#they just have to get phoenix to tighten them sometime

[deltastorm101]

“do the face, do the face! :D”

@subjectsix ‘s K.Y.E. and Raster from her original story Botan City!

[talkfastromance4]

Listen… I am obsessed, as I’ve said before, with Sugar Daddy!Jake and Sugar. And I’m a sucker for being taken care of so the blurb about the migraine and bad day was my jam but it got me thinking… Jake needs taken care of too sometimes, and I’m dying to know what that would like when he’s having a bad day and just needs a little tlc

Sure thing bby😊 prepare for extra soft!Jake

Lift Me Up–Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 1.7k

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

You were just finishing up some boutonnieres and corsages for another wedding when your watch buzzed on your wrist. At a quick glance you saw Rooster’s name appear but you didn’t read the message yet because you had to finish wrapping twine around one more set of flowers. Your wrist buzzed again, and again but you were adamant on finishing this before being distracted.

Once it was wrapped and tightened, you scrolled through your notifications, messages equally from Rooster and Phoenix.

Rooster: are you coming to the hard deck by chance?

Phoenix: are you busy tonight? Please say no, Bagman is extra sour

Rooster: we’re all begging. Hangman’s in a terrible mood.

Rooster: WE ALL NEED YOU

Phoenix: please babe, he’s bad

“What in the world?” you mutter as you read through the frantic texts. 

It’s only a little after five, what could Jake possibly be doing that both Rooster and Phoenix are reaching out to you? You place your finished flowers in the boxes and set them on the shelf in the fridge and gather your things. Reynolds is waiting for you in his usual parking spot, his smile turns into a frown at your own troubled expression.

“Is something wrong?”

“Can we go to The Hard Deck? Something’s wrong with Jake…”

“Really? He didn’t text me…” Reynolds scratches his chin as he opens your door. “But we’ll stop by and see what’s going on.”

“Thank you.”

The bar isn’t that far from your shop and for a Thursday night, it’s pretty packed with cars and pilots loitering onto the sand. 

“Should I come in with you?” Reynolds asks.

“No, I’ll be okay. Maybe wait for a bit in case we need to drive him home,” you say and get out. 

Some of the other pilots say hello to you as you pass them but you barely smile because you’re growing concerned for Jake. Is he drunk and he’s acting belligerent? Is he sick and refusing to go home?

You weave through the crowd finding Rooster near the back by the jukebox and pool tables. There’s a loud crack! followed by a collective groan and someone cursing Jake’s name. 

“Penny’s gonna ban you from ever entering her bar again,” Rooster shakes his head and moves out of your way.

You see Jake holding a splintered cue stick, one half of it is on the pool table and his face is hard, stony. His brows are furrowed in a permanent scowl as he tosses the broken stick on the table.

“I’ll replace it. Give me another one,” Jake snaps his fingers but no one moves. He turns around snatching one from the holders and you push yourself in front of Rooster.

“Thank God you’re here,” he mutters. “Hangman, time to go home.”

“No, I’m not ready to go home, Rooster. Not until I win a game of pool and–Sugar,” he stops himself short when he turns around and sees you. He drops the new stick in his hand as if he’s caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What are you doing here?”

“We called her to come get you,” Phoenix says. “It’s been a long day. Go home.”

“I thought you were working late,” Jake says, ignoring the others completely. 

“I got caught up,” you walk towards him, hand reaching for his cheek. When you’re close enough his cheek falls into your palm effortlessly. You can feel the tension in his jaw. “You had a bad day?”

“Wasn’t the best, no,” he murmurs as you bring your other hand to his other cheek. You rub at the circles under his eyes, noting how they’re bloodshot. 

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

He follows you willingly, walking past his friends who stare at your retreating backs dumbfounded. They insisted he should go home hours ago but he refused and then you come in saying only a few words and he follows you not a problem. 

When the two of you get back outside you let Reynolds know he can go home. Jake says he’s fine to drive and you want to ask him what happened but his body language is screaming annoyance. He keeps one hand on your knee and you trace your finger over the grooves of his knuckles, circling over the back of his palm. 

His silence is so loud when you’re finally home and he slams his door when he gets out. He opens yours more gently, his hand held out to you, his gaze soft as he looks at you. You take his hand and close your door behind you, following him closely into the house.

“Can I make you anything?” you ask quietly. 

“Do we have tomato soup?”

“I’m sure Rhea keeps it on hand,” you smile, continuing to stroke his hand with your thumb. “Do you want grilled cheese with it?”

“That sounds good,” he nods.

“Okay. Why don’t you go take a hot shower, the food will be ready when you’re done.”

You squeeze his hand, debating on kissing him but he turns away and heads towards the stairs. You skip to the kitchen grabbing the necessary things to make the soup. Of course Rhea bought the best type of canned tomato soup and you took two out since you hadn’t eaten yet either. While the soup is heating up in the pot you begin on the grilled cheese using the panini maker. 

You’re humming ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’ as you look in the freezer for dessert. Jake loves sundaes with chocolate syrup and sprinkles. You stir the soup, make another grilled cheese and then Jake struts in. You were hoping he’d take a longer shower, letting the hot water worry away his tight muscles. 

“Hey,” you smile loving how fluffy his hair is looking already. He has on your favorite shirt, the NAVY one and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “That was a quick shower.”

He moves past you and turns the soup down on low so it simmers. Then he places the grilled cheese on a hot plate and covers it up.

“The soup is just about done. Aren’t you–ahh!” you squeal when he lifts you up onto the counter. You open your legs and he slots between them, his arms moving behind your lower back. 

“Wanted to be with you,” he mumbles.

“Jake…what happened today?” you ask resting your arms on his shoulders.

“I couldn’t beat my times today and in the meetings following, I was used as the example of what not to do. I don’t know what happened, I couldn’t accelerate fast enough. So I wanted to blow off steam at the bar, prove to everyone I can do it all.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day. It’s okay if you can’t do it all, you know, I think you’re pretty perfect already,” you encourage. “You’ll beat your times, just keep practicing and you’ll get there. Want me to come yell at your officers for singling you out?”

“No, that’s okay,” he chuckles slipping his fingers under your shirt. He draws circles on your skin. “It wouldn’t do much, you’re too adorable.”

“I can be feisty if I need to,” you put on a tough face, “I can scream and shout about how you are the best pilot there is.”

“Thanks Sugar,” he smiles. He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your forearm then sighs. He keeps kissing up your arm until he’s by your shoulder and you turn his head so you can press your lips to his. 

Your arms tighten around each other, and your legs hook around his hips. His kiss is hurried and hot, his fingers hot on your bare skin as he shifts them up under your shirt. One hand moves to your stomach, his lips feverish as they transition to your jaw and neck. You toss your head back gasping, his fingers graze the side of your breast as he sucks on your neck. 

Your hips involuntarily rut against his, fingers tangling in his hair. Your body is electric from his touch and kiss. His hand on your lower back rocks you forward, his lips moving to your collarbones and in between your breasts. 

“Jake,” you whimper enjoying the sensations but then he stops. 

He removes his lips from your breasts, his breath hot and wanton on your skin as he recollects himself and pulls you back up in a sitting position. You stare at him quizzically.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” he exhales.

“I wasn’t telling you to stop,” you shake your head suddenly feeling ashamed. 

“I know. But I don’t want to rush anything, wanna take my time and give you the proper attention you deserve,” he says pulling your shirt back down. “And not when I’m upset about work.”

“But–”

He shushes you with a soft kiss. 

“Don’t forget how much you tempt me on the daily, Sugar,” he says on your lips. “You made me my favorite comfort food, so let’s enjoy that okay?”

You nod and hop down the counter, your legs a little shaky from that quick but intense makeout. You ladled the soup while he gathered plates and silverware. Still feeling a little dejected, you sat on one of the stools and began to eat slowly. When Jake joined you, he dragged you closer to him, the stool grating against the floor. Then he lifted your legs onto his lap and smiled.

“Want you as close as possible,” he says then starts to eat. You smile into your spoon.

When you’re finished eating, you move into the living room climbing onto his large couch. 

“Pick your favorite movie,” you tell him. He decides on 10 Things I Hate About You and when he turns around, you pat your chest as a place for him to lay. 

He jumps onto the couch cuddling onto your chest, basically laying on top of you with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around you. His overexcitement makes you laugh and you start to play with his hair. That calms him down fairly quickly and you scratch at his neck.

“You’ve no idea how good that feels,” he groans. 

“Oh I know, it’s my specialty, remember?” you tease and kiss the top of his head. You move your hands down his back, scratching it lightly and he groans again. 

“Don’t ever stop,” he sighs.

You remain that way for the whole movie, one hand scratching at his back and the other petting his hair thinking the whole time how you never want to stop.

[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Two

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x F!Reader

Rating: M (Sexual themes, Crude language, Curse words; WARNING!! Mentions of Death/Desire to Die)

Description: Soldier Boy and you don't always get along, but that doesn't mean there isn't something going on. Ben isn't very good at hiding his feelings for you. He isn't good at showing them either.

Part One

"Where the hell is Phoenix?" Soldier Boy finally noticed why there was a gaping hole in the meeting room's atmosphere. With his feet propped up on the edge of the table, he inspected the entirety of his team and found that one member was missing. Stan Edgar straightened with a sigh, an almost performance worthy somberness to his expression as he shrugged.

"Sadly, Phoenix has fallen ill." Soldier Boy gritted his teeth, the anxious energy tripled as he glared around at his team mates, whom were all unable to make eye contact with him.

"Ill?" Soldier Boy spat, "That's impossible. The bitch has an immune system akin to the Berlin Wall."

"That's what we had assumed for many years, but Phoenix is currently bed ridden with a small cold, proving us wrong." Edgar redirected the conversation then, immediately, "She will not be joining us on this mission, but hopefully she will have recovered by the time we get back."

"Bullshit." Ben wasn't falling for it. Phoenix was a goddamned firecracker-You were a firecracker. Although he had never seen it, he was certain that not even the sniffles would keep you from putting on that suit and fighting. Edgar made it seem like it was so normal, nothing to be alarmed over, but Phoenix was in her early fifties and you never got sick. Something wasn't right here. "Has anyone seen her?" He peered around the table, the awkward silence giving him his answer. "Well, that's settled then. Vought sent her on a fuckin' secret mission, and now they're trying to cover it up." He was satisfied with that conclusion, until Edgar cocked his head stoically at him, and said:

"Interesting theory, Soldier Boy, but Phoenix is actually here in the tower right this very moment. Resting. You are welcome to go see for yourself, no secret mission whatsoever." Soldier Boy, as stubborn as he was, went to stand. "I would insist though, that you go find her after the meeting. This is just a small briefing before our trip to Nicaragua." Soldier Boy's jaw tightened and he reluctantly sat back down, kicking his feet back up once more.

For the rest of the meeting, Soldier Boy remained surprisingly quiet, adrift so to speak, attention completely lost to all things around him. Usually, he had a habit of complaining and making quick insults at his teammates, but this time something more intriguing had taken up space in his thoughts. You.

Was he actually worried? He never worried about anything, he was Soldier Boy. But you were not unlike him when it came to your super abilities and the idea that you were sick didn't sit right with him.

Neither of you ever really got along: not having you around for a mission should have made him happy, but it didn't. He appreciated your grit, something that was in short supply these days. He always had appreciated your grit. You were the only idiot on the team stupid enough to call him out and he loved every second of it. You were fierce and compassionate and you were a damn good hero. If anyone asked the right question, he would very openly admit that you were the only other competent little shit in all of Payback-aside from himself, that was. And his countless attempts at getting into your pants? Well, it was sort of a coverup. Because he did like you so much that it almost hurt sometimes not being near you. You turned him down every time, forever and always was your modo, but it didn't put him off in the slightest. He loved it more than he should have.

Not having you around. Impossible. Not happening. He wouldn't allow it. He was the leader of Payback and if he said you were coming, you were coming.

When the meeting finished-small, my ass-he ordered one of the interns to go fetch him a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bottle of brandy. He chuckled to himself as he watched them sprint away to go complete his order, knowing that if they made him wait any longer than was necessary he would not be pleased.

"You're going to go see her, aren't you?" Crimson Countess popped out from behind him, leaning against the wall beside the meeting room's double doors. Soldier Boy put on his flirtiest expression, propping an arm up beside Countess' head before grinning.

"Why? Are you jealous?" He teased, thinking it would curl those beautiful painted lips of hers. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

"What's the point even?" His eyes narrowed on her.

"What do you mean, sweetcheeks?" He wasn't going to feed any assumptions, if he didn't understand said assumptions to begin with. "You're just being paranoid. You know there is only one girl for me." He winked, caressing her porcelain cheek with the crook of his finger.

"Don't even." She shoved his hand away and he visibly frowned. "You fucked me once and that was it for you. Then you moved on to all these other girls and that's fine. But you don't want to fuck Phoenix, do you?" Her features drawn down in a sullen glare, "You want to be with her." Soldier Boy gulped, cracking his neck and then standing back from his lean on the wall to adjust his vest.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, I don't."

"Here!" The breathless intern returned, Soldier Boy faced him with a raised brow.

"What the fuck? That was like five seconds, kid." The intern was bent over, struggling to catch their breath. They held out an open bottle of whiskey and a container of a sloshy, mushy liquid. "Are you shittin' me?" Soldier Boy snatched the container from the intern's hand. "What the fuck is this?"

"My lunch, Sir. Chicken Noodle Soup that my mother made..." He held up the liquor, Soldier Boy winced in disgust at the half empty bottle. "And this, I stole it from the Legend's office." Soldier Boy lifted his chin in thought, his features loosened for a moment and he swayed his head from side to side in consideration.

"Points for effort, fuck nut..." He snatched up the bottle of booze and then lifted his boot, using a small fraction of his strength to tip the intern over to the ground. "But the soup is cold, so you're still pathetic." He shot a look back at a discarded Countess and then carelessly began down the hallway, leaving the Intern groaning and laying flat on the floor.

He had been in Phoenix's penthouse many times, a majority of the time he was uninvited. You had to have your door replaced at least seven times in the past year because he had a penchant for breaking and entering, especially if you weren't alone. He just couldn't help himself. The idea of you being with someone else, when he was more than capable of stopping it, it itched at his skin. He sometimes would stand outside your door for hours, contemplating whether or not to knock. And obviously, why would he knock? He was Soldier Boy. He didn't knock for anyone.

But god, what a stubborn bitch you were...

This time he would knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He heard some shuffling on the other end, a TV being paused, followed by footsteps.

"Yes?" A nasally voice sounded=, he almost couldn't believe that it belonged to you.

"Police. Open up." He smirked, tilting his head as he listened for your response. There was a brief silence, and then:

"Fuck off, Ben."

"Think again, cupcake, I brought you the goods." Another moment of silence, he waited, and then he was done waiting. He dug his shoulder into the edge of the doorframe, his cheek close to it as if he was listening. "God, you must love me breaking down your door."

"Urgh, stop!" You hit the door and he bounced back with a hearty chuckle. "GO. AWAY."

"Do you think that's going to work?" You unlocked the door and swung it open, Soldier Boy instantly recoiled at the sight of you. You were wearing at least three layers of sweatshirts, comically making you look thicker, sweatpants and a pair of fluffy slippers. Your hair was disheveled, dark circles under your eyes, and your skin was sickly looking. His eyebrows furrowed and a certain strictness overtook him.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Jesus Christ," He hid his concern as quickly as it had dawned on him. "Please tell me you're dying." You slumped into the door, tiredly fluttering your eyes before sniffling.

"You'll be dead in a few seconds if you don't fuck off." There it was, that fire that he loved oh so much.

"Hear me out-"

"I hate hearing you out."

"I know, but this time..." He held up the soup and the bottle. "You might give me a chance."

"Really?" You snorted, crossing your arms as a horrible shiver wracked your body. "This is what you bothered me for."

"Considering that no one else on the team has stopped by, I'd say beggars can't be choosers."

"I didn't beg to be bothered by you, asshole."

"But you thought it, didn't you?" He held the items up again, puckering his lips in an amusing pose. "Come on~" He chirped, "Let me bother you."

"I'll accept the offering, you can leave now." You reached out for them, just to shut him up, except that wasn't enough. He swiped the items back to his chest and feigned an appalled look.

"Oh, please, honey, we're a package deal." You stared at him blankly, before stepping back, about to shut the door. "You close that door, next time I'll break it down." The shift in his tone, from playful to terse, sent a bout of irritation through you. You cracked it back a little, closing your eyes and then with an exhausted exhale, you creaked it open just enough. "Yahtzee." He cheered in a sing song voice, entering your penthouse and then booking it for the couch. You slammed the door and rushed to beat him to it.

"No. Don't you dare. No. No! FUCK!" He splayed himself across the couch, blankets and all, destroying the little nest you had made for yourself. You kicked the edge of the couch, it shifted from your strength and Soldier Boy laughed.

"Ooo, what are we watching?" He sat upright, allowing some space for you to occupy. He placed the bottle and the soup on the coffee table, squinting in thought at the giant Panasonic screen ahead of him. "A porno?" You bonked him on the head as you passed in front of him to curl into the corner of the couch.

"No, dipshit, it's Footloose. VHS." He unlatched his helmet and proceeded to remove it, dropping it alongside the other items on the coffee table.

"Ahhh, who's the guy in that-uh-" He snapped his fingers aggressively, closing in his eyes to scour the farthest reaches of his being. "Steak-Sausage-He's named after some kind of meat, I know it-"

"Bacon..." You couldn't help but laugh. "Kevin Bacon." Soldier Boy smiled boyishly at you, weaving his fingers through his hair and pulling back the bangs that dropped before his eyes.

"Yeah, that Bacon guy. Not bad, I guess. Shitty movie though." You hit his arm with what strength you had.

"Don't fuck this up for me. I've never seen it before."

"Neither have I..." He snorted, "I was too busy getting a blow job in the back row. Ya'know back in my time-"

"Our time." Oh yeah, sometimes he forgot that they were almost the same age. "Back in our time." You shivered again, snatching the blanket that Soldier Boy had pinned to the couch with his ass. He showed you mercy and sat up for you, so that you could bring the fabric up and around your body. His eyes focused on you for a split second before he shook his head away.

"Back in our time, we had good actors. They'd sing and dance and do all sorts of shit. Heck, did I ever tell you about that time I-"

"Ate Audrey Hepburn out in a bathroom stall at the Academy Awards?" You finished dully, Soldier Boy chewed the inside of his cheek.

"What about when I-"

"Fucked Marilyn Monroe in the ass, in the Oval Office?"

"Okay, now-"

"When you jerked off on Lucille Ball?" He clicked his tongue and snapped at you this time:

"You made that last one up."

"Sounds about right though, you mostly only ever contribute your sexual exploits to ninety percent of our conversations, so..." You sniffled, lifting the remote from the end table and shrugging. "Unless you have a legitimate explanation, I don't want to hear it."

"Fuckin' bitch." He muttered under his breath as you pressed play on the remote, rolling the movie. It was silent for a few minutes, nothing but the music and conversation from the big screen, and then you shivered again, your teeth rattling as your body tensed. You cursed under your breath, a wave of annoyance washing over you. "Vogelbaum see you, yet?" Soldier Boy asked, from the corner of your eyes you saw his head tilt toward you. "You don't look so good."

"Why do you care?" You spat at him, shifting to stare in his direction.

"Because you're a member of my team..." You rolled your eyes back to the movie, choosing to ignore what sounded like genuine care in his words. "I mean, if I am allowing you to stay here-"

"Allowing me?" You forced out a boisterous laugh, from the pit of your belly, that slightly hurt. "What are you gonna' do? Force me to go throw myself limply at Marxist Sandanistas?"

"You still got some strength in you, kid. Squeeze my pinky." He followed this by actually holding his pinky out. You rolled your eyes, but proceeded to wrap your pinky around his and squeeze. Strong, but not that strong.

"Ben, I can hardly lift myself up from the ground, it hurts to breath, and this morning I struggled to bring my tea to a steady boil." He flicked his pinky from yours, your hand limply falling to your lap. His eyes scanned you, chest rising and falling with a heavy breath.

"You afraid?"

"No." You confessed, although you continued with, "Heck, the sooner I die, the less I have to look at your ugly mug."

"That's a brat move." He smiled at you, you couldn't help but return it. There was almost an odd way about this moment, as if you were secretly comforting each other, while trying not to comfort each other, while also trying to hate each other. Or at least, this was a much more comfortable moment compared to the usual. "Seriously. Did you get Vogelbaum in here?"

"He came and checked me out, said I was fine."

"That sit right with you?"

"Not, really, but I don't care." You bit your bottom lip, refusing to look at him.

"Why, not?" The music in the background was no longer soothing as it was needling every nerve in Soldier Boy's patience. "(Y/N)?" It was the only warning you were going to get before he destroyed the TV, he decided.

"We don't age." You clicked the button on the remote, the screen zapping into an abyssal black. You propped your head under your fist on the armrest and gazed at Soldier Boy. You hadn't slept for days and your superhuman energy could only run for so long. You were on backup at this point.

"So what..." He crossed his arms, a stern curve to his brow. "I thought woman liked that shit. No wrinkles, or whatever."

"Ben, I'm being serious."

"Me too."

"You're sixty-five years old..."

"Thanks for stating the obvious."

"And you don't look a day over thirty." He breathed, pretending not to understand the implications of what you were suggesting. He knew it already. The both of you did. You weren't the only two heroes that never aged, but it was a given that you didn't age ever and that your kind of hero was few and far between. "I'm fifty-four and look just as young as I did when I was twenty-two, getting that first injection of V."

"What are you even going on about, honey? I think you need some weed, calm ya' down, want me to-"

"Please listen to me for once." Were you crying? Oh boy, Ben thought. He cleared his throat and then sat up taller against the backrest of the couch, directing his eyes to the ceiling. "I don't want to live forever. Time gives life meaning, ya'know? And when you can't feel pain, or you're too strong to give someone normal a really good hug, it starts to get to you." You palmed at your face, willing the tears away. "I want to get married one day, I want to have kids and grow old with someone."

"Pfft, Marriage." Ben mockingly echoed, but he was silenced by your tear stained expression. He had never seen you so broken before.

"I can't believe I'm even talking to you about this..." Your breath wavered with a snicker. "You're the biggest asshole I've ever met. You don't care."

"I've thought about it..." He needed to busy himself with something, so he settled on the whiskey. He tucked in a reach for the bottle, yanking the cork out and going for a chug. The liquid left a pleasant burn behind on his throat and he winced. "Settling down with someone..." He feigned a cough into his fist. "That I care about. That I-" His head tilted back and forth. "That I might even love."

"Countess..." Hearing you say her name made his skin crawl, his fist clenched and he shut his eyes. No. Not Countess, Phoenix. "She loves you."

"She hates me." He plopped back, placing the bottle in between his legs on his crotch. "Only puts up with me because of the money, because of the fame."

"Maybe if you showed some loyalty to her, she wouldn't." His tongue slung around teeth, collecting the residue of the hardy liquid. With his head laid on the puffy pillow of the backrest, he turned it to you.

"I'm a real fuck up, I know it. My father seemed to know it too..." He fiddled with the neck of the bottle. "But I'm still afraid of failing the people I really do care about." You eyed him, not particularly sure what to do with this soft and open moment. "And Countess isn't one of them."

So you push people away.

Your breath hitched, you buried the bottom half of your face under the covers for a brief recoup in your feelings. Your face was still wet and you hate how absolutely freezing it was.

"I don't want you to die..." The admission was heaved out, shaky and choppy and all sort of scrambled, but your entire body tingled at it. "If that wasn't obvious enough." You pulled the blanket over your head, like that was going to help you.

"I don't think it was, Ben. You just told me you wished I was dying, not even a few minutes ago."

"I was joking, come on. Can't take a fuckin' joke?" He yanked at the edge of the blanket, but not hard enough to tug it from you. "What's the problem, anyways? You've got the sniffles, big whoop."

"I'm cold." You lowered the blanket to gaze at him. "I'm never cold."

"Well, you're a naturally hot person. No shame in that." He grinned, winking at you. When you didn't immediately react, as far as he could see-the blanket hiding your smile-he stretched his arm across the couch again. "I know something that can warm you up."

"I'm not going to have sex with you."

"Damn, I like the way you think." He purred, you pretended to gag at him as you settled the blanket in your lap. "But no, just come jump in my furnace for a little bit. I won't touch you." After his offer, he followed with an assertive wave of the hand that was stretch out along the back rest toward you.

"Ben-"

"I've seen you butt naked, get your ass over here." You sighed, knowing he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, he never did. You weakly shuffled across the couch and when you were close enough he dropped his arm, trapping you in his embrace. Your body melted against his and you were instantly incapacitated at the heat that drew from in thick waves. You couldn't help the moan that exited your parted lips. "Careful, you might just tempt me, honey."

"I'll-" Your eyes slid shut as you dropped your cheek to his chest. "I'll burn your dick off if you try anything." His laughter rumbled up through his chest and you felt it with a fond smile. You wished you could smell too, because you were certain he smelled amazing.

"We going to turn the TV back on, or..."

"Why don't we just..." You smacked your lips, bringing a leg over his thigh so that you perfectly curled up to his side. "Let's just stay here for a bit." He didn't promise not to touch you, his palm held the base of your skull and his other hand guided yours to rest flat on his chest.

"I'm okay with that." He allowed his own eyes to slid shut as he took a deep breath. He tucked his nose into your scalp and inhaled, you were too sleepy to stop him. "If you aren't better by the time I get back, I'm going to toss you off the top of the tower."

"Why would you do that?" You snorted, confused more than annoyed by it. You knew how he could be.

"Call it, Soldier Boy's in-home flight training experience." You smiled goofily, thankful that he couldn't see it.

"Oh yeah? Well, if I'm going down, you're going down with me."

"You won't go down though..." There was a lilt of a growl to his words. "Because you'll be brand new by then, right?"

"I hope." You didn't expect him to squeeze you even tighter.

"You will. Promise." You turned your face, your lips to his chest plate as you then looked up into his eyes.

"I promise." He wanted to kiss you so badly then, but he couldn't. He couldn't kiss you. He thought about your conversation, about how you both opened up to each other. He thought about what his father said to him all those years ago... And he didn't want to hurt you. Instead, he cupped your cheek and stared back.

Return to Master list

[chartreuxhue]

"Summer Air"

Hello, I wrote this a long time ago! It's not proofread, and I refuse to do that!

Pairing: Sova x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sometimes the summer air brings out the inner child...

A late night, a night where you, Jett and Phoenix just so happened to steal the spinny office chair out of Brims office and took to the halls with them. 

“(Y/N), you first!” Jett said,

 Pushing you into the chair and spinning it around. Her hands grabbing a hold of one side while Phoenix had the other. All you saw was the very long corridor in front of you. A big smile on your face as you gripped the arms of the chair and sat criss-cross.

“On one, Jett!” 

Your grip tightened.  

“Three!”

“Two!”

There was a long pause and your grip loosened for a moment.

“One!” 

The two duelists push the chair with all their might, sending you twirling and speeding down the halls of the protocol base, loud giggles and laughs could be heard from down the hall. Catching the attention of both KillJoy and Raze. 

“What are you guys doing?” Killjoy asked, a curious eyebrow raised. 

“Having fun, what's it look like!”

You get out of the chair and grab her by the hand, you sit her in the chair. Raze leans against the door wall. 

“Maybe we can hook up some gadgets?” 

She asked, you smiled.

“Then we can race!” 

Dangerous activities, in the base hallways. Sounds like fun.  

You grab a hold of one side of the chair while Jett has the other, and you both push KJ down the hall. She laughs and cheers abruptly from her sitting form on the chair. You turn around and look at some of the other agents who seem to wanna join in on the fun. 

“Imma go get one more chair!” you said and made your way towards the offices. You came to a stop at Vipers office. She won't mind right? You opened the office door and quickly rolled the chair out into the hall. Her office door shut behind you and you started towards the rest of the agent switching the chair. 

After some time the hallway had turned into a raceway, KJ and raze had modified the chairs to actually get some speed after being pushed. And most of the agents that did not take things seriously were there. Phoenix had some music playing and Yoru was betting on who would win with Jett. You on the other hand were in charge of timing and pushing the chairs. You stood in the middle of an intersection, you declared it the starting point to the races. 

Laughter was all you heard in your ears, and the pumping of your heart. A huge smile on your face, as you had just sent off the next racers. You stepped back, you back meeting someone's chest. You froze, who was it? It was too big, was it Brim? Breach? You racked your brain trying to see who wasn’t here. Before you feel their hands press firmly on your upper arms. 

“So you’re the one behind all this.” A thick Russian accent said. 

His hands squeezed your arms lightly, causing you to relax into his touch. “I was starting to wonder where you went too.” 

“Jett stole Brims office chair, and then we got side tracked.” 

You said looking up at him, he had a simple smile on his face. And his cape thingy was gone, along with some of the heavier gear he wore as well. 

“Hey, you wanna try it?” 

You asked, his eyes drifted down to meet yours. 

“Oh no no, I'm far too old for child games.” he says, shaking his head and letting go of your arms. 

“What! says who? No one! I’ll race you.” You say, trying to make it sound fun. If he says no you'd have to resort to puppy eyes. 

“It’ll be fun! I swear.” you say, with a smile, and he cracks. 

“Okay!” he says.

The chairs come back to where you two were standing. 

“Ohhh, Sova’s racing now?? I didn’t know you had fun outside of hunting sova.” phoenix says. 

Sova got in position in his chair, and so did you. You looked over at him and smiled. 

“See ya, after I win Pretty boy!” you say to him and tighten your grip on the arm rest of the chair. 

“Oh, it's on, моя снежная сова!” he says,

Jett grabs a hold of your chair. 

“You got this (Y/N)!” she says. 

“On one.” Phoenix says.

“Three” 

“Two”

“One!” 

The chairs went flying down the hallways, you closed your eyes and felt the wind flying past. Your chair came to a slow stop all the way at the end of the hallway.  You open your eyes and look around; your chair was farther than Sova's. You stood up and ran over to him.

“Ha, See that, Sasha. I can beat you at something.” You say, your own excitement is too loud for you to finally realize he's laughing, not chuckling, not only smiling. Laughing. 

“I see you can beat me at some things, моя маленькая сова!”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into one of his infamous hugs. You're shocked, but your shock quickly fades into more happiness.

“I told you it'd be fun.” you said, wrapping your arm around his neck. 

You get ready to say something else before you hear Brimstone clear his throat. 

“Alright, who stole my office chair?” 

[cherrysweather]

I’ve been obsess with this idea for a while, so I’d I’m one of the lucky Ducks … Anyone from the original AA trilogy who has the Medical Examiner as an S/O, but the medical examiner is selectively mute and prefers to talk to their deceased “patients”.

Heey anon! Nice to meet you <3

I choose two "new" characters to this blog, but I hope my choices will please you.

Enjoy and drink water regularly! ^^

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

Phoenix Wright, Mia Fey, Dick Gumshoe and Jake Marshall x medical examiner S/O with selective mutism, but talk with their patients:

Phoenix Wright:

Since starting his law career (and Mia's case), Phoenix never handled the presence of dead bodies well;

Or whatever reminded him of one;

So you two rarely talked about their work;

Phoenix was one of the few people to whom they talked the most;

They felt free from all the things that blocked their voice and Phoenix quickly learned what tone of voice to use with them;

He also understands that they may have moments in which they prefer to just stay silent, even when with him;

When out with him, however, things drastically change;

They always stay close to him, let him do all the talking in every context and when people they don't know approach them and try to establish a conversation their throat tightens, they just stare and let their trembling hands talk;

All these problems, however, seem to disappear whenever they're at work, in their gown, hands tight in the gloves and religious silence;

Every day a new story, everyday a new someone to be with for hours;

Someone who doesn't talk, doesn't judge;

That's probably the reason why they find it so easy to talk with them;

It's strange, and they know it, but in some way they release all the stress in them;

Phoenix came to know when Gumshoe told him they heard them speaking inside the morgue, noticing there were just them and the "patients";

Phoenix never said anything, he tried to understand but never confronted them in a judicious, disgusted way;

He was just curious and didn't find it that strange, considering what he had been through and those around him.

Mia Fey:

Mia knew a bit of psychology, so she noticed almost immediately that they weren't able to speak in certain social contexts;

She tries to prevent them from getting into an anxious state by observing both their behavior and the people around them;

She likes to have them around when she works, so when it's sure that no one else is supposed to be in the office, they follow her and help with cases;

Mia likes to follow them to work as well, but she isn't allowed in the morgue or the laboratories, so she just waits somewhere nearby, making them know that if needed, she is in the area;

They told them about their habit, both because they wanted her to know and to ask for some advice to overcome this problem;

Surely it helped that she spoke outside the house, but maybe trying to have conversations with someone a little bit more lively would help more;

When together, Mia always tries to connect them with the outside by asking them to do something for her, if she's speaking with someone she tries to engage them too, in the conversation;

If they aren't able to do it anyway, Mia knows how to respect that and just let them interact with her.

Dick Gumshoe:

Gumshoe was always interested in their work;

He never understood a word about medicine, or anatomy, or anything of the sort;

But whenever the victims of his cases are handled by them, he makes sure to never miss a detail and if he doesn't understand, they will gladly explain to him;

However he finds it a little "strong" to be constantly inside a cold, silent room with a corpse you have to analyse in minimum details, even cut them if necessary;

Whenever they have business at the police station, he tries his best to be around them and spare them any kind of anxiety attack;

He never understood completely their difficulty with speaking in public, so sometimes he might be insensitive, but not in a malicious way;

He just doesn't get it, give him some time;

He once heard them talking to themselves when he was on his way to their "office";

But then he peeked at the door and saw they were talking while working;

Strangely, he completely got how much easier it was for them to "talk" with someone who didn't give them any kind of feedback, and thus no anxiety;

They tried to explain to him everything, so he wouldn't think badly of them;

But, sincerely, Gumshoe saw worse in his career, and as said, he didn't find that strange at all;

But probably they felt embarrassed knowing that Gumshoe knew their "habit";

So he always makes sure that whenever he wants to come visit, he warns them and doesn't burst in without them knowing.

Jake Marshall:

Jake was the one who introduced them to this work;

When they started specializing , he often posed as their professor of anything concerning the law and the investigation field;

He mostly did so whenever they had questions that couldn't bring themselves to ask his actual professors;

When they finally managed to graduate and get the job in his same division, whenever he could, he was with them;

He was always fascinated by this kind of work, so the two of them often started conversations about it;

(Mostly them explaining medical things to him, since he doesn't understand anything);

When together, he makes everything possible to keep them comfortable, but he also spurs them to overcome their anxiety, both at the office and in public;

That's because he clearly sees their difficulties in everyday life;

One day, when they were together at the morgue, he was checking some documents when he heard them talk;

He turned to answer but saw that they weren't talking to him;

Few seconds of silence before he giggled it off;

"What do they say about it?";

They shushed him and just hid their embarrassment, but at the same time were glad he didn't mock them;

If they thought talking with their patients could help, he was more than happy to leave them alone;

Even if he'll miss seeing them at work.

[gaybae1021]

Contemplation

Prev

[assume I also wrote an impactful argument between Garroth and Laurance and Laurance’s conversation with Vincent before Laurance finally comes back to Phoenix Drop for the night.]

*getting ready for bed*

G- We’re gonna be okay.

L- Huh?

G- Us. You and me and Aph. Today was…just a bad day. For all of us, I think. A-and once we’ve slept on it, we’ll figure it out.

L- Sure…you’re probably right…

G- …You know I love you right? Whatever happened when I was gone, that won’t change.

L- I…I know. I love you too…Do you want some tea?

G: Yeah, that’s sounds great.

*later in the night*

It made him sick to even think about. How could he even consider leaving? Aph was his best friend, his beacon of hope when everything was falling apart. And Garroth, Garroth was the love his life! Garroth had supported him through some of his darkest moments, been the one partner where Laurance could be himself. Not to mention his family, who had just gotten him back after ten years. Garroth and Aph had both just lost someone close to them. Now, more than anything, they needed to be able to rely on him, and on each other. And here he was, awake in bed, about to ruin it all.

He could stay. Snuff out the lamp and go to bed. Garroth wouldn’t know a thing, he’d just chalk it up to a particularly deep sleep. He could talk to Aph in the morning, tell her he hadn’t meant to blame her. Maybe they could find a compromise.

But Vincent was right. How long until his self control wasn’t enough? How long until he hurt someone close to him? Leaving now would hurt them, but if it meant keeping them safe from a worse pain, he’d do it in an instant.

He traced the engravings on the ring, like he had done most nights when Garroth wasn’t there. He’d think about how unfair it was. Of course Garroth’s proposal would get ruined by O’Khasis scheming. But he’d also have hope. Hope that Garroth would come back and things could go back to normal. That they could get engaged, have a wedding, maybe even kids.

Laurance felt his chest tighten, knowing now how much of a naive fantasy that was.

He carefully got out of bed and got dressed.

He considered leaving nothing. It would be easier for everyone to move on then. But if he didn’t, Garroth and Aph would just rationalize that he had been kidnapped or mind-controlled and needed their help. So he wrote something down as best as he could.

Hayden and Cadenza, your the only family Ive ever known. You gave me a home and a community. I wouldnt be the person I am today without you.

Aphra, Im sorry for what I said. You risked so much to help me when you barely even knew me. Ill never repay that kindness. You carry your duties so gracefully, sometimes it’s easy for me to forget the pressure you’re under. Your life is what you choose to do with it. Maybe when the girls get older you can tell them some stories about me?

Garroth,

He paused. There was too much to say, and yet none of it felt right. His hand shaking, he only managed two short sentences.

thank you, for everything. Please don’t let this hold you back.

I love you all.

Laurance

He set the ring on top of the note. Grabbing the oil lamp, he walked out the door, leaving the room dark.

[nefastum]

What if Guts hadn't left the band? :(

Ahh, Anon, that is something I have pondered many a times~ Imagine if he had just been able to say what he was feeling, let Griffith know that all he wanted was to feel like he was enough for him.

I know this was likely not the answer you were expecting, but ahhhh here, have a fanfiction ^ ^; ♡

----

The sky was barely light, a dim blue casting a ghostly hue over the snow buried cobblestone and windowpanes. It crunched under boot as the tavern fell into the background. May as well make his way out of Wyndham now, the day wasn't getting any younger, and the dull ache of old breaks told him a storm was on its way. If he was going to make decent ground before getting caught in it, he ought to be on his way.

As nice as chatting with Judeau–and Corkus, to an extent– had been, he was eager to get departures over with. All the talk about ambitions, and now about if he'd like to have Casca in his arms, his head was getting a little heavy from pondering it all. It'd be easier on the road. No looking back until he returned as something worthy of Griffith's notice.

"Guts," the voice was steely, almost as brisk as the winter air that morning. 

"Is it true?...Do you mean to leave the Hawks?"

Guts stopped, turning to look back at the road they'd come up. Casca stood just behind Griffith, one hand clutching the other to her chest. She looked worried, and the tension radiating from Griffith told him her worries had been passed on to the soon-to-be White Phoenix General. Guts heaved a sigh, white puff of air taken by the chilly breeze. 

"Yeah. Sorry about this."

Griffith’s eyes shot wide before narrowing dangerously. He took a step closer, blue coat blowing in the wind tunnel created by the street they stood on. His hands looked red from frost. He must’ve been cold, Guts thought.

"Have you forgotten that you belong to me, then?"

Guts took a deep breath through his nose, eyes not meeting the intense blue of his former commander's. They rivaled the brightness of every summer sky painted together. It hurt to look directly into them sometimes. Especially when it felt like doing so could shake something loose in you.

"Don't suppose you wanna make this easy and wish me a happy journey, do you?"

He could see Griffith’s jaw tighten. The shoulders of the proud hawk set, he looked like he wanted to pounce. His hands still looked cold, though. Idiot shouldn't be out in the snow.

"I won you with the sword, and I can keep you by it." A threat. Griffith wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

Guts held up a placating hand, he tried but couldn't find the nerve to try and smile at Griffith.

"I'd rather not duel you this time. Maybe you can settle for some friendly farewells?"

Griffith's lips parted, and Guts could have sworn if he were an actual hawk a warning call would have rung out shrill and haunting. Panic? Rage? It was hard to place on Griffith’s usually measured expression. Perhaps he was simply angry to lose property. Guts swallowed the bitterness of that thought and sighed again.

"Suppose we can leave the 'friendly' part off… We aren't exactly friends, I guess. Especially not right now, huh?" A humorless chuckle.

All the rage or panic shattered in Griffith’s eyes and instead was replaced with blown wide surprise. His mouth hung open, and shoulders dropped just slightly, enough for Guts to pick up on. It looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Hey, Griffith, are you-" a worried Casca reached for his shoulder but stopped short. She looked shaken. 

"We aren't… friends?"

When Griffith finally spoke he sounded less like a threatening leader of thousands and more like a lost child. His voice was lighter, run thin on air. He sounded hollow. 

Guts readjusted his bag over his shoulder, shifting his weight awkwardly. 

"C'mon, Griffith. You know I don't have much going for me, not like you or the Hawks do. I'm just floating from place to place, battle to battle. I ain't got a dream that I can stake my life on… Someone like that, who just lives 'cause he was born, can't stand beside you as a friend. Can they?"

The wheels in Griffith's mind must have been whirring, and after an agonizing moment of frantic thought, it seemed he landed on a realization. Guts' words felt familiar to him, from the looks of it. His reddened hands clenched into fists, head bowing so that silver curls hid his eyes.

"You… How did you hear that?"

"I was on the steps. Needed to talk to you, I guess… No, I think I just wanted to see you."

Griffith’s head lifted, those striking blue eyes glittering with moisture.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, can't remember what for now. It doesn't matter much anyway."

Guts began to turn away, unable to watch the odd reaction from Griffith any longer. It was making his chest hurt for some reason, and his heart was beating painfully against his ribs. He'd finally said it. Griffith had finally learned of the perpetual thorn lodged in Guts' heart since that day on the stairs.

"You must hate me."

It could have been a question or a declaration, but to be honest it sounded too broken to be either. It stopped Guts in his tracks and he turned back to look at the other man again. His shoulders were slumped, hands slack at his sides, and the way his head bent forward had caused a waterfall of snowy curls to block his face. Casca once again reached for him, her hand hovering over his shoulder. It looked like he was shaking.

Maybe he really was cold.

Something glittered, dropping like a liquid diamond from the cheek of the usually proud leader of the Hawks. It hit the snow silently.

"Griffith… I don't hate you," Guts swallowed again. These emotions rising up were unnamed and choking his ability to think properly. "It's… probably the opposite."

Griffith's head shot up, eyes widening once more. There were a thousand questions in those acres of blue, and Guts could barely make out one of them. Those eyes flickered across Guts' face, as if he was searching for some decryption. Guts had no way of knowing what the right answer would have been, he couldn't have guess the question to begin with. Instead he offered a small smile, hoping that would bring some comfort to the other man.

It certainly did something, as Griffith's eyes widened a fraction before something akin to understanding washed over his face, perhaps a bit of hope, too. He again looked like a child.

"If it's that way, then please… don't abandon the Hawks." The way he said 'the Hawks' as if it was a placeholder in his words. Don't abandon me.

Guts cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that, Griffith. I've already made up my mind."

"Then un-make it."

There was challenge in his voice again, the fire that was Griffith reigniting. His eyes were ablaze. 

Guts pursed his lips, not sure he was happy that Griffith was in a fighting mood again. The day was wearing on, and his resolve was starting to fail him. He was near ready to rebuff the Hawk again, but he was cut off by Griffith's voice again. This time, it was oddly gentle. Back to the warmth he slipped into when times were easy, and he was close with his comrades. It was the voice Guts had once thought of as 'the real' Griffith.

"If you won't stay for the sake of another's dream… then just stay as my friend."

It was hard to fight the way his heart skipped at that request. It was so soft, sounded so earnest. Why was Griffith changing his narrative now?

Guts made a tch sound, looking to the side.

"You know I ain't good enough yet for you to call me a friend. You said it yourself–"

"I was wrong."

Guts looked back at him then, eyes wide.

"I was wrong, and those words never… they could never apply to you." The way he said 'you' was so quiet Guts almost didn't catch it.

He wondered now if Griffith even remembered there were others around him, or if he had completely shut them out. It was like all he could see was Guts, and perhaps they'd have to find an excuse for his vulnerability later. Guts could sympathize, though. The feeling was mutual. Right now, seeing the real Griffith actually see him…

All he ever wanted was for Griffith to see him.

It was dazzling to be seen by him.

Guts swallowed thickly, gathering nerves that he didn't know he had use for. It was somehow more daunting than stepping into battle. With a few careful steps he closed the gap between them, reaching out to clap a heavy hand on Griffith's muscular shoulder.

"Y’know, you oughta try being honest more often."

A laugh, broken but joyful in Griffith's chest as he smiled up at Guts. He looked warn out and relieved all at once. Guts realized then he'd just put Griffith on a crash course of the rejection he himself had been bottling up for weeks. They were monumentally good at hurting each other.

"I'll try," Griffith beamed at him, and suddenly that hurt felt lifetimes away.

Guts smiled back, shaking Griffith's shoulder once before squeezing it and letting go. He shook his head, fixing Griffith with a friendly look. He raised an eyebrow.

"You look like you're freezing your balls off."

"Oh, I am."

Guts laughed, the weight instantly gone from his shoulders. As long as he could be at Griffith’s side like this, see that smile and hear that laugh, he would fight on in whatever capacity his commander needed of him. The Hawks were his home. He couldn't believe he had almost thrown that away.

Sometimes, you don't know what you have until it is gone.

----

Sorry about word spewing, love ♡ It will happen again, I am sure. Thank you for the lovely prompt, it tickled my brain in just the right way haha ♡

I'll edit this soon and put it up on ao3 when I get the chance ~

[warriorend]

woe phoenix upon ye

-they are 6'4. they may look like a tank sort of build, and they are, but also bear in mind they can move quite fast when necessary.

-usually they wear a coat, which hides the fact that their gloves are Long. despite being loose in the arms, the gloves tighten around the hands, so they're not clumsy to work in

-the mask isn't for identity hiding purposes, it's because they're Used to having something there & when they're working they don't like being able to feel air on their face (old habits die hard. this is also the reason for the longass gloves)

-their hair is fucked up a bit bc they usually cut it themself, & sometimes it's just Whenever they happen to get annoyed with it enough to cut it again. so they don't always have great mirrors or tools

-that eye scar isn't from their current work with the Agency, it's from their old job. if asked for specifics they'll just kinda shrug. they don't really have any scars from Agency work.

-do not let them kick you i repeat do Not let them kick you. it will hurt Badly.

face closeup here you go:

(flats + post-3rd game eyes under the cut bc their eyes Did Change)

flats

& then their eyes changed after the volcano so here's that

(personal headcanon is they shorted out the implant & the kinesium just sorta. got Everywhere. so the mechanics of their telekinesis have changed & have to be re-learned)

but then also! usually this isn't visible except for maybe the veining around their eyes, bc usually they're unconscious (...that's an understatement) when it happens but. post-lethal-damage phoenix

(the reason they can survive the shit they do is because they. may or may not have been given an experimental treatment in their youth & now they have a drug in their system that causes them to go completely unconscious so they can heal wounds faster. it comes with drawbacks.

-it dulls emotional response to stimuli -resistance to anesthesia/most medicine -alcohol does Shit Fuckall -it makes them more prone to fatigue, which is something they eventually got to a point where they could simply ignore it but still -it doesn't fix everything. It fixes the most critical injuries, but it won't fix everything, and. they have woken up in Astonishing amounts of pain in the past

originally it was meant to be a one-time thing, but due to its experimental nature & phoenix's uh. critical condition. their body just started fucking Making It so now they've got a regulator. it doesn't stop all of the drug but it does stop most, so they're not permanently unconscious.

they can't remember exactly who was responsible for the experimental treatment, but the drug has since been nicknamed "the Phoenix drug" which. was not a coincidence. (in the creator's terms: "it seems only fair, after all, seeing as they use it to such great effect"

[composttea]

🌲 Masterpost 🌲

🌲 Full Fic 🌲

The plane dipped out of the bright, clear sky into a gray haze. Clouds crushed against the windows. I stared at the book in my lap and pretended to read. Three hours ago, I was standing on the warm, solid ground in Phoenix.

My mom stood at the drop-off, smiling. I hefted my suitcase out of the back and made my way over to the side of the SUV.

“Ready?”

I shrugged and she frowned.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know. Phil will be fine on his own.”

A plane roared overhead, drowning her out. Her boyfriend was a baseball player, currently up for recruitment. Spring training was calling his name, and with it my mom.

I leaned in and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I want to, really. Just not looking forward to the flight.”

Renée hugged me back, squeezing my shoulders tight. “Oh, sweetie. I wish you weren’t all on your own.”

“I’ll have Charlie! And school.” I doubted I would be making many friends. I think Renée could tell. Even if she struggled with the practical side of things, she could pick up on the nuances of my feelings better than I could. It was reassuring, but there was nowhere to hide.

The car behind us honked. Renée turned and waved at them.

“Who else is going to keep Charlie company?”

She smiled softly at me. “Did you pack enough clothes? Washington gets cold.”

I waggled my carry-on, containing little more than a book and a fluffy, dark green sweater. Renée had knitted it a few years back, one of many hobbies she had tried out over the years. It was a bit lumpy, but it was the warmest thing I owned. “I’ll be fine, promise.”

I was a bad liar, but a persistent one.

The traffic was starting to pile up, and Renée darted forward to scoop me into a tight hug.

“I love you so much, honey.” She stepped back and looked me in the eyes. Hers were a sparkling green-gold that I envied. Just brown for me. “Call me as soon as you land, okay?”

I nodded and started toward the entrance. I didn’t look back.

Charlie picked me up from the airport in the police cruiser. I sank into my seat as he loaded my bag in the back. The drive to his house was familiar, but things had changed in the three years since I had last visited. The diner had a new sign. The city had patched up a few of the bigger potholes. I considered picking something at random to talk about, just to save us both from the awkward silence.

“You remember Billy Black?”

Charlie and I shared a brain sometimes.

“Yeah?” Of course I remembered Billy. He and my dad had been friends as long as I could remember.

“If you want it, I just bought a ‘63 Chevy off him. He and his son fixed it up over the winter.”

I looked away from the thick mist looming over the road at Charlie. “That’s—wow, thank you.”

He shrugged. After a moment, he tested out a smile. “Agreeing before you even take a look?

“I have very low standards.”

Charlie laughed lightly and tried to continue with the small talk.

We pulled up on the road leading to the house. Like everything else in the town, it was crowded out by green. Trees and moss peeked through every gap and crack in the road. Even the sky looked sickly, like it was starting to go rotten at the horizon.

There was a hulking, red pick-up waiting in the driveway. The fenders curved like boxing gloves, challenging any lesser car to impact. I loved it.

As soon as he got my suitcase upstairs, Charlie mumbled something about a baseball game and made himself scarce. It was eerie being back in my old room. I spent a couple months every summer here as a kid, captured in the layers of pictures and decorations like bugs in amber. Did you know "nostalgia" was originally a sickness? My chest tightened as I took in the faded blue paint and the chipped desk tucked in the corner. Charlie and I found it at a garage sale when I was eleven. I got to unpacking right away, but I took my time. Once my stuff was put away I would be actually living here.

***

A small pile of sawdust and woodchips greeted me in the living room. I had spent the night listening to music, loudly enough that I couldn’t hear anything else. Had someone broken something? My brother emerged from his room a moment later, answering my question.

It was the knife. The knife was too blunt. Must have been. Jasper looked up from straightening his cuffs and glowered at me.

“Good morning.” I waved at the pile on the coffee table. “Trouble last night?”

“It was shaping up nicely, but my hand slipped.” Jasper stalked past me to the coat closet.

I could see the image in his mind with perfect clarity: a waterfowl of some sort, whittled from a block of pine. It splintered into nothing when he lost his focus and crushed it.

“Maybe you should try stone.”

“Maybe you should try staying out of my head,” he snapped. He closed his eyes for a moment before returning my gaze. “Sorry.”

I wasn’t looking forward to babysitting again today. This semester was Jasper’s first full-time enrollment at a high school. We tested the waters last fall. Constance thought he was doing well (and I suppose he was, in terms of body count) , but she didn’t have to hear his every thought about the swathes of humans he was in classes with. But he hadn’t acted on any of it, which was what mattered. It didn’t help things that Jasper was keenly aware of my frustration with him, however hard I tried to disguise it. There were thoughts and feelings we silently agreed never to speak about, and so far, the system was working.

“There’s a new student today.” I met Jasper at the closet and took my coat when he handed it to me. “The Chief’s daughter.”

“Hm.” He pulled on his boots. Does he think I forgot?

“I thought the students might be excited about it—something a little different than usual.”

Jasper’s mouth was pressed into a hard line, but he smiled at me. “Hoping to make a friend?”

I laughed, and he joined me. Since our sister served her time last year, we had to be each other’s company. As much as I disliked looking over my shoulder, it was nice to have anyone to talk to. I know he was annoyed—to put it lightly—at the mental invasiveness of my presence, but he felt the same.

I got to watch the new girl through a hundred lenses, each colored with its own narrative. Isabella arrived this morning in a 1963 Chevy pickup, rust red and extremely vocal. The boy who saw her get out of the truck thought she was pretty—he only had a glimpse of dark brown hair and pale skin, and I frankly didn’t care to look closer. 

I wish I could say it was miserable. In fact, it was just as mind-numbingly dull as it always was. This was Asphodel, not Tartarus. For me, at least. My brother was struggling today. The student body fawned and fussed over Isabella—no, just Bella, she insisted—completely unaware there was a wreck of a vampire a hair’s breadth from snapping in their midst. 

Jasper's gifts were particularly maladapted to a high school environment. Yes, hearing the endless torrent of thoughts of every human I passed was a living nightmare, but experiencing the emotional turmoil of three hundred teenagers for six hours at a time was a special circle of hell. The thoughts I caught when I passed Jas in the halls were enough I considered pulling him aside, as much as he would hate it. He was older—biologically and empirically, by two and sixty years, respectively—but I often felt like the elder sibling, seeing as I had been committed to our family's particular lifestyle significantly longer. It was never easy, abstaining from human blood. Moral high ground was rather weak compensation for the agony of rejecting one's base nature.

I caught him walking to the cafeteria.

Don't. He kept his eyes straight ahead as we moved through the line.

I nodded, picking items for my tray the way one might select a series of paperweights.

The students nearest our table were surprised to see both of us. The Cullens. Only after I took my seat did I realize someone was saying our name out loud. I tilted my head. Jessica Stanley, font of gossip, was explaining our presence to the new girl. Bella was lucky to have landed among her social circle. I personally found her rather insufferable, but I think this was mostly because I had unfiltered access to a bazaar of personal thoughts at all times; I didn’t need any assistance.

Currently, Jessica’s thoughts were scattered. I saw the pair of us through her eyes and grit my teeth. Flawless. Stunning. Irresistible. To her, the pale flesh and sunken eyes faded to the background; if anything, it added to the mystique. The uncanny movement was grace. The stillness was refined composure. Jessica turned back to Bella, scattering my train of thought. I flicked my eyes to my brother, who was counting down from one thousand—in Spanish this time—and frowned.

“The new girl . . .” I started. His face soured.

“What?” He thought I was going to ask about her, if she was a singer. I despised the slang. It made the whole affair sound poetic, as though giving in were in the best interest of both parties. But I had other questions in mind.

“Can you read her?”

Jasper drew his eyebrows together. “Why?”

“I’m curious.” I tried to keep my tone casual, even though I knew he could sense my interest, impatient as it was.

Why? He didn’t bother to speak aloud this time.

“I can’t. Not from here.” I tried again, tuning out the endless chatter of hundreds of students, searching for an unfamiliar voice. I heard Jasper chuckle at my frustration and shot him a glare. After a moment’s hesitation, I fixed my gaze on the girl, on the crown of her soft, brown hair, and listened.

Silence.

Like a void had opened up in the middle of the bustling cafeteria.

Without warning, she looked up, directly at me. Her eyes widened and she looked quickly away. I could see her cheeks flush from our table. I let myself smile. At least she was human.

I looked at my brother again. His rigid posture was unchanged, but his head tilted slightly to the side, like a cat inspecting a mouse.

“She’s uncomfortable. Uneasy.”

“Obviously.” I crossed my arms, tamping down on the quiet jealousy rising from my chest.

Jasper scowled. “You would know if I was lying to you.”

I elbowed him, hard enough to loosen his posture, and smiled. “Not necessarily. You’re crafty.” Bella must have seen the movement, as she looked over at our table again, lingering only a moment before returning to her conversation.

Beside me, Jasper grinned back for a split second, teeth glinting in the discolored light from above.

I let him return to his meditation and tuned back in to the Jessica Stanley show. I fussed with the stem of the waxy apple on my tray. My feigned disinterest was showier than strictly necessary, but I was feeling a bit theatrical.

“They’re not actually related. Probably.” Jessica shrugged, animating her dangling earrings. Her thoughts cycled through the regular gossip of incest and cults. She was of the opinion my mother was some kind of secret celebrity health guru who had us on special diets, thus the general “anemic model” look. I smirked. “They have a sister who’s older.”

“She’s dating Jasper,” Mike interjected. I could see Jessica’s glare in his mind as he shied away. He looked at Bella and noted her confused expression.

“The weird one?” Jessica put it so plainly I had to press my lips together to stop a laugh. I felt a sharp kick to my shin. Jasper was paying more attention than he was willing to admit.

Angela spoke next, her voice melodic in comparison to some of the others at the table. “We don’t know if they're dating. They tend to keep to themselves.”

Jessica nodded, solemn. If there was any settled law at this school, it was that the Cullens were off limits. Look but don’t touch. Bella seemed to get the message, nodding along as she picked at her food.

“Anyway, they moved back here a couple years ago. Their mom got a job at the hospital.” Jessica lowered her voice. “You have to see her. Drop-dead pretty. Like, stupid hot. I can’t believe she’s a doctor.”

Bella seemed intrigued, but distant. Angela lowered her eyes, her face a very composed sort of neutral. I tried to let her keep her thoughts private, but I couldn’t help but overhear flickers of doubt, or perhaps hope. The rest of the table found the old news boring. Eric Yorkie was chomping at the bit, desperate to ask Bella questions but afraid to scare her off.

Angela changed the subject, genuinely curious to know what classes Bella was taking. She stumbled a bit as she walked through her schedule, each of the other students watching with rapt attention, wondering what her school was like in Phoenix. I pitied her, despite myself. Though I couldn’t say I wasn’t curious. I frowned as Jessica steered the conversation to after-school clubs, stemming the flow of Bella trivia for the time being.

I contented myself knowing I would have the chance to get my fill next period.

***

I made it to Bio in one piece. Each of my morning classes had made me introduce myself to the other students, as though they a). cared or b). didn’t already know. I had to wear gym clothes from the school to participate in PE (casualties were kept to a minimum, thankfully, by Jessica's tactful approach to keeping me sidelined). I appreciated it, but the embarrassment was still stinging.

I was running late, and the entire class was seated by the time I entered the classroom. It was humid inside, the central heating no match against the pervasive damp. A tabletop fan sputtered from the front of the room. The teacher—Molina?—smiled at me.

"Isabella?"

"Just Bella." I was still standing in the doorway, frantically trying to calculate where to sit. The room was completely full, and everyone was staring at me. Everyone except for one of the Cullens Jessica pointed out at lunch. I stepped fully into the room, bracing myself for another forced introduction. Instead I got a polite gesture to take a seat. I breathed my relief and walked down the aisle.

Ahead of me, the Cullen boy went stiff. I tried to meet his eyes as I took a seat: my mistake. My stomach turned to lead. My breath stalled in my throat. In the half second it took to pull my chair out, I saw the staggering depth of resentment seeping from the pits in his face. I literally stumbled as I sat down. I heard a quiet snicker from behind me, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I looked away and pulled out my notebook, heart racing. What the hell?

The teacher started talking, picking up mid-topic, and the frigid eyes kept boring holes in my head. Was I afraid? My body said yes—the cold sweat, the dry mouth, that's what this response was—but why? This kid was a freak. He was being a creep.

I looked over out of the corner of my eye, testing. Edward was leaning as far away from me as he possibly could while remaining in his seat. The tendons in his wrist stood out, casting shadows in the harsh fluorescent light. I didn't try to meet his gaze.

I tried to focus on the lecture, I really did, but how could I? After some amount of time, I realized he wasn't breathing. Or he was, but so shallowly I couldn't hear. I tried to surreptitiously sniff my shirt. Was the ghost of PE still haunting me? Unless he could smell shame, I thought I was okay. I let down my hair, hoping to hide behind the curtain in my peripheral vision.

He whimpered. An actual whimper, nearly inaudible, but I was sure of it. I turned on him. I didn't care if the other students were watching this. He was the one being weird.

He was frozen, staring straight ahead. Not even staring. It was like he was absent from his body. I faltered. Was he having a seizure? I glanced around the room, but no one seemed to have noticed. That, or this was normal behavior.

I waited, and waited. For him to drop dead. For laser beams to shoot out of his eyes. I don't know. But the sinking wrongness of the situation continued to lurk and writhe in me until the bell rang.

Before the sound ended, he had swept himself out of the room, leaving a vacuum behind. I didn't know how to describe the ache I felt, or why tears were pricking at my eyes. I did know that I had another class to get to.

The Universe was not content to let me suffer quietly; it insisted on rubbing salt in the wound.

I found myself back at the front office at the end of the day. I was supposed to check in and confirm I wasn't going to run screaming into the woods, or something. The tiny room was crowded with announcements and flyers for far more clubs and activities than a school this size ought to have. In front of the desk was my new nemesis: Edward Cullen. I had almost gotten to the point of thinking it was all in my head. Surely I fabricated the whole scenario to make my awkward first day more eventful. But there he was, lean and imposing, stupid, copper-colored hair looking artfully disheveled, his back to the door, and thankfully, to me.

I overheard his conversation with the administrator. It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd heard his voice. It was slick, subtle like a flytrap.

"There has to be a way."

"I'm sorry, Edward, it's simply too late in the year to change classes."

I felt like I had been slapped in the face. He couldn't possibly be talking about me. That was absurd.

"I've already taken Biology. You can check my record from my last school, it's all there." His voice was pleading. "I'll take an independent study."

The administrator peered up at him over the red rims of her glasses. She sighed. "Look, I've done everything I can. You—”

Edward straightened, startling the woman into silence.

"Fine," he snapped. "I guess it's too late."

I realized he was turning away from the desk a moment later and jumped out of the way as he glided toward the door. He didn't look at me again.

"Hun?"

The administrator was talking to me. I had been standing by the door for several seconds. Once my brain sputtered back to life, I handed her my forms and finished my exchange.

I was shaking when I got into my truck. It took two tries to get the key in the ignition, and the tears I had been holding back finally made their appearance. The little bubble I had been cradling burst. I swiped at my face and sniffed, thankful the noise of the engine muffled the pathetic sounds I was making.

[lucan-multiverse]

cosmic sidestep (part XX?) (i'll fold this into the fic later) --

[sometime in the future]

The hostility radiated off the young admiral in waves and Luc wondered if all this would be just another fruitless exercise like it had been with Rion and Luce. This Admiral was so much younger than the Captain, so much younger than his own father and it was startling to come face to face with him. And then there was Maisy, his wife, who Luc knew instantly was still at her core some combined version of Mason his father and Mason the phoenix. She was bright eyed, sharp and confident Luc wondered if his father Mason might have had her same spark before a lifetime of serving in the Alliance and parenthood wore him down.

It was Maisy laying a hand against the admiral’s arm now. “Zac,” she says softly but even Luc catches the subtle change of the Captain’s breath beside him. “We have to listen to them.”

--

It was impossible to explain. Even staring himself down across the table, the admiral’s distrust and distaste and his sheer desire to get his people back to safety radiates from him in waves.

“So, we’re assuming your son-“

“My son is 4 years old! I am not bringing him into this-“

The words are barely out of the admiral’s mouth before there’s a yelled “papa!” in a child’s bright yell followed quickly by “mama!”

“Luca?”

Both Maisy and the admiral are out of their chairs just as the meeting room’s doors open and a small flurry of limbs and curly hair barrels through them. The admiral catches him, scooping him up into his arms and lifting him, one hand buried into his unruly hair as the little boy buries his face into his shoulder.

The rest of the room is speechless.

Luc stares, realizing this is him. Or some version of him. This world’s version of him. Beside him, older Luca’s breath hitches and Luc realizes Luca is watching a vision of his life he never had.

The admiral is speaking quietly to little Luca, so is Maisy, gently rubbing her son’s back with a worried expression but the way Luca relaxes in their arms only shows how loved and cared for he feels.

“Oh my lord, I’m so sorry!”

A woman huffs into the room behind them, long dark hair coming lose from her braid, her uniform askew. She looks like she’s been crying and she’s wringing her hands fearfully. “Sir, please forgive me, I don’t even know how he opened the door but-“

“It’s fine, Marlow,” the admiral says curtly, in a voice that hints that it really isn’t but now isn’t the time to get into it. “He’s fine. We’re fine. We’re fine, Luca.”

Luca buries his face deeper into his father’s neck when the woman ventures close with her arms outreached to peel him out of his father’s arms.

“He should stay,” Luc hears himself say then wonders why he did.

“He’s four,” The admiral grinds out again, shooting Luc and the rest of them such a look of fury around the table Luc wonders if this whole negotiation will be over before it starts. “I don’t want him listening to this. Any of this-”

“About the rift, Papa?” Little Luca lifts his head to ask.

For a moment, the Admrial is speechless.

“Lu, how do you know about that?” his mother asks softly. “Who told you?”

Luca looks wary. “No one. I just do. Please don’t send me away.”

“He should stay,” Luc tries again but he’s not sure of his reasons. Maybe watching them will give him back his father, if only for a moment. Before duty drove a wedge between them. “He’s a part of this too.”

“The hell he is,” the Admiral all but snarls but it’s Maisy’s quiet plea of his name that makes him pause to deliberate. He catches his wife’s eye, the meaningful look they share and the way Isaac’s grip tightens unperceptively on his son then sighs.

“Fine.”

--

They return to their seats around the table and Luca settles into the Admiral’s lap with practiced ease. Luc’s chest pangs when he sees them together. It’s sweet and nostalgic and reminds him of his youth, but it’s older Luca that gets up with a harsh scrape of his chair across the metal floors and disappears out the door before anyone can stop him.

Luc catches Ryan’s eye across the table. “He’ll be okay,” Luc tells him, stopping the older man from following. For a brief moment, Ryan looks like he’s going to argue but eyeballing the admiral gives him seems to be a more entertaining fight so he stays.

“He says he misses you,” Luca says suddenly to Luc, admist talk of wormholes and anomalies dekylon particles, reapers and temporal displacements and stopping all the speculation in it’s tracks.

There’s instant silence around the table.

“What?” Luc finally croaks.

“Mr Ryan,” Luca says. He says it absently, fiddling with the medal he had unclipped from his father’s uniform. He runs it through his fingers and against the table. Chink chink chink in the silence. “He’s nice to me.”

Icy fingers crawl down Luc’s back. “What do you mean, Luca?”

He shifts a glance at Ryan who frowns. He’s barely said a word to the kid and he’s distracted anyway, mentally one foot out the door ready to go after his boy. He’s only hanging around because Luc tells him Luca will be okay, and Luc would know.

Little Luca looks up, then at Ryan and points. Ryan seems taken aback to be toddler Luca’s center of attention and mildly uncomfortable enough that Luc is almost amused. “He looks like him, but… His face doesn’t have so many lines. His hair is different. He doesn’t have pretty pictures on his hands.” Luca scrapes the admiral’s medal across the table’s surface, completely unaware of the devastation he’s just wrought on Luc's entire world. “Can I have some ice cream? The nice lady said I could have ice cream-”

Blood continues to rush in Luc’s ears. His eyes close. “Where… how did you see him, Luca?”

“Um? Oh.” Luca looks at his mother who nods encouragingly. “Sleeping? I dream about him sometimes. He says he’s worried about you. But he wants you to know he’s okay. Sort of.”

“Where? Where is he, Luca?”

“I don’t know,” Luca says in a small voice, suddenly scared and cowering. “It’s really bright and-“

“Alright, that’s enough,” the admiral says sharply, tucking Luca against his chest protectively. “Sit down your ass down, Lieutenant.”

Luc doesn’t even realize he’s on his feet, leaning over the table with his fists clenched. His mind is whirring, his blood is rushing. It’s the only hint of anything regarding his family he’s received since the pings from the Pulsar midcraft shuttle disappeared. It’s a lifeline, a clue, even if it’s a little boy’s dream, its more hope than he’s had in years.

It’s Ryan’s hand on his back that draws him back and he forces himself to take a breath and unfurl his fingers. “I’m… Sorry. I’m sorry, Luca. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Luca bites his lip but Luc loses sight of his face as Maisy leans forward to shield him.

“It’s alright, Lucas,” the Captain says, speaking up for the first time. He’s not looking at them, just rubbing his forehead like he has pain. He looks old suddenly. As old as Luc’s father and Luc knows all of this must be weighing on him. “We’re all under a lot of stress right now. This whole situation… There’s not exactly a manual it. We should take a moment to absorb it, then regroup.”

“There’s nothing to absorb,” the admiral finally says, lurching to his feet. Luca still clings to him, arms around his neck. “I’m taking my family and I’m going back to my ship and I’m getting my people home and out of whatever fucked up reality you claim this world is. I suggest you do the same.”

“What?” Luc experiences the panic in him rising. “No. You can’t just-“

“My responsibility is to my crew and my people. I’m sorry you’re in this fight against these… these reapers, but we can’t help you.”

“But we… you… We’re all the same.”

The admiral levels a look at Luc and the Captain at his back. It’s inscrutable and assessing. “No. We’re not.”

[callsignhoney]

the captain’s daughter ➤

pairing ➤ robert “bob” floyd x fem!mitchell!reader

genre ➤ fluff, allusions to smut

summary ➤ an unlikely candidate has you breaking your dad (and brother’s) “no pilots” policy

———

Your entrance to the Hard Deck was announced with a wave of cheers from the squadron of naval aviators tucked against the far wall. You laughed and gave a show of waving at them before scurrying over. You passed out hellos and high fives to them all before reaching your—in every way except by blood—brother.

“Hey, short stack,” Rooster greeted you when you gave him a side hug.

“Hey, beanpole,” you returned.

“What’s going on, Miss Mitchell?” Fanboy said.

“It’s a pleasure to see you as always,” Payback told you with a grin.

“God, don’t I know it.”

“Looking good, Y/N,” Hangman said, taking a step away from the pool game to greet you with his usual line.

“I’m sure you say that to all the pretty girls you meet,” you recited back at him.

“You know I only have eyes for you, baby.”

You laughed when he winked at you and shoved him back toward the pool table. “Piss off.”

This was the usual greeting you got from your father’s students. It all started back on that first day they all had landed on North Island and took to the Hard Deck to meet each other prior to training. You’d grown up on navy bases and eventually found your way to working a job near Top Gun, often putting you in the path of your father and brother on their numerous orders.

You’d been out with your dad that night when Hangman approached you. Maverick, your father, had quickly cut in and Hangman took to taking the piss out on him for the rest of the night, a decision he regretted almost immediately as he learned who your dad was the next day for training.

Once the trainees all got more comfortable with your dad, and got to know you in turn, the flirting from them all became a running joke to ruffle your dad’s feathers. No matter how well he knew that it was all a big joke to get him riled up, it still worked. Sometimes even Rooster butted in to draw a line, but you just found it hilarious and started giving your own flirty remarks back.

“How long is this going to go on for?” your dad asked, coming up behind you to pass out drinks to the crew. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, dad.”

“You know we’re just playing, Maverick,” Fanboy said.

“Do I know that, Fanboy? Do I?” your dad sighed.

“Mav, trust me, if any of them actually tried anything, I’d cut their dick off before you even heard about it,” Rooster spoke up.

Several of the men winced at that. Fanboy took a long drink from his cup.

“What if I want a shot with Miss Mitchell, here?” Phoenix spoke up, sending you an award winning smile.

“You may be the one I approve of the most, but it still is not going to happen,” Maverick said. “No Navy fighter pilots. It’s my one dating rule I’ve ever given Y/N.”

“Who do you approve of the least?” Phoenix asked.

“Hangman, obviously,” Rooster answered for him.

Maverick gave a small look of agreement but said nothing.

The table laughed.

You found a seat beside Fanboy. To your other side, Bob. Your heart beat a little faster as you sent him a small smile. He and Phoenix had been deployed on a mission that had them away for a few weeks. Their safe arrival back home was the reason you all were out drinking tonight.

The night went on and the flirting only reared its head a sparse few times. No one noticed how your and Bob’s hands were intertwined under the table, or how his grip tightened anytime one of the others made a flirtatious comment toward you.

———

“I can tell them to stop, you know,” you told Bob later, tucked against each other in the afterglow.

He tilted his head to look up at you, resting on your chest. You ran a hand through his hair and he closed his eyes, almost purring with the small, blissful sound he made.

“I can tell them to stop the flirting and the jokes if it bothers you,” you said. “Tell them I’m getting tired of it, or whatever.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said.

You gave him a look.

“I’m serious,” he laughed.

“Right. And that wasn’t jealous sex.”

“That was I haven’t seen you in three weeks because of a mission and I missed you very very much sex.”

“Hm.”

“I’m serious!”

“You’d tell me if it bothered you, right?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “I promise.”

He kissed your collarbone to assure you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead and fell into quiet again, holding each other as you settled down from the high you’d given one another. You ran your fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp. He smoothed his palms over your body, tracing small shapes into your skin.

You didn’t think you could ever need anything more than this. You wished you could freeze this moment and stay in it forever.

You drifted off to sleep and woke up still tangled together. It felt like you were unable to get enough of him on a normal day when he came home to you every night; he’d been away for three weeks and you felt insatiable, not even able to whine about missing him to anyone lest your dad or brother found out about you two.

If you had to guess, you’d say Bob felt the same way based on how he rolled on top of you the moment he woke up. The kiss was slow and messy and left you panting, desperate for more. You could do little more than steady your breathing as he disappeared under the blankets and wrapped his strong arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

Your head had just started to cloud over when you were abruptly snapped out of your lust-filled haze.

“Y/N! Ever heard of checking your phone?”

You inhaled sharply. “Bradley.”

You grabbed Bob’s shoulders and wrenched him out from under the covers.

“What? Are you okay?” he asked.

You slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. “My brother’s here.”

Bob’s eyes widened and he repeated back what you said into the muffle of your hand.

“Y/N? Hello?” Rooster called.

You and Bob stared at each other as you tried to come up with what to do or something to say. Eventually, you managed out, “Hang on, I’m getting dressed!” and practically shoved Bob out of bed, both of you scrambling to find clothes to put on.

“Mav and I texted you last night about breakfast today. Are you coming?”

“Uh, sure!” you said, hopping around to pull your pants on.

“Did you not see our texts? In the group chat.”

You chucked Bob’s shirt at him. “No, I didn’t.”

“Did you pass out after getting home last night? Couldn’t bother checking your phone?”

You glanced at Bob, flushing as you remembered last night. “Something like that.”

Bob turned to look at you helplessly, fully dressed despite his shirt being on backwards. You scanned the room then zeroed in on the windows.

“We are going to tell them about us eventually, right?” Bob asked in a whisper as you pushed him across the room.

“Yes, eventually,” you said, wrenching the window open.

“Why not just tell him now?”

You looked at him like he was insane. “This is not the introduction you want to have with my brother as my boyfriend. Eventually, yes, we’ll tell him and my dad but not like this, and not right now.”

You started hitting him to get him to climb out the window. “Okay, okay!”

You reminded yourself not get distracted by the way his muscles moved in his arms as he maneuvered himself out the window. You glanced back at the door to your bedroom but it had remained safely shut during the whole endeavor.

“Rooster won’t actually cut my dick off when we tell him we’re dating, right?” Bob asked, hanging onto the windowsill.

You blinked at him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Y/N—“

You leaned down to kiss him. “Go, or I close the window on your fingers.”

“Alright.” He pulled himself enough to kiss you once more. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

He dropped down from your window and you shut it quickly after him.

———

BONUS!

“Hey, Bob!” Hangman called out. “I’ve got a question for ya.”

Bob had his hands busy in the underbelly of one of the jets he and a few others were working on. Neck craned to see what he was doing, he looked around one of his extended arms to spot Hangman coming over to him. Phoenix trailed after him, looking mildly irritated by his existence as usual.

“Uh, yeah?” Bob said, keeping his hand aloft in the jet he was working on.

“Who gave you the hickey?”

Something clunked inside the plane as Bob lost hold of it. “W—what?”

Hangman gestured to Bob’s neck where a bruise was on full display. “That little thing. Where’d you get it?”

“I—I didn’t— it’s nothing.”

Bob’s hands were still caught up and busy when Hangman spotted something else incriminating. He tugged the neck of Bob’s shirt down just enough to reveal the bruise that had blossomed on his collarbone.

“Hey!” Bob protested, shouldering Hangman’s hand away as best he could.

“That seems like a little more than nothing,” Hangman said with a shit-eating grin.

“Leave him alone,” Phoenix spoke up, elbowing Hangman back to put herself between him and her WSO.

“What? You can’t tell me you’re not curious, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna harass him about it.”

“Who was it, Bob? I mean, the only girls you ever talk to are Phoenix, Halo, and Y/N.”

Maybe he was reading too far into it, or maybe the way Bob swallowed at the sound of your name and glanced around the hangar wasn’t just a coincidence.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Hangman said slowly. “Would you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bob said, too quickly.

“Holy shit,” Hangman said, “you’re fucking Mav’s daughter.”

“I’m not,” Bob argued, trying to force out a laugh.

“You actually are,” Hangman said, and he sounded almost genuinely impressed. “You’re fucking the captain’s daughter.”

“Okay, no,” Bob argued, finally getting his hands free from the jet. “I’m not… seeing Y/N. I’m not. I don’t know where you got that from, but we are just friends. Hardly that. Acquaintances, really.”

“I’m starting to think you might be right, Hangman,” Phoenix said.

Hangman looked at her in shock.

“Don’t get used to hearing that.”

“You’re siding with him?” Bob said incredulously. “Because I… hit myself in the neck. With a book. Hard.”

“You talk too much when you’re trying to lie,” Phoenix told him. “It’s your tell.”

“I am not dating Y/N, okay?” Bob said, forcing out laughter that just sounded pained.

“Tell Y/N to film it when you two finally decide to tell Rooster and Mav,” Hangman said. “I would pay to see their reactions. And what they do to you afterward.”

Sure of himself, Hangman gave a laugh and walked away. Phoenix hung back for a moment and patted her back seater on the arm.

“Good for you, Floyd,” she said. “Just try to keep your dick attached to the rest of you.”

[twinklelilstarkey]

Fucked Up - Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Words: 5.3k+ Type: Smut Summary: Hangman makes a mistake in training that could've cost your safety, and you've had enough of his way of being. Warnings: Fem!Reader [no mentions of race or bodytype]. Mentions of a possible accident in the jet, being a naval aviator, and lack of teamwork. SMUT [sex in communal shower, piv, no protection (she's on the pill), risk of getting caught, hair pulling].

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

By clicking to read more you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and mature enough to read mature scenes :)

Jake knows he fucked up. Truly, fucked up bad. He has been called out by people like Phoenix or Maverick about how he’s not exactly a team pilot. He has always begged to differ. He has always been there in the case of emergencies and helped people out when they needed. Yet, his thick skull could never really understand how bad he is in tests or training.

You and him never really became friends in the years that you’ve known each other. You are closer to Phoenix and Fanboy than anyone else, but Jake likes what he has with you. It’s a healthy mixture of playful banter and insults whenever you two fly together.

You tease one other on everything. It has been like this for years and never changes. Jake likes to have someone to annoy. It’s just a little extra something for his ego to have someone that actually fights back.

Yet, even in the middle of all the fights and bantering, he always loved the way you would crack and eventually shine a smile at him. You would always turn your head so he wouldn’t see and think he won something in your discussions. And, even when it’s not as common as he would like it to be, he thrives on every bit of those days.

There are also other days that he swears that you are flirting with him. It may be after a few beers, but he indulges every word.

But, today was different. Whenever Jake screws up with you in the air, he gets an earful in the coms. He's your wingman, he’s supposed to make your flying feel safer by either his coms or his firepower.

Yet, not only is it difficult to keep up with his speed - something Maverick made sure to switch you up with Phoenix since you seemed to have an easier time with it -, he is almost dead silent the whole time.

If doing canyons and pulling 4G’s on each wasn’t bad enough, having to follow a reckless speedy pilot who doesn’t even get to use his coms whenever he needs to is simply a bonus you get to have. Jake is able to communicate, sometimes, but not always. And that is exactly how he messed up today.

He was going too fast because, even though you were constantly telling him in his ear to slow down, you were able to keep up with him, and he likes that. He thrives on that too with absolutely no shame. Yet, speed and tight spaces don’t go too well. The two of you were too close for the speed you were going in and, as soon as Jake noticed how close he was to the side of the mountain, he didn’t have time to say anything and simply decided to pull himself off.

You had good reflexes. You were able to not hit the mountain, but when you pulled off from Jake’s back, he also moved, meaning that you had to pull much farther back. If adrenaline wasn’t already high in your body, it was so much worse now. You almost hit Jake.

The circuit that you had to do is tight. It leaves no space for errors, and you two just so happened to do one.

Right as you were pulling away from Jake, you pulled upwards and directly in range of the missiles. A voice in the coms informed you right after, and your hold on the stick tightened with anger.

Your backseater was the one to explain in the coms what happened to Maverick, and Jake continued on with the course nonetheless.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so angry. You expected that as Jake continued on and you were left in silence on your way back, your anger would cool you down, but it didn’t.

You were annoyed. It was a mistake, sure, but one that could’ve been avoided with communication. If the two of you had reacted at the same time, this would’ve gone well. You probably would’ve finished it. But, no... Now, you have to try it all over again tomorrow.

Minutes later, you are still quiet in the coms, not really finding any strength in you to speak after what happened, but you still speak enough to do your job.

“You alright there, Chaos?” Hangman asks through coms.

You don’t answer, but your backseater does once noticing your silence.

“We’re good.” He said for you.

Jake lands before you, which you're happy with since it means he will be out of your way when you leave your own jet.

You let out a little breath as you wait your turn to land. With the golden sunlight hitting your face, you are silent, still trying to get yourself back to normal.

You’re called in for permission to land after a few minutes, and you easily do so.

It takes everyone some time to get out of the landing strip and then park the F-18, but you only feel relief when you're done.

The canopy hisses open as you calmly unstrap yourself, and the light breeze hits your face. You let your backseater leave first, and, only once he's a few steps back, you make your way off your seat and down the ladder.

Helmet off your head and get ready to leave, you're facing the building where the locker rooms are. You really only need a shower and go to bed. You truly do not want to have to deal with anything else.

No one really says anything to you, knowing it’s better to just leave you to cool off. Yet, not even ten steps after, you already hear a familiar voice in the wind.

“Hey, Chaos!”

You didn’t look over your shoulder, you simply ignore everything. And seeing you walk away without a word to everybody was worse for Jake than your silence in the coms. He was waiting for your lecturing and your disappointed sighs, but neither ever came to his ears.

He watches you walk away, unstrapping some of the things across your chest with a helmet in one hand as you do it. Jake waited with some hope in his heart for you to turn to him and just scream at the top of your lungs. But you never began to think to do such a thing.

Jake walks off from the conversation he was just having, not even remembering to excuse his abandonment in the first place, and starts over to you. You don’t turn to see whose steps are getting close, you only push the door of the building open and walk inside, not caring to hold it for Jake, behind you.

When he is able to get in as well, he takes a look at you. He doesn’t say anything and you don’t ever look at him, not even when you have to turn around the corner. Your eyes don’t ever lift to his, and your mouth doesn’t ever open.

Deep down he knows you wouldn’t listen to a single word if he spoke. Hangman never apologizes for any of his fuck ups. He simply finds excuses on why he fucks up. Never even comes close to muttering the word "sorry". And, because of it, you do not care.

As you get to the locker room, you expect him to stop following you, but you are very wrong. Jake walks side by side with you and stands there watching as you open your locker and begin to unzip your flight suit.

You unzip it at your thighs, undoing the laces right after, and Jake just stands there, watching you ignore him.

No one really gets in the locker rooms at this time, and you know you two were the last ones in the air today. You're completely alone with him for a good following minutes.

Right as he opens his mouth to speak, words are said by you first.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

Jake shuts his mouth and looks at you as if in shock. He feels a little bit of every emotion bubble in his chest, but the fact that he got you to talk just now, it’s still annoyingly a win in his book.

“Come on. Don’t be like that.” He says to you, and you hear the smile on his words. God, as if you could get any angrier. “Can you at least look at me?” He asks.

You slip your arms out of your flight suit, appearing in your white tank top, and continue ignoring him. The suit stays secure on your hips, and Jake begins to think of something else he could do.

He needs to ignore all that is going on in front of him. Ignore the way your skin is shining under the light because of sweat, how tight the tank top is to your chest, and especially how he can very much peek into your shirt on accident from where he stands.

“About what happened-” He tries again.

You stop moving to speak.

“But I do not want to talk.” You speak slowly, “Nor do I want to see your stupid fucking face, right now. So… leave.”

As soon as you had let anger get the best of you as you spoke, even when it was just a slip-up, you regret everything. Insulting someone like Jake was like adding fuel to a fire. It doesn’t make him angry, it excites him.

“My stupid fucking face, uh?” He repeats, and you don’t answer him.

Jake begins to move. In fact, he doesn’t walk away from where he stands, but his arms and hands do the work. Jake Seresin is beginning to undress too.

Your eyes quickly go over to him, but he’s not looking at you, his eyes are focused on every strap he’s undoing and every lace he’s untying. As soon as his hands come back to his chest, you force yourself to speak.

“What are you doing?” You ask him.

Your eyes meet and neither of you tries to look away. You just stare at one another. The looks of both of your eyes clash. Your hardened eyes are filled with anger, and his with nothing but mischief.

“Getting ready to shower.” He answers easily.

“This isn’t your locker room.” You remind him.

“I need to get you to talk to me, don’t I?” He says, pulling at the last strap on his chest as he finishes the sentence. “Nothing like making you have to see my stupid face for a little longer to make you talk.”

You watch him for just a few seconds, and Jake finally unzips and slips his upper body out of the suit. He has a tank top under it as well, but his tan skin shines with the light, and his ridiculously muscular arms and shoulders reach your field of view.

“I’m not talking” You assure him.

“And why not?” He doesn’t stop with the undressing, but he keeps his gaze on you constantly.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed already. I’m fucking mad at you.” You tell him, “Now, leave.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Leave.”

“Just talk to me.” He tells you, a grin appearing as he says that to you, his hands pausing the undressing.

You force yourself to look away and restart your undressing. The message is easily received by Jake as well. It’s entirely weird how neither of you even hesitates on continuing with stripping.

You’re one step ahead with the process as you now stand in the locker room with just your tank top and underwear. Jake swallows dry at the sight of your legs, but he keeps on going strong.

“You-” You begin to speak once more, ready to remind him that he cannot take a shower here and the many reasons why, but something stops you.

Jake’s shirt flies over to the bench beside you, and you swear that you have to hold your head in your hands to not blatantly stare at his naked chest. You slow down your breathing, trying to seem absolutely calm and collected, and, to your every bit of distaste, Jake notices it.

“I what?”

“You can’t shower here.” You tell him while staring forward into your locker. At this point, you’re spitting your words with anger. “Your stuff isn’t here.”

He stays quiet for a little bit and, out of habit, you look at him to find a reason for his silence. He offers you a shrug with a tight lipped grin, dismissing whatever you just said as if that wasn’t a great argument against his decision. As id someone will take a shower without something other than water.

“I’m sure we can share.” He tells you all so seriously.

You look at him for a little longer, forcing your eyes to stay on his face, and finally turn your entire body to face him. You two stand just a few inches away from each other, but neither of you hesitates or thinks of taking a step back.

You carefully look at the door of the room, scared that anyone could very much walk in on both of you, even when, deep down, you know how improbable it is. And then look at him, forcing yourself to remember what he did and how risky today was only because of him, and soon, annoyance covers your face again.

“Leave, Hangman.” You tell him in a low and stern tone.

He lowers his head so that the two of you stand eye-to-eye and he whispers, trying to match the low tone of your voice.

“No.” And his perfect white smile shines on his face.

You grab your towel from the bench, and as you go to grab the rest of your things, you pretend to forget about the man that is standing beside you. The same one that is just now standing in his boxers. You swear that you don’t even order your eyes and head to turn, but they try.

With all of the things you need in your hands, you hold them close to your chest, and you notice him step a little closer, leaning his shoulder onto the metal door of your locker.

You finally are ready move to the showers and slam your locker closed, turning your back to him. Jake is right on your tail yet only after a few seconds of distance due to his sight-seeing. You put down your towel by the last bench, the one closest to the exit, and enter the white room of the communal showers.

You can’t believe he’s still following you.

You put some things down on the ground by the shower head you’re going to use, and look over at Jake. The two of you standing in minimal clothing, looking at each other as if to see who will be the first one to pull out. It's a bad plan since the start because the two of you are the most stubborn people on the entire base.

You bring your hands over to your tank top and pull it up, throwing it over to the bench - right on top of your towel. Next up is your bra, and even Jake turns his head just in time to give you privacy.

It’s unbelievable how the two of you actually finish getting undressed and, without any hesitation, turn on the water.

If the two of you weren’t already tense, the cold water didn’t really help your case.

As the water turns automatically off (navy showers), you grab your soap and casually just lather yourself with it, acting as if everything is totally normal.

Your stomach turns and twists, yet also bubbles with some sort of anxiety as you stand near Jake. Jake eventually needs the soap too, and it doesn’t help that he takes it from your hands right as you’re done with it. The feeling of his larger hand against yours made some sort of heat run through you. His hand is larger, more calloused, strong, and with surely longer digits. Okay. You need to calm down.

“Let me know if you need help washing your back.” His voice echoes in the open room.

You pathetically aren't able to hold back a grin with his words.

“I’m sure you’d love that.” You tell him, trying to sound bitter.

He doesn’t answer, and you find yourself looking at him. Your grin is already gone. Jake is looking at you in the eyes, but your staring ends as you move to turn back on the water.

It’s difficult to have to keep looking at him in the eyes when his body is right there. When his hands are moving over his muscular arms, his hairy chest, or his abs.

The cold water shuts off your mind right away, calming down the heat of your own body. Jake doesn’t look away as quickly, but he finally has to force himself to do such a thing. He needs to stop thinking about how the water is washing and running down your skin, the way the soap must have looked all throughout your body, or the way your hands could feel on him.

Jake turns the cold water as well and looks at the ground as it hits his warming skin. You look at him for just a second as you finish up with the rinsing off the soap. You watch him as he closes his eyes under the water, and you shake your head while looking away again. Your staring will get you in trouble.

Your water is cut off shortly after, and you look over at Jake. He’s already looking at you. You don’t look as mad anymore, but he knows that as soon as he mentions the training again, which he will have to eventually, all of it will go down the drain.

“Can I have my soap back?” You ask him, seriously.

Jake smiles at you and right as he’s about to hand you the soap, his water cuts out, leaving you two to stand in silence. You bring your hand closer to his, and you carefully grab the soap from his palm. Your fingers touch, even with so much effort.

All of the warmth the two of you were able to wash away with the cold water has now come back, stronger than ever, right as the two of you stand completely naked before each other and try keep your eyes on each other’s faces.

“Still mad at me?” He asks over the overbearing silence.

You expected his words to reawaken your anger, but they don't. You still have some deep-rooted anger bubbling down when you remember the exact moment of your error as a team, but not as strongly as before. You look at him for just a little longer and shrug.

“Wouldn’t you?” You ask him fairly, “If I were the one that screwed up?”

“Maybe.” He nods, voice still low, “But not for too long.”

You almost laugh at his words. Jake Seresin is one of the biggest perfectionists of all time. Any pilot is, yet he takes the cake. He hates every time someone screws up his perfect timing, his perfect mission, his literally anything. You know he's lying, through and through.

“Is that so?” You ask him, tilting your head attentively.

His eyes quickly look over at your collarbones as he stares at you. Your words are enough to pull at his full smile, and, soon, his eyes are back on your face.

“Always.”

You hum at him, obviously doubting everything, and he is only more amused by it. You two stare at one another for a little bit in the same silence as before.

“Am I your favorite, Seresin?” You ask him. “Must be. With how quick I’m able to be forgiven.”

He chuckles at you, and you smile.

“Depends... Who’s your favorite wingman?”

The real answer floats in your mind, but you definitely have other plans.

“Rooster.” You nod as you speak, but your smile is your biggest enemy. It makes it obvious to the blonde that you never lied so hard in your life. “He’s the safest.”

Jake takes a step closer with your words and his perfect smile still shines on his face. You look up at him, noticing how the two of you have totally grown more than natural about your lack of clothing, and force your own entertainment to not seem so apparent.

“Is that so?” He asks, and you nod, “Safest.” He repeats as if he’s testing the word out loud.

He leans his head down closer to yours, worsening the heat spreading over your body, and you stare back at him.

“He never put me in danger.” You recall back at him, “Whereas for my second favorite…”

“Second favorite?” He smiles at that too.

“Coyote.” You smile back, “He's less safe, but still up there as one of my faves... And then, there's you. The worst of them all.”

He chuckles in your face at your choices and then nods.

“That’s fair.” He comments, “I actually had Phoenix as my favorite this whole time.”

You smack the side of his head for that and it makes the two of you laugh. Your eyes fall on the skin of his chest, and you take in the view. When you look back up, Jake catches you red-handed. Two complete seconds of silence and both of you with only one idea in mind.

Your lips touch and your heart practically jumps out of your chest. Jake was the one to close the space between you two. Your hands slide over to his neck, and you don't hesitate to kiss him back. Jake’s hands lay across the skin of your sides, and he pulls you closer.

Your naked bodies brush against each other, and Jake is the one to move you two around, while still in the kiss, and lean you against the wall.

Jake’s tongue touches your bottom lip and, as soon as you open your mouth and your tongues touch, the whole demeanor of the kiss and your touch changes. Your grip on the back of his neck, pulling him down harsher and closer to you; and Jake’s rough hands running through your body, touching every bit of skin he can reach.

Your fingers run through his wet hair, pulling at the strands when the kiss roughens exactly how you want it to. You sigh when Jake pulls away from the kiss and his lips begin to move down your neck. He bites onto the skin that he notices you to be more sensitive.

One of your hands comes down from his shoulders to his chest, running through his perfectly sculpted body, feeling every hilt of muscle as your other hand still grips onto the strands of his soft hair. Jake comes back up to kiss your lips, and you let out a soft moan. One that makes Jake’s whole body react as the vibrates against his lips.

He pulls away from the kiss and, for a split second, the two of you look into each other’s eyes.

Jake grabs your hips and turns you around.

“You’re on the pill, right?” He asks, and you sigh your answer.

“Yes.”

You lay one of your hands on the tiled wall and take a discreet deep breath, trying to hold yourself together.

Jake never really leaves your body untouched. His lips come back to kiss your shoulder, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he moves up to your neck and jaw. You lay your hand on the back of his head as he’s close enough, and his hands continue to grip your hips.

You arch your back, leaning closer to him as Jake continues to kiss your neck. His hands on your hips slide across your skin and feel one of them move in between your legs. His palm lays over your pussy, never trying to not do anything further, and you lean your forehead on your outstretched arm.

His fingers slide in between your folds, and you cling to his hair all over again. His middle and ring finger slide down to meet your entrance and he groans on your neck at the feeling of your juices covering his fingertips.

His other arm wraps around your torso and pulls you flush against him, letting you feel his cock, already hard, behind your back.

Jake’s fingers slide slowly inside of you, and you gasp. They're a severe difference from your soft hands, but that only worsens your ability to stay quiet and still. His fingers are much bigger and rougher than yours.

He begins to move them inside of you, letting all of your juices wet his skin, and then you feel his thumb over your clit.

You lean your head back, biting down at your bottom lip to stay quiet, and your head lays against Jake’s shoulder, exposing your neck further to his mouth. His fingers move inside you, curving and sliding into you. All in ways that make you have to fight the urge to close your legs, and that is soon abandoned, as Jake notices.

“You want to cum on my fingers first, sweetheart, or-” He asks against the skin of your neck.

“Just fuck me, Jake.”

He smiles at your words and before pulling his head back, he makes sure to nip at your abused skin one last time. His fingers are pulled out of you, and you groan ever so slightly at the fast action.

Jake maneuvers you with such ease that you almost don’t notice the way he pulls you away from him ever so lightly, lifts your hips, and just aligns the tip of his cock with your cunt. The arm he had around your torso stays tight, and slowly, you feel him slide inside of you.

Jake’s hand flies and covers your mouth faster than you expect him to and you cannot keep yourself quiet for much longer.

Any noise in the showers echoes. Anything. Any noise seems louder than it really is in the room. And when you have to control the sounds that leave your mouth as Jake slides his cock inside of you, it's harder to keep quiet. Much harder. He’s bigger than you thought, a lot bigger, and you swear that you feel like being slowly ripped in half.

The hand you have on his head comes to hold onto his wrist, feeling his soft skin against your palm. Jake gives you time, leaning his cheek on the side of your head, trying to control his breathing too as he feels your smooth wet walls squeeze him with anything he does.

After some time, Jake begins to move his hips and you hold onto him tighter. His thrusts into you make you close your eyes and lean your head back further, feeling and loving the way he stretches you and already fucks you so well.

His movements gain speed and remaining quiet gets harder for Jake too. He holds back any grunts or groans, he closes his eyes tightly and holds you closer to him to fight the urge of letting anything past his lips. Soon, the sound of his thrusts is also audible in the room and no matter how much you two try to hide it, they’re there. Everything is so silent, you can hear the sound of your skin slapping loudly and both of your heavy breathing.

A little moan escapes both your lips and Jake’s hand as you feel his dick directly hit your g-spot. It sounds like a little scream, even though muffled, it still echoes and makes Jake almost feel himself go entirely crazy. He leans his head back against yours, and repeats what he just did, secretly wanting you to slip up again. And he accomplishes exactly that.

Your hold on his arm gets tighter and soon your hips move against his as he drills into you. You continue to let out soft little noises, all of them echoing through the room and possibly ruining your plan to stay secret to everyone that could be outside of the locker room. The walls of your pussy have grown impossibly wetter and tighter around Jake, and he knows that you’re already close.

It’s all a mixture of the pleasure from the sex with the risk of getting caught. It all makes another type of adrenaline course through your blood. Your every action can be risky as you can be very much caught by anyone that could either need something from the room or simply clean it. Any of your superiors can walk in on you two too.

You sob out a moan against Jake’s palm, and he forces you closer to him. He uncovers your mouth for just a second and uses his hand on your chin to turn you to him. Your lips and tongues touch into a messy and sloppy kiss. The two of you almost can’t even concentrate enough to do it. You force yourselves to stay quiet, and you feel like you’re going to explode already.

Jake covers your mouth again and feels you grind your hips against his every time you connect. Your walls squeeze him tighter and tighter, and your small moans become louder underneath his hand. Jake never falters on his thrusts, sliding his dick back and forth inside of you just like before, and, with just one harsher thrust, you come undone around him.

Jake covers your mouth, trying to make you stay as quiet as humanly possible, but your moans do spill. A hand can only muffle so much, and Jake is secretly praying to hear every single one of them, fighting his urges to just uncover your mouth entirely.

Your walls squeeze him so tight, and you move against his body in tiny spasms in a way that it doesn’t take Jake much longer to cum as well. He brings the arm he has around your torso over to your hips to hold you in place. You let moans spill out due to the overstimulation, and Jake’s thrusts get faster yet sloppier with each one going into you.

His head comes to the crook of your neck once more, and your hand comes back to cling to his hair. The small pain of the pulling at the strands drives Jake to his last needed stimulation, and he finally feels his muscles contract much tighter than before. You grind your hips against him, and Jake finally reaches his climax as well.

Your movements never pause, no matter how tightly he holds onto your hips, and the ropes of his cum fill your insides. He groans onto your neck and you turn your head to pull him into a kiss. The kiss is softer than before and you’re the one that dominates it, this time. Jakes kisses you back and even chases your lips whenever you try to pull back.

Jake loosens his hold on you and you two finally pull away from your kiss. He disconnects your hips, and you gasp out loud at the feeling. Jake eyes you down as he does it, watching his cum slowly slide out of you, and the image alone makes him close his eyes to stay sane.

You turn back around slowly as Jake still holds onto you, and your chests are held flush together. The two of you are breathing heavily while looking at one another, and he’s the one to break the silence.

“I better be your favorite wingman, now.” He whispers, his tone never so serious.

As if he wasn't already.

Hope you enjoyed this!

[hychlorions]

you said that the way apollo's bracelet is handled is your biggest pet peeve... how so? im curious

well if you really want to know ! the truth-detecting gadgets in ace attorney is my most.... niche interest, i want to say. so strap in

apollo's bracelet (or thalassa's bracelets, if you want) aren't the "lie detector" part of the process. They're not even that magical, except for the fact that they can expand or shrink to the size of the user's wrist, i guess. zak gramarye explains this to phoenix in a line you can't skip in-game, which we see here

a lot of things i've seen, written or drawn or whatever, always seems to forget that that's all the bracelet shrinks/expands for. it doesn't tighten because there's a lie, and it doesn't loosen because you're telling the truth. I know it's such a minor detail that people that aren't me wouldn't really care, but I've seen stuff where apollo gets severe wrist pain from how tight the bracelet is, and stuff where his eyes aren't even open to see people's tics. neither of these are possible.

zak says the contractions are so minute they can't sense it on their own (hence the bracelet getting so tight it actually hurts is ???), and phoenix's phrasing (and the game mechanics of the bracelet in general) confirms they'd have to SEE the person getting tense in order to sense they're nervous/untruthful in the first place.

what's funny about zak saying the contractions are so tiny a gramarye can't sense them is that trucy can. my girl is so good at everything she trained herself to notice when she's tensing up. talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing. show-stopping.

small add-on, sometimes if you wear anything metal for long enough and don't take it off, you get this weird rash/dark patch of skin. apollo might even be told to "take it off for a little while." but considering everything would he even do that :// idk. food for thought

anyway with all this in mind, think of the possibilities!!! there are so many other things that could provide the same "truth-detecting" capabilities, so long as they're a perfect fit. like a tight watch maybe, or a ring 😏 if you wanna go that direction. (yes i've tried wearing a ring and flexing my fingers to see if it would tighten just to say apollo could maybe possibly use one like that)

[the-yoru-whoru]

Unfinished Yoru x reader fanfic I started lol — idk if I’ll finish it and post it up on ao3 but here’s what I got so far ^^ any criticism or comments on if I should continue it or not would be great . ( also I just love the idea of tsundere protective Yoru I’m sorry I keep using it ,,, :,)

You couldn’t help but wince with each step. The side of your torso was soaked in a dark red, the sticky liquid already staining your shirt.

“Hurry up,” Yoru ordered without looking back, gun up and ready for any lurkers that could be between sites.

You just gave a nod even though you knew he couldn’t see it, quickening your pace and trying to ignore the sharp pain. The male was flicking his crosshair back and forth, clearly focused on the mission. You felt bad that he was carrying the responsibility of both himself and you; if only you hadn’t got caught off guard by that last lurker, who had jumped out of a corner and could only shoot off a few bullets to your torso before getting taken out by Yoru. He had looked at you in distaste, warning you to pay attention and to trade your vandal for his spectre. He was the better shot so it made sense, but it still stung.

“Sage is at B site. She can heal you then.” He suddenly said, voice quiet.

You stared at his muscled back, eyes wide, “Okay.”

This sucked. Not only were you in pain, but one of the strongest agents on the team was treating you like some kind of kid. You rubbed at your eyes quickly, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

The snow crunched under your footsteps, but besides that it was dead quiet, the silence only broken by stray gunshots every so often. Ice box was your least favourite map purely because of how cold it always was, but you knew Yoru loved it. He was always a little less grumpy whenever Sage announced it as the drop off location.

Finally the yellow box came into view, the tall woman pressed up against it, holding the corner with her gun out. You and Yoru hurried to her side. She turned to the two of you, surprised.

“She needs healing.” He stated bluntly, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you forward.

Sage frowned, looking you over carefully before forming her healing orb, the soft glow painting all of your faces in cyan.

“Who is covering A?” She questioned as she released the orb next to your wound, the radiant healing already making your shoulders slump in relief.

Yoru crossed his arms while he waited impatiently for the healing to complete, “No one. She needed healing immediately or she would have been vulnerable.”

The healers' concerned gaze suddenly turned furious,“ What!? You two left A open? Are you not taking this mission seriously? You know that our job is to prevent them from planting spike, do you not?”

You flinched, lowering your head in shame.

Sage wasn't finished, “ I can excuse Y/N, but I expected better from you Yoru. It’s your job to set a good example for younger recruits; and abandoning site for one wound is not appropriate radiant behaviour.”

For some reason that hurt more, knowing that Yoru would be getting in trouble because of your mistake.

But the man next to you bristled, “With all due respect, Y/N was in no shape to take the trip from A site to B site alone, me accompanying her here was the next best option.”

Sage didn’t flinch from his cold tone, “Yoru, in these situations we have to take that risk sometimes, for the greater good of the team.”

“Risk? The girl was one pistol shot away from fucking dying, I think that deserves a little more caution then sending her out on a death mission.” His voice was incredulous.

Their leader didn’t back down, “You had no problem leaving Phoenix behind on our last mission despite being injured, this is the same case.”

A calloused hand was suddenly placed on your shoulder, “Phoenix is an overconfident bastard who takes unnecessary risks all the time and knows how to handle it,” his grip tightened, “Y/N just got unlucky despite being cautious, it’s unfair to punish her for that.”

There was silence. You felt awkward being the subject of the argument, as if you weren’t even present.

The silence was broken by the telltale sound of the spike being planted, the bomb sending out pulses that could be felt even from this far away. All three of you tensed up .

“Y/N, could you apply your shields? Yoru, teleport back and see if you can find out their positions. Wait for us to catch up.” She ordered, argument set aside for now.

You were nodding your head even before she finished speaking, pulling out purple mist and sending it Sage and Yoru’s way. It disappeared briefly after, but you could see the faint purple outline that covered their bodies.

Yoru nodded as well, but paused, “I can take Y/N through the rift with me, she’s small enough to not get stuck between the dimensions.”

You recoiled back, but Yoru’s hand kept you steady.

“Do you think you can handle that Y/N? How does the wound feel?” She leveled you with a serious gaze.

You touched your side nervously, feeling a bit smothered under the two adults who were watching you intensely. Besides a bit of soreness, almost all the pain was completely gone. If it weren’t for the red still staining your shirt, you would have mistaken it for nothing more than a bruise.

You have a shaky smile, “I can barely feel a thing, thanks Sage.”

“And the rift?” Yoru pressed.

You bit your lip, “Sure.”

Yoru and Sage straightened, the look on their faces grim.

“Then it’s settled.” Sage said, “ You two go ahead, I’ll try to resurrect someone and catch up with you soon.”

The two of you nodded.

“And Yoru,” Sage stopped him from turning away, “This conversation is not over.”

He just brushed her off, eyebrows creasing, “Yeah, yeah, save it for when we’re back on base.”

Sage left, and you were alone with Yoru again.

He stood in front of you and leaned over so he could look you directly in your eyes. His gaze was intense, the sharp set of his jaw tense as he spoke.

“Alright, you are going to hold onto me very tightly. Do not let go under any circumstances, do you understand?”

“Y-yes!” You squeaked out.

No one in your team has ever been in the rift with Yoru before, and you were so worried it was making your stomach churn. What if you got stuck in there? What if something went wrong?

Yoru must have sensed your anxiousness, because he ruffled your hair lightly. His hands were warm against your cold head, and you were reminded just how numb you really were.

“You’ll be fine. Now come here, we don’t have time.” He said, opening his arms wide as if trying to hug you.

You stepped into his space, and for a moment his presence overwhelmed you, the sheer intensity of the strength that surrounded you stunning you into compliance. You let him scoop you up into his arms as you hooked your arms around his neck and tucked your face into his neck. He was so warm, and you nuzzled your face into the heat gratefully.

You hear a sharp inhale and the body underneath you seemed to stiffen, but before you could ask anything, Yoru’s shoulders were moving, the muscles under his clothes pulling at the unknown. The two of you were dunked into darkness, the cold, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You dared not look up for even a second. So this is what the rift was like. It felt extremely windy, like the whiplash you get when you stick your hand out of your car window while driving down a highway. You clutched into Yoru for dear life, trying not to make any embarrassing sounds.

And as soon as it began, it was over. Yoru climbed out of the rift before tugging you off himself.

His hands seemed to linger on you for a moment as you regained your balance, but he pulled away quickly.

He looked you up and down, “You alright?”

You bit your lip and nodded. Besides some dizziness, you could still stand straight, and you pulled out your spectre and readied your stance as Yoru did the same.

You glanced over at him, and noticed that the collar of his jacket was extremely lopsided on one side. You must have crumpled his clothes when you had pushed your face into the crook of his neck….

You turned red, and suddenly icebox didn’t feel so cold anymore. You turned away from him, adjusting your shirt nervously.

But before you could react, you heard a whoosh of air behind you, the hard barrel of a gun hit your head. You slumped forward and a pair of warm arms caught you before you hit the ground.

When the last thing you heard was a deep voice next to your ear, betrayal filled your mind.

“I’ll handle this.”

——

You were avoiding him.

Yoru stalked the hallways moodily, teeth gritted together in annoyance. It’s been a week since the mission, and you still didn’t want to talk to him. Couldn’t you see he was just trying to protect you?

The mission had gone successfully, and Sage had reluctantly admitted that he did a good job at securing the spike while also minimizing casualties.

Y/N on the other hand was distraught. Seeing your eyes start to water when you came to, and then watching you run out of the room quickly when you saw him…

Silly girl. You did know that you were a support asset, did you not? Your job was to shield and provide aid to the duellists like himself, not to go rushing into a 2v5 timed battle. You being there would only have hindered him further, maybe even cause him to slip up and miss a few shots. Not that he could ever tell you that. Your confidence was fragile, your voice quiet and meek, and always taking orders from others without complaint. Weaklings like you usually pissed him off…

Usually they did. But after being assigned as your mentor and guide for your first few months on base, he couldn’t help but feel protective over you. You were quiet and meek, however, in the heat of battle he could always see that determined glint in your eye and almost desperate air of wanting to prove yourself useful. And he could respect that.

But for now, he just wanted to get rid of these annoying pangs in his chest, the illogical guilt welling on his mind. Finally arriving at your door, he knocked loudly, knowing you would be in there.

After a brief moment, the door swung open. You stood there, face tilted upwards to look at him, the top of your head barely even reaching his shoulders. The male leaned against your doorframe, looking you up and down quickly.

You were wearing a big shirt, the oversized fabric draping precariously over your shoulders, the long cloth revealing the small indent of your collarbone. The soft white of your skin was unblemished, the only evidence that you were a fighter were small, barely noticeable scratches that lined your neck. But he always noticed them. Yoru was there when that clone Jett had been aiming for your head, sharp blades missing their mark and lodging themselves into your throat instead. There had been so much blood, and as you lay in his arms gurgling and red, he swore that he would never let that happen to you again.

It had only taken a quick healing from Sage to rid you of the wound, but the knives had dug deep enough that they had already created permanent scars.

“Y-Yoru?” Your small voice called to him hesitantly, “What’s wrong?”

You sounded concerned, and it took a second to realize that he had been frowning at the scars in silence for way too long.

“You haven’t been showing up to your lessons,” He states bluntly, pushing off the side of the door and leaning forward to look you in the eyes, “Are you giving up already?”

He watched your eyes widen, before you shook your head rapidly.

“No! Of course not! I just…” you trailed off, looking to the side nervously, “I didn't think you would want to continue teaching me…after I got you in trouble with Sage and all.”

Yoru blinked. Then sighed.

“Kuso…Don’t worry about her.” He wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad you weren’t avoiding him because you were mad, “Let’s go right now, alright? Make up for lost time.”

He turned around, expecting you to follow him. And sure enough he heard the scrambling of hands grabbing at proper clothing and then you were right behind him, taking two steps for every one that he did. Just another thing that made it hard for you to be a fighter…you were so small, even the bigger guns you practiced with had to be made custom fit by Killjoy in order not to jostle you too much with the recoil.

When the two of you arrived at the shooting range, he picked up a vandal, and watched you do the same. The base was big, and so were the training areas. As such, they were usually empty, only used when certain agents wanted to compete in skill or warm up before a mission. You, on the other hand, had been using it to catch up with the others. Steel walls lined the range, and the two of you stood just behind the low metal bar, where guns of various models were hooked up and ready for use. He tapped at the screen latched onto the bar, starting up a basic simulation.

“Alright. Warm up.” Yoru ordered.

You nodded, lifting the gun up and crouching slightly. The bots in the practice range whirled to life, and he made sure to keep a neutral expression as he watched you shoot headshot after headshot. Finally, you finished, 30 bots killed.

Breathing a little heavy, you turned to look at his expectantly, gun almost falling out of your small hand as you lifted an arm to wipe at your face.

Yoru frowned, “We talked about this. No crouching, flick to the head, and move faster.” He watched your posture visibly slump, “in the middle of a fight no enemy is gonna be standing still waiting for you to shoot them. You must be flexible and faster than your opponent; that’s how you win fights.”

He could see your brow line crease, “Again.”

The bots came to life again, this time, shifting from side to side noisily. You heaved the gun back up, straightening your back and holding onto your gun tighter.

30 kills later, you were red and sweaty from effort. You looked at him again, eyes big and hopeful as always.

He just scoffed, “You think I didn’t notice you also shifting from side to side? Move with your arms, not your legs. You are only bringing yourself down with that movement inaccuracy.”

He watched you grow dejected again, eyes turning to look away from him. That wouldn’t do.

“Here,” He was suddenly next to you. Large frame pushed up against your backside, and large hands enveloping your own, “Keep steady and raise your crosshair.”

——

You couldn’t hold back the squeak of surprise you made when you felt his hot breath against your ear.

Fumbling with the gun in your hands, you let him guide you to position, pulling you up with him as he aimed down sights at the bots carefully, and easily flicking to each head with ease. Your body jerked back and forth with his movements, and you could feel your face turn red as his face nearly pressed up against the back of your head. Not to mention you felt completely surrounded by his presence, his tall frame easily towering over your own. You let your mouth fall agape, numbly nodding your head as the words he spoke went through one side of your ears and out the other.

“…hey! Are you even listening to me?” His voice unintentionally rasped again in your ear.

Your voice trembled as you spoke, “Yes sir! You are just v-very close and it’s a bit,” You felt him jerk slightly behind you, “Distracting.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he pulled away slowly, straighting as you turned to catch a glimpse of his face. To your surprise, he was looking away from you, a hint of red tinting his face.

“Alright,” He clears his throat, “Alright,” He repeats.

You grew worried that you might have overstepped. The two of you had been working together for only a few months now, it wasn’t like the two of you had anything more then a strictly professional relationship.

You let your grip on your gun slack a bit, “Yoru? What’s wrong?”

He just closes his eyes and sighs frustratedly, hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing. Just…keep shooting.”

The room was suddenly too quiet, and you hurried to raise your gun again, letting the sounds of shooting cut through the awkwardness.

You were sure you were still blushing, the back of your body still pleasantly warm from the previous contact. Even though he was only your mentor, it was inevitable to admire him, even fantasize of him wanting you in a way more than platonic; if you were even considered a friend to him, that is. But you knew it was impossible and you knew it was just wishful thinking. You frowned as you knocked down the last bot. Why did he have to do things like that to make your heart race? It was maddening.

“Focus!” He suddenly snapped, making you jump in surprise.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

I fucking love your writing!!! You're like one of my favorite fic authors ever!! Theres this cool ass quote that I really like that goes- "I'll take care of you" "It's rotten work" "Not to me, not if it's you" and I was wondering if you could work that into a fake dating AU??

This was such a bad idea, but that had never stopped Sirius before, and it wasn't going to stop him now. James had asked for his help, and Sirius was helpless to do anything but promise that he would do his best.

Granted, he would've been a lot happier to help if it hadn't been acting as James's boyfriend as they went to Lily and Remus's wedding.

Sirius was a nice guy and all, but after he agreed to help, he had to ask, "Why do you need a date at all? We were both invited. It's not like you have to sneak me in."

"The last time I saw either of them, I was being a massive prick because Lily had broken up with me."

"I remember," Sirius said. Mostly he remembered because he'd thought it was funny, at the time. Then, when it had become clear that Remus wasn't planning on talking to them anymore because of it, he'd felt a little bad. Not that they'd stayed best mates after leaving Hogwarts, but they used to meet up every few months. 

"I just want to let both of them know that I'm not going to make a scene."

"I don't think they would've invited you if they thought that was going to happen," Sirius said.

"If you don't want to pretend that we're dating-"

"I'm fine with it," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "I was just pointing out that I don't think it's necessary."

"I think it's very necessary."

"Whatever you say, love." Disaster. This was going to be a complete and utter disaster.

Sirius should be smart and tell Remus ahead of time that it was fake so that he wouldn't say anything incriminating, but if James wanted him to pretend that they were dating, then that's what he would do.

*

Dumb. Idiotic. Stupendously moronic. These were all words to describe Sirius in this moment, and his only comfort was that it was James's stupid idea for this in the first place.

"I'm glad you two finally got together," Professor McGonagall said.

James's arm around Sirius tightened. "Right."

"How long have you been dating?" she asked, and it should've been a perfectly innocent question. They were at a wedding, presenting themselves as being in a serious relationship. These were the sort of questions people asked couples attending a wedding together. Sirius knew this, but given the way James's arm tightened even more, he figured that James hadn't known.

"The lines are a bit blurry," Sirius said with a smile. "You might as well ask if the phoenix came before or after the flame."

Professor McGonagall laughed, which covered the sharp inhale from James. They kept talking, exchanging idle conversation about her new students and their jobs for a couple minutes before they parted ways.

"You need to calm down," Sirius muttered to him.

"I'm perfectly calm," he said, but his jaw was tight and he looked like a pat on the back would shatter him.

Sirius only snorted. "Let's get you something to drink. That'll loosen you up."

An hour and too many drinks later, Sirius wondered if he should cut James off. It's not like he was an alcoholic, but he was pounding back drinks like it was going out of style.

Lily walked up to them as Sirius was debating whether or not he could get away with switching his glass (champagne) with James's (whiskey). They'd said hello to her when they walked in, but she was too busy making the rounds before this to really talk. Not that Sirius knew what they'd talk about. He'd never really gotten on with her, in spite of her dating James for over a year; he'd had plenty of time to get used to her, but he hadn't. "Hi, Sirius," she said with a smile. It was a cliche, but she was definitely glowing with happiness. "James."

James turned to look at her, then his eyes went wide and he swallowed thickly as he saw who he was face to face with. "Erm. Hey Lils. Lily. You look- erm, I mean-"

Sirius switched their glasses.

"It's good to see you- not that- er. Congratulations," James finished weakly.

"Thanks," Lily said, ignoring his stuttering. "I'm glad you two finally worked things out."

"Finally?" James asked.

"Yeah, I know that- actually, it's not my business," she said.

Sirius was very grateful that she wasn't going to get into it, and he was about to thank her aloud when James ruined it.

"No, what do you mean?"

Lily glanced at Sirius, who tried to give her a look to convey how much he would appreciate her not saying a word.

He wasn't sure it came across.

"I might be reading too much into it. It's not like I was ever very close with Sirius, and god knows I never knew what was going on in your head."

"Lily," James said slowly, "what are you talking about?"

"Just that you two have always been close. When we were dating, sometimes I felt like the odd one out."

"Sorry about that," Sirius said, because it had been a touch purposeful on his part.

She gave a small shrug, smiling again. "It all worked out in the end."

Sirius tried to focus on the conversation, asking how Remus had proposed and what they had planned for their honeymoon, but he couldn't help but keep an eye on James, who was staying horrifically silent. He noticed too late that James had stolen his drink back.

Eventually, Lily walked away to rescue Remus from a conversation with her sister, leaving James and Sirius alone again.

"Okay, that's enough," Sirius said, snatching James's glass from him. It was almost empty, but he wasn't going to risk it. "We're calling it a night."

"Fine," James said petulantly. He got to his feet, then wobbled.

Sirius put an arm around his waist to steady him and steered them towards the lift. "One foot in front of the other, love."

"I know how to walk," he muttered.

"How comforting. Do you also know how not to drink yourself into a stupor?"

"I'm not that drunk."

"I respectfully disagree."

"Respectfully?" James repeated with a laugh.

"Would you prefer disrespectful disagreement?"

"Sure. It'll make this feel more normal."

"As you wish, love.” Pause. “You're a sodding idiot. I can't believe I'm having to haul your arse around like we're eighteen again."

"It doesn't count as disrespectful if your voice still sounds like that."

"Like what?" Sirius asked.

"Like you love me."

"Use your imagination for that part."

James snorted, and they kept walking. It was slow going, mostly because James was trying to pretend he wasn't as drunk as he was. They made it into the lift, and James leaned heavily against him. "Maybe I did have a bit much."

"Maybe," Sirius agreed.

By the time the doors opened onto their floor, James had turned morose. It's how he always got when he got pissed instead of staying at buzzed, and Sirius was impressed that it had taken him this long to have his mood turn. Not that he'd been particularly happy before.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"What for?"

"That you have to take care of me."

"Don't be, I don't mind."

"You should."

"And why's that?" Sirius asked.

"Because it's-" he paused as he stumbled over his toes "-bloody rotten work."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Not to me," Sirius said.

"It should be. Why would you want to take care of me?"

"Because it's you," Sirius said softly, knowing that James wouldn't remember this well enough come morning to figure out what he meant by it. "Nothing rotten about that, love."

One of these days, James was going to know that when Sirius called him 'love', he meant it exactly as it sounded. It wasn't going to be tonight though, so he kept helping James to their room. They'd done this song and dance too many times for Sirius to feel weird about it. If James needed help getting undressed, he'd help him. He knew how to keep from staring, so he wouldn't feel like he was taking advantage of the situation or summat. He'd get James to drink some water, and in the morning, James would thank him for the help and nothing would change.

It had been years, and nothing had changed between them.

Despite the countless comments they'd gotten today about people saying 'finally' or 'always knew you were together', Sirius knew that the chances of it happening were slim.

*

The rest of their stay at the hotel for the wedding passed without incident. It was the wedding day, and then the day after everyone was leaving. The day of the wedding, people were busy thinking about Lily and Remus, so people stopped commenting on the relationship between James and Sirius. It was a relief, but the sad fact was that all the people here that weren't family, they all knew from Hogwarts. They all knew Sirius and James, and the next time they saw any of them, they'd probably have to explain that they weren't dating anymore. It would be years before Sirius had to have that conversation with anyone, but he was already dreading it.

They packed their bags, checked out of the hotel, and headed home. Home was a flat they shared and had been sharing for the past five years. Sirius dreamt, sometimes, of them moving into a different flat, one that only had one bedroom because what would they need with a second one?

"Did we talk?" James asked, frowning. "When I was drunk?"

"We talked some, but nothing important. Why?"

"I thought... nevermind."

"Okay," Sirius said easily.

There was a minute or two of silence as they walked up the stairs to their flat and unlocked the door. Once the front door was closed, James asked, "Do you think that'll ever be us?"

"What will?"

"The big white wedding. Or- y'know, any wedding."

"I hope so," Sirius said.

"Really?"

"Well yeah." Sirius wasn't terrified of being alone or summat-- well, maybe a little bit-- but he'd like to have that kind of relationship some day. Something with that much trust and being intertwined in each other's lives the way Lily and Remus now were.

When Sirius turned around, James kissed him. Full on. Hands on either side of his face and leaning close like he wanted nothing more than to seep into his soul.

It took a couple days for Sirius to replay the conversation in his head and figure out that what he'd answered hadn't really been what James was asking. His answer was the same, no matter what, but he really hadn't thought that when James asked 'Do you think that'll be us?' he'd meant specifically the two of them together.

He sure as hell wasn't going to complain. 

[piercingdarke]

chokes him a little mid-spar, as a treat.

          to an outsider, the way that the two of them fight must seem lethal, dire even. but ajax and diluc have an understanding; they’ve crossed blades enough times and in enough ways to realize that they're evenly matched, that no matter how far they push one another, neither will ever relent. it's a curious sense of safety, a confidence in one another's ability that allows them to fight without holding back, but at the same time, it instills in them a drive to test each other's limits. in spite of all the raw strength behind their clashing, the flurry of embers and droplets that meld and vaporize into a thick steam around them, the tension that hangs thicker still in the air, this is their idea of fun.

          no longer a victim of his stubborn pride in ajax’s company, diluc has learned to take their battles a little less seriously. there’s a fire in his eyes, there always will be, but it’s fed now by excitement rather than rage and misplaced hatred. ajax keeps him on his toes, sometimes embarrassingly so--he most certainly never misses an opportunity to get a rise out of the dawn knight, whose reactions, while much less explosive than they used to be, are apparently no less amusing.

          ajax moves just a little bit quicker than him, knows his tactics well enough to find an opening between hearty swings of his greatsword to dart in close, and diluc has just begun to redirect the claymore’s weight when he feels a strong grip at his throat. fingers curl into the sides of his neck, slipping a little on the hydro and sweat gathered on warm skin, palm pressing into his windpipe until diluc’s breath catches--it sends a pleasant jolt of electricity through his body, eyes flitting to tartaglia’s wrist on instinct to look for signs of his delusion. before he can catch it, a strangled moan slips from between parted lips, his one-handed grip on his weapon tightening as the other reaches for a fistful of fatuus’ uniform.

          “harder,” phoenix sighs, more of a challenge than a plea. if you’re going to do it, then do it right.