginning of the series as a whole, is just kinda me moving from bit to bit like I did in the previous Joke Videos. These started out as those with a tiny bit more structure.

The Conversation with Elderbug here is what got Lordfrezon to get a better mic. Like this video convinced the man to get a better microphone. But you’ll notice Elderbugs mouth keeps moving when he’s not taking. I didn’t start putting a still picture over the talking characters yet

The quirrel scene is probably the best put together in the entire video. The editing is sharp. and I realized I could like, just reverse the video of him looking at the Black Egg to make it a little more dynamic.

But most of the dynamic-ness of these scenes comes down to me zooming in and out of characters faces for emphasis. The footage I’m working with is a character with a one second animation loop and another character staring up at them. So I gotta do a lot of cuts and zooms to make it look like a conversation with multiple emotions in it is happening. And I already had a pretty good grasp of that thanks to the joke videos! Say what you will about youtube video editing, but it sure teaches you how powerful quick cutting for emphasis is!

This was also before I started putting Reverb on every scene that takes place in a tunnel… which most of them do, and if there’s one thing I love, love, love playing with, it’s reverb. Sound design is my passion tbh. It is also the only thing I have any formal training in! I was taught it by a bunch of 80s rockers who showed me how to use an old analog soundboard for live mixing! And I’ve always held to the idea that 75% of video editing is sound editing, and 95% of that sound editing is shit no one would notice unless it wasn’t there.

There a little after the Quirrel scene I got *extremely lucky* and found a sign mender. Which is a really rare event. Just immediately out of the gate I see that man. I’d never seen him before I was getting footage for the video and he blessed me with his presence like an angel. Thank you Sign Mender! You gave me a great bit about property destruction!

The Cornifer scene is firstly, a great look into how a voice role evolves over time, and secondly, a great exemplification of what I started this with. Just Direct Your VA’s. You’ll notice how Saine’s performance on his first line here are worse than any of the other ones he’s given. He didn’t know what I wanted. And if I would have simply directed him, that wouldn’t be a problem!

He did, however get to delever the funniest lines of the video. And he did a great job with those! And, another thing to Saine’s credit is he does a fantastic job as Iselda! Man eats up that whole scene! Just great shit there!

Sly’s change is less in that the voice evolved as time went on and more I changed the character. I focused more on the Shopkeeper aspect rather than the teacher aspect as his Central Thing, and ultimately I think that was the best choice. Surly Shopkeeper who can “Show You Da Ropes” Is always a great character and he’s a lot of fun to write. Also all the thing’s Sly says about ‘God’ put me in a bit of a bind because “Okay, so why the hell does this guy know about The Radiance… a thing that a lot of people were lied to about for decades?” So I had to come up with some stuff for that. But that’s the kind of problem I love solving. Because it goes from “Weird plot hole” to “Ooh new character aspect! let’s give this man some depth!

Dergo’s performance as Myla is the best one in the video. And it’s great that’s the case too, because of how much *that* kicks off a lot of the story. But, yeah 10/10 no notes. Dergo is incredibly good at this shit.

The end bit with the snail man is probably my biggest regret of the video. It very much does not fit in with the tone of everything else. It’s kinda something that just happens in the first episode and I hope everyone forgets about. The implication he just murdered the snail guy is funny but it doesn’t fit in the wider whole. Whole scene just is not very good tbh. I also probably should have had someone else voice the Snail man as well.

And I wholeass forgot I used a different font for the credits! But I think that’s that for the first episode. IT’s kind of just a collection of thoughts, but the episode is just kind of a collection of scenes so, there we go!

[touyubesposts]

Can I ask for your opinion on people comparing sanders sides to iris/Jacksepticeye’s egos when it comes to the wait time and how the stories have been handled? I’ve seen some discussion on people comparing both from that angle, and would be curious to know if you have any thoughts on that.

Btw I understand if you choose to ignore this ask since it does involve criticism stuff. Just would like to get perspective on this from someone who knows both a lot better (I am not super familiar with jse myself but I have been in the tss fandom for a while).

Hope you have a good day regardless!

Thank you, I hope you have a good day as well!

And yeah, I’ll talk about this a bit. As long as this is coming from a view to discuss and think reasonably and rationally and not a view of pure, burning, blind rage just cause. (Also, this is going to be long because I have a lot to say)

Personally, I have no problem with the wait from either creator. I can consume other forms of media for the time being. I enjoy their content greatly, and I dabble in artworks and fanfictions while I wait, but I’m not reliant. And it's not like these people are creating nothing. They still have other stuff for us to enjoy. Like Jack’s gaming content or Thomas’s shorts or videos with Sleep or the star signs or the planets. Hell, Thomas is working on a video for Picani right now!

Also, people don’t realize that these things take a long time. They both have to go to places, set up equipment, record multiple takes, and repeat since both of them deal with multiple characters. And then the whole thing has to be spliced together and edited to make a coherent story. And of course, Thomas is going to take longer because he’s doing more. Yes, Jack has to add glitchy effects to his editing, but Thomas is literally making music for us to consume and enjoy. Do you know how long it takes to make music? That adds more writing, more editing, background music production, and more recording on top of the stuff he already has to do.

And both come from small teams of people with a lot of things to do, so it's going to be expected when things take a while to come out.

The stories, on the other hand, I find a weird thing to compare (if they are being compared, I haven’t seen anything since I blocked the tag.) They are completely different genres after all. Thomas’s series is supposed to be more feel-good mental health help, with a hint of drama. (That, naturally, is gonna take more research.) Jack is making an analog horror. Things are going to be different. Also, Jack is just starting his series! He had to pause production because of COVID and just finished his video with Chase that he wanted to finish in 2019! We shouldn’t compare apples to oranges, but we definitely shouldn’t compare when one of the fruit isn’t even ripe yet.

Lastly, I find it weird to compare these people at all. Why? Because they’re people. It's like not going to college and then your mom going “Your brother went to college, you know.” We shouldn’t compare Thomas to Sean because Thomas isn’t Sean. People go at things at their own pace. People have their own personal struggles to deal with. And these people are people, not a content farm for you to throw your rotten tomatoes at whenever you feel.

And I’m not saying you have to like these people, I just think other factors go into both series that people don’t consider. Like personal struggles or where they live. (Not to get political, but Florida is kinda a shithole right now. Stay safe if you live in that part ❤️)

But yeah, sorry if this was long, these are my feelings on the matter.

(Also, if you want to compare, Markiplier made a movie, so 🤷 /j)

[ambiguous-sanskars]

Hi guys! This is Part 1 of a prompt fill for my dear friend @vijayasena <3 Hope y'all like it!

Read on AO3 (click for additional tags, notes, and translations!)

There was fire, a single-minded force that forged its path on the ashes of the bodies it had burned.

There was water, a devotion so potent that you lost yourself in its gentleness, only to wake up six feet under.

And then there was air, a lightness that left no footprints, which held the power to both stoke and extinguish the flames.

***

“Annayya, please! Carry me for a little longer!”

“Akhtar, you’re so heavy. And annoying,” Ram said, aiming for irritation and missing by a mile.

“And whose fault is it that I had to dance so long? You couldn’t have lost sooner?”

“That’s it, I’m leaving you in the roadside gutter-”

The honk of a car horn stopped them in their tracks.

“Hey!” Jenny called, rolling up next to them. “Need a ride?”

“Akhtar does,” Ram offered immediately. Akhtar got down, giving Jenny a sheepish grin.

“Want to come to my place for coffee?” Jenny asked him. Akhtar looked at Ram, who was already beginning to translate.

When he heard the offer, Akhtar’s eyes widened in anticipation. This was his one golden opportunity to reach Malli. He nodded enthusiastically.

“Sorry,” Jenny said to Ram as Akhtar got in the car. “I’d give you a ride too, but there isn’t room.”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Ram said with a wink. “I’m waiting for a friend.”

As they drove away, Ram stared after the car. There was something about that paint-

The roar of a motorbike interrupted his thoughts. It screeched to a halt in front of him. When the dust cleared, he realized that the rider was watching him with an amused gaze.

“Hi,” she said. “Need a ride?”

“Uh,” Ram stammered. “No, I’m waiting for-”

“A friend, yeah, I heard. I figured that was a clever little lie so you could set your friend up with gori-memsaab.”

“Um-”

“Come on, sit! Let’s go to the train station.”

Ram finally seemed to recover his wits. “What, you want to elope already? We just met,” he teased.

The biker grinned widely. “The station has the best chai.”

“I don’t know, I think they use too much saffron,” Ram bantered as climbed onto the bike behind her.

She scoffed. “You mean the stuff the British are colonizing us for? Better get some while it lasts.”

***

“So, stranger,” Ram said as he walked two cups of chai to the bench, handing one to the biker.

“Sakshi.”

“Sakshi,” Ram repeated. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ram.”

“Big shoes to fill, with a name like that. I’ve always wondered why parents name their kids after the gods.”

“Does the name really define the person?”

“It can,” Sakshi shrugged.

They sipped their chai in companionable silence. Ram turned to look at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Sakshi means… witness.”

She laughed. “And what do you make of that?”

“I don’t know,” Ram said, smiling with a light shake of his head. “I don’t know.”

“So what do you do?” Sakshi asked after a beat.

“Do?”

“You don’t have a job?”

“Oh, yeah- I mean, no,” Ram fumbled. He couldn’t very well tell her he was a high-ranking officer with the British police. And he definitely couldn’t tell her that he was a rebel.

“Then how the hell did you get into Scott’s party?”

Ram startled. “How did you know-”

“Relax, I’m a historian at the mansion. That’s why I was there. You dance well, by the way.”

Ram tried and failed not to blush. He felt a twinge of regret for not having noticed Sakshi back at the party.

“What need does the governor have for a historian?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Eh, you know. Facilitating interaction with the locals, teaching the Brits Hindi and basic cultural stuff. Keeping records.”

“I’m a guard. At the mansion,” Ram lied.

“Really? I feel like I would’ve seen you around.”

“I’m kind of new.”

Sakshi smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, then.”

***

Later that evening, Sakshi pulled up in front of Ram’s house.

“Hey, wake up. You’re home,” she said, gently jostling his head where it lay on her shoulder.

Ram snapped awake, looking around frantically. “Wha-”

“Relax, it’s just me. You fell asleep. Long day, eh?” Sakshi asked with a grin.

Ram blinked in disbelief. He was not in the habit of trusting people enough to fall asleep on the back of their motorcycles. At least not until he had met Akhtar.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“For what?” Sakshi asked, voice fond.

“Come in for chai, please?”

“We just drank chai.”

“That was 4 hours ago.”

Sakshi conceded with an indulgent sigh, turning the motorbike off and following Ram into his house.

Someone was already there.

“Akhtar?” Ram asked in surprise. Akhtar was sitting at the foot of Ram’s desk, lost in thought, as if he had been waiting for a long time. He looked like he had been crying.

Ram quickly knelt in front of him. “Akhtar, what’s wrong? What happened? When did you come back?” A thought occurred to him. “Oh my god. Did something happen at Jenny’s?” He ran his hands down Akhtar’s shoulders and arms, looking for signs of injury. “Are you hurt? Did one of the guards-”

Akhtar met Ram’s gaze, shaking his head. “Annayya, I’m fine. Please don’t worry, I’m not hurt.”

“Then why-”

Akhtar drew a breath to say something, and then abruptly changed his mind. He looked at Ram with tears in his eyes. “I fear I will say too much. Don’t ask me anything, Annayya. You know I cannot lie to you.”

Ram had never seen Akhtar look quite so fragile, and it was breaking his heart.

“Okay, okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around Akhtar and holding him close. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything. I won’t push. Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

“Do they even see us as human, Annayya?” Akhtar wept into Ram’s shoulder, the memory of Malli in that cage seared into his mind. “What have we ever done to them that they- they…”

“Nothing, you’ve done nothing wrong. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have sent you alone with her-”

Akhtar pulled back, shaking his head. “No, Annayya, it wasn’t Jenny. She is very kind to me. It was nice to spend time with her. There were just other things that were… not so nice.”

Worry and helplessness swirled like a storm in Ram’s chest. “You know you can tell me anything, right, Akhtar?”

Akhtar wiped his eyes, smiling genuinely. “I know. I know. But you haven’t even told me who you brought home with you.” He looked at Sakshi, who was standing inconspicuously by the door.

Ram turned, tentatively holding his hand out to her. She took it immediately, making Ram blush despite himself.

“Akhtar, this is Sakshi. My friend.”

Sakshi crouched down next to Ram so she could be face to face with Akhtar.

“Hi, Akhtar,” she said, reaching out to brush a tear from his cheek with the easy familiarity of someone who’d known him for ages. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Akhtar looked at the two of them. At the faint pink on Ram’s cheeks. At how comfortable Sakshi seemed, squatting amidst the piles of books. At how they were still holding hands.

Akhtar smiled. “Welcome, Vadina.”

Sakshi couldn’t help the grin that lit up her face like a thousand suns. Ram choked on air, blushing deeper.

“Akhtar!” he scolded.

Akhtar ignored him. To Sakshi, he continued, “Please have a seat. I’ll make chai.”

He brushed past them into the kitchen. Ram stared after him in bewilderment.

“That boy will be the death of me,” Ram said.

Sakshi laughed. “We should listen to him. Please tell me you have a couch or a chair somewhere under all these books.”

“Very funny. Come on.”

They settled on the couch, sitting shoulder to shoulder with their hands intertwined, exchanging soft conversation. The fragrance of elaichi and ginger drifted lazily from the kitchen.

“I should go help him,” Ram said after several minutes. “It’s your first time here, I wanted you to taste my chai recipe.”

Sakshi hummed thoughtfully, resting her head on his shoulder. “Is it better than Akhtar’s?”

Ram paused. “No, I guess not. He’s got a way with spices.”

“Then it’s all good. We’ll have plenty more chances to have chai.”

“I should at least help him bring the cups,” Ram sighed, reluctantly detangling himself from their cuddle. “I’ll be right back.”

Ram stepped into the kitchen just as Akhtar finished pouring the chai into the clay cups, humming softly as he worked. As he moved to pick up the tray, Ram stopped him.

“Akhtar, leave it. How much work will you do? You are a guest; go and sit comfortably, I’ll serve.”

Akhtar turned to Ram with wide eyes, looking hurt.

“Annayya, I came here thinking I was coming to my own home. Why do you estrange me by calling me a guest?”

“No, Akhtar, that’s not what I meant,” Ram amended immediately. He lovingly cupped Akhtar’s cheek. “Everything that’s mine is first yours. It’s just that you’ve had a long day, and I want you to rest.”

Akhtar smiled. “Annayya, I insist. Go and sit with Sakshi-vadina. It’s no great effort to bring out a tray of chai.”

“Akhtar-”

“Go!”

“Okay, okay. I’m going.”

“What happened?” Sakshi asked when Ram returned empty-handed.

“He kicked me out.”

“You got kicked out of your own kitchen?”

“See, the things I have to deal with,” Ram said with an exaggerated sigh, curling up on the couch next to Sakshi.

“Chai!” Akhtar announced, bringing in the tray with cups and neatly stacked snacks.

“Oh, this smells divine,” Sakshi said as she took a cup.

The conversation flowed easily for the next several hours. It was nearly 2AM when Ram managed to yawn so widely that his jaw cracked, causing Sakshi and Akhtar to pause their conversation to laugh at him.

“And that’s my cue,” Akhtar said, standing up to leave.

“Sit down,” Ram ordered. “Where do you think you’re going so late at night? I have an extra blanket, you can stay here.”

“Annayya, any other night and I absolutely would. But today I have some important work.”

“What work could you possibly have at this hour?”

Akhtar looked at the floor, expression clouding. The atmosphere in the room shifted; what had felt like family seconds before suddenly felt like three colleagues in an awkward work meeting.

Ram shook his head to clear it. “Okay, fine. Drive safely.”

Akhtar hesitated. “Annayya, I’m sorry if I-”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Ram was no stranger to keeping secrets; he of all people had no right to begrudge Akhtar his personal life. “Go do your work. I wish you every success.”

“Thank you, Annayya. That means more than you could know.” Akhtar turned to Sakshi. “Good night, Vadina.”

They watched Akhtar’s motorcycle roar down the street. Then Ram turned to Sakshi.

“And what is your plan?”

Sakshi sighed wistfully. “I also have somewhere I need to be tonight.”

“Okay.” Ram eyed the dark streets suspiciously. “Are you sure it’s not too late to be out here alone?”

Sakshi tossed her hair to get it out of her face as she climbed onto her motorbike. It was such a mundane gesture, but Ram was transfixed by the way the orange streetlights glinted off her locks. As though for a second, she was engulfed in flames.

“Ram!”

Ram snapped out of it to find Sakshi cocking an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, what?”

“You seem lost.”

Ram shook his head. “I’m worried. Should I drop you home?”

“Your poor horse is fast asleep.”

“He won’t mind being woken up.”

“Relax, Ram. I know this city like the back of my hand. There isn’t a being alive here who can hurt me. Believe me, several have tried.”

With that, Sakshi revved her engine and sped off into the night.

Ram returned to his living room, already missing the warmth and laughter from just a few minutes ago. As he walked the tray of empty cups back to the kitchen, he stopped. Something in the corner of his mind was nagging him.

He paused, carefully going over the interactions of the past few hours. What had he missed? He set the tray down next to the sink. That’s when it hit him.

When he’d walked into the kitchen earlier to help Akhtar, Akhtar had been humming a tune. Something familiar that Ram hadn’t clocked as significant at the time. He tried to recall it now.

Where had he heard that song before?

The girl in the mansion. The one who’d been kidnapped. What was her name? Malli. That was Malli’s song.

But Malli was a tribal girl, and the song was a Gond folk song. Akhtar had lived in Delhi all his life. So how could he have known it?

Unless…

Ram took embarrassingly long to put two and two together. As the realization dawned, a crushing pressure in his chest forced him to his knees. He couldn’t breathe.

I’m dying, Ram thought. Please. Please let me die.

After a minute, the thoughts and the pain dissipated, leaving behind pure, unadulterated rage. Ram got to his feet with a guttural shout. He swiped the tray off the counter, causing the clay cups to shatter against the tile. Unsatisfied, he turned and punched a hole straight through the kitchen wall. Then he stormed into the living room and kicked over his desk, sending papers flying.

In the end, there was no decision to be made. His fate was written in his father’s blood. He had no more say in his life than a sword did in the hands of its wielder.

He put on his uniform and ran out the door.

***

“Thoughts?”

“Yes. You’re afraid of him.”

“It’s not impressive to deduce that. I’ve admitted as much. My question is, am I right to be?”

Sakshi paused. “He is loyal, I believe. He did not reveal his rank, but he also did not deny serving the throne.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was a guard, sir.”

“Hmm,” Governor Scott turned to face her. “And did he buy into your little act?”

Sakshi smirked. “It wasn’t hard, sir. I expected to have to break through more walls. But I guess when you’ve been alone for so long, you’ll let anybody in.”

“Not just anybody, Sakshi. You. You have talent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You know, in many ways you remind me of the little girl.”

Sakshi’s brow furrowed. “What girl?”

“Ah, some tribal girl,” Scott said with a wave of his hand. “Talented artist. Voice like honey. Catherine heard her sing once and decided she just had to have her.”

“Have her? Meaning?”

“I think she gave the tribals a full 50 paisa for her. I’ve told Catherine many times that it’s not necessary to be so generous. Spoils them. Makes them feel entitled. But she doesn’t listen.”

“50 paisa?” Sakshi’s face grew ashen.

Scott narrowed his eyes. “Those people are savages, Sakshi. You know that. The girl is a hundred times better off here than with them. Did you forget what they did to your mother?”

Sakshi inhaled sharply.

“Yes,” Scott said. “That’s what I thought.” He turned back to face the window. “Keep a close eye on Ram. I’ve noticed a change in him, of late. If his loyalties are shifting, I want to be the first to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We are fighting for a great purpose here, Sakshi. We are fighting to bring civilization to barbarian lands. We are fighting so that no woman is ever burned to death on her husband’s pyre again.”

The memory of her mother’s screams echoed through 20 years of time. Sakshi’s resolve hardened.

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

“Good.”

Sakshi walked back to the inner chambers. She’d largely grown up in this mansion. She wasn’t in the habit of looking back. But today, as she passed a dark corridor she’d gotten used to ignoring, she stopped. What was down there?

Sakshi had tried exploring it once. It had been way back when she was a child, new to the mansion, wide-eyed and curious. She hasn’t made it very far. It was the only time the governor had ever disciplined her with a whip.

With a furtive glance over her shoulder, Sakshi turned down the hallway. It seemed to go on forever. At the end was a… cell? Certainly not enough privacy to call it a room. There wasn’t so much as a curtain hanging over the metal bars.

On the bare-bones cot lay a child, curled up in the fetal position. She couldn’t have been more than 9 years old. Sakshi’s heart dropped. How long had she been here?

A horrible thought occurred to Sakshi. What if this girl wasn’t the only one? This corridor had been here for as long as Sakshi could remember, and she hadn’t wandered down here once. How many innocents had been trapped here over the course of her life?

Sakshi fought down a wave of nausea. She was going to come back. She was going to get this child out of here, Governor Scott be damned.

Sakshi had always believed her life had improved after Scott brought her to the mansion as a child. But somehow, the thought of another child meeting the same fate, or worse, set off alarm bells in her head.

She was no longer a person, Sakshi realized. She was a weapon. Scott’s weapon. She couldn’t allow that to happen to this girl, too.

[phoenixstark1708]

the daughter of an archangel pt.4

The man came in once she left, and set down a bunch of books, and a strange electronic thing that folded. “hello phoenix, my name is mark. Im just going to ask you some questions to figure out where you’re at academically.” oh! I know what academics are! That is my favorite thing! My face visibly lit up at the prospect. The man began with painfully simple math equations “134+23” and “33x11” they progressively got harder, and I continuously got them gorrect. The man seemed astonished I knew all that I knew all this stuff. Trigonometry is where I got confused. He noted that on his clipboard. Then came science, which I was again, above average. Then history, I didn’t know much, because the stuff I was taught was purely propaganda. Then came literature, which I was average in. And finally, foreign languages. The man was obviously shocked when he realized I was fluent in 53 languages.

I later met with a psychiatrist, and spoke for nearly four hours. I explained my childhood, and past, and she listened intently, asking some questions, and recording the conversation. I had several preliminary diagnoses, but she wanted to meet in a few weeks to see where I was at. By the end of the day, I was tired, but I stayed awake because I knew I would be punished if I fell asleep. I sat on the edge of the bed until tony came in “hey phoenix, how’re you doiung? Pepper told me how well you did today. Im going to get you some tutors so you can get an education. Is that okay?” I nodded “great. Then, there was something else we needed to talk about.” I looked up at him “you are not a prisoner here. You can explore as you please, you can eat whatever you feel like, and do watever you need to. You don’t need to ask. For an example, if you wanted to shower, you can. If you wanted to sleep, you can. Eat? Of course. Drink? Yes ma’am.” I was looking at him quizically, confused as to why I was allowed to do these rhings. I was definitely not complaining. “but, I think it would be best for you to stay here, in the house. Of course you can go outside if you want, but stay close. Its not safe for you out there yet.” he finished. “take care kiddo.” he ruffled my hair and walked out of the room. I laid down on the bed and slept.

After a months of living with tony, I finally began to gain weight, I was finally gaining confidence, my face began to fill with color, and my academics took off. I was getting more confident, and happy. Actually happy. For the first time in my life. I still had times when I felt terrible for leaving bucky; How could I not? He saved me. I was having frequent flashbacks. After meeting with the psychiatrist again, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I refused the medications they offered, vividly remembering the various drugs hydra expiramented on me with.

Everything was going good, until one day, a black man came with an eyepatch. Tony explained he was here to help, and he called him because of me expressing my desire to help the world after all the damage I'd done. We sat at the patio table, tony giving us privacy. “so, I hear your name is pheonix stark?” he sort of questioned “yes sir, that’s me” “good. But I know that you don’t have any official family- yet. I wanted to talk about tony adopting you. He has already agreed, but has made it expressly clear that its off if you don’t want him to. This way, you can become an official citizen of the united states, and you can go to a real school. How does this sound, phoenix?” I waited a moment “good. It sounds good, but tony said that you were here to talk about me helping the world?” he chuckled “straight to the point. I like that. Yes, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Im the head of an organisation called SHEILD. I know you are relatively familiar with us?” my eyes widened in fear when he mentioned SHEILD. “y-yes. You know me, what ive done. Why would you want me there?” I asked in a small voice “we want you because you would be an excellent addition to our organization. HYDRA controlled you, we all know you didn’t have a choice. We want to help you learn to control your powers, and how to fight. We want to train you to be excellent. And make no mistake, you are not forced to, you will not be harmed by us, and you don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want-” I cut him off in excitement “i’ll do it” I was beaming with joy not showing in my voice. “we will also send you on some missions when you’re ready. Nothing like what you did at HYDRA, you would be saving people, not hurting them.” I nodded “this may seem like a lot, phoenix, but I think this would be a good thing for you.” “i want to do it. All of it. I want to be adopted by tony, and I want to join SHEILD. This will be my opportunity to make amends for the things ive done. Thank you.” just then, tony come out of the door. I ran to hug him – an astronomical improvement from when I arrived; afraid to even talk. “thank you.” I murmured “thank you kid. Phoenix Stark has nice ring to it, huh?” I nodded, beaming with excitement.

After that day, we signed a LOT of paperwork for the adoption. I found it hilarious that we had to sign hundreds of papers, quite a change from what I was used to. and I became an official U.S. citizen! I had never felt so much like a person, rather then a machine. I struggled with terrible nightmares of the punishments I endured, and the missions I partook in. I couldn’t stop thinking about the sacrifice bucky made for me. I hated HYDRA for it, well I hated them for a lot of things, but especially that.

i saw you like the other 3 parts, so tagging you in this one :)

@breadhead19

[jalapenobee]

What I feel for you

“Gotta go fast.”

That’s what Lance whispered to himself whenever he, well, has to go fast. Like now. The coffee shop down the street from the recording studio was about to close, and running was the only way he could make it there in time. Otherwise, he’d have to walk an extra three blocks for some gritty coffee and arrive late at the studio. Walking wasn’t an option here.

After a minute of running in the cold, Lance finally reached it - Vrepit Sal. Pretty new coffee shop, opened just a tad over three months ago. Regardless, Lance couldn’t imagine going anywhere else for a “hot cup of joe.”

Lance peered inside the foggy window at the counter inside. The sign said open, but the interior said otherwise. Even though the lights were on, no one seemed to be at the counter.

Until someone walked out from the door to the kitchen with a small crate, and Lance decided this was the perfect time to make an entrance.

The door’s tiny bell dinged as Lance pushed it open, mixing the frosty outside air with the warm aura inside. He grinned at the young man behind the counter, still holding the crate and an unamused expression.

“Sir, you do realize we’re closed right now?”

Lance sauntered right up to the counter and leaned half his body on it. “No, you’re not. The sign says open, the lights are on, and you’re still in here.” Lance reached over and flicked the guy’s lopsided name tag. Keith, it said. “That doesn’t seem very closed to me.”

Keith flicked away Lance’s hand and set the crate next to him on the counter. “Nobody asked you. And who gave you the right to touch my name tag?”

“I’m sure you don’t mind. I’m a celebrity, you know. Most people would be dying for me to flick their name tag, Keith.” Lance let the worker’s name slip off his tongue like a water droplet off a leaf.

“Well, I’m not like most people. And who made you a so-called celebrity?”

“What do you mean? I’m like, only the most popular singer around here! I’ve done a bunch of collabs and stuff! Come on, Lance McClain? You can’t tell me you’ve never heard of me.”

Keith looked him dead in the eye. “I have never once heard of you.”

“You seriously don’t know who I am?” Geez, this guy must live under a rock.

“Yeah, you’re the douche that comes in two minutes before we’re about to close.”

Lance sighed. There was no getting around this guy. “Can I just get something to drink? I’m on a tight schedule.”

Rolling his eyes and picking up the crate, Keith proceeded to ask Lance his order and begin making it. Flat white with oat milk. Along with Lance playing one of his songs from his phone. As proof he was a “celebrity.”

Do you think of me? Late at night, when the phones are off,

Do you smile at the thought of me? Like I do for you when we talk,

Do you ever wonder what I mean? Cause letters can’t get across,

Lance’s two voices-recorded and live in the shop-was paired with a monotone, mumbling one. “What I feel for you.”

Lance snapped his head up at Keith, who claimed to not know who he was, but knows the lyrics to his song. “Say what now?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“No, no, no. You were saying the lyrics!” Lance fumbling with his phone, hitting the pause button and focusing his attention on Keith.

“No I didn’t. You’re delusional.”

“Come on! We had a bonding moment! We were singing together!”

“Nope. Don’t remember. Didn’t happen.”

Lance sighed in defeat. “You’re impossible, you know that Keith?”

“Yup.”

626 words

[shadesofmauve]

Writer Chat Tag game

Tagged by @swaps55. Thank you!!!

Tagging @virusq, @fenmere, @spaced0lphin if you feel so inclined.

What is your total posted wordcount on ao3?

292,540. But just you WAIT until the rewritten and expanded Sunset and Evening Star goes up.

Do you have a routine for writing?

When I was first writing A Star to Steer Her By, I was only working four days a week, so on Friday mornings I would sit down, gather all the pieces I'd jotted down over the week, and sew them together into a chapter. Since then I've developed exciting new health issues and switched to full-time work, so now I don't have a routine so much as a collection of Things That Work. To wit:

All writing is in google docs, because I can access it from all over, including my phone, so I can

Seize inspiration whenever it comes, play out the scene, and write it down. I've got a notebook by the bed and a water-proof notepad in the shower (THANK YOU, @swaps55, it's the BEST THING EVER). I'll stop partway through walks and write things on my phone. I will tell my boyfriend and occasionally house guests "NEED TO CAPTURE AN IDEA JUST A MINUTE BYE" and dash out of the room.

Write after dinner and before Bedtime Reading & Tea, IF I have the time and brain energy.

Revisit the outline once the chapter is done and record all scenes and important things discussed in them, because my memory has gone to shit and I'm in danger of leaving things out or putting them in twice.

Finding the time to stitch the pieces together is the hardest thing. I'm also working on putting everything that isn't the current chapter in One Big Doc, because I write wildly out of order and I keep losing shit.

What’s your favorite tropes/pairing

The pairings I write are obvious, so let's go tropes/themes. I love competence porn. I love teamwork and friendships that span more than a pairing. (The combination of those two things is why I love heist movies).

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

I re-read A Star To Steer Her By occasionally and enjoy it immensely, despite the rocky never-wrote-long-fic-before start, but I'm honestly SO PSYCHED about some of the deep emotional waters uncovered in the Sunset and Evening Star rewrite... does it count if I can't share it yet? Also, I'm too deep into it right now to be a good judge. I haven't had that experience of going back to it (the rewritten version) as a reader. (I've done it with the published version; it was shitty. That's why I'm rewriting).

Your fic with the most kudos?

A Star To Steer Her By, to no one's surprise.

Anything you don’t like about your writing?

I can so, so tell the times I tried to force something without hitting flow (see above re 'some of published SaES is really shitty').  That's different from "Put the butt in the seat and stitch that story together", which has to happen. I realize that's kind of saying 'I like it when it goes well, and dislike it when it doesn't.' But eh.

I definitely wonder sometimes if I'm too heavy-handed with whatever point I want to make. Like having to put Joker in a situation where someone is an ableist asshole to show what he's dealing with -- it can feel cheap, because what he'd *actually* be dealing with is all this micro stuff that builds up over time, but it's hard to show that in a story. So there has to be a larger stand-in event, and it can feel like setting up a strawman. Not sure I'd say I dislike how I've done it, but I'm not confident in it.

One thing that I hope rarely shows but is really a pain-in-the-ass is that, since I write out-of-order and I'm sometimes dumping things from two different notepads, a draft email, and a new google doc into one chapter, I'll find that I wrote the same scene twice. Or more. Because I knew that info needed to be conveyed and I forgot I'd already done it. Figuring out which version to use, or frankensteining them together, can be brutal, and then you've done all this work and only progressed by one scene.

Now something you do like?

Well, see, I like it when it works and I don't like it when it doesn't. :P

When I share snippets it's always funny dialogue, because that's easy for me (though conveying the comedic timing is absolutely something I put a lot of work into), and because it tends to share well as small pieces. But I'm more pleased by the scenes that make me choke up, because they aren't as easy. I suppose I'm more surprised when they work. This includes the upcoming Emotional Cascade Failure chapter and The Vortex of Tears.

[seita]

wet (m.)

pairing: matsukawa/f!reader

genre: pwp

wordcount: 2.439

tags: camboy!issei

cw: loss of virginity, light virgin kink, cunnilingus, fingering, wet&messy, praise kink, squirting, UNEDITED

summary: you let camboy matsukawa take your virginity on camera.

+ note: my contribution to my corrupt a virgin collab!

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks you softly, eyes gentle as he gazes upon you.

Just having him above you was enough to send butterflies fluttering around your stomach. You couldn’t help reaching up to grip his shirt, pulling him down to press your lips against his.

He hums, dropping onto his forearms to press his chest closer against yours. You sigh happily, wrapping around arms around his neck to fist his hair -- the soft curls feel heavenly under your fingers.

After a moment, he pulls away and smiles, tucking a hair behind your ear, “I need to hear you tell me yes, pretty baby,” he whispers.

“Y-Yes...please,” you add the last plea, a whisper under your breath that has his heart racing in his chest.

He finally sits up and moves off of your body, turning to look at the set up at the end of the bed. You follow his gaze and watch as he begins to turn the camera on, adjusting the light so the bed is properly illuminated.

Once he’s sure it’s recording, he turned his attention back to you. With a pretty little smile, he reached to the collar of his shirt and pulled it off -- leaving him in just a pair of sweatpants.

Usually for his videos, he typically preferred to dress up. You’d never really seen him dress so casually for a video.

But still, you weren’t complaining -- not when you could see the outline of his cock, slowly hardening as it pressed against the fabric.

As he crawled onto the bed, it dipped beneath his weight. He grabbed your thighs and tugged you closer to him, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure you both were correctly in the frame.

Then, he turned his attention back to you, leaning down to press his lips against yours. His hand curled around the back of your head, holding you close as his other hand slid up your body. As his fingers found the hem of your shirt, it slipped beneath the fabric to find your breast. He sighed contentedly when he discovered your bare skin, thumbing over your nipple. Your body trembled under the unfamiliar sensation, clutching him desperately as he touched you.

“You’re so warm,” he teases, a sweet smile on his lips as he watches you intently.

You merely sigh and arch into him, silently encouraging him to touch you more.

“So sweet, why don’t you tell me what you want, hm?” he asks sweetly, tucking hair behind your ear.

“W-Want…” your brows furrow as you struggle to word exactly what it is you’re craving, “I just want you to touch me…”

“But I am touching you, bunny,” he coos, enjoying the way your eyes widen so cutely at the pet name. He grins, raising a brow, “Oh I get it...you want me to touch you...here…”

Your breath hitches as his hand slides lower, teasing the band of your shorts. He pauses, fingertips just barely under the hem, to watch the way your inexperienced body reacts.

Your chest heaves as you sigh, hips mindlessly thrusting forward as if hoping it would force his fingers into your shorts.

After you let out a soft whimper, he finally takes mercy on you and shoves his hand under -- into your panties. A soft curse immediately falls from his lips when he feels how wet you are -- immediately slicking the pads of his fingers.

“You’re so wet, fuck,” he moans, burying his face in your neck as his fingers slide through your folds.

You both can hear the slick sound of them parting as he finds your clit. Your thighs jerk under the stimulation as he circles the bud gently, careful not to overstimulate you too quickly.

“You’re so sensitive,” he breathes, “You really are a virgin, huh baby?”

You nod and whimper, clutching his biceps as he plays with your cunt until you’re dripping. Your panties stick to you when he pulls his hand out.

It’s almost like he suddenly feels greedy -- the second his hand is free, he’s stripping you of your shirt and tugging your shorts down your legs. He casts a little glance over his shoulder to check that both of you were still properly in frame.

Satisfied, he turns his attention back to you and gently shoves your thighs apart again -- moaning at the sight of your panties soaked through.

“God, you’re so wet, fuck,” he whispers, running his fingers over your clothed cunt in wonder, “You get this wet when you touch yourself too, baby?”

Your cheeks burn hot as you nod, “Y-Yeah...is that bad?”

He exhales deeply through his nose, shaking his head, “No baby, not at all. Fuck, I love it…”

Issei truly was in wonder. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slowly began pulling the material down. His eyes followed the strings of slick that connected to the fabric, trailing down your thighs as they broke.

Your little cunt was glistening, arousal drooling from the pretty little hole as you clenched around nothing.

His hands slid up your thighs, eagerly spreading them. You squealed, hands flying to your face to hide shly. He merely smiled, but didn’t do anything to stop you.

He's done this enough time to know just how vulnerable pretty little virgins like you could get. In his line of work he’d had everything from perverted virgins who were more than eager to please to shy little pillow princesses who blushed at the simplest of touches.

Your knees nearly touched the bed from how he kept your legs spread. His thumbs reached down, spreading your little cunt open. He could see the way you clenched under his gaze, a mindless whine escaping your lips.

“S-Stop staring like that…” you whimper.

He shushes you, “Just let me look at this pretty cunt, yeah? Be a good girl.”

Your hole clenched at that, more slick gushing out. He grinned -- of course you liked praise.

Slowly, he sinks down your body until you can feel his warm breath on your folds. The feeling makes your body tense up momentarily. But his sweet, tender caresses down your thighs as he moves your legs onto his shoulders let you relax.

You feel safe with him; secure and that fact makes him smile.

He presses a sweet little kiss in the dip between your hip and thigh. His lips are soft and so gentle as he slow begins to worship your body.

The first pass of his tongue over your folds makes your thighs jump, nearly crushing his head between them. He merely huffs out a soft laugh, using one hand on one of your thighs, pinning you open to avoid it happening again.

The next taste of you on his tongue makes him moan. His tongue finds your clit, softly swirling around the sensitive little bud. You taste so sweet and the sounds you make are even sweeter.

He abandons his hold on your thigh, instead prodding his fingertips at your entrance. The little hole clenches around nothing and he can’t help but smile -- he can feel you drooling against his fingers.

He wants to take it slow but the way you tremble in excitement for him to fill you up urges him to stuff two fingers in. Your back immediately arches as you squeal out his name. Your cunt is so hot and wet, already dripping down to his wrist.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he whispers, twisting his hand so his pal is facing up.

It allows him to crook his fingers, prodding your g-spot with ease. The melodious sounds you release as he teases and tortures that spot are music to his ears.

He leans down and once again fingers your clit -- only this time he wraps his lips around it. His tongue licking at the sensitive bud has your fingers tangling in his curls, tugging desperately at his hair.

Both of you can hear how wet you are with his fingers fucking you. He only hopes the camera’s mic can pick it up.

He swears he’s never felt a girl get as wet as you are. You’re dripping everywhere, making a mess of his hand, the bed, and his face. Mindlessly, you grind your hips down, wanting to get more of the incredible pleasure he’s giving you.

“Sei,” you whimper, tossing your head back as you cry, “I-I’m close, please.”

He doesn’t respond past flicking his eyes towards your face to let you know he heard you. You swear you can see a ghost of a smirk on his lips. His pace suddenly fastens and you keen at the pleasure, eyes rolling back in your head.

Your entire body goes taut and you fall silent for a split second before he feels your cunt spasm around his fingers.

He quickly realizes you’re cumming -- real hard.

He eagerly works you through it, mouthing at your clit as it throbs and pulses beneath his tongue. He hums at the feeling of you tugging his hair but does nothing to stop you. Your mouth is open, an endless stream of cries escaping until you finally fall limp on the bed, panting and trembling.

He pulls his fingers out, grinning when your body meanly twitches at the feeling. He holds his hang up so both you and the camera can see just how much cum covered him.

“You’re such a messy little girl, aren’t you?” he whispers, spreading his fingers so you can see the strings of slick sticks between them. The base of his fingers have a thick ring of milky white over them.

“‘M sorry,” you whimper, hiding your face in the pillow beside you.

Issei hums, leaning over you to cup your cheek with his clean hand, smiling softly down at you, “It’s alright, I’m only teasing you...I love that you made such a mess...felt real good, huh?”

You bashfully nod and he smiles, popping the soiled digits into his mouth to clean them as he carefully pushes the band of his sweats down. He tucks it underneath his balls and your mouth moistens with drool at the sight of such a nice, fat cock and full balls.

He wraps is fist around the base of his cock, slowly stroking himself -- milking precum from the tip to slick his length up with. There’s a dirty, wet sound as he does.

You eagerly spread your legs for him as he scoots himself on his knees between them once more. He can’t help the boyish laugh that escapes him when your entire body twitches after giving your tender little cunt a few mean slaps with his cock.

The tip prods at your entrance, whispers urging you to relax as he carefully works to fit in your tiny little cunt. Your mouth drops open, but no sound escapes as he slowly sinks deeper and deeper.

He pauses when he feels your walls squeeze down around him. Your body trembles and sweet little cries escape your lips as you begin to tremble.

“Fuck, you’re cummin’ already?” he groans, “I’m not even in all the way!”

You don’t say anything beyond crying out for more. He’s stunned -- he’s never had a virgin cream so hard on his cock just from having him put his cock inside. He can’t say he’s not thrilled, however. His cock is painfully hard from your slutty display and his balls are throbbing with the promise of getting to cum from a sensitive, responsive little virgin cunt like yours.

Once your pussy relaxes enough for him to move properly once again, he can’t resist fucking you with all he has. You cry out and sob through everything he gives you, back arching as you claw at everything you can get your hands on.

He takes pity on you and laces your fingers together, pinning your hands to the bed on either side of your head, using his weight to keep you still. His hips work dutifully, delivering slow, deep strokes that prod at every spot inside you that makes you cream messily around him.

“Is that good, baby?” he asks, grinning as you sob, “Am I fuckin’ this sweet little cunt nice and good?”

You mindlessly nod, “Yes Sei! F-Feels so good! ‘S so big!”

“I know, bunny,” he coos, “But you’re taking it so well. Doin’ so good for me. You’re squeezing me so tight, you gonna cum again? Just from this? Not even gonna have to touch that pretty little clit am I? Show me, pretty girl.”

Just as he expected, your entire body goes taut again. He has half a mind to force you to look at him, to watch the bashful look on your face as he makes you watch him as he makes you cum. But before he can think to long on that idea, he feels you gush around him.

“Fuck,” he moans, looking between your bodies to watch as you squirt all over him, “Look at that! Makin’ such a mess for me.”

With every movement of his cock, you squirt around him. It’s filthy and so, so messy. His sweats are soaked and his skin drips with your cum. His lip is tucked between his teeth as he continues to fuck you.

Your orgasm seems never ending -- you continue gush and spasm beneath him. Mindless babbles escape your lips -- praises and pretty begs for what, he doesn’t know.

“Fucked stupid on a nice, fat cock for the first time,” he growls, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, where do you want it, pretty?”

His question seems to flicker life back into you and you squeal, “Inside! Please, Sei! Want you to cum inside!”

He doesn’t even get a chance to respond before your legs are locking around his waist, as if trying to trap his cock inside the hot velvet of your still spasming cunt. He groans, stuffing you full before he finally cums. His balls throb and you swear you can feel it as he fills you with hot cum.

When he finally comes down, the both of you are panting but you’re much more worn out than he is. He smiles and presses a sweet kiss to your temple, watching your eyes flutter before slipping closed immediately.

He’s careful as he pulls out, making sure to cover you with a blanket before moving to shut the camera off. Usually, he would clean you both up but you look so cute curled up on the bed like that, that he can’t resist slipping in beside you to hold you close -- intent on taking a nap himself.

seita © 2021 | all content and its rights belong to me. do not modify or repost.

[erodasfishtacos]

*CHICAGO*

i write for free - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here. (plus my bday is today!!!!!!! 🎂)

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it!

——

The public didn’t know that some of the pictures that are posted of Harry that are tagged and credited to the on tour photographers were actually taken by his wife.

For example, after Chicago, the picture of Harry in the tub - completely bare and worn down from his show, you actually think the photographer took that?

No, that was snapped with YN’s iPhone, like some of the other pictures he’s posted.

Just like the one where he’s asleep on the hotel bed in a robe in Paris with all of his stuff splayed around him - allegedly taken by helene. ***

But no, it had been his wife, they had just taken a shower together and she had stayed in for a bit longer to shave her legs - when she had come out and seen him passed out.

She had to tug a bit at the robe so he wasn’t exposed and make it x-rated, then she pulled out her phone and snapped the picture - sending it to Jeff with a teasing caption.

yn: It’s exhausting being a popstar

And just like that, it appears on his Instagram for fans to go crazy over.

Or what about the snapshot of his tank that had his famous slogan embroidered into the side of the white fabric. ***

His wedding band reflecting in the flash of the light, a subtle glance at his rippled muscle below the attire as they work on his hair.

“Mm, I’m gonna save this for a lonely night,” YN jokes as she tucks her phone away.

Harry’s hand comes to cup her jaw, looking down at her where she’s sat on the floor, “Y’so fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?”

YN’s eyelids flutter a bit as she glances away from his intense gazes - he still gives her butterflies.

“Don’t get shy on me, baby. Can I not tell m’wife how gorgeous she is?” He asks, bring her hand up to kiss the back of it, “Look s’good with tha’ ring on.”

And the one that made fans go crazy.

On a warm evening, in a hotel room between venues in Italy, where they had been lounging around all day.

YN in just a thin gauzy dress that accentuated the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra and Harry just in the trousers he’d worn to get them coffee earlier that morning.

“You just took a picture of me! It’s my turn,” YN giggles, getting on her knees on the old squeaky couch and snatching the camera off of him.

“I took a picture because y’tits look nice in tha’ dress. I can see y’nipples and it’s turnin’ me on,” Harry defends, holding up his book as she snaps it.

“H, c’mon,” She pouts but squeaks when Harry tugs her into him, dropping the book and the camera as he adjusts her on his lap.

“Gonna let me take a picture of y’all nice and fucked out, darling?” He rasps, ignoring her pout and hiking her dress up her hips.

And it’s happened throughout the years, so many pictures that were littered over the internet where just uncredited snapshots from YN.

Just like the one from 2013, they were on tour, and Harry was supposed to be recording for the next album after soundcheck and before the concert. ***

Instead, after soundcheck, Harry and YN had snuck off to a little meadow and lake to have a swim. He had shimmied down to his briefs and waded in.

YN stood back, snapping a picture of him and his friend as the complained about how freezing cold it was.

“Baby, c’mon. Come get in!” Harry had shouted back to his girlfriend on the dry land, “I need some warmth, s’freezing!”

YN grimaces, just in Harry’s shirt and a pair of yoga shorts, dipping her toe in and shaking her head - “I’ll enjoy from here!”

“Please, bug,” He pouts, motioning for her to come in.

She does after a moment, squealing at the temperature before quickly finding her way into Harry’s arms.

“Only have fun on tour when y’with me,” He had murmured into her ear before he dunked her underwater and they play fought until their stomachs hurt from laughing.

And then came the notorious picture that had gotten a million likes in thirteen minutes, oh, the chicago ice bath.

Harry had been achey since tour had begun, constantly complaining about his back and ankles from the shows.

“Baby, just rub m’back a lil’ longer please?” He had whimpered the night before, the tour bus bed did not help him much at all.

When his trainer had recommended an ice bath immediately after the show - YN had made sure to arrange it despite his protests.

After exiting the stage in his black and lilac outfit, he’d been lured into the bathroom with a promise of sex but instead was a steel tub filled with ice water.

Jeff, Lambert, Tommy - everyone was watching on in amusement as he adamantly tried to deny that it would help and the peer pressure wasn’t make him anymore convinced.

“Alright, everyone out,” YN had finally tittered, shooing out the circus before closing the door for privacy.

She helps strip her husband out of his close as he looks at her reproachfully, “You promised me sex.”

“After,” YN assures him, kissing his puffy lips and asking softly, “Just try it, if it doesn’t work - you don’t have to do it again.”

He grumbles a bit, muttering, “Don’t look at m’bits, they’re gonna shrivel up.”

YN giggles, “As if I haven’t seen your bits in every shape and form.”

As he slips in, YN has to snap a picture of his eyes wide and lips pursed at the shock of the freezing water cooling down his hot, sticky skin.

“Holy fucking shit,” Harry hisses, lowering self until he’s sat - his nipples instantly hardening and he’s breathing roughly out of his nose.

“Five minutes, I’ll set the timer,” YN says, setting it on her phone before sitting down next to the tub as he tries to relax.

“Baby, fuck. Reminds me of that really cold lake in Boston, ‘member?” He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches until YN intertwines their hands.

“Yeah, that wasn’t as cold as that one time you convince me to skinny dip with you on the coast of france.”

“Oh yeah, that one was really fucking cold too,” Harry murmurs, keeping his eyes closed and steadying his breathing.

(During WWA tour - ***)

“Harry, are you insane? Anyone could see us? Paul could walk out or the boys. I’m not-“

She’s cut off when Harry shucks off his swimsuit bottoms, his skin’s glowing in the moonlight and the light waves lapping at the shore are soothing.

YN swallows harshly, tries not to stare at how handsome and overwhelming beautiful he is as he turns to step towards the water.

She looks over her shoulder nervously before stepping out of her one-piece, he waits for her at the shoreline.

“Y’so so stunnin’,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the soft curve of her breast and leaning in for a soft kiss when he feed her shake.

“You could have anyone,” YN whispers against his lips, “Every girl on this earth wants you like this. I’m just some girl from before all this,” she motions to the extravagant bungalow they’re staying at.

“I don’t know why y’think tha’s bad. I want t’experience all this with you, m’first love and m’only love. I’m going to marry y’soon, you know tha’?” He replies, lips tracing the curve of her neck.

“You better,” She giggles, hands going to his shoulder as he sucks a mark into the thin skin.

He pulls back with a frown, “M’not jokin’, I don’t care that we’re young - M’gonna do it.”

“I can’t wait,” YN kisses his jutted out lip, squealing when he tugs her into the water and the chilled waves crash against her hips, “H, it’s so cold.”

“M’gonna keep y’warm, hush up,” He titters, pulling her into his chest until her breasts are smushed against his strong pecs and his arms are around her shoulder, “Love experiencing this w’you, everythin’ w’you.”

-

YN is brought back from her daydream by her husband wiping his finger under her eyelid, “Darling, wha’ is it?”

She hadn’t realized she had teared up thinking of the fond memory, “I want to go back to that bungalow. We had such a good time. I…I just love you.”

His wife chuckles like she’s pathetic for crying about it but he leans out of the tub, cupping her jaw and pulling her in for a hard kiss.

“Don’t be embarrassed, flower,” There was no teasing in his voice, it was sincere, “If anyone should be embarrassed - I’m the one who travels around the world t’sing love songs ‘bout you.”

Their lips join again, his tongue finding its way into her mouth when Jeff, Lambert, and Tommy barge through the door.

“Jesus Christ, only you could be trying to get some while sat in an ice bath,” Jeff scoffs with a smile but instantly knows they’ve fucked up.

“Get out, the fuck?” Harry sits up, “Don’t interrupt me and m’wife. Get out!”

They stumble out and just then the alarm goes off.

YN helps him out, tucking him into a towel and helping him dry off - his head tucked into her neck and hand on her belly - massaging.

“Do you feel any better?” She hums while getting some stray droplets on the nape of his neck as he nuzzles into her warm skin.

“Mm,” He agrees drowsily, hand slipping under her shirt for more heat and she jumps at his icey touch, “Want t’sleep.”

And when they get to the hotel, YN logs onto his Instagram and uploads the ice bath pictures with nobody knowing the story behind it.

-

Hope you enjoyed!

[cozylittleartblog]

queencember day 23 (past)

it feels weird to post such lengthy non-art content on here but listen. listen. SOMEONE had to sort out the weird spade family history. and i. have decided. to give my opinions. because - you probably did not known this, it might be a surprise - i love them. and i have been thinking about this for three months. it’s funny I post this for queencember because admittedly queen is only in a solid half of this, it covers four characters and the relationships between them, but i don’t know under what other circumstances i’d post this and it’s definitely way too much to draw at once. i suppose it’s prone to change if i hear any Better Takes or if something interesting comes up in canon, the game isn’t done yet after all, but also this just. feels like stuff that isn’t going to get covered lmao

so here we go. four god damn pages of headcanons under the cut. a couple of them i did not come up with or have modified, and a couple of them i might have mentioned in tags or art before. there are also a couple light canon contradictions but this is what amuses me most in my head so A Few Sacrifices Must Be Made... these are just my own headcanons so if you disagree with anything that’s perfectly fine and valid 💙

The entire post-lightner abandonment section might as well be called “the fanfics went STRAIGHT to my head”

Obligatory set-up notes:

King starts as moderately less of an angry asshole, for the record. Still an angry asshole but not Nearly as bad as post-abandonment and post-knight king. He’s someone you wouldn’t mind working under... that much.

Queen is still queen of the cyber world. She is not originally from the card kingdom. 

Rouxls did tutorials before he did puzzles. The puzzle makers, after being fired, took up making tutorials. Why would that be a feasible option? Because the guy who made them took their jobs and the position is open. Checkmate. 

Pre-Lightner Abandonment

Queen is, in the light world, a library computer. Computers are mobile. Sometimes she’s loaned out to other locations. Relative to the dark world, this means her disappearing for weeks, maybe months at a time, on “Vacations/Business Trips/Jaunts/ETC”. (i don’t know if she has any advisors or anything but i like to think she lets swatch & the swatchlings run things on autopilot for her when this happens)

At some point she is loaned to the old classroom for an unspecified amount of time. (I can’t tell if this is funnier if it all happens over like, three weeks, or if this was a whole semester or even school year. Unspecified it is.) She acquaints herself with her fellow royals and, in-particular, befriends the King of Spades.

Now at first, they actually get along pretty well! Mutual admiration of power and status, the intrigue in the perspectives of royals from another kingdom, they both care about their subjects... Queen is funny and charismatic and endearingly dumb sometimes, also hot, and King is intimidating but out of the public eye he’s notably nice and even sweet in this reserved, affectionately awkward kind of way. A little rough around the edges, sure, but I’m sure he’s not secretly worse or anything! 🙃

They’re friends, eventually there’s some flirting. King likes her more than she likes him (and she does like him! just not as much,,,) but she knows she’s not staying here for long so might as well have some fun before she goes back home! Sure Let’s See Where This Goes

They’re dating, they’re married, making her officially a Queen of Spades, a child is spawned* - you know when a couple moves too fast so then they settle down and try to be serious and realize they don’t actually like the other person?? Yeah. She uh. Didn’t mean for it to get this far.

* I think darkner biology works differently?? I cannot elaborate but I don’t think Lancer exists by traditional means. He also might. I don’t know. LOUD shrug emoji. BUT, by whatever means he does exist, he is related to the both of them. 

They are both far too stubborn for this to work out. Queen is an eccentric nightmare to live with who can’t take things seriously. King is a lazy brute with a short temper. They mutually cannot handle each other for more than a couple hours every day, and now they live together.

Divorce time, babey! They do not like each other at this point but it’s Queen who serves the papers. Happens just in time for her loan to be up, and she’s returned to the library. She is not returning with a baby in tow. Enjoy the free spawn, King!

He needed a heir anyway this is fine

Lancer isn’t any older than a few months when this happens, maybe even younger, which is why he doesn’t remember her. King does not talk about her, ever. Actually I think so much as mentioning her is grounds for imprisonment, or private execution if it were in front of Lancer.

King is much too busy to parent a kid alone, and the servants are ill-equipped for this. You know what’s good at teaching people things and helping them?? Tutorials. They literally have a tutorial guy. That’s his whole thing! 

This is where Rouxls comes in, beyond being someone the King is only vaguely aware of. He dumps responsibility of Lancer onto him and he is less than thrilled about this, but he is a suck up to anyone above him and a huge coward. Telling the King “no” is a good way to end up in a cell on a good day, and the dude’s fresh off a divorce rn. So. Baby-sitting duty it is. It’s not like he’s needed for literally anything else, he is notorious for being next to useless. (“Oh being of use for a change, and to someone as important as the King himself and his own son… maybe this won't be so bad.”)

Whenever this all happens it was the final year the classroom was used, so it almost immediately leads into…

Post-Lightner Abandonment

King Is Fucking Pissed! 

He is trying to convince the other kings to take action, do something, blah blah No Talk Him Angy

Rouxls is raising Lancer. King checks on them when he has time, which is not often. He ends up befriending Rouxls by extension. 

Rouxls is still a pathetic suck up but he is a dumb and sweet pathetic suck up and oh no, that’s cute. His shenanigans are, to the King, a nice and even welcome change of pace from both the stress of running a kingdom, and dealing with the whole “aaa the lightners abandoned us” thing. and the whole “my wife left me” thing. ... ok dude’s got a lot going on. Also he’s… decent? With his son? I won't lie he is not winning any awards but he is Good Enough™ 

(I am sensing a pattern. The King likes dumb funny people.)

Bit of a slow burn here but his visitations increase and they’re boyfriends eventually. 

I saw Chapter 1 three years ago and immediately assumed King & Rouxls were like an actual couple and that just stuck in my head forever sorry 

rouxls needs attention and to be valued, has hopeless amounts of love to give, and is attracted to power. king has power, enjoys praise and affection, and is still capable of being just sweet enough to keep this dumb idiot wrapped around his finger. both of them are lonely. this works out somehow.

Literally all Lancer’s parents are bisexual I’m pretty sure it’s in the requirements when you sign up

It’s obvious who really raised Lancer. He doesn’t have a walk animation, likes making signs and writing, eats bugs, capitalizes Random Words for Emphasis, and just has some general similar flares for the dramatic that I feel he got from his ironically-titled Lesser Dad? He’s really silly too, unlike King but very much like Rouxls! (… and his mother! 🤔) There are some other things I can’t remember but like. It’s clear who at least tried to do the parenting here lmao. 

King does kinda care about his son? Enough to do the Bare Minimum but not as much as Rouxls comes to. He’s the one Lancer goes to when he’s hurt or having a rough time because he’s... so much nicer and more understanding than King. King is really hard on him and generally not that great of a parent. Hardly even hangs out with him and doesn’t really get that kids are… small? And weak? And still learning about the world? He’s got some… rough parenting practices. But I'm sure that’s fine, it's just tough love, right? Right, guys?

Rouxls is so stupidly soft for this child but he is not about to admit it or be public about it because he doesn’t need another thing for people to dangle over his head when he is already viewed as pathetic and useless. 

Post-Knight

King Has Fucking Lost It! 

I do not like the king but I think about Toby saying the fountain was affecting him and Making Him Worse, like, too often. He already wasn’t great. Now he’s double not great.

Rouxls promoted officially to Duke Of Puzzles for reasons even I am not sure about. Seriously IDK why anyone thought that was a good idea. 

So I’ve just decided to say it’s because They Are Boyfriends Your Honor and King wanted his funny little man to finally have a nice, high rank worth respecting. This is just about the last nice thing King does for either of his boys tbh.

(The “Rouxls is secretly super-powerful, being the rules card.” headcanon slots nicely in here as well if you look at it from the “I cannot have an easily influenced, borderline-god in easy access of anyone who wants to overthrow me or get in my way” angle.)

The “I Do Not (Publicly) Care About Lancer” shtick is cranked up to 11 as a result. And tbh he’s good at fooling people with it. 

[benry voice] rouxls likes mean people. So King being Extra Crazy And Malevolent? That’s fine. Attractive, even. Until he and Lancer are hardly spared from it. Kinda sucks now, actually. But, he’s not about to give up his nice new high rank, or piss off King and lose his head, or abandon Lancer to his shit father, etc etc. So he just. Deals with it. It’s fun when it’s not happening to either of them, at least.

Lancer and Rouxls have always been a comfort to each other. But especially right now 8′)

King has never viewed his son as more of a tool before. This six year old is just another thing to use to get what he wants. 

This six year old also doesn’t entirely understand what's happening or he might actually hate King more. He is too busy being Baby and seeking a glint of affection or approval from his dad to really care, though. 

Post-CH2

Rouxls broke up with king first chance he got lmfao Time For New Employment (And A New (Boy/Girl)friend/Partner?)

(you know what else i think about too much. it wasn’t enough for rouxls to be queen’s #1 peon. he was trying to get with her. and that feels like one more point for team “rouxls also likes dating his evil overlords” thank u very much) 

The more King slowly comes off his evil-fountain-high the less pleased he is about the above development. Oooof he misses his weird little man. Cry some more you evil little hamster man. Sulk in your stupid little cell. 

Queen is here again and more responsible. Lancer is hers now she’s not messing around this time. 

Re: The game dialogue about Queen arbitrarily deciding she was his mom - I would argue, in the right context, particularly this one, that the king is referencing how she'd left them originally. She arbitrarily picked up the title, that doesn't mean she didn't have a claim to it before. 

This Free Son Came With An Additional Free Dad?? Nice

Help The Free Dad Has A Crush On Me 

Nevermind It’s Fine He’s So Pathetic He Swings Back Around To Being Funny Lol (And He’s Weirdly Endearing And Nice To My Our Son) New Friend!!!!!!!!!

I will not elaborate on their relationship because I like playing (and will be playing) with conflicting takes at the same time (one-sided? requited but not officially acted upon/furthered? dating?), thus I don’t have any one solid headcanon here, but regardless, every take has the same ending - Queen does Not let it go anywhere official, because she’s not going to risk Something Happening and making the co-parenting situation Awkward. Can’t ruin a relationship you don’t have! Sorry rouxls lmao but it’s ok he gets over it

edit - hey. psst. future liz here from the future. ignore that last part i scratched out. she’s totally unironically kissing that idiot eventually, but i am not outright Deleting that part because that would be a legitimate hurtle in their relationship, should one develop. (i Do still stand by that there are multiple ways to read them and they’re all funny but My Favorite One Has Changed) i don’t think she’s ever had a serious relationship before. she is Fully aware of what a dick move it would be to waltz in, claim to be lancer’s mom girldad, just to get distracted and kiss his (other) dad, break his (other) dad’s heart, and then fuck back off. Again. She’s very dedicated to doing right by lancer, so... there might be A Minute There where she’s not really doing right by rouxls, whether or not he realizes that in his blind quest to get Any Scrap Of Attention At All. but it all sorts out eventually dw only happy endings for these fools as that is what they deserve. alright back to the rest of the post the way it was originally written -- 

She will still tease him in the meantime either way. It’s funny. Dude’s got it bad. ((edit again that part is still true haha the teasing quickly becomes. Self Indulgent. on her end. while she’s trying to figure out what to Do and pretending it Is still just teasing))

Lancer kinda misses his dad and hopes he gets better soon but for now he has two Other cool dads so it’s fine and wowie neither of them yell at him or make stupid rules or forget to feed him!!!

Lancer is only allowed to visit his dad with the other two dads present. 

Said other two dads are good at being civil but REALLY like spiting the King and semi-affectionately pissing him off. Mostly Queen. Rouxls is still a coward, even facing a dejected man behind bars, and also still has a small soft spot for him From The Old Times. (Also he doesn't want to burn that bridge completely) … That is not to say he doesn’t willingly participate in Queen’s spite, or that he doesn’t occasionally Go Off on King for his shitty behavior towards his son.

To be fair his motivations for Willingly Participating In Her Spite is like 98% just to be on the receiving end of her affections

He will participate in many flavors of shenanigans if it means any sort of interaction with her but ESPECIALLY romantic ones, even if she’s just doing it as a joke or to annoy someone else. Context doesn’t matter just Let It Happen Please 👉👈

Basically, Lancer has two cool dads now who love him very much and King is in jail. If he gets out he is Not invited to the Cooler Spade Family.

DROPS the MIC. THANK YOU. FOR COMING. TO MY TED TALK. there is actually MORE but this is, somehow, the short version! also there are some things i want to try exploring in art and i don’t want to just. show my whole hand or whatever.

i have. adhd <3 really really bad <3 and i have Latched Onto these idiots <3

[imtooscaredforthis]

Antagonist

Chapter Five: Homesick

Mentions of: Crying, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Knives, etc.

A/N: Here’s another chapter! Hope I didn’t make you guys wait too long, lol

Tags: @prettycutebunny @autisticpickle @dead-bxxxtch-walking @moonshineinasippycup @froegis

Letting out a long sigh, you walked back from yet another trial. You keep on thinking that you can’t face another new killer, but it honestly seemed like there was an endless amount of them, all sacrificing or moriying you in different brutal ways.

But at least you can get a break and relax. Unfortunately, you don’t have a specific place to relax in or anything, since your cabin hasn’t arrived yet. And you feel guilty about always going to Kate’s place, kinda ke you’re mooching off of her, so, you try to stay away from it as much as you can.

But things change when you see Ace walking over to the fire, with something shiny in his hand. “Check it out. This is a pretty nice necklace. I could probably be able to pawn this baby for a thousand or so. It’s a shame I can’t.”

“Hey, wait a second, that’s mine!” You said, recognizing it, and jumping up to your feet. Ace stared at you, seemingly hesitating, so you walked over to him, snatching it from his hand.

Unhooking it, you slipped the necklace around your neck, putting it on, and fiddled with the silver heart on the end of it, that had your initials engraved on it. “Where’d you get this?”

“Over there, there’s a bunch of stuff just laying in that box.” Ace gestured over his shoulder to a spot behind him, where a few other survivors were standing.

Brushing past him, you walked over to where all the survivors were, finding a cardboard moving box, which had all your belongings in it. “Looks like you finally got a cabin.”

Kate remarked, and you picked the box up, holding it in your arms, going over to the cabins. You stopped at the cabin on the far end, one that was right next to the woods. There’s a small, dented mailbox in front of it that has your last name on the side of it.

It looks just like the mailbox on the outside of your old house. Opening the door, you step inside, finding your old room, in your small, cramped apartment.

You smiled to yourself, looking around at your surroundings. It was all the same as you remembered it. The same rickety old bed, with the faded pink comforter, and your record player, and the wooden desk that would give you a splinter the second you touched it with all the old bills scattered across it. You even had your shitty bean bag chair too.

While you have more memories in your original home, the memories of this apartment are much better, and you appreciate that The Entity is letting you stay here.

You lay back on your bed, letting out a long groan, feeling your body sink into the mattress. You almost fell asleep, if it wasn’t for the nagging feeling of curiosity to see what was in the box.

There are a few sets of your old clothes, including pajamas, which is strangely convenient. You also found your old Sony Walkman, and some cassette tapes to go with it. There are a few records too, for your player, and you pulled it out and laid them on your bed.

You searched the bottom of the box, feeling around for something, but finding nothing until your fingers brushed against a small scrap of paper. You pulled it out of the box, flipped it over, and realizing what it was almost immediately.

Pictures of you and your sister in a photo booth. You sighed, staring at the stub in reminiscence. You remembered that day, when you two went to the carnival together and spent almost all night there, going on rides and playing games. The two of you were there so late that you had to be kicked out.

You miss her, so so much. There’s not a day that goes by where she doesn’t cross your mind. She’s always there, and it hurts.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears, but you couldn’t stop them. You clutched the paper tightly, fiddling with your necklace with your other hand. Soft sobs escaped your lips, and you sat there for a while, crying and crying until you managed to take a shaky breath and calm down.

After putting the records in the box, and the picture on the table behind you, you grabbed a cassette tape, popping it into the player. You slipped the headphones on, laid back in bed, shut your eyes, and listened as the music played.

And if you don’t love me now,

You will never love me again,

I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain

Slowly, you closed your eyes, letting yourself drift off to sleep.

–

Curiosity truly has eaten away at Frank, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he feels the compulsive need to know more about you. He doesn’t know why he feels the compulsive need to see you. To hurt you. All he does know is that need is starting to drive him crazy.

So, he gave into it.

The next thing he knew, he was at the killer's boundaries, watching the campfire. He scanned over the other survivors, unable to find you. That meant you were either in a trial or in your cabin.

Going with the latter, he made his way over to the cabins. He found yours at the very edge of the woods, and the light in your window was on. It must’ve been his lucky day.

Frank went up closer and closer to your Cabin until he could touch your windows and peer through. Now, killers are allowed to touch the outer edges of cabins, but they can’t go near the path leading to them, or inside.

The Entity also lets killers scratch and knock at the walls or windows. He supposed it was her way of keeping the survivor from getting too comfortable.

Pulling his knife from his pocket, he dragged it along your walls and windows, making small scratches and a light screeching sound on the glass, one that sounded similar to nails on a chalkboard.

But there wasn’t a sound, not even a peep from inside. Peering through the window, he found you laying on your bed, fast asleep, with a Walkman on, clutching the tapes close to you.

The sight made his heart pound in his chest, and he found himself licking his lips, like a predator preparing to eat their prey. How cute, you laying there, all helpless, it would be easy for him to just-

Julie then slipped into his mind, making him stop and feel a sudden clarity. What the hell is he doing? He can’t be doing this. He has Julie, and that’s all he needs, not this little obsession/killing fling on the side. He should leave.

And with that realization, he slowly crept away from your cabin, going back into the woods.

[bloodcoveredwithwalls]

Content

Tags: Soft, soft, fluff, INSIDE era, gender neutral (any can read)!

Word Count: 2.7k 

You walk out of the kitchen with a glass of coffee. A spoon of sugar and enough milk. Just the way Bo likes it. Today though, he wanted it made for the evening, instead of his usual morning routine.

“Bo! Your coffee’s ready!” You scream up through the stairway.

“Coming!”

Running down the stairs was Bo, with a stack of clothes, some his, some yours. You recognize one of your favorite clothing on the pile in his hands.

“Excuse you, is that my flannel?” You ask, tugging on the cloth.

“Excuse me, and yes. Yes it is, honey.” He answers with his eyebrows raised and an awkward smile.

“Aaand, what is it for?”

“That, I may not be able to tell you now. But, come with me to the guesthouse today, will you? I’ll give you a sneak peak.” He says, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. No struggle of course, he was way taller than you.

You nodded, “Okie. Very exciting.” noticing your wool beanie in between the stack.

Bo’s been working on a new project. For at least a year now, he’s been planning on everything. The songs that’ll be in it, how it’ll be played out. Your living room, bedroom and even the kitchen has Bo’s notes and his notebooks scattered around. You’ve promised him long ago that you wouldn’t open or look into any of them. Of course, you didn’t, respecting and giving him his privacy.  

He stays in the guesthouse for hours a day. From morning to night, some days he would even sleep in the guesthouse. You’ve never been in there since he first went in to start his project. Never stepped close at all. Sometimes though, whenever you lay in bed at night, you swore you could hear him slamming the keys of his keyboard from afar, or maybe even him yelling at things.

You know he struggles with his own content. You’ve been through this quite often. He would sometimes come back to the house frustrated, unable to create something that he would like. Some days, he would come back crying, walking straight into your open arms and sobbing into your shoulder. And although you’ve offered to help, he shrugged it off and reassured you that he wants to try his best and work on it alone.

“You need anything else?” You asked as you follow behind him.

“At the moment, no. Oh, wait actually yes. You know my favorite pair of socks?”

“The one with the yellow bit at the end?”

“That’s the one. Thank you Y/N, honey.”

You place the coffee mug on the kitchen table and walked to your front door, where right next to it, is a little cabinet. You pull the top drawer open and looked for the socks, pulling pair after pair, until you found them.

“Found them!” You happily beamed. But as you look back to where Bo was last, he wasn’t there. You saw the sliding door leading to the backyard open , the gentle breeze greeting the kitchen and living room.

You closed the drawer and briskly walked to the kitchen to grab Bo’s coffee mug before stepping out through the door. You tiptoe through the cold grass, quickly making your way to the guesthouse.

Just as you were about to step into the room, Bo came out, quickly closing the door and stopping you in your tracks. He spread his arms out to cover the door. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Okay. Just a fair warning before you go in.  There’s a lot of random shit scattered around literally everywhere. So, don’t be too surprised. Or worried.” He smiles.

“Got it. Oh, and here are the socks. And coffee.” You throw back a smile at him. Managing a thumbs up with the pair of socks in your grip.

“Perfect. Thank you so much.”

He turns around and slowly pushing the door handle down his his left elbow, turning his head slightly to you with a shy smile on his face as you both enter into the guesthouse.

The lights were off, the room only illuminated by the sun peaking through the blinds. As you look around, you realize he wasn’t kidding at all. The floor was covered in different wires coming out from different directions. A camera on a tripod was set in the middle of the room, facing towards where you first entered. One of his keyboards was placed on its stand near the camera to a certain angle, while the other that Bo owns was on the floor, awkwardly propped up against the wall.

The desk and cabinet had different books and pieces of paper scattered on top, camera

“Alright, if you don’t mind, the sofa we have is where you can sit on for now. I know the room’s an absolute mess right now.”

He puts his hand out for you, and you grab onto him, slowly making your way to the sofa in the corner of the room with your eyes to the floor, making sure you aren’t stepping on any of the cables.

Bo sat down on the sofa, and pats on the empty space next to him, signaling you to sit. As you did so, you couldn’t leave your eyes off every corner of the room.

“So, this is it so far.”  He sighed.

“I don’t even know what most of all the stuff on the floor is for.” You said, waving your hands from the left to the right, framing what you’re seeing.

“Here, let me show you.” He stands up, walking towards on of the devices on the floor. As he stepped on one of the buttons on it, a bright purple light   projected from a panel near you and onto the right side of the wall.

He stepped on a different button, and this time the light projected to another direction from a different panel.

“Woah…” You muttered.

“Pretty cool right?”

“Very cool…” You said with your lips parted in awe.

He takes a sip of the warm coffee.  “And, tonight, I want you to be here as I record my very first step to my project.”

God, his smile could sweep you off your feet every, single, time. You were so proud of him, so happy to see him step out of his nest and finally work on something once again.  

You frantically nodded, not able to contain your excitement.

He took a sip of his coffee, “But. We might have to wait a bit, because I’ve gotta record this first bit in complete darkness.”

“You sure you want me to stay? I mean, I can wait back in the house.”

He placed his mug on the desk beside him and walked towards you. He reached his hand out and you placed yours in his.

“I haven’t been at home much for some time now. I only ever come back to sleep or to have dinner with you. And you’ve been the only person there for me throughout my process of making this.”

His blue eyes stay on yours. His voice is soft, very gentle, making sure you’re getting what he’s trying to say.

“And Y/N, it’s only fair that you get to be a part of it.”

Once again that smile of his is back. You can’t help but to jump up from your seat and hug him, landing your head on his chest. He froze for a second, hands spread apart with you in between. But in a second, he enveloped you in his warm embrace.

“I am so, so, so proud of you.” You said to him in a muffled voice, “I really am.”

He slowly releases you, and holds you by your shoulders. You notice he was a little teary eyed, his face softening from usual. You place a hand on his cheek and he rests on your hand, soon his left hand follows and holds your hand against his cheek.

“Let’s get ready shall we? I’ll help out with anything you need.” You said to him.

For the next two hours, you helped Bo get ready to record. He vaguely tells you what goes where, and you follow as instructed, moving his cameras around, testing it to see if it’s the way he wants it. Lights were moved around to different areas of the room, testing the way it shines onto him from different angles. You listened and watched as he tests his mic, adjusting how loud the audio output was gonna be, making different tracks to separate the instrumental track from his vocals. This was all a fascinating process for you.

Occasionally, you would have to leave the guesthouse to wait outside as Bo tests something out. He’d told you prior to getting ready that he wanted a few things to be a surprise to you when he starts recording. You were a sucker for his surprises. Anything that Bo’s ever made is a masterpiece to you, so, you’d be happy to wait outside to see what he’s done eventually.

It wasn’t long that you had to wait outside until finally, he opens the door to the guesthouse and tells you to come in. Even then, he covers your eyes to avoid you from looking around too much and spoiling the fun. He guides you back to the sofa, and after you’ve settled on your seat, he tells you to close your eyes.

“Keep them closed! No peeking!”

You hear his voice moving further away from you as he said so. Your curiosity grew, wanting to know where he’s going and what he was up to now.

“Okay, okay! Promise they’re closed!”

You covered your eyes with both hands, unable to hide your smile. You’ve never felt this excited for anything ever since the pandemic started.

“Okay, once I tell you to have them opened, I’ll have started recording by then. So, try your best to be as silent as possible.”

“Got it.” You manage a thumbs up with one hand, while the other now covers both your eyes.

You hear him shuffle around the room, a little “ow” coming out from him as he slaps something on. You didn’t recognize what it was. Then, you heard what you thought was the light switch being flicked. After hearing him shuffle around a for a bit more, he finally tells you to open your eyes from a distance.

“Okay, you can open them now, honey.”

You put your hands down and slowly opened your eyes, blinking a couple of times to adjust to the suddenly dark room. Bo was sat on the chair you both set up, with the light shining to his right side. You guessed what he slapped on was the headlamp stretched around his head. You had a million ideas of what it might be for, but knowing Bo, it’s probably an idea you wouldn’t have thought of.

You pressed your bottom and top lip together and did a zipping motion from the left to the right. He smiled, holding his laugh in as to not mess up the shot. You shoot him a thumbs up and he returned it by blowing you kiss.

And he started. He pressed a few buttons on the keyboard of his laptop then sat back against his chair, relaxed and a little slouched. A catchy beat came from the speaker you helped him set up. Soon after, a few synths came in, making a tune. You sat, frozen to the sofa, only able to take in what's happening in front of you.

Bo was looking away from the camera before he slowly starts lifting the mic closer to his mouth, before starting to sing on cue.

“If you’d have told me, a year ago that I’d be locked inside of my home.” In between, a pre recorded audio of him singing came up before he continued singing live again.

“I would’ve told you, a year ago, “Interesting, now leave me alone.””

You were in awe. You love his deep voice. Finally hearing him sing to these new lyrics that he’d wrote over the past year felt so surreal. You smiled seeing how Bo bounces his leg to the beat of the song.

“Robert’s been a little depressed. No~”

You felt your heart sank at the line, but you kept your cool, not wanting to distract him. Although you were quickly able to calm down a little after hearing the bridge of the song come up. You couldn’t lie, it’s a catchy song.

Once you heard the build up to the chorus, you saw Bo reach his hand up to press a button on his headlamp.

“I’m sorry I was gone, but look I made you some content.”

Bo looked up and so did you, and your jaw dropped as the disco ball hung on the ceiling appeared to be spinning around, reflecting the light shining from his headlamp. The disco ball projected all the lights against the walls of the room, making it look so bright and interactive. You looked around the walls, seeing the lights dance on every single item in the room. You couldn’t hide the smile growing on your face, forgetting if Bo might get distracted by you.

“Daddy made you your favorite, open wide.”

You snap your gaze back at Bo after hearing that, loving how he added in that line to the song. He was concentrated as ever, maintaining a leveled eye contact to one point as not to move the light shining on the disco ball. He continues on, and you stare at him, smiling as you enjoyed the catchy tune.

“It’s a beautiful day to stay inside.”

He lowers the mic with the last line, and looks down into the camera, shining it with the headlamp. You squint your eyes, to try and look at him. The room went dark as he turns his headlamp off, leaving the room pitch black. He walked over to the light switch and flicked it on.

He catches your eyes, smiling wide at you.

You stand from the sofa, making happy little hops towards him.

“How did I not see the disco ball?” You ask in complete awe.

“That’s a bit of Bo’s magic.” He jokes, grinning at you as he takes of his headlamp, throwing it to the chair.

You hug him again, tight and proud. Happy that you were able to linger in the guesthouse and watch him take his first step into the project.

“So. What do you think?” He said, throwing a glance around the room then to you.

You cling on to him, a hand around his waist while you lean on his side.

“Absolutely incredible. Loved the song, loved the lighting, and definitely loved seeing you sing.”

“I need you to know this song’s for you. You’re the reason I’m able to start making content again. So, thank you so much.”

You place other hand on his chest, still leaning onto him.

“Thank you for starting again.”

He reached around for your hand, holding both of them in his before leaning down to kiss you. So gentle, so loving. He places his hand on your cheek, letting his fingers fall to your jaw and neck, the perfect fit. He pulls away, giving you one last quick peck on the lips.

You sigh happily.

“Well, we can leave everything here for now. Give me a sec, I’ll just quickly turn everything off.”

You watch as he leaps to his laptop, then to his speaker, making sure everything’s been saved and turned off properly.

“Alright. All good.”

“Pasta for dinner?” You ask him, intertwining your hands with his.

“Anything you make, really.” Nodding in approval.

You both step out of the guesthouse, knowing that for a few months or maybe more, you won’t be able to see him in there anymore. Before he closes the door, you take a last look at the slowly spinning disco ball. You were left to imagine what’s Bo going to create next. Only surprises.

You walked back to the house hand in hand, watching Bruce wait in front of the sliding door.

“Anyways, Daddy huh?” You teased him.

“Oh hush, I know you love it.” He laughed, patting the top of your head.

- 

Boy, was this fun to write. Thank you so much to @pharlapcartoonist​ for the request and idea behind this, I hope you liked it! I’m open to more requests! Hope everyone has a great day! Please stay happy and stay safe. <3