#wrote this ages ago but it has to see the light of day

[shegatsby]

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N; HI!!! Its been a long time since I wrote a series but i cannot resist Feyd. English isn''t my first language so go easy on me. There will be smut in the future chapters. TAG LIST IS OPEN!!!!!! (Reader has a lover and Feyd's going to find out lol 😉😉😉)

Warnings; None. Female Bene Gesserit Reader x Feyd-Rautha, enemies to lovers! reader is reffered to as she/her.

Words; 1.520K

Chapter 2

Chapter One – ‘’Meeting in flesh and blood’’

‘’Right behind you!’’ Irulan screamed as she was riding her horse to match Y/N’s. Y/N was a skilled rider, the wind in her long hair, she laughed at Irulan’s attempt of winning the race and focused on the finish line. Planet Kaitian which was the second Capital of the Corrino Empire had so many opportunities for Padishah Emperor Shaddam’s daughter Irulan and his beloved Y/N. The planet had forests, lakes and rivers so Y/N didn’t miss much of her home planet Caladan, she sometimes tossed and turned in her bed thinking of her family members but she was taken to Kaitain years ago. Irulan and Y/N were the same age and when Shaddam couldn’t have more children he asked Duke Leto Atreides to bring his first born daughter to be sisters with Irulan. Leto tried to find so many ways to refuse Padishah Emperor yet he was the ultimate power in the entire galaxy and Leto had no choice but to give his daughter Y/N. She was one years old when the arrangements were made. She could see her family at political events or celebrations, she had been in Caladan few times yet she felt stranger to the planet and she felt stranger to Kaitain as well. She has always wondered if, by any chance one day she would feel the sensation of ‘’being at home’’ nowhere and no one was her home. Maybe this was her fate.

When she finished the race her horse calmed down, Irulan followed behind. ‘’I swear you’re cheating and I am going to find out.’’ She was joking of course, Irulan and Y/N had a close relationship yet Y/N never forgot that she was a princess and there for needed to be treated more cautiously than the other lords and ladies of the galaxy. Together they hopped off of their horses, ‘’Walk with me.’’ Irulan’s  voice was soft yet direct. Her short blonde hair got messy, hem of her white long dress covered in mud, she was carefree when she was with Y/N.

Y/N had the color of her house Atreides. Green. Her green dress felt so light, they were walking on the grass for few minutes in silence., Y/N knew that Irulan wanted to say something.

Palace’s gardens were evergreen, gardeners achieved perfection. Gardens smelled of flowers at any time of the year. Irulan stopped in her tracks, they turned to soak in the scenery before their eyes, the entire planet was under their feet. Servants’ chatters could be heard, no matter what they were never alone. ‘’Soon my father will throw a ball for me.’’ She looked distant, Padishah Emperor Shaddam never had parties without a solid reason, it must be political. Before Y/N could ask Irulan explained simply, ‘’I will meet the man I have to marry.’’ Y/N knew one day that she had to marry someone in order to protect the power they had over the galaxy but she never thought the date would come this quick. Y/N had already a lover, only Irulan knew because he was from a lower house. She had a childish hope that one day she would marry him.

Irulan laughed in sarcasm, ‘’How I wish to be you, sister!’’ it was obvious that Irulan dreaded the situation.

There were no arrangements for Y/N and she was free for a long time or so she thought.

‘’I trust in Emperor’s decision. He won’t wed you to someone unworthy.’’ She tried to encourage her dear friend but Irulan stood there like a stone. ‘’Let’s head back.’’ Y/N said. A hollow silence followed them to the dining hall. Emperor couldn’t attend because he was dealing with preparations of the ball. The white marble fire place was lit and orange colors danced in the room, the dining hall was adorned with lavish furniture and a long wooden table. The wood came from Giedi Prime, it was called Pilingitam.

 Irulan seemed troubled, ‘’What’s on your mind sister?’’ Y/N asked. She was concerned for her, if she knew that she had to be concerned for herself…

She watched Irulan’s palm slithering on the Pilingitam table,’’ Majority of the houses will be at the ball,’’ she looked up to meet Y/N’s curious eyes, ‘’The Harkonnens will be too.’’ Y/N’s blood ran cold, she remembered the times where Emperor used to take them to Giedi Prime for political reasons. They had to sit and watch the games in the black and white arena. Gladiators killing each other…

She remembered a boy with pure blue eyes and full lips, ‘’I will fight there too when I’m old enogh.’’ He was sitting next to Y/N in his black outfit. He closed the tiny gap between him and Y/N, and he spoke quietly, ‘’Will you come and watch me?’’ he was speaking as if killing was a normal act. His knee touching Y/N’s, she remembered distinctly that the boy interlaced his little finger with hers. They were ten and yet Y/N could see Baron Vladimir’s influence on his poor nephew.

Y/N didn’t need to go back in her memories to detest the Harkonnens. Their families were in and out of war for centuries. Thankfully for a long time peace was kept. ‘’I will manage.’’ She insured Irulan with a genuine smile yet it wasn’t enough. Y/N brushed it off, after dinner she had mental training anyways.

Until the day of the ball she corresponded with her lover, Pyramus

He was a tall man with dark curls and jet black eyes. His beard always tickled her face.

She spent her days training and accompanying Irulan. Irulan grew restless as the they approached.

One by one the ships started to arrive, one could look up to the busy blue sky and see. Y/N’s family arrived early to see her and spend time with her. Lady Jessica, her mother, immediately questioned her about Y/N’s Bene Gesserit training, Duke Leto was happy to see her daughter once again. Paul, her one year younger brother gave her a tight hug.

They were united once more, she escorted them to their quarters in the palace and retrieved to get ready for the event. She wore a green dress with emeralds on her chest and waist, her maid braided her hair in Atreides style. She also wore an emerald tiara. Paul Atreides knocked on her door to escort her to the ball room, he looked sharp in his dark green suit. ‘’You seem nervous.’’ He questioned, -Y/N knew that her mother was teaching Bene Gesserit ways to her brother,- yes she was nervous because she was going to be reunited with her lover. ‘’Too many people.’’ She responded. Servants were running with food and wine on the corridors, music could be heard from a distance. Members of houses were having conversations about spice, politics, etc.

The doors of the room were open, inside was lit by the yellow warm lights coming from glowglobes, guests laughing and drinking. Tallest member was Baron Vladimir due to hanging in the air, eating like a mad man but she ignored him.

Her eyes searching for her lover, so blind to an outsider who got her under his radar.

Paul and Y/N walked to the table of their house, ‘’You look lovely my girl.’’ Duke Leto kissed her daughter’s forehead, it didn’t go unnoticed by a certain someone. He was a snake, silently slithering close to his prey.

Padishah Emperor Shaddam and his daughter Princess Irulan were announced and slowly entered the room, everyone bowed. They took their seats and Emperor greeted everyone, thanked them for coming to his feast and he also announced that he would choose the life partner of his daughter among his unmarried male guests. Duke Leto found himself watching his daughter with sad eyes, he wondered if he could see her wedding one day. Would she be happy and fortunate like him? Only time would tell but he prayed quietly.

It was time to dance, couples held each others’ hands and marched to the dance floor, Paul excused himself and went to ask the princess to dance with him. Leto happily asked Jessica to dance with him, Y/N wished that they were officially married but to keep his position as a powerful bachelor, other houses worked for him hoping that one day Duke Leto would marry one of their daughters. It was a well played game of chess on Atreides’s part. Y/N watched Irulan and Paul talking silently and dancing.

Soon Pyramus came with a huge smile. He kissed her hand and winked at her, ‘’My beautiful lady, would you be so kind and accompany me on the dance floor?’’ she tried so hard not to grin, ‘’Of course my lord.’’ He was in his house’s color, yellow. Hand in hand they mingled among the other couples, ‘’I’ve missed you.’’ He whispered. ‘’Not here.’’ She used the voice on him and his mouth closed in a second. Only their eyes talked.

They heard a rough cough and turned to face the intruder, Y/N had no idea that she would meet him in flesh and blood, ‘’Feyd…’’

[endlessthxxghts]

Lay Off The Flannels

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: 1.3k

Summary: Joel gets handsy while your father temporarily steps away.

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified - obviously a legal one though, hello??). No physical description of reader (pic above is used for aesthetic only!). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (F receiving). Using a flannel to clean up🫣... Awkward interactions with an oblivious father. Fluffy/light-hearted ending :). I think that's it! Let me know if otherwise!

Author's Note: Hey y'all! Soo my personal definition of a drabble is when something is written and posted on a whim, and that's exactly what I'm doing here.. This was only proof-read once by me, so if you see any typos and confusing wording... NO YA DIDN'T. Anyway, I have a bunch of WIPs needing to get done, but the stress was getting to me, so I took a break from those and wrote this fun little scenario to calm my mind and give me a good little laugh. I hope you guys enjoy!💚

MASTERLIST

“We shouldn’t be-”

“I know,” he says. 

“It’s too risky.”

“I know,” he says. 

You pull his lips back onto yours, breathing in each other’s breaths, consuming each other eagerly as if the world was going to end if you didn’t. 

His lips drag down to your jaw, to the sweet spots on your neck that make you mewl such addicting sounds he’ll never tire of, tasting the product of the hard work you did today with your father. His best friend.

His best friend, who- 

“He should be back any minute now,” you say breathily as Joel drops down to the ground, his knees cracking from the sudden change. 

Joel is desperate. Frantic, even. The speed he unbuttons and unzips your jeans and yanks them—underwear included—off of you has your hands flying to grasp at the edge of the workbench you’re sitting on. “Don’t care,” he says, inhaling in a breath, inhaling your arousal. “Need to fuckin’ taste you.” 

Your father’s car crapped out on him a few days ago, and being the untrustful man he was, he bought the parts that needed replacing to do it himself. He had you working on his car with him, teaching you what to do if you were ever stuck in a similar situation—”It ain’t worth the bill, takin’ it to them mechanics. It’ll cost ya an arm and a leg just for them to diagnose your car’s issue even if you tell ‘em ya know what’s wrong, never mind actually fixin’ it,” he said to you this morning. 

As soon as your father left, Joel was making his way to you, large strides cutting the time in half. His arms wrapped around your waist, picking you up from the seat you were situated on and lifted you to the bench against the wall behind you. His lips were on yours immediately, open-mouthed and needy. His hand slammed onto the black button beside your head, the garage door sliding down thereafter.

Joel grabbed onto your thighs, settling them onto his broad shoulders, stabling you and opening you up to him all in one. Wasting no time, his entire face dives into you, tongue immediately going to your sobbing entrance, hooked nose pushing directly onto your clit. 

“Fuck,” you gasp out loud, “Joel, oh my god,” your head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back. 

The moans you’re feeding Joel has him groaning into you, his hands tightening his grip on the bottom of your thighs, the dull ache of it an indicator that you’ll have bruises forming within the hour. 

His tongue—god, you love his tongue—always reaches places you never thought was possible, offering you a glimpse into Heaven each time he tastes you. The squelch of your pussy and his groans equivalent to that of an angel’s choir. You never want him to stop. Especially because his mouth is the closest to Heaven either of you will ever get. 

Your hole begins to flutter around his tongue, your slick pouring out of you at this point. You’re close. Joel knows it. His tongue leaves your hole and is quickly replaced by two of his fingers, sliding in with ease because of your level of arousal. His tongue meets your clit, licking and circling and absolutely worshiping it as if it’s the most unique of pearls to ever exist. 

The combination of his fingers and his tongue—plus his whimpers—are what do it for you. After a few more circles from his tongue, you’re cumming and you’re cumming hard, your liquids running down his wrist and soaking the rim of his sleeve. He gives one last suck to your clit before he lifts off of it, tilting his head up to watch you come undone, his fingers never pausing as he works you through your climax. 

“Baby,” you’re whining, reaching that point of oversensitivity with his fingers, but your hips betray you as they grind into his hand. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, gauging the contradictions of your body’s needs and wants. He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, greedily sucking them into his mouth, not letting a drop of your liquid gold go to waste. 

He stands at full height again, his hands on your thighs to scoot you back from the edge, giving you more stability, so he can let go of you and take his flannel off so he can wipe you down with it. 

He sets his flannel beside you, reaching for your bottoms on the ground. He puts them back on you, gentle as ever, and guides you off the bench—albeit, on some wobbly legs. Once you’re breathing returns to semi-normal, you’re grabbing him by his t-shirt and pulling him in for a heady kiss. Your tongue breaches his mouth, and he lets you in selfishly, sucking on your tongue for anything more you can give him. You taste yourself on him, tangy with a hint of something that lights your neurons on fire, turning you on more even though he just pulled one of the most draining of orgasms out of you. 

Joel pulls away from you, and like clock work, the garage door is whirring open. Your father. He’s walking up the driveway with a Harbor Freight bag. 

“Got what you needed?” you immediately ask, trying to control the topic of conversation. 

“Yeah. Why’d you close the garage?” 

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before going back to normal. “The heat was getting a little much. Was gonna open it up when you got back,” you say. 

He nods his head, then looks to Joel. “Hey, bud,” he says as he sets his bag down, walking up to give his best friend a handshake. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he asks, “Not that ya need a reason, of course,” he adds quickly, a light chuckle leaves his mouth. 

“Just thought I’d swing by. Thought your girl here was workin’ on your car all by herself, was gonna make sure the damage was minimal,” he teases, looking at you with a wink. “But now you’re here,” Joel smiles. “I gotta take a leak anyhow, I’ll see y’all later, yeah?” Joel says as he makes his way to the end of your garage. 

Your father offers a quick yeah, his eyes zoning in on the flannel atop his workbench. Before you can stop him, your father grabs it. “Oh, Joel, don’t forget ya flannel,” he says waving it in the air as he lightly jogs to him before he gets too far. Joel’s face immediately flushes, as pale as if he’s seen a ghost, as he realizes what your father is holding. His eyes dart to you, your expression just as traumatized. 

“Oh, y-yeah,” Joel says as he quickly takes it in his grasp, “T-thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” he says as he begins walking back to you, stopping midway to turn back to Joel. “And Joel?” your dad yells out.

Joel turns around, reluctant. 

“Maybe lay off on the flannels during the summer, yeah?? That shit was soaked in sweat!” Your father says as his laugh grows to an uncontrollable level. 

Joel’s jaw drops to the floor as your face turns to absolute terror. 

“Dad!” you exclaim, absolutely stunned at his comment. “I’m done helping you for the day,” you say as you shake your head, gathering your things and heading inside.

Your dad’s laugh turns into a howl at your reaction, not realizing (thankfully) what’s got you so uncomfortable. 

As soon as you make it to your room, the entirety of the situation finally hits you, and you’re gasping for air at how hard you’re laughing. 

As you lay on your bed to try to calm yourself down, your phone rings. It’s Joel. Your laughter immediately starts back up again, and you answer, skipping all forms of introduction.

“Better lay off the flannels, Miller,” you say, barely able to keep it together by the end of your comment. 

“Shut up,” he says, stoic as ever.

A giggle erupts out of you, causing the biggest of butterflies to flutter all throughout his belly. “Can I come over later?” 

“I was expectin’ you to, darlin’.” 

End note: I'm sure there are a few fics out there with a premise similar to this, of reader doin some ✨things✨ with dbf!joel in reader’s dad’s garage 🫣 — I think it's pretty common given that Joel is a pretty laborious kinda guy, so if you've read anything similar, please share them in the comments or message me them! I'd love to read them and also give credit where credit is due. This fic fandom we've created is about spreading creativity, and that's exactly what I would like to do here. :)

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @teatree121 @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[gyuuberryy]

fight for my way!

pairing: best friend’s brother!heeseung x martial artist!reader x bff!jungwon, ft lee chaeyeon as your best friend

summary: you’ve harboured a huge crush on your bff’s brother, heeseung for quite a bit. each encounter with him has you stuttering and blushing like a mess much to the dismay of your best friend, jungwon. it’s summer vacation, but unfortunately you won’t have the time to relax as you battle with your newfound feelings instead of kicking someone’s ass in training for taekwondo. you certainly did not sign up for this 

genre: f2l, best friend’s brother trope, crack??, coming of age, jungwon and mc practice taekwondo

warnings: making out, fighting, angst, fluff, swearing, mc beats up someone, mentions of blood, mc is super embarrassing and a major simp teehee, flirty heeseung(as always), i know nothing about taekwondo so please excuse me if i made any mistakes related to it

note: nothing based off the drama ahaha. this was originally a txt fic, now republished as an enha one(it's edited). i wrote this like a year ago and idk why but some parts of it give off disney movie vibes💀 enjoy!!!

word count: 8.1kish

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you knew it’s wrong to simp over your friends, but you couldn’t help it.

since when did yang jungwon get so hot?

you hadn’t even worn your dobok yet and you were already sweating just looking at him box with that punching bag. his arm muscles flexed and rippled deliciously, and his face which was contorted into a focused expression, glimmered under the studio lights due to the layer of sheen sweat that coated his body. a drop rolled down the bridge of his nose and was about to land on his lips when he stopped and wiped it off. the sudden change in movement brought you out of your daydream and you mentally punched yourself for drooling over one of your best friends. 

you need to stop simping over anyone who is even the slightest bit hot.

slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked towards the locker room to get changed. shuffling through your belongings, you tried to find the plastic in which you had kept your dobok, when you were startled by the feeling of someone's hand on your back. you looked behind to see your best friend chaeyeon grinning at you. 

“you’re a bit early today.”, she stated. 

“yeah, my mom kicked me out of the house at six in the morning.” you sighed, “i was wandering around till class started.” 

chaeyeon patted your shoulder sympathetically. ever since the summer holidays for your senior year had started, your mom had been making sure you didn’t laze around the house and be productive everyday. this was the last year for your taekwondo training and then you would finally receive your black belt. so, your mom felt it was important for you to go for training. 

every. single. day.

honestly, you were a bit pissed in the beginning because you couldn’t join the rest of your school friends on their month long trip to kyoto. but, jungwon and chaeyeon were staying back as well for their training, so it wasn’t that bad. 

you wore the white jacket on top of your t-shirt and slipped your belt through the white loops. your pants were almost up your calves when chaeyeon spoke again. 

“do you wanna come over to my house in the evening? we should get started on our physics project.

you jumped in excitement at her offer, “is your brother gonna be there?” 

chaeyeon slapped your arm, “why does that matter? we have to do our work, i’m not going to sit there and watch you fangirl over him.” 

ah yes, chaeyeon's brother, lee heeseung. 

the man you were absolutely smitten with.

the perfect, handsome, smart and talented golden boy of the school.

your crush of three years.

and lately, it felt like he was reciprocating your feelings as well because he had started flirting with you back. you didn’t care if you were being delusional, you would take any chance to interact with him, which is why you were always ecstatic to visit chaeyeon’s house.

“just tell me please”, you dragged out your sentence in a whiny voice, making chaeyeon hiss at the annoying sound. 

“okay okay, he’s going to be there. he has nothing to do this week.” 

you squealed and pumped your fist in the air. chaeyeon just rolled her eyes at your actions and pulled you out of the locker room to join the training.

you lay spread eagle on the blue foam mat. your arms felt like wet, heavy ham and the muscles in your thighs felt like they were stretched to the maximum. you really shouldn’t have skipped your warm up, but you had no idea how rigorous today’s training would be. your coach was hellbent on making sure you perfected your double roundhouse kick and only let you take a break when you got the hang of it. these were probably the most tiring four hours of your life. 

suddenly, a handsome face came into your view as the person loomed over your body and blocked the light, making you jolt up. after getting a closer look you realised it was just your best friend, jungwon. you stomped on his feet out of annoyance. 

“you startled me man.” 

“i thought you fell asleep”, he huffed at your actions “let’s go home now, my stomach is gonna digest itself if i don’t feed it anything soon.”

you rolled your eyes at his exaggeration and went towards the locker room to get your belongings.

chaeyeon had already left before you both, so you took the shorter route towards your house. usually, you both would drop her off along the way and then walk back together since you lived right next to each other. 

the walk back home was rather silent, filled with occasional slurps of the popsicles you both had bought. your walks home were usually always filled with a comfortable science accompanied by some type of snack. lately, you both had been trying to eat all the popsicle flavours of the new trending brand. so today, you both tried the cherry lime flavour and honestly, it was absolutely disgusting. you stared at the bright red and green ice on the stick and grimaced. 

“this tastes really bad”, you stuck out your tongue in disgust “especially the cherry side, it’s just frozen cough medicine.” 

jungwon shrugged his shoulders, “i kind of like it, the combination is nice.” 

you wrinkled your nose at his remark, “you have bad taste.” 

he turned to look at you with mock hurt on his face when you noticed a red stain from the popsicle on the corner of his lips. you walked up to him and  tried to rub off the insistent stain from the corner of his lips, making jungwon freeze in his spot. you looked at him to be met with his eyes already staring at your face. his face looked flushed and his eyes were wide open. his eyes.

they were so mesmerising, looking like pools of freshly brewed coffee that always held a sparkle in them. you quickly moved away when jungwon suddenly spoke up.

“w-what are you doing?”

you cleared your throat and looked away, “you had a red stain on your face.”

these types of awkward encounters had been frequenting a lot between you both lately and you felt slightly bothered by it.

he rolled his eyes and tried to play it off, “your lips are green, eat the cherry part also. you look like mike wazowski.”

“shut up.”, you muttered while wiping your lips.

you handed your half eaten popsicle to him and resumed walking. feeling disgusted by the sight of him gorging down both of the disgusting frozen treats you decided to change the topic. 

“i’m going to chaeyeon's house later to start our physics project.” 

jungwon nodded absentmindedly at that.

“hee is gonna be there too”, you sighed dreamily, making him glare at you.

“why are you still obsessed with that bastard?”

you gasped in offence, “how dare you call him that? he’s an amazing guy.”  

jungwon chucked the ice cream sticks in the nearby dustbin a bit too forcefully for your liking. every mention of heeseung’s name always riled him up. both of them were academic rivals, always competing for the top spot, which was why they were never nice to each other and always bickered. but you were not letting their issue meddle with your non-existent love life. 

“he’s annoying and not a nice guy”, jungwon walked faster making you break out into a slight jog.

“just last week i saw him walking around with a new chick.” he threw his hands in the air, “how could he do that when he just dumped his girlfriend!” 

yeah that was true. heeseung was a bit of a playboy. you weren’t surprised though, his good looks and personality had girls throwing themselves on him right and left and he just accepted it. you didn't mind, you were ready to forgive him for that.

“i don’t care, i know he would never hurt someone intentionally.” 

jungwon shook his head at your obvious lovesickness. you were too blinded by your crush to notice the possibility of getting hurt. you waved him off when you reached your driveway. 

“bye won, i have to pick an outfit for the evening.” 

jungwon didn’t bother looking at you and just simply reminded you that it wasn’t a date. but who cares? definitely not you.

the shiny silver doorbell was waiting for you, inviting you to press it, but you just stood like a fool at chaeyeon’s doorstep. why were you getting nervous for absolutely no reason?(heeseung). it’s not like this was your first time visiting her house. 

you dismissed your worry with a nervous chuckle and smoothened your hair down one last time. the summer heat was making it frizzier by the second and you had to look your best for heeseung, which meant you had to enter the house soon. taking a deep breath, you finally pressed the doorbell. 

a few moments later, the door swung open, unveiling the most beautiful sight known to mankind—heeseung's beaming face. he gave your outfit a quick once-over, and his smile evolved into a teasing smirk. glancing down at your sage green tank top and acid-washed denim shorts, a hint of uncertainty crept in. were they not to his liking? despite your attempt at a casual look, a moment of self-doubt lingered in the air.

“what’s up?”

his voice broke you out of your dilemma. now you felt too scared to respond. taking another deep breath you tried to keep your voice steady. 

“i’m here to study with chaeyeon.” 

for some reason, his smirk grew even wider as he checked you out once again, casually leaning against the doorframe. wait, was he actually checking you out? you really sucked at this love stuff because you had absolutely no idea what was going on. were you reading into things too much?"

“studying during summer break?”

he raised his eyebrows as if reminding you to speak. you cleared your throat, “yeah we have to complete a physics project.” 

he nodded. “chaeyeon is out running errands though. she won’t be back for another hour.” 

you frowned at that information, “but she told me to come over.” heeseung shrugged his shoulders, motioning for you to come in. 

“you can wait in her room.” 

you had no choice but to agree because he had already started walking in. you sighed and mentally sent a prayer to all the gods to prevent you from embarrassing yourself further. 

suddenly, he stopped in his steps and spinned around to face you. you immediately forced your feet to stop walking to prevent crashing into him. “do you want to watch a movie with me instead?” 

your heart dropped to your toenails at his words. as much as you wanted to jump at the offer, there was no way you would survive an entire movie with him without embarrassing yourself. 

tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you tried to look as apologetic as possible, “actually i should get started on my work, maybe another time?” 

heeseung shrugged, “yeah sure.” 

you gave him a sheepish smile and started your ascent up the stairs to chaeyeon's room. the entire time, you could feel a pair of eyes burning into your back. the outfit was a good choice. smirking to yourself, you pushed the door to chaeyeon's room open. 

it had been over an hour and so far you had listed out all the main points and subheadings to be included in your project. you had no idea when chaeyeon would come back; every time you called her she would say that she'll be home soon. there was a lot of rush at the supermarket she had forcibly gone to with her mom. you had thought about going back home but your mom wanted you to study as much as you could and it wasn’t evening yet, so here you are. 

your face was almost going into the laptop screen because of the amount of concentration you had on finding the perfect template for your ppt. the opening of the door shortly distracted you, but you deemed that it was chaeyeon. 

"bro, what took you so long?”, you spoke in a exasperated tone “was it actually that crowded? it's not even a weekend today." you didn't bother looking behind and continued doing your work. 

you immediately stopped what you were doing as the feeling of two arms wrapping loosely around your collarbone made you stiffen up. a warm breath fanned your neck sending chills down your spine. "it’s me."

heeseung.

how and why were his arms wrapped around you? you weren't complaining because this was your dream come true but at the same time this was not good for your heart, which at this point was about to beat its way out of your chest. 

you rolled your chair away from his hold and stood up, almost about to trip over nothing. you were sure you looked redder than a tomato right now, but you somehow managed the courage to look up at heeseung, who was already staring back at you. his head was tilted slightly and his pink lips were scrunched up in a pout. 

brushing a non existent stand of hair away from your face, you decided to question him about his previous actions. 

"why did you do that?"

he looked at you innocently in question, as if asking you what?

"the hug, why did you just hug me out of nowhere?"

a look of realisation crossed his face and he just chuckled softly at your question. "i was pretending to be chaeyeon." he smirked, "why? don't friends hug each other?"

if he was flirting with you or friend zoning you, you had absolutely no idea. you had to change the conversation quickly. 

"why did you come up, is chaeyeon back now?"

"she's on the way now," he pointed towards the door, "i just made some rose lemonade. let's go drink that while you wait." 

you nodded and followed him down to the kitchen. you leaned against the marble counter, trying to look as calm and collected as possible while heeseung fetched the pitcher full of the pink drink. suddenly, he turned around and started walking towards you, making you instantly freeze at your spot with an awkward smile etched onto your face. he got closer and stopped once his feet were almost touching yours. giving you a dashing smile he slowly leaned forward. was he going to kiss you? 

your dream is finally coming true! you closed your eyes and puckered your lips slightly in anticipation for his to land on them. but that never happened. you opened your eyes to see a wide eyed heeseung staring back at you with two glasses in his hand. oh, he was only reaching for the glasses behind you. 

embarrassment washed over you, making your cheeks flame up in shame as heeseung chuckled. you really wanted to melt away into a big puddle of nothing right now. clearing your throat you snatched a glass from his hand and poured yourself the lemonade. heeseung watched you with an amused smile as you chugged down the entire glass in one go to cool down your burning cheeks. 

“was it that good?”

you nodded enthusiatically, “you have to send me the recipe!” 

heeseung laughed at your reaction and poured you another glass. he probably had the most beautiful laugh and you could hear it on replay for hours. you smiled dreamily at him. by now, literally everyone knew about your humongous crush on him. 

the thing was, you had horrible flirting skills and were always oblivious if someone showed interest in you. your exemplary skills in taekwondo and bubbly personality had attracted many but you ended up friendzoning them unintentionally. you only had eyes for heeseung, who was currently washing the dishes you both had drunk from. he was such boyfriend material. you stood up straight once he spoke up.

“my friend is hosting a party this friday.” he turned off the tap and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. “i’m sure you know who jake is.” you hummed in reply. 

“you should come, it’ll be fun.” 

you were usually never interested in parties, in fact you never had the time to even think about it while juggling school and taekwondo together. but, you had a bit of free time now since school was off. and heeseung’s offer kind of seemed like he was asking you on a date? you can’t just straight up ask him that so maybe you should just go and find out. this could finally be your moment to directly confess your feelings. you were getting tired of holding them back.

“okay,” you smiled, “i’ll be there.”

heeseung’s face brightened up at your words. “that's great-”

“can i bring jungwon as well?” 

his smile dropped, but he nodded somewhat enthusiastically, which didn’t really show on his face. oh right, they hate each other. the air turned awkward at the mention of his name and you were brainstorming things to change the subject when you were saved by the doorbell. 

you immediately perked up the sound, “ah, i think chaeyeon is home.” 

heeseung gave a forced smile back, “yeah, have fun with your project. i have some work to do. i’ll see you on friday.” with that, he walked back to his room.

your face fell at his sudden change of behaviour. you knew he had no work to do this week because chaeyeon had told you so. it was kind of weird but you assumed it was probably because you mentioned jungwon. he shouldn’t dislike him so much though, afterall he was one of his sister’s closest friends. shrugging it off you walked to the door to let chaeyeon and her mom in.

it was the day of the party and jungwon(who had agreed to attend after much of your insistence) and you stood right outside the door, waiting for someone to open it. chaeyeon had decided not to attend the party and had gone out with her other friends to the amusement park instead. you would have joined her as well because parties were not your thing and you’d rather spend your time riding roller coasters, but this was a matter of love. you had to make sacrifices for your dear heeseung .

the door opened to reveal a beaming jake, “oh hi guys!” he motioned for you both to come inside, “the drinks and snacks are over there and we’re playing games in the living room.” he patted you both on your backs. “have fun!” both of you smiled back at his warm welcome and walked inside the huge bungalow. 

the kitchen counter was lined up with all sorts of colourful sodas and delicacies. the living room stretched far and wide, making you gaze at it in awe. colourful fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, setting the people’s face aglow with multiple colours. trending pop songs blared through the speakers and you could feel the bass thump to the beat of your heart. people were spread across the entire house and some of them were gathered outside in the lawn. 

jungwon pointed at the people playing games, breaking you out of your trance.“i think they’re setting up a game of twister, let’s go join them!” 

you shook your head, “i should go find heeseung first.” 

jungwon’s jaw ticked at your words. he rolled his eyes as he spoke, “i don’t think you should do this, he’s not a good guy.” 

you frowned at his words, “how do you know? you just hate him because he is better than you in academics.” 

he grasped your shoulders and his eyes turned serious. “that’s not the problem. i’ve seen how he treats people. he may act all nice and sweet in front of you, but he’s actually really shallow.” 

he sighed at the perplexed look on your face. “he’s a walking red flag and i’ve been trying to get you to understand that for a long time.”

you remained unfazed at his words because just like he had mentioned, he always said the same thing. no matter what happened you were going to try to shoot your shot. 

flashing him a sympathetic smile, you patted his shoulder. “sorry buddy, nothing is going to stop me. unless you have feelings for me or something.” 

you snickered at your ridiculous thoughts, missing the blush that overtook jungwon’s face. he looked away at your words and shrugged his shoulders. 

“okay then, i gave you enough warnings.” rolling your eyes at this dismissive behaviour you grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the group of people setting up the game of twister. 

“calm down drama queen, let’s play this first then i can go accomplish my mission.” he sighed and accompanied you as you said.

the game was going pretty well and you were confident in your chances of winning. you were in a fairly easy position compared to others, who had their limbs twisted in all sorts of hilarious ways. especially jungwon, who was basically in an upside down table pose. you tried not to notice the way his biceps were bulging out from under his black turtleneck, but it was hard to do so. 

looking away from him, you accidentally made eye contact with heeseung who seemed to have just arrived at the party. you waved at him and motioned that you will talk to him later. he gave a bright smile and flashed a thumbs up at your actions. soon after he looked away, a girl with bright red hair walked up to him and kissed his cheek. your heart shattered at her actions. does he have a girlfriend?

he proved your assumptions incorrect when he pushed her off of him. getting a closer look, you realised it was his ex-girlfriend. she was probably just a psycho. you were planning to spy on them more, but annoyed shouts of your name brought you back to reality. 

“what are you doing? you’re the only one left to finish your move, everyone is already done.” 

apologising, you looked at the wheel that had decided your next move. looking back at the twister mat, you realised that all the good required spots were taken. the spots that were left for you were only reachable if you bent over jungwon, which meant you would be leaning over him until the next move. you had no idea why you were feeling so nervous about it though. he was your best friend after all, you were the closest to him. you’ve been together since childhood. it was stupid to feel nervous over something so trivial.

putting on a cool exterior, you leaned over him to take your position. both of your arms were placed next to his torso and your face was directly hovering over his. you were shocked to see his cheeks turn red because of the close proximity of you both. he was avoiding eye contact with you and you frowned. one nudge of your elbow brought his eyes back to yours.

deja vu hit you as you couldn’t help but get lost in his mesmerising eyes once again. that one twinkle that was always present in them no matter what, the colour of his orbs and the warmth they held every time they looked at you made you lean in closer. you were so close to each other that you could see your own reflection in his eyes. butterflies filled your stomach and you felt warm and fuzzy all over at the realisation of your close proximity with him. jungwon could now feel your warm breath on his lips, making him close his eyes in anticipation of his next move.

but instead of that, your face crashed onto the expanse of his neck with an embarrassingly loud smooch. some idiot had kicked your leg by accident, which made you lose your balance and bring down jungwon with you. you don’t know what demon possessed you to do this, but you took a big sniff and the smell of vanilla and cologne invaded your senses, making you sigh out in content. the feeling of jungwon’s body stiffening under you brought you out of your stupor and you immediately scrambled to get up. why did you act like a creep, you want to cry now.

you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck when everyone started clearing away. the game had ended because the idiot who had tripped you had also ended up rolling down the entire mat merrily like a bowling bowl, knocking everyone down. 

that wasn't the issue right now though. were you just going to kiss your best friend? there was no way you had any sort of feelings for him. just a month ago you had given him a friendship day bracelet and told him how your friendship had to last forever or you would bite his nose off. so now why were you so curious to know what his lips felt like? you spinned around to see jungwon clutching his chest like he was a heart patient. 

trying to push away the recent embarrassing encounter into the deep, dark pits of your brain, you walked up to him and stood silently, gazing at his lips. they were a light rosy shade of pink and looked glossy due to the coat of transparent lip gloss you had applied on them before coming to the party. they looked so soft.

you were shaken out of your thoughts when jungwon flicked your forehead. you gasped and clutched your forehead in pain, “ow, what was that for?” 

jungwon smirked as he pulled you closer by your shoulders. “you seem kind of obsessed with me lately. those looks haven’t gone unnoticed by me you know.”

he raised an eyebrow cockily, “are you sure it’s not me you have a crush on?” 

you sputtered and coughed like a broken car engine at his words. how did he already guess what was going on in your mind?

shrugging his hands off of you, you gave a firm whack to his chest. “h-how can you even say that! i only have eyes for heeseung, you’re nothing compared to him.” 

jungwon snickered and just pulled you into his side, guiding you towards the table full of food you both had been eyeing. he leaned towards your ear and whispered in a low voice.

“i’m pretty sure we were about to do something else back in the game though.” 

your face burned with embarrassment. nothing can save you now, jungwon was in his cheeky mode. he was oozing with confidence and you were blushing as bright as a beet.  

you huffed in annoyance and pushed him away to speed walk towards the table. not bothering to wait for him to catch up, you picked up two humongous cupcakes, ready to stuff your mouth. suddenly, a hand came up to your shoulder making, you almost drop your food in surprise. thinking it was jungwon, you put the ugliest scowl on your face and turned around to face him. 

“what do you-” 

you paused midway through your sentence when you realised who was in front of you. it was a smiling heeseung, who looked smoking hot today. he had adorned a tight fitted black shirt with a grey patterned jacket and his hair was styled to show off his gorgeous forehead. you immediately dropped your scowl and put on your most charming smile. 

“oh hey heeseung !” 

his smile widened at your greeting but all of a sudden, his eyes turned dark when he looked at something behind you. you looked over to see jungwon standing there with two cups in his hand, his expression as cold as ice. they both were practically shooting lasers from their eyes and you could almost feel the heat from it. gulping, you looked away and tried to think of what to say.  

“i have to tell you something important.” you blurted out. heeseung  finally broke his staring contest with jungwon and smiled at you.

“sure, go ahead.” 

okay, this was the perfect time to confess your feelings.

although, for some reason you hesitated before speaking. you could not stop thinking about what happened between you and your best friend today. were you doing the right thing or should you ponder on it more? unfortunately, one raise of heeseung’s eyebrow had you spilling everything out. 

“i have a crush on you.”

is this how it feels like to have a heart attack? because suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore and your heart was pounding erratically. maybe it wasn’t a good idea to confess if you felt this scared after it. 

before you could comprehend heeseung’s reaction to your confession, the feeling of something cold and sticky being poured over you made you scream in shock.

your mouth was hung open in shock as you turned around to see who the culprit was. it was the same girl with cherry red hair who had kissed heeseung  on the cheek before. 

“what the fuck was that for?”, you spat in anger. 

she crossed her arms with a stupid smirk painted onto her face. “you were shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend, i obviously had to do something.” you were about to retort but heeseung beat you to it.

“lena we broke up a week ago, can you stop doing things like this! i’m so sick of you.” 

lena just chuckled and shook her head frantically. pushing you out of the way, she walked up to heeseung and cupped his cheeks with her manicured hands.

“no baby, we’re just going through a bad time. we’re still very much in love with each other.” 

letting out a tired sigh, he pushed her hands away from his face. “stop being so delusional,” he looked towards you with an apologetic gaze, “why would you pour your drink over her? she’s like a sister to me. that’s not acceptable..”

ouch.

this was worse than getting friendzoned, he sister zoned you. 

that too right in front of his ex. 

after you confessed your feelings for him.

you tuned out the rest of his words as anger bubbled up inside you. you knew you were not as delusional as the mosquito of a girl in front of you. heeseung had reciprocated your advances sometimes and had even initiated flirting with you. then why would he say all that?

a warm hand clasped around your forearm that was now sticky from the soda that was poured over you. jungwon pulled you towards him gently with a concerned look on his face. 

“are you okay? do you want to leave?”, your face softened at his genuine concern. 

a mischievous glint appeared in your eyes as you decided on what you were going to do. “give me five minutes jungwon, i'm going to make sure someone pays for ruining my dress.”

jungwon’s eyebrows raised as he understood what you were about to do. 

you moved towards lena who was still yapping about how much she loved heeseung, and tapped her shoulder. she pushed her tongue against her cheek when she realised it was you.

“what?”

giving her a condescending smile you motioned towards your outfit that was drenched in the sticky soda. “you’re going to have to pay for the damage you did.” 

lena scoffed in disbelief, “and what makes you think i’ll do that? get lost, don’t waste my time.” 

she waved you off and turned back to heeseung . even though it was against your morals to fight with someone weaker than you, you were not going to be civil with her anymore.

grabbing a fistful of her obnoxious bright red hair, you yanked her towards you making her yelp in pain. turning her around, you repeated yourself.

“are you going to pay or not?” 

she looked at you with a crazed look in her eyes. “of course not you psycho.” she punched you weakly on the jaw making everyone around you gasp in shock. 

“you started this”, shrugging you let go of her hair and punched her smack on the nose, making her stumble backwards. a loud crack resonated throughout the room. lena shrieked in pain as her hands became red from trying to stop her nose from bleeding. one of her fake eyelashes(which was about half the length of your fingers) had fallen onto the floor due to the impact of your punch. 

you pouted mockingly, “i guess you’ll have to get a nose job again.”

wiping away the blood from her face she charged at you with her fist ready to strike, but you easily grabbed her arm making her stagger to stop. you twisted her arm around till it was painfully bent behind her back. she whimpered in pain and tapped on your arm.

“ow please, that hurts.” 

you scoffed, “this is nothing, i can do much worse if i want.” 

she looked up at heeseung  with pleading eyes, “h-heeseung please stop this psychotic bi-” 

you tightened your grip on her arm making her groan out in pain. heeseung paid no heed to her words, in fact he was watching the entire scene play out with an amused look on his face. 

you looked to your left and tilted your head at jungwon, silently asking him what to do next. he was watching you with a proud smile and nodded his head signalling you to do what you wanted. you gave him a thumbs up and returned back to your situation.

you gave her a firm kick to her shin, making her fall on her knees. she raised her free hand in defeat.

“alright i’ll pay you for the drycleaning i promise!” 

you huffed loudly and left her arm causing her to completely collapse on the floor. you nodded towards heeseung with a blank face. “you’re going to leave him alone as well.” 

she squeaked out a yes, handed you a fifty dollar bill and scurried away, probably leaving the party.

everyone else cheered loudly for you for standing up to her. you grinned and jogged over to jungwon and grabbed his hand, “how did i do?” 

his eyes held affection as he looked you over, “awesome.”

that one word of praise cheered you up instantly, much better than any amount of ice cream would have.

you both were just about to leave the driveway of jake’s house when the shout of your name made you both halt. you turned to see none other than heeseung jog towards you with a set of keys in his hands. he held them out to you and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“i think you dropped your keys behind.” your eyes widened and you grabbed them from him, thanking him in a small voice. 

he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down, the action making jungwon’s grip on your hand tighten. “you were really cool back there. i’m glad i got to see you in action.” 

you hummed, not knowing what to say. can he not read the room? it felt so awkward to even look at him anymore. 

he cleared his throat and his confident persona dropped for a minute as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. 

“actually, what i said back there about you being like my sister.” your head shot up at his words. “i didn’t mean any of that.” 

he looked at his feet. “i only said that to get lena off your back, but if i knew you would’ve taken care of it yourself, i never would have done that”, he trailed off in his sentence.

jungwon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere, making you feel relieved as he questioned what you weren’t able to, “cut to the chase.”

heeseung ignored him and looked directly into your eyes. “well i don’t exactly have feelings for you right now, but i really want to make it up to you. you’re a really cool person,” he stepped closer towards you, “i want to take you out for dinner this sunday.”

you could almost feel the anger radiate off jungwon as he spat out his next words, “did you start finding her cool only because she beat your psycho ex-girlfriend up.” he scoffed, “you don’t owe her a favour, she did what was right.” your shoulders slumped at his words. is that how he actually felt?

heeseung rolled his eyes, “please don’t bring your jealousy into the middle of all this. she can make her own decisions.”

both the boys looked at you intently, waiting for you to make your decision. the urge to crawl in a hole and live there forever was extremely strong right now. you really couldn’t handle the pressure. wanting the best of both worlds, you said the first thing that came up to you.

“i’m okay with the dinner.” 

heeseung ’s face brightened up in victory whilst jungwon dropped his hand from yours in defeat. 

why was he so upset about it now? it’s not like you were going on a date with heeseung, he made it very clear he doesn’t like you. and why were you so adamant on making sure jungwon understood that?

being born as a dolphin would’ve been so much better at this point. at least you wouldn't have to deal with physics and this romance shit.

it was the day of the dinner and you were currently lacing up your doc martens on your front porch. you had decided to wear a black skirt with a white top and a dark brown coat since it was raining today so it was a bit chilly outside, even though it was the middle of summer. you had only just finished wearing your shoes when your phone started ringing, indicating a video call from chaeyeon. 

you furrowed your brows and picked it up, “hello-”

“you absolute moron!” she screamed from the other side making you flinch. 

“what happened? since when did you start insulting me, jungwon was enough-”

“this is about him! how could you be so heartless?”, she cut you off once again. you frowned, what did you do to him? 

“stop making that face, you look like a pug,” she rolled her eyes, “why are you going out with heeseung today?”

oh so that’s what this is about.

you shook your head, “it’s not really a date, he just wanted to take me out to dinner.” 

chaeyeon's lips formed into a thin line at that. “you mean my brother, who’s basically a casanova, is taking you out to a casual dinner?” she shook her head disapprovingly, “i didn’t think you could be so clueless."

you squinted at her in confusion, “just tell me what you want to. don’t beat around the bush. there’s no time for that, he’ll be here any moment.”

pinching her nose in frustration, she let out a deep breath. “jungwon told me the full story of what happened at the party since someone else forgot to.” you gave her a guilty smile at that. chaeyeon caught a horrible flu a few days ago, so you didn’t really get the time to update her on all this.

“he likes you a lot. he’s been hopelessly in love with you since the past five years.” 

your jaw hung open at that. there’s no way your suspicions were right. jungwon actually liked you? you felt gooey and warm like a freshly baked brownie right now. you could feel the heat spread through your entire body at the idea of jungwon liking you, something which you noticed was opposite of what you felt when you were around heeseung.

“close your mouth, i can see your internal organs.” you really wanted to slap her right now because her sarcastic commentary really wasn't helping you with the whirlwind of emotions you were going through. 

you let out a deep sigh, “i really don’t know chaeyeon. i feel so happy and excited at the thought of that? but also kind of scared. he’s my best friend, you know, i don’t want to mess things up.” 

she shook her head at you with pity, “it’s too late for that, you already did.”

“what do you mean?”

“are you kidding me?”, she scoffed. “jungwon is competing in the interstate taekwondo championship today!” 

you stood up from your seat in horror, “what! why didn’t you tell me before?” 

she wiped her runny nose into her tissue and glared at you, “you’re his closest friend, i didn’t think you would forget something so important.” she sighed, “i can’t attend the fight because of my cold, but you should.” 

the honk of a car horn made you look in front to see heeseung waving at you. you mirrored his actions and looked back into your phone. “there’s still time till the fight right?”

she nodded, “kinda, it starts in thirty minutes.” 

muttering a ‘shit’, you thanked her for giving you a reality check. she only nodded and coughed into her tissue once again, “it’s up to you to pick between your amazing and sincere best friend or my brother who’s probably only interested in you for your fighting skills.”

nodding solemnly, you cut the call and stuffed your phone into your side bag. by then, heeseung had walked up to your doorstep with an umbrella in his hand. 

“are you ready to go?”

your hands were sat on your lap as you watched the rain fall outside of the car window. you were sitting in a rather rigid manner on your seat as you listened to heeseung blabber about some olympiads he had won medals for. you felt bad because you weren’t paying any attention to what he was saying. you couldn't get jungwon off of your mind. 

the warmth he made you feel everytime he smiled and when the dimples on his cheeks showed. the way your heart fluttered when you watched him execute taekwondo moves with perfection and the way his face lit up with joy each time he was successful. the butterflies that swarmed your stomach every time you hugged him or held his hand. all of this, you had been brushing them away for so long thinking that this was a normal thing for friends. there was no way you could be more than that. but now realisation seemed to dawn upon you; you had been in love with him all along, perhaps even longer than he has been. 

looking next to you, you observed heeseung. he still made you feel nervous and excited, but you realised that this was a different kind of feeling. the kind you feel when you receive updates from your favourite celebrity. it was nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, the one where he was just good eye candy to admire. he didn’t make you feel the comfort and love you felt with jungwon. and you didn’t feel the same way about him either.

you have to see jungwon, right now.

shuffling through your bag for your phone, you frantically checked the time. you still had fifteen more minutes to go before his match started.

“heeseung can you please take me to x stadium instead? i’m so sorry, but i can’t have dinner with you today, i have to go.”

heeseung frowned, “what happened all of a sudden? is it that urgent?”

“yes it is, please turn the car around.”

he nodded, still confused. he was about to question you but stopped when he saw you hold up your phone to your ear, trying to call jungwon so you could tell him you were coming to his match. he received missed calls after missed calls from you, but he didn’t pick up any. his phone was probably with the coach.

soon, heeseung stopped the car at a red light right across the stadium. you asked him to unlock the car door and thanked him for the ride. 

his eyes widened, “are you going to walk in the rain? it’ll just take me five more minutes to make a u-turn.” 

you shook your head, “there’s no time for that, i’ll miss jungwon-”

“you’re going to see jungwon?”

“yes, i’m sorry for leaving you like this but i can’t miss out on his match. i forgot about it till today,” you sighed, “i also need to tell him something.” 

you breathed out in frustration when heeseung just stared at you blankly, not complying to your request. reaching over him you turned off the door locks. you had just stepped one leg out when he stopped you by grabbing your wrist. 

“i thought you liked me.”

you looked at him with surprise. what is he playing at? judging by the pissed off expression on his face you could conclude that he was jealous because you were ditching him for his rival. 

you gave him a small smile, “i was wrong.” 

slamming the car door shut, you dashed off into the rain and crossed the road towards the stadium entrance. you always found the main leads in movies crazy to be running in the heavy rain towards their lover, but you finally understood their situation today. a stupid smile was graced upon your features and you couldn’t wait to tell jungwon everything you felt about him.

upon entering the stadium, you immediately ran towards the direction of the changing rooms and were met with your coach standing in front of it. his eyes widened momentarily upon seeing you all soaked.

“y/n you’re here? what hap-”

“is jungwon inside?”, desperation laced your voice as you questioned him. he nodded, “yes, but he has to be out soon-”

you cut him off once again by thanking him and entered the room behind him. the slam of a door being shut, startled the man standing in front of you, making him drop the water bottle he was holding. he faced you with eyes as wide as saucers, clearly not expecting to see you here.

“you came? but what about your dinner?” 

you paced towards him and smacked his shoulder, “screw that, why didn’t you remind me of your match even if i forgot?” 

he winced as you whacked him once again, “you know this is equally important to me as much as it is to you!”

he caught your hand when you were going to hit him again. “i didn’t want to disturb your date, i know how badly you want to be with him.” 

he tried to mask the hurt on his face by putting on a small smile, but you could see it in his eyes. “this is just one match, i would have told you the results anyways, you didn’t have to-”

you cut him off by grabbing the collar of his white uniform and smashing your lips onto his. jungwon froze for a few seconds but then slowly closed his eyes and cupped your face as he kissed you back. he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and moved his lips with more fervour. the kiss soon turned messy and heated as you both let out your years of pent up feeling you couldn’t say. his lips were cushiony soft and tasted like vanilla and peppermint. your brain felt like it turned to mush as you moved your lips against his addictive ones. damn, if you knew he was such a good kisser, you would’ve asked him out yourself long ago.

your knees were about to give out from the intensity of the kiss, so he wrapped one of his hands around your waist and pulled you flush against him. when you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore you pushed him by his chest away slightly, but he only chased your lips for more, muffling the squeal that came out from you with his lips. he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your nose, your cheeks and continued to pepper kisses all over your face, making you giggle in glee. he pulled away and held your face as if you were the most precious gem in the world. you felt your cheeks heat up as you looked at his lips which were swollen and glossy from kissing. 

“i like you so so much y/n”, his cheeks bunched up and his eyes crinkle at the corners from smiling so happily. 

you kissed the dimple that appeared on his cheek and grinned at him.

“i like you a lot, too pretty boy.”

[peterparkersnose]

Give In

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: suicidal thoughts, pining possibly one sided, ANGST (just a large angst piece, i wanted some joel angst so I made it), description of depression, emotional dependency on a person, arguing, fluff sprinkled in, implied age gap not specified, reference to pregnancy, mentions of substance and alcohol abuse, joel is lowkey toxic and uses reader

a/n hi loves I wrote this after the first episode aired, so if anything contradicts anything in the future in this story that is why. also, i didnt know how to end it so im sorry if the ending is a bit choppy. happy last of us sunday!

summary Y/N has feelings for Joel that she can’t control anymore

Part 2 here

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read time: 8 min 33 seconds

The harsh chill of the autumn afternoon swept your hair off your shoulders. The ration line was as long as ever, but seemed to be moving quickly. A stray dog barked as others murmured on the street. Staring down at your boots, you bit at your chapped lips.

“You’ve been avoiding me,”

His voice sent chills up your spine. He was behind you, must have slipped in line without the other person noticing. Of course now was the time he decided to confront you. And he wasn’t wrong.

Straightening your back, you turn towards him.

“Have I?” you asked, raising your eyebrows slightly. The line moved forward and so did you.

“Tess said you weren’t feeling well.”

She was partially right. It was the blatant lie you were telling the very few who were close to you. You were physically fine.

“I’m fine, Joel.” you said promptly, turning a cold shoulder to the older man.

“If you need any meds or anything…” he began. You knew Joel had anything you needed. Quite literally.

“Next!” The FEDRA soldier called, motioning for you to get in the final line. You gave Joel a tight lipped smile before disappearing in the crowd.

Back at your sad excuse for an apartment, you poked your fork at your stale meal. You tried to think about todays’s job but the thought of Joel Miller consumed you.

How his hands felt on your skin, how soft his hair could be, how much he respected you in private. Flashbacks of previous nights where he had snuck over and stayed with you burned in your brain.

You never thought the hookup would turn in to feelings. Especially in this world. Feelings you were sure he wouldn’t reciprocate. Joel wasn’t a very emotionally available man. And he had Tess- rumors of them being together had been going on for years. Sure, they deny it. But you see the way he looks at her sometimes. His eyes burn with the lust you want from him, but there staring at her.

Tess was friendly and all, you got along quite well with her in fact. Jobs worked with Tess usually went better than others. But the knowledge that she goes home to him every night almost ate you alive. You felt used every time you would watch her turn the alleyway to their apartment.

Roommates my ass.

It had been over a month since the last time you saw Joel.

He was right, you were avoiding him. Taking the jobs you knew he wouldn’t dare go by such as childcare. Taking a different route home to avoid any run ins. Leaving your lights off and sitting in the dark to possibly deter him away from your place. All your little queues worked.

And the pain grew day by day.

You layed in your mattress with your face buried in your pillow. It stopped smelling like him weeks ago, but you liked to pretend it still did.

You couldn’t live like this anymore.

Pills weren’t numbing enough. Alcohol wasn’t as fun as it used to be. The constant state of depression in this damned district was enough to make you want to end it.

But seeing him across the alleyway talking to a group of people or in the line for rations was enough to keep that tiny spark lit inside of you.

There wasn’t much else to look forward to in this world besides others. Living the same day your whole life is miserable without your spark of joy in it.

Sleep was close, you could feel it. Your thin blankets were just cutting it for the night. As the dreams began to dance in your head, you were awoken by a quiet knock on your door.

“For fucks sake,” you groaned, flipping over in bed. You ignored the knocks. They became more persistent.

The old doorknob then dropped to the floor, startling you awake. You didn’t even have to guess who it was. The door slowly creaked open as you heard him curse to himself.

“I’ll fix it later,” he sighed, picking it off your floor and placing it on your countertop. He pushed one of your folding chairs next to your table up against the door to keep it sturdy.

“So your just breaking into apartments now?” you snapped, sitting up right in bed. “I needed to see you.” he protested.

“I never knew Joel Miller to need anything.”

He sighed and rested against your countertop. “I need to know,”

“Know what?” you asked, wrapping a blanket around your exposed shoulders. A tank top wasn’t ideal to sleep in, in these conditions.

“What’s wrong.” he said bluntly. “I said there’s nothing wrong. What the hell are you doing walking around freely at night?” you yelled, realizing the time was way past midnight. The sounds of soldiers a few floors down outside your apartment began to yell. How did he move past them?

“You sick?” he asked in a more hushed tone, walking towards you. “Respiratory? Head pain? Joints? You pregnant?” he somewhat joked, looking over you in bed.

“Shut up.” you said coldly. “Can you please just go?”

You knew Joel wasn’t a good listener. “What is it?” he said sternly, sitting down next to your body in bed. He grabbed your wrist ever so slightly. Your pulse was shaking in his grasp.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You looked at the other side of your apartment, out the window. Rain had began to slowly plague the window. Ignoring Joel’s touch, you watched as the few drops raced to the bottom of the window.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” Joel sighed, not letting go of you.

“Stop, please. J-just stop talking to me.” you said, lying through your teeth. He could sense the pain hiding behind those eyes. “I’m not leaving.” he protested.

“Look at me.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were locked on yours. A genuine worried look was on his face. He looked softer, nothing like you had ever seen before.

It was almost as if someone asked you if you were okay when you were very obviously not. Silent tears rolled down your face as you tried to catch your breathe.

The man who you couldn’t love was staring in to your soul. There was no way you ever could love him. He was too mean, too stern, too old, too angry for you. The two of you were polar opposites. But as the saying goes, ‘opposites attract’.

Joel was unsure on what to do. Tess never cried. Hell, you never cried. He racked his brain for something, just something to soothe you.

He offered out a hand. Against your better judgement you took it. Connecting his other hand to your cheek, he tried to wipe away the streak of tears silently leaving your eyes. He held you tightly in your bed, stroking your hair as your head quickly made contact with the crook of his neck.

“I wish I didn’t have these feelings,” you cried into his embrace. Joel was confused on what you were getting at, but he ignored it. He tried to shush you in a soothing way.

“No, please. I wish I didn’t have these feelings… but I do.”

Joel froze. “What?” he asked, holding you in place.

You pulled back and looked at him. It felt like the first time over again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel a thing.” you hiccupped.

“I…” Joel sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting a breathe of air go.

“Say it.” you demanded.

The silence in the room was deafening.

“I can’t.” Joel said quickly. He looked down at his knees on your mattress.

“I think you should go.” you sighed, laying back on your side and facing the opposite wall.

He listened. Finally, Joel caught a hint. The sound of him walking away made you long for him more than ever. But it was good. The feeling of him leaving, knowing you were right. Joel Miller wasn’t a man who could love. At least not anymore.

Your sudden pride stopped when you heard his boots thud against the floor. Then the all familiar zip of his jeans followed by the hit of him placing them on your wooden chair next to your bed.

He rested a hand on your thigh as he peeled up the blanket that was stuck to your legs. Slowly, he moved down next to you in the tiny space you were leaving him.

“You don’t listen.” you huffed, still not giving him enough space on the bed.

“When do I ever?” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Fuck it. You gave in.

You allowed his arm to move closer to the underside of your breasts. Scooting over in bed, you gave him more space for his legs to entwine with you. His boxer’s material rubbed against the back of your thigh. It smelt like him; Wet grass and expired generic soap scent had never smelt better.

Sleep kindly greeted you once you felt his breathing slow. Trying to match his, you fell into the deep sleep you had been yearning for, for what seemed like weeks.

-

The absence in the morning was startling.

You struggled to move, hoping that the previous night was just a horrifying dream. A sigh escaped from your lips when you saw his boots sitting against the wall where he placed them last night.

The clanking sound of tools made you turn. On the other side of your small studio apartment, there he sat at your doorframe attempting to fix your door handle.

The overcast sky stayed, but you could tell it was early morning by the chatter outside.

“Shit!” Joel hissed, grabbing his finger in pain. “Damn fucking…”

He looked up and noticed you watching him.

“You alright?” you asked, watching him in amusement as he attempted to fix your door.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, sucking the tip of his finger. “Haven’t fixed a door in a good twenty years.” he muttered, wiping off the excess blood on his already dirtied jeans.

“Go back to bed, It’s still early.” he suggested, going through the tiny tool kit he had given you as a previous gift.

“This is more entertaining than sleep,” you chuckled, placing your feet on the cold ground and getting out of bed. “You want any breakfast? I don’t know if I have anything good here but…”

“Nah. Tess’l be expecting me.”

The sheer thought of Tess waiting at their home for him was enough to ruin the whole night you had before.

Joel looked up to you after your lack of a response. He noticed the demeanor change in your face. “Everything okay?” he asked, turning back to the doorknob he was almost finished fixing.

“You seem to go sour every time I mention Tess.”

“I wonder why,” you muttered under your breathe, attempting to open a tuna can for breakfast. You tried not to dry heave as the scent of the old fish met your nose. Tuna was never a favorite meal, especially for breakfast. But, it’s all you had.

Joel pretended like he didn’t hear you, but he heard you loud and clear. “We have a run to do today. You understand that, right?”

A bitter ‘mhm’ came from your lips as you shook the prepackaged coffee in your hand before ripping off the seal.

Joel sighed and placed the screw driver down dramatically. Joel’s knees cracked as he got up from his position. “You always gotta fucking act jealous. Don’t you? Ruinin’ a nice morning.”

“Jealous?” you said, raising your voice.

“What the hell do you even want from me?” you scorned, on the brink of tears. He could see through you like glass. You hated to admit it, but he knew you like the back of his hand.

Joel wished he could shout out the answer, but his ego kept it in.

You froze with your back turned to him and set down the brittle coffee mug. “Your always leaving me to go to her…”

“Because we’re business partners, Y/N. Don’t you get it? Don’t you hate livin’ the same damn day over and over again? It’s why I come to see you.”

“Stop,” you whispered, now face to face with him. “Stop yelling. Please, it’s too fucking early to get into that shit.”

“Really? Tell me you don’t loose your mind living the same day, same drama for years!” he yelled. “Always you being jealous. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

Anger consumed you. Proof that the two of you would never work. He’s just a bitter old man.

“You know I would give anything to leave this damn QZ! To live a normal life, not fucking be here.” you yelled, with a finger now pointed at his face. You were avoiding the original accusation. Jealousy.

“Tell me.” you said, with a quieter but angrier tone. “Am I really just your fuck toy?”

Joel stepped back for a moment, stunned at what you just said. Guilt seemed to wrack his nerves as the realization hit him.

You were in love with him.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, approaching you with a sorrowful more soft look. “What else am I supposed to think? You come here, use me, and leave and go back to her.”

The feeling of letting go of all that emotion felt healing. The sudden aftermath of realizing what you just had accused him of made you feel somewhat guilty.

“No,” he sighed, grabbing your hand. “That- no. Absolutely not Y/N.”

His other hand reached for your chin, and brought your face up to his gaze. You could feel his heat on your skin.

“Understand…” he began to say. “Understand what?” you whispered back. A sly smile came to his lips.

“Give in,” he whispered, dropping your hand and wrapping his around your waist.

You melted into his grasp as he kissed you. Joel hadn’t kissed anyone in years. The hesitation from him only brought out the dominance in you.

As the two of you mutually pulled away, you wanted nothing more as to be back where you were just seconds ago.

“Understand that it’s hard.” he said, still holding you close. “I…”

“I know.” you said, cutting off his words.

You were an anxious, sorrowful over-thinker and he was the bitter, closed off introvert.

“I’ll be back,” he said, with a slighter more chipper tone. “Tonight. We have to get this damn car battery and…”

“Stay safe,”

“I promise.” Joel said. He really did not want to leave you. The thought of the two of you spending today lazily in bed was very tempting.

“But please believe me Y/N when I say, you are and never have been just a ‘fuck toy’.”

He squeezed your hand once more and then dropped it. Silence filled the apartment after he left.

The thought of how you tasted haunted Joel Miller’s mind the whole day.

Part 2

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[angelnthsnow]

The Party & The After Party

pairing: toto wolff x f!driver!reader

summary: after winning your first formula one race in your first year in the category, you don't think the day can get any better. fortunately, your boss has other plans for the night.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: age gap? it's never mentioned but it's there obvi, boss x employee, use of y/n, cursing.

author's note: i must say my friends have gotten me into formula one, but it's kinda hard paying attention to the cars when this man exists. i wrote this nonstop in the middle of the night, it's shorter than usual but i couldn't get the idea out of my head, so enjoy! i promise i'll post smth nfl related soon lol k bye!!

In your first year as the first female F1 driver, you had done the impossible. Standing on the 1st place of the Monaco Grand Prix podium, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you looked down at everyone who had ever doubted you. Years of resisting attacks, sexist remarks and the constant need to prove yourself, you felt like you could finally breathe. By your side, stood two of the greatest drivers the sport had ever seen, Lewis Hamilton, your teammate, in P2, and Max Verstappen, in P3.

Your eyes wandered through the vast crowd that chanted your name from below, searching for the man who had made it all possible, your boss, Torger Wolff, the first person who took you seriously. Being a woman with hopes of getting into Formula One was exhaustingly hard, but everything started to change when you won the F3 Championship, a few years ago.

Paul, your teammate at the time, had told you that a certain team principal would come to the race that day, and although you kept telling yourself to not get your hopes up, every single attempt to do so went downhill when you saw the Mercedes team principal walking through the paddock like he owned the place.

To you, Mercedes was everything. Besides being one of the most modern teams, you also realized soon enough that Toto was probably the most open-minded out of all the other TPs on the grid. It was sad, of course, having such a little percentage of people who would be happy to see a woman in a position that was so dominated by men, but still, it lit up a flame in your chest, a string of hope you clung onto whenever you felt like giving up your dream.

That day, with him on the bleachers as you drove fearlessly around Spa-Francorchamps, you won the F3 championship, putting you on a watchlist of drivers that could get into F2.

Ever since that day, the austrian had kept an eye on you.

He saw how fiercely you fought to have a place, to have a voice and to be heard in a space ever so dominated by the opposite sex, and it didn't scare him, not one bit, he admired it. When you stood on that podium earlier, he didn't even bother hiding a smile, taking pictures and videos and chanting your name with the rest of the team as Lewis and Max sprayed the ridiculously expensive champagne on your back as you laughed.

That's why today, hours after winning your first ever F1 race on your first year in the category, he still couldn't get off the high he was on. He had finally gotten the confirmation he so desperately needed, not because he didn't believe you could do it, but because he was eager to prove everyone else wrong, to rip the smugness out of every single man who told you you didn't belong there.

At least that's what he had told you earlier through the radio before the lights went out, prove them wrong. He just didn't know you fought to reprimand a sob as you tried to concentrate in the lights that stood just above the Albert 1st Boulevard.

Now, Toto's eyes scanned every single corner of Jimmy'z searching for you, only to find you on the dance floor, pornstar martini in hand as you swayed to the beats of Empire of The Sun's We Are The People.

You had a smile on your face that could lit up a whole room, and he couldn't be prouder. Soon enough, your eyes met his and you chuckled, making a peace sign to point at your eyes and then at his as the line got lost in your eyes blasted through the club's speakers.

Even at distance, you could see him rolling his eyes and chuckling at your playful gesture, but still, he came closer, until the only thing in his field of vision was the visibly drunk version of you.

"You look happy." he leans down and forward to yell in your ear, making himself heard even if though the loud music made it hard to.

You squirm at the proximity, but brush it off by taking another sip of your drink. "I'm on top of the world, Toto. I don't think I've ever been happier." You yell back and he resists the urge to fight back a smile, presenting you with his pearly whites.

As one of the neon lights hit your face, he's forced to take in all of you. The version of you you'd put up whenever he'd tell you he had an important meeting he needed you to attend, or whenever you were needed to put up a show, like today.

You wore a black strapless dress, the one you'd seen a few weeks prior to the Grand Prix at Elie Saab's display window while you were on your daily night walk through Monaco. It was mesmerizing, with a shimmery type of fabric that would definitely make sparks fly if a bright light shined over it. You had thought of buying it, for days, really, but decided against it because party dresses were never a much needed piece of clothing in your wardrobe. Well, that until you told Lewis about the dress, and when you arrived at your apartment a few hours after the race, there it was, on a hanger hanging on the curtain rods.

As much as your looks prevented Toto from thinking about anything else, he couldn't help but notice how huge your pupils were, so big that it felt like your iris' were long gone. That and the fact that your sclera had shifted from white to a more reddish color.

He shifted on his feet, unaware of how to proceed. Were you.. high? Was that even a thing between sportspersons? Deciding on it being a matter that shouldn't be handled in front of the city's most congested place as of today, he mutters a "come with me" in your ear, putting a hand on your lower back as he guided you away from the crowd.

When he finally stops, you find yourself in a more private, smaller room with a few sofas and armchairs. He then proceeds to ask you "You've taken something. What is it?"

You laugh at his sudden concern. The answer was clearly a big red yes written in all caps, but part of you couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed at yourself. You had done it, yes, but now you felt sort of guilty, because the last thing you wanted was to damage his or the team's image. You shake your head, trying to to keep those thoughts away. It was just a party, a party for you, with only selected people being allowed in, it wasn't like you'd wake up to your name on the news.

"Come ooon.. don't be such a party pooper!" You slurred.

Toto was shocked by your reaction, part of him wanted you to celebrate as you wished, after all, you had just fulfilled a dream, but the other part, the responsible boss part craved an explanation, he didn't want you to cause any harm to your already fragile media image.

"Are you serious? You're the star of the entire team today! We have thrown a party just for you and you're getting off on drugs?" He says, lowering his voice on the last word as he crosses his arm.

"It's just a blunt, Toto. I swear I'm fine." Your laugh echoes throughout the small room as you grab his big arms, uncrossing them. "Don't get so serious on me." You look up at him through your lashes.

Toto gives you a stern look before a smirk creeps up on his face. The anger and seriousness fades away in an instant as he realizes the situation wasn't that serious. He sighs and looks at you with a sly, yet curious look. "How many? One, right?"

"Just one, sir." You say mischievously, holding your pinky finger up before kissing it to symbolize a promise.

Toto is taken aback as you kiss your pinky finger in a sarcastic manner, although he doesn't say anything. He looks at you with the same sly look as before. "I see... and have you done this before?"

"Who hasn't, duh?" You furrow your brows, flashing him a backward smile.

'He hasn't, of course. That's Torger Wolff we're talking about' you think to yourself as you look up at him. The soreness of your muscles and the pain of being on your feet for so long getting to you.

Sometimes it was kind of annoying having a conversation with your boss due to the fact that you had to look up the entire time, and countless were the times you found yourself with neck pain after hours of chatting. This conversation would surely be added to that imaginary countless list of yours, because even today, with high heels that could make you look six feet tall, he still looked way too big.

Toto chuckles before getting a playful look on his face. "Oh, really? I highly doubt the star of my F1 team has ever smoked a blunt before, although you do seem very knowledgeable about this." He moves closer to you, looking down at you as he speaks, his voice low and husky. You wondered if his neck ever went through the same problem yours did when you two talked, causing you to chuckle.

"I do?" You lift one eyebrow, narrowing your eyes. "Well, I must say.. the star of your precious F1 Team has done a lot, Mr. Wolff." It comes off more flirtatious than you intended, but you pay no mind to it. You try to take a step back, but end up slipping on the hem of your gown, the high getting to you later than ever.

Toto immediately rushes to you and catches you mid-air, wrapping his arms around your torso.

"Is that so?" Toto says, his voice now raspy and face close to yours.

You exhale deeply, relief from not having made an absolute mess out of yourself filling your body. If you had fallen, your dress would probably be completely torn apart and headlines would have a field trip with it.

He is still holding you, his hands burning on your back.

"Yeah.." You close your eyes, getting away from Toto's embrace as you regain balance and straighten yourself.

Toto steps back as you do so, although he does want to reach out to hold you again. Instead, he settles for engaging on more double entendre conversations with you.

His eyes are full of admiration, your body is more visible in this dress than it has ever been, and he makes a mental note to thank Lewis for the gift. He recalls the moment you two shared a few minutes ago, the way you swayed and jumped with the music like you were the only person in that dance floor would never fail to amaze him.

"You truly do look like a notorious celebrity in this dress, don't you?" He finally says, a hint of shyness in his tone, although the look in his face is stern.

"You could thank your other driver for that." You joke, trying to hide the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.

"I certainly will." he smiles, his gaze softening as his eyes meet yours. They're still red, but it starts to grow on him.

Looking at you like this, completely wasted, happy and carefree, he couldn't help but remember the afternoon you two had met, when he started to be so sure you'd be by his and Lewis' side on a race weekend one day.

Now, there you were, in front of him, with a trophy standing somewhere back in your apartment. "I'm so proud of you." he finally says, not because he thinks you should hear it, but because it's all he wants to say to you after today's events.

You look away from him shyly. You had heard it before, specially from him, but every single time felt like fireworks in your belly. Him being proud of you was capable of putting you on a whole another level, it was just another signal that you had made it, that you had proved you were capable, even to those who were always so sure you definitely were.

You try to hide a smile as you mutter a simple thank you, because in this state, visibly high and drunk, staring at the man who had made it all possible, it's all you manage to say.

He smiles back at you, and your mind almost short circuits when he steps closer, not stopping even when you can feel his breath close to your face. That's when you realize he's about to hug you, and you just let him.

It's genuine, simple yet abnormally meaningful. His big hands rest crossed on your lower back as he pulls you closer, making your cheeks rest on his suit covered chest. You almost feel like crying, because how could you not? You had it all now, a place in the sport you so desperately craved to have since you were a kid, a win, an amazing teammate and an even more amazing boss, who believed in you through your entire career.

"You've done it." He says quietly as if you're a wild animal that would run away at any abrupt movement or sound. "I can't even imagine how you feel."

On cloud nine, that was the most appropriate answer.

"It's like nothing I've ever felt." you say, arms hugging his chest. "Thank you for always believing in me, you have no idea how much you've done for me." you sniff, clearly on the verge of tears.

"It's nothing compared to what you deserve. You're one of the greats, Y/N. The whole world's gonna know you name." he says, causing the tears you so eagerly fought to keep off to fall rapidly on your cheeks. You sniff, opening your eyes to see that a small wet circle had formed on Toto's shirt.

"Shit, sorry." You laugh awkwardly as you take a step back, desperately trying to dry your tears with your fingers before they ruined your makeup too.

"Hey, it's fine." He steps closer again, bringing his thumb to your face as he continues your job of drying the tears you had shed. Once he's done, his hands linger there for a bit longer than they needed to, stroking your cheeks. You thank the Gods for whatever the hell he was on today. "You do look pretty when you cry, though I must say I prefer the way you look on top of a podium, with champagne drenched hair and a first place trophy in hand."

You roll your eyes, as if it was possible to fall even more in love with him. It had become stupid at this point, really. Clearly the two of you had something special, to say the least, going on, but none of you were courageous enough to come clean about this.

"You aren't a bad view from up there as well." You shoot back, earning a smile in return.

The shameless and obvious flirtation to whoever watched from outside continued for a few minutes, until Toto insisted that you should go back to your party, and although at this point you had decided to give up the celebrations to look at him for the rest of night, there he was, once again with his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd back to where he initially had seen you. Doesn't take long for you to get lost in the music, dancing like there was no tomorrow. Toto had excused himself to greet other team members and sponsors, fulfilling the ultimate boss role even at parties, and stealing glances from you every now and then while talking to someone.

A few drinks later, the club was getting more empty by the minute, the clock almost hitting 4:30 a.m. Your makeup was already lightly smudged, your black Louboutins long gone in the corner you once laughed with your friends. As you thanked the remaining people for coming, Toto showed up again, startling you as he came from behind, putting his right hand in your shoulder.

"Seems like the party has reached an end." he says, making you look up at him. His face was fairly red, and by the way he slurred his words, you could tell he was somewhat drunk. His hair was messier than earlier and the tie that was once a fancy bow was now untied, resting around his neck, a nice combination to his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

"Unfortunately. I hope you had fun, though." you reply, turning your attention to shake some of your guests' hands.

"It's always fun with you around." He says as he smiles to the same people shaking your hands.

You crookedly smile, turning around to walk to your table. As you do so, he follows.

"Do you need a ride? I saw you coming in with Bradley, but he already left," He watches you as you walk through the empty club, employees cleaning the floor of what was once the party of a lifetime. "guess parties aren't really his thing." He chuckles.

"I don't wanna make you take me home now, it's late and you're probably very tired."

"Oh, please, it's Monaco. Not like I'm going to be driving for hours." He replies, earning you a laugh. You and Toto lived pretty close to each other, but you'd drive past his building before getting to yours, so you truly didn't want him to make a huge detour just because of you.

"Fine," you smile, grabbing your sparkly clutch. "just please tell me you came with your 300sl roadster." You say and he chortles, rolling his eyes.

The Mercedes 300SL Roadster owned by Toto was probably one of your favorite cars in his collection. Hell, in anyone's collection. It's such an incredibly classy vehicle you couldn't resist its charm.

"I did." He says, and you let out a slightly loud yes! as he grabs your scarpins, laughing at your reaction. The way the smallest things were capable of making you happy always made him smile. Even after closing a multi-millionaire deal with your team, some things would never fail to make you excited, such as being driven home in a car you've always wanted.

The both of you start to walk towards Jimmy'z's exit in a different sort of haze, like the two of you were in your own little world together, laughing and exchanging inside jokes. The dry warm Monaco summer air hits you as soon as you step out, and soon the vallet comes driving Toto's car, opening the door for you to get in.

As the both of you get in, he starts driving, the sound of the car's engine echoing throughout Princesse Grace Avenue. Duke Dumont's Ocean Drive in the radio as your hair flies due to the speed in which Toto's driving. Now and then, he casually glances at you, smiling at the way you still manage to dance even when sitting on the passenger's seat.

Despite being a race weekend, the city seemed awfully quiet and empty at this time. Soon enough, he takes a turn and you're finally in Larvotto, which meant in a few seconds he'd be pulling up at your home. However, before he had the chance to, you saw the sun rising in distance, its warm light gleaming in the sea water.

"Toto, look!" you point to the horizon, and he slows the car down to follow your gaze. "It's so beautiful.."

"Indeed it is.." he says, and you can tell by his tone he's got a change of plans coming. When you realize, he's parking the car in the shore, exiting the vehicle to open the door for you. "Come on, let me give you a real after party."

You smile, because there was no way the day could get any better. You were sure you'd wake up later convincing yourself this had been a dream. Taking your hand, he pulls you out of the car, and after you close the door, he runs towards the sea, fingers intertwined with yours.

In this moment, you force yourself to forget about all of the implications and concerns that could come at you. In this moment, it was just you and Toto, not a Mercedes driver and the Mercedes' Team Principal. To anyone else who'd catch a glimpse of the scene, the both of you looked like stupid, reckless teenagers in love.

Sitting on the sand, you try to catch your breath, stomach hurting due to you not being able to stop laughing. You lay your head on his broad shoulders, hands holding his arm.

Suddenly, he feels the need to confess, "I'm always so happy when I'm around you" with the german accent getting heavier as it always did when he was drunk.

You smile, "Me too."

A beat, and then, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known."

It comes lower than he intends to, but he's also never felt so nervous around someone as he does now. You thank the heavens for the fact that he's not looking at you, you look like a kid stupidly in love.

"You don't need to say that," you sigh. "you've already told me you're proud of me for today."

"I know. I'm not saying it because I feel the need for it to be said, but because I truly think that." he replies. "Ever since that day in Spa, you've proven to be an extremely fierce, fearless, wonderful driver and an even more amazing woman." You roll your eyes at his compliments. "I mean it, Y/N." He grabs your attention just by saying your name, making it all even more real. "Mercedes is extremely lucky to have you, and so am I." he looks at you, his face closer than ever as yours rest on his shoulder.

"You have me?" You say, looking at him through your lashes.

"I like to think I do. Do I?"

"Utterly." You giggle, your eyes glowing just by looking at him.

His hands go to cup your face, and the last thing you'd expect from him happens. At first, his lips brush over yours lightly, as if he's asking for permission, testing the waters to see if he's allowed to go further. When you don't protest, he deepens the kiss, sweeping you off your feet.

The both of you laugh, and you hide your now completely red face in his chest. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this." you say, feeling his body hairs stand on end.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do this." he says, and you shed a tear on his partially shirt covered chest. "Are you crying?" He asks, and when he hears you sniff, he takes it as a yes. "Hey, don't cry. Look." he lifts your chin up, making you stare at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.

The sunrise looked like a piece of art, with pinkish and yellow tones coloring the sky. Toto puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You could now add having him at your list as well.

[bby-deerling]

two ghosts (sanji x reader nsfw)

sanji almost lets you slip between his fingers...

18+, mdni, nsfw wc: 1.9k masterlist

cw: afab!fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, almost breaking up, make up sex, emotional roller coaster, intimate and needy sex

tagging: @sanjisjuul @pileofmush @kibblz-n-bitz (thanks for sitting in call with me while i wrote this!)

The silence that hung in the sticky, evening air was palpable; it was heavy, hot, and suffocating.  Sanji wonders if you can feel the tension, the push and pull of the tether that binds you with every passing breath.  The orange sunset casts into the kitchen, illuminating the frosting smeared across your cheek as you pipe, deep in focus.  He’d taught you everything you needed to know about baking, icing, and proper presentation ages ago; quiet evenings like this used to be highlighted by your laughter, quick banter, and loving touches.  Now, despite the warmth of the light passing through the window, it was cold, empty, and sterile.

Things were different before, when everything was green and easy, and each day was filled with the thrill of limerence and the novelty of learning each other.  And then, suddenly, two years had passed, and the threads tying the two of you together became frayed, weathered and torn.  Once, the icing smeared across your cheek would have been teasingly lapped up by his tongue—now, it stays in place until your thumb absentmindedly swipes away the buttercream, a distant expression in your eyes.

Maybe if he was more pragmatic like Zoro, he would have thought things through before acting on his feelings.  Perhaps he would have waited before confessing him feelings until he was certain this would last, but he wasn’t—Sanji fell hard, loved hard, and the feeling of the fondness he has for you slipping through his fingers was hard for him.  It’s so difficult for him to stare at you from across the kitchen as you stare him down, your gaze hollow and hurt.

“Sanji, what’s wrong?” you ask, voice shaky and quivering; his heart drops when he realizes you’ve likely been working up the courage to voice your concerns to him for some time.  He had spent many sleepless nights agonizing over the way you seemingly hadn’t noticed his shift in behavior—the fact that you not only had, but were too afraid to confront him about it made the pain sting more.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, dear.” he lies.  The hoarseness in his voice gives him away, and your wide doe eyes are wounded from his audacity to swallow down his problems and push you away.

Your nails dig into your forearm, coating them in powdered sugar and nearly drawing blood.  “Please stop lying to me.  I can take it.” you whisper, defeated.  The tears pricking at the corners of your eyes are silent, but Sanji swears he can hear the wail of your cries echoing in the air.

Meeting your stare is too difficult, so he opts to stare at the floor as he chooses his next words with caution and care.  “Things aren’t like they used to be, angel.  Surely you’ve noticed it too.” he says, voice raspy and threatening to break.

Now you’re the one who cannot bear to meet his eyes, and you swallow hard as you try to regain control over your breathing—it’s difficult when Sanji is standing across the kitchen from you, turning the tension-heavy conversation into a western standoff.  “What did I do wrong, Sanji?  How did I drive you away?” you ask, holding back sobs as your body begins to shake.

“Nothing, dear.  Nothing at all.  We’re simply changed, and—” he starts, with more conviction that he imagined himself having, until you interrupt him.

“Are you giving up, Sanji?” you choke out.  It’s angry, and it’s frustrated, and it’s a plea for him to reconsider without resorting to dropping to your knees and begging—it’s a desperate attempt to stop him from finishing his sentence and going too far by speaking it into existence.

Sanji is frozen in place, his sky-blue eyes swirling as his resolve wavers.  Seeing the way he’s turning you into a broken mess stalls the motion in his chest and makes him look at you—truly look at you for the first time today.  Though your eyes are puffy and watery, your cheeks are rosy, and all the beautiful qualities of both your countenance and your aura radiate from you; all of a sudden it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“No, love.” he whispers, voice as soft and light as a feather.  “I want to fix things, if you’ll have me.”

The pause before you speak is physically painful for Sanji to bear, though he knows he deserves it after twisting a knife through your chest only to pull it out and bandage you up right as you’re on the brink of death.

“Of course I’ll have you, Sanji.  I need you.” you reply, fatigued and exhausted from the push and pull.  He can’t hold back from comforting you any longer, and strides towards you; as he reaches you, he clasps his clammy, heated hands around yours, and presses frantic, heated kisses onto your forehead.

“I’m sorry, angel… I’m so sorry…” he whispers, silently vowing to change, to amend all the behaviors that had led him to this point.  He was honest when he said you had done nothing to push him away; he was simply unappreciative of everything in front of him, everything that had drawn you to him in an unrelenting frenzy when he first laid eyes on you.  He had taken you for granted, and was willing to spend the rest of his life atoning for it as long as he wouldn’t have to be deprived from the warmth of your gaze for the rest of his days.

You don’t tell him it’s okay, or I forgive you—it’s not, and you don’t—but you love him desperately and crave him more than your lungs need air; shaky fingers find the sides of his face, and gentle, soft thumbs brush away his tears as your lips press into his.  The kiss is sloppy, and passionate, and full of tongues as you frantically devour one another—as if this kiss would be the last, though you both vowed it wouldn’t be.

“I love you Sanji, please don’t let me go.” you plead as you break away, burying your face into his chest.  His cotton dress shirt becomes soaked with the dampness of your tears, and he holds you so close that three out of place vertebrae in your spine click back into place with a loud pop.

“Never.  I’ll never leave you, angel.” he whispers, moving his hand upward, tracing along your upper arms towards your jawline.  Though he intends to be soft with you, he can’t help the way he pins your back against the counter with both power and intent to prove his devotion—to physically bind himself to you and seal his promise to stay, to be better.  His hands are in your hair, his tongue is deep in your mouth, and his knee is slotted between your legs; you let out a weak whimper against his lips as your hips grind on his thigh for more friction, and the sound makes him dizzy, crazed, and hungry.

Sanji knows he should drop to his knees and pray; he should be worshipping at the altar of the goddess he’d blasphemed, but he lets a rare fit of selfishness consume him.  As he feels your arousal soak both your panties and the leg of his trousers, Sanji lets out a groan against your lips and feels the overwhelming urge to bury himself in the ecstasy of your walls.

“Up on the counter, dear.” he murmurs lowly, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs into your hips.  Once you comply, he tilts your head to the side and smothers the column of your neck in heated love bites, licking over each indent of his teeth in your skin with his slick tongue.  His hand starts stroking your sensitive clit through your panties, but in an uncommon stroke of impatience, he slides them to the side and sinks two fingers into you; the gasp you let out is sharp, needy, and full of wanting as he scissors his fingers inside of you, spreading you wide open for him.

He pulls his digits from you and licks them clean, smirking at the way the sight makes you let out a breathy sigh.  Sanji swiftly removes his belt as you watch him spring his cock free; your body is steeped in anticipation as he gingerly pulls you in for a kiss with one hand, and slides his cock along your weeping slit with another.  It’s not long before his tip is just as soaked as you are, and his length slips into you with one quick motion.  Sensual moans fall from both your mouths, only to be muffled by your messy, sloppy liplock as he snaps his hips against yours.

He's frenzied, and insatiable, setting a harsher pace than you’re used to as he ruts into you.  Though it was his own folly, his own foolish behavior that almost led him to letting you go, he had almost lost you all the same, and felt a need to claim you, feel you, and knead the soft, plush skin of your thigh while he presses heated circles into your clit.  The tip of his head brushes against your sweet spot and causes your head to tip back in ecstasy; the line of drool that keeps your mouths connected spurs him to give you more, give you all of him, and give you everything.

You’re hot and twitching in his grasp, nearly undone as he rocks your hips in rhythm with his.  Pants and whines and blabbers of nonsense escape your lips as you get so close, but you needed help rising over the crest; Sanji’s deft fingers have memorized each favored and pleasurable motion and ministration better than your own could ever dream of doing, and he groans with satisfaction as a bit more pressure on your clit gets you to fall apart around him.

“Let go for me, angel… Fuck, you’re doing so well.” he praises as you let out a needy cry, your walls fluttering around him.  Your whimpers are heady as heat pools in your face, and the shockwaves racing throughout your body are tamped by the way his arm snakes around you, pulling you close as he buries his nose in your hair.  The way you clench around him so tightly makes him not far behind, seeing black as he rocks himself into your spent body with white hot need.

The moments after your climaxes subside are stretched for an eternity, as both of you mumble a barely audible I love you into each other’s skin.  His pulse felt reanimated under your touch, as if for the past few weeks he had been someone else, not quite living and not quite dead; his limbs entangle with yours, and his head buries into your shoulder, coating it with the remnants of his damp, salty tears.  Unable to hold back sobs of your own, your body shakes and heaves as droplets splatter against his collarbone.  Promises and apologies flow like like wine from swollen and blubbering lips, and when Sanji cups the side of your face, gingerly tilting your head up to look at him, he sees a light hidden behind the raw, aching pain in your eyes—a sign of life.

He had found your heartbeat, pounding under his touch, and he promises himself to never lose sight of it again.

[euphoricfilter]

For the drabble game could you write fluff with youtuber bf jk ? I am not creative so I couldn’t think of a sentence sorry😭 but maybe he does one of those 24hr streams, I love your writing!

youtuber boyfriend! kook headcanons:

tags/ warnings: none. just a lot of fluff and feelings <3

notes: when i got sent this idea ages ago i got so excited. and i wrote three fics for it but hated them all and then made sure they were to never see the light of day. so my solution is to write some cute boyfriend headcanons instead to make up for it!! simply because i absolutely love this idea and i need to write anything for it to sate the need within me.

notes 2: this got slightly longer than i’d intended LMAO sorry 🕺

𓇻 i feel like jungkook’s channel has a plethora of videos, though he specializes in gaming.

𓇻 its probably one of his biggest passions. though i do see him dabbling in commentary, or even review type videos. maybe he’s a bit of a collector as well and goes on hour long rants about rare items or hauls of what he purchased over the years.

𓇻 i see the both of you probably meeting at one of those second-hand game and film stores.

𓇻 maybe you’re just milling around. more content to browse the movies than the games because you only own an old console (something cute like a nintendo DS) but they don’t really sell the game cards commercially anymore

𓇻 and jungkook loses track of why he was even there in the first place when he spots you. slowly scooting towards the corner you’re in.

𓇻 jungkook might not exactly believe in love at first sight, finds it a little hard to imagine loving someone so soon. but he definitely believes in destiny, even fate. and some small part of his mind had convinced him that surely this was just that.

𓇻 he’d be a bit shy about trying to approach you, mouth opening only for nothing to come out because what was he supposed to say? and maybe he accidentally startles you, offering to pay for the few dvds you had hugged to your chest as a lame sort of compensation

𓇻 he’d be the one to ask for your number, he’d be the first to text. you’d tell him later on it’s because you didn’t want to come off too head-strong. worried you’d scare him off messaging only hours after meeting. and then he’d tell you he had worried about the same thing

𓇻 jungkook wouldn’t straight out tell his audience he’d gotten into a relationship. it’s not that he was embarrassed about you, quite the opposite; he’d love to flaunt you to the world. it’s just he’d worry about the reaction from fans.

𓇻 he’d have a pretty hefty audience, a well established one even. and he wasn’t blind to the mean comments that would occasionally show up beneath videos or social media posts. he, himself, never found much issue in dealing with them, on occasion he’d get a little down but he knew that really he put himself up for this. he chose to show his face online, and with that would come some backlash. however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you or how shitty comments would effect your well being.

𓇻 definitely the “in a relationship but it’s private” sort of photos would slowly creep their way onto his IG posts. maybe of little date nights— candles on the table with a dinner you’d cooked together (2 glasses, 2 plates and 2 sets of cutlery), or your favorite cake he’d tried to bake himself with the lego flowers he’d spent the previous evening trying to make (because at least you could look at the lego ones forever and they wouldn’t die). or maybe even your hand snuck in a photo or simply your silhouette beneath a sunset.

𓇻 maybe a few of your own collectible items had made their way onto the shelf in his studio. an obvious beanbag in the corner (you’d often sit there and read as he went through emails or scripted videos). valentines cards that he’d never thought to take down, or posters of yours that never exactly fit in the bedroom

𓇻 it would become apparent that he was in a long-term relationship when he’d film a moving video. so much of your stuff mingled with his own, split seconds of the shared rooms he’d add to the video before showing his audience his new office space. the extra shoes and cute little additions to his home; soft cushions on the couch, ceramics you’d begged him to buy. your hoard of plushies that took up half the bed or the stupid amount of skin care products stacked up in the bathroom. all a sure way of telling his fans that he was serious about you, even if they had no idea of your name or face

𓇻 maybe with enough comments he’d make a little announcement at the end of a video.

𓇻 “i know you’ve all probably guessed by now, but i am in fact, in a relationship”

𓇻 and then proceeded to talk about you for 7 minutes because really he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. and truthfully he never knew when to shut up when it came to you, not when you were what’s on his mind most of the time. he’d tell them how you’d met, and how he had been absolutely enamored by you almost instantly. he’d show everyone the matching bracelets you’d made. grinning as he showed off the receipt he’d kept in his wallet from your first date together at a small cafe in town, mentioning how he kept a baby photo of you in the back of his phone too.

𓇻 the first time you’d show up in a video, he’d plan for the both of you to do some crafts together one afternoon. a hobby you’d been trying over the last couple of weeks, and jungkook liked to indulge you. loved to watch you sprawled across the floor of an evening with glue coating your fingers and way too much glitter imbedded in the carpet.

𓇻 he’d have been worried at first. asking you over and over if it was truly okay for you to be on camera, and after your reassured him with a kiss, he’d settle down slightly. though his anxiety had still clung to him, eyes flitting your way throughout the afternoon

𓇻 he could tell how shy you’d been, and had reassured you that really you didn’t even need to address the audience. he’d do all the silly little things you giggled at him for. and all you had to do was sit there and be pretty for him. you’d been a lot quieter than usual; itching to give him a kiss each time he was just so awfully jungkook. eyes like those of galaxies when he got something right, or the happiest smile on his face when you asked him for help

𓇻 the day he did a 24 hour charity stream would be when his audience sees you the most. milling around the house, making sure your boyfriend was fed and watered. maybe even sitting down and reading the chat when he wanted to shower. or answering questions while perched on his lap. he’d want to smother you with even more love when you’d catch his eye— a silent question if you were doing okay, that you answered all the questions correct. and he’d squeeze your thigh in reassurance, head resting over your shoulder as he listened to your voice, humming to let you know he was still listening

𓇻 you’d startle him at 4am, a little pouty that you’d had to fall asleep alone. dragging a chair from the kitchen to sit on as you watch him play a game you’d never seen before.

𓇻 “go back to bed, baby” he’d coo, “you’ll fall asleep sitting up and get a bad back”

𓇻 and maybe after that he’s a lot more open to showing you on camera. filming you on beaches, eating cakes and ice creams from a million different restaurants or dancing around hotel rooms or sitting on the balcony with the sun warming your skin when he takes you on holiday. short films dedicated to you with your favorite songs playing in the background

𓇻 maybe he even makes a playlist on his youtube channel, titled “my love” for every video that he includes you in

𓇻 idk just very much in love boyfriend kook who wants the world to love you almost as much as he does (because in all honesty, no one would ever love you more than he does)

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

know its for the better

Words: 2733

Warnings: angst, talks of a miscarriage, body image, talks of difficulty staying pregnant, mention of what is technically a still-birth, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-medicating, accidental suicide attempt, probably poor writing and OOC characters but whatever

DC Masterlist Main Masterlist Join My Taglist

Part 2 for "Love Thorns All Over This Rose"

I decided to make this be longer than just two part, so this'll be a sort of mini-series

I just want to leave another TW here: if you have ever suffered through a miscarriage or any type of child loss, please proceed with caution. I do heavily talk about how Y/N feels after suffering through that and do talk about her feeling like a failure of a woman and other things. I just want everyone to know that if you feel triggered by that, I apologize and I don't want anyone to be upset over what I wrote

I also want to say that I personally have never gone through. What I write in this, is purely based off of what I have read in other fics or stories as well as seen people talk online. I am trying not to offend anyone and if I do in any of the part that I talk about those things; I severely apologize.

Reminder that Alfred is dead in this so that's why he isn't here!

The POV here still isn't really consistent. It jumps between being with the Batkids, Bruce, and Y/N's. I tried to make it flow though so hopefully that works!

Reminder that Bruce and Y/N's ages don't matter (I'm not in the mood to deal with that) but; Dick is 31 (and married to Kori but that's not too important), Jason is 25, Tim is 22, Damian is 15, Cass is 24, and Steph is 23

Also a reminder that I also am not too familiar with Duke, so that is why he isn't there much. Mostly just mentioned

Anywho, enjoy

Love Z <3

All that he knew was that he walked in on his dad doing CPR on his mom.

That was all he knew.

That was all Dick knew.

3 Months Ago

Y/N tightened her grip around her purse, the people were following her too closely. She knew this. The light was still out, she kept reminding her that. Kept telling herself that no one would try to kidnap her in broad daylight.

But oh how wrong she was.

She should have known better. She grew up in Gotham. She should have known better.

----

Now

Three days had passed since everything happened. Bruce had refused to leave the hospital. He wondered if it was from guilt of not being there for her other times. Or if he was just filling in his obligation as a husband. Or maybe...maybe Dick was right and he was just doing all he could to preserve his image.

But none of that mattered. Bruce was staying until she woke up. Because she had to wake up. He had to show her that he still cared. That he still loved her. That he knows...he knows how much of a horrible person he has been to her for the past month.

He had to make sure she knew that he regretted it. Every word he said to her that night.

But every sign scared him. They had already had to resuscitate her since getting here. The tube was stuck down her throat, helping her to breathe. Nurses looking at him with pity, making him feel foolish for holding out hope that she would be okay. With every look that they gave him, there was a sort of emptiness and despair settling into his stomach.

Almost as if he agreed with them.

But he couldn't. He couldn't be agreeing with them. It wouldn't be useless holding out hope that she would be okay.

He ran his thumb over her palm, his eyes glancing up her arm and body until they landed on the raised skin on her collarbone. His hand that wasn't holding hers, come up to run over it. One of the many reminders of what happened 3 months ago.

----

3 Months Ago

Y/N woke up groggily. Her head was pounding and she felt like she had been dropped from a tall building. She blinked, trying to see something, anything, but as her eyes opened, she wished she could go back to seeing nothing.

She was sure that she was in the sewers. The damp and musky smell with the sound of water dripping down the old stone walls and floors around her made her all too aware of where she was. She tried swallowed any saliva, but her mouth was dry. Tears pricked her eyes from pain as she carefully pushed herself up.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she gingerly touched her stomach. Involuntarily, her own body flinched back from her touch. She felt her air catch in her throat as she felt nothing moving. In the past month or so, her baby had been moving all the time, leading her on to many sleepless nights.

Deep down, she knew. She knew that her baby was dead. And she knew that there was nothing to be done about it.

She jumped back as she heard the sound of shoes pounding against the damp stones. She tried to move away from the only place that someone could come from, but with her hands and legs being tied together, it was harder than expected. She slipped slightly, her side hitting the stone hard.

Three men, with honestly average builds, stalked into the area. She breathed raggedly as she watched them continue towards her. She tried to push away as one grabbed her arm and forcibly pulled her up, a yelp of surprise and pain left her mouth as she was pulled to her feet.

These three men were normal. They weren't some goons or some chemically induced maniacs. They were normal.

And maybe that scared her more.

One of the men, who she assumed was the leader, walked up to her, knife raised. Her eyes darted between him, his associates, and the knife. Any self-defense training that Bruce had taught her, flew out the window as she stood before these men.

"When the situation arises, you'll remember what to do."

That was what Bruce had always told her. But here she was. In the situation and nothing was showing up in her mind as what she was supposed to do.

She leaned back as the guy leaned in but the one with the grip on her arm moved one of his hands to hold her head and make her look at him. She shook as she felt the knife against her collarbone.

A small whimper of pain left her mouth as she felt the knife push deeper, deep enough that it would scar over, before she was pushed back to the ground. The one with the knife gave her a sadistic smile before hoarsely whispering, "We're going to make sure Bruce Wayne finds you dead."

She stared in near terror as she held her hand over where they had sliced and watched as they left just as quickly as they had came.

----

Now

Jason stood in a corner away from Y/N's body. Even with the tube gone, she still didn't wake up. Although she had made some developments...some in the past 8 days that she had been in here and everyone had convinced Bruce to go home and get some proper sleep. So now here Jason was, standing in a room where the woman he had allowed to become his mom was laying still.

But he stayed away from her body.

Something he didn't say often was just how scared he can get. He remembers each time he's been absolutely terrified. When Bruce, well Batman, caught him stealing the wheels to the Batmobile. When he was stuck in that warehouse and Bruce didn't make it in time. When he saw Y/N again for the first time since his "death" and he thought that she would hate him for what he had done. When she was taken. Those words he heard Bruce hurling at Y/N.

And right now.

Jason was keeping his composure, but inside, he was a trembling and terrified child. A kid who just needed to know his mom was going to be alright.

Inside, he knew exactly how Damian was feeling.

But as he stared at her body, his mind couldn't stop drifting, remembering what he had heard that night 4 weeks ago. All he could do was wonder what would have happened if maybe, just maybe, he had gotten angry at Bruce for what he heard.

----

4 Weeks Ago

It was nearly 2 AM when Jason was going to sneak out of the Manor. Technically, it was easy to do, well...it was once he got passed Bruce and Y/N's room. So, he was as silent as he could be as he passed by. But he stopped in his tracks as he heard the voices from behind the cracked door.

Now, Jason wouldn't say he was noisy. But don't all kids stop and listen whenever they hear their parents arguing?

But they weren't arguing. No. He had heard that before. This wasn't it. This was different.

And it scared him.

He stood by the door as Bruce's voice got louder: "--Well I'm sorry that I'm not here anymore Y/N! But can you fucking blame me?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Her voice was low, warning him to think before he spoke.

"You didn't pay attention and got taken. You and your inability to pay attention to your surroundings got our baby killed."

She sucked in a breath, "You think I don't blame myself already, Bruce? Do you think that I don't wonder what would have happened if I just hadn't gone out that day?"

"Please, this doesn't affect you. You're perfectly fucking fine."

"Because I have to be!" She nearly screamed, "One of us has to be a parent to everyone else in this home and we both know it won't be you!"

"They aren't even your kids, Y/N, why do you--"

A loud slap echoed and Jason's hand went over his mouth as he continued to listen.

"Those kids are mine. I am the one who helped raise them. I am the one who has made sacrifices for them! You haven't done shit for them, ever." She let out a choked back laugh, "All I did was ask for you to be here with me, to understand what I am feeling and going through. But of course, you don't understand anything."

"I understand that you killed our baby."

"No Bruce. Those men came after me to hurt you. You are the reason I was taken and lost our baby. But sure," Her voice started to break, "Go on. Blame me. I'm used to you doing that anyways.

----

Now

Jason breathed shakily as he grabbed his helmet and stormed out of the room. He knew Dick would be there soon with Damian anyways and he had to get out of there.

--------

Dick watched as Damian laid curled into Y/N's side. Bruce was, miraculously, still sleeping as he and Damian snuck out to the hospital. He didn't do it much for himself as he did it for Damian, he knew that the kid had a sort of...guilt that he could have done something.

Not that Dick could say anything against that. He felt guilty as well.

Y/N was his mom. He was the oldest son. He should have protected her, that was his job. Dick was the protector. He was always supposed to protect everyone. Y/N and even Bruce included. He already had been in this situation before. The immense guilt of failing to protect Y/N.

He remembers what he thought that first time he was here. Remembers the guilt of already failing to keep Alfred alive and not wanting to fail Y/N.

----

3 Months Ago

Dick ran through the sewers, trying to find Y/N. Two days had passed since she had gone missing. All of them had lost sleep trying to find her and now they were searching the sewers for where she could be. He felt like a failure, a bad kid, all because he didn't

He stopped in his tracks as he heard her labored breathing. He turned in the direction that he heard the breathing, his own getting caught in his throat when he saw her laying in the fetal position.

"Mom." He breathed out, rushing to kneel by her side. He gently grabbed her face and looked at her, tears pooling in his eyes. "Mom, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He failed. Guilt filling with him. Guilt of failing Alfred and now her.

He was a failure and he knew that.

"You-you're not a--"

----

Now

"--A failure."

He stopped and looked at Y/N, his eyes wide. "Mom?"

Her head was turned to the side, a small look of gentle concern on her face. "You're not a failure Dick." She whispered through a hoarse voice, "You didn't fail anyone. Especially not me."

But he shook his head. He did. Not once. But twice. First being after she was taken and now this.

"Dick, stop that. The only person here that failed was me."

He got up and angrily wiped the tears from his eyes, "But I-I just...you never--"

Her hand shakily came up to touch his face, "I'm the one who failed sugar. I should've..."

She stopped, hand leaving his to rub her neck. Out of instinct of all the times waking up from injuries, he grabbed her the bottle of water he had grabbed earlier. Unscrewing the lid, he gently brought it to her lips and she quickly took a gulp of it.

After a moment, she gently held his wrist. "Dick, look at me and believe me when I tell you that it's not your fault. You did nothing wrong." Her grip tighten on his wrist for a moment, "You or your siblings." She glanced over at Damian, her arm wrapped around the kid who was now sleeping. "You all had nothing that you could do." She looked back at him, "Everything that happened, that I did, was nothing to do with you kids. It um...it--"

"Has to do with dad?"

She nodded silently before breathing shakily, "I know Jason heard what Bruce and I said. Ahd I um...I assume that--"

He stopped her, his head shaking. "He didn't tell us anything."

"Oh." She sucked in a breath, "Let's just say, both your father and I say things that we shouldn't have. Not saying they weren't truthful...that deep down we didn't mean each and every word that passed our lips...but you kids aren't to blame."

Dick swallowed hard, "Why did you do it mom?"

Her hand fell from his wrist and she looked away, out to the window. "You don't understand how I felt after everything--"

----

6 Weeks Ago

Y/N silently stared out the window. Her hands mindlessly moving up and down her now flatter stomach. She felt disgusting and like a failure. A failure as a wife and as a mother and...as a woman. She was hurting. Not physically, sure her entire body was in pain, but mentally, she was in much more pain.

Her head snapped as she heard the door open. She saw Bruce standing at the door, an almost uncomfortable look on his face. She shakily looked away, ashamed to even look at him.

She heard his almost scoff, "Y/N, come on. You need to talk about it."

She looked at him slightly before whispering with a strained voice, "So do you."

"Y/N, I didn't...nevermind." She looked away again as he walked further in, "Doctors said that you'll be able to leave soon. By the end of the week at most."

She nodded, "Alright." Her voice nearly numb and void of emotion. She turned her head to him, "You always gonna hate me now?"

Bruce sighed, "I don't...I don't hate you."

"Why not?" Her words started to lace with their own venom, "I lost our baby. Because I'm such a..."

He shook his head, "Don't finish that sentence. You are not a failure baby. It wasn't your fault. None of what happened was your fault. You weren't gonna know that someone was going to come after you.

----

Now

"Y/N?" She felt herself freeze when she heard the voice. She kept her eyes everywhere but at the door. She didn't want to see him. Not here. Not now. "Dick can you--"

"Mom doesn't want to see you."

"Dick you don't--"

"Dick it's okay." She whispered, looking at her oldest. "Take Damian down to the food court, force him to eat some junk."

"Mom--"

"Go." She whispered before he silently nodded and grabbed the younger boy, starting to carry him out of the room. She weakly gripped the blanket, "Why are you here?"

"Can I not visit my wife."

She shook her head, "I am not your wife, Bruce." She looked at him angrily, "You're the one who served the fucking papers."

"And I can't--"

"Bruce, you told me that the only reason you were letting me stay in the manor was for the kids. Was so that Damian didn't have to losing another person." She breathed angrily, "You stopped loving me, not the other way around. You're only here to keep up appearances that you are a loving and devoted husband." She leaned forward in his direction, "But I know exactly what you are."

"And what's that?" He challenged.

"A selfish coward who only cares for himself and his image."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry that I made you think so lowly of me."

Tears burned her eyes, "Get out."

"Y/N--"

"Get out, Bruce. Now."

He stood and started for the door, momentarily stopping to look at her. "I still love you, I know what I did and what I said shows otherwise, but all I ask for is one more chance and I'll prove it to you."

Her lip quivered for a moment before she whispered out, "Tell the nurses I woke up."

[charlottecutepie]

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author note: Ive been thinking for a very long time whether I should publish this fic here. this is my fav fic I wrote for fnaf, I especially like the way I portrayed William here. so please, if any of you would like to see this story here, can you leave a comment? It’ll help me to understand. I’m just unsure if I should post this fic here :’’)

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 2.

Chapter 1. Thoughts

Chilly spring night. Light wind and rain. It's so fresh outside that the opposite effect appears: you feel as if you are suffocating from excess air. Outside is your favourite smell of wet grass after the rain. Light smile appears on your lips, and you carelessly go out on the porch of your house, looking at the beautiful view in front of you.

At such moments, everything around seems to be a part of you, you feel some kind of connection with nature and this world. Peace, tranquility, two things what you lack in life.

Today was a bad day. Maybe tomorrow will be better? Tomorrow will be the same. And when will it be better? Does this hell have an end?

Your head is filled with bad thoughts. It feels like every day is getting a little worse than the previous one. You never understood why you deserved such treatment from your father. It was as if he was doing everything so that you wouldn't feel like his daughter. He never even called you that. Something bad happened in your family every day, mom and dad always argued, and you always ran into your room in a state of panic, anxiety. What if father does something to her? That's what happened a few years ago. When you called your aunt in tears, begging her to come, because your father broke your mom's leg and beat her to a concussion. You could have been next if your aunt hadn't arrived on time. That evening, the picture of father changed dramatically in your little child's head.

“Father” means something cold, something cruel. The one who can punch, beat, shout, scream. Abuse.

You live with this thought to this day, but the only thing that has changed is that now there is no father anymore. He died a month ago, which was a shock to your whole little family. You hardly remember what happened exactly on the day of his death, but you clearly memorised your mother who cried all night because she knew well that the only one who could work to feed the family was her husband.

And now, because of this husband she cannot find a well-paid job, because he took care to provide her with a serious disability. And you're too young to work, first you must finish school and university.

Your skin was covered with goosebumps, you went back into the house. Passing by mom's room, you made sure that she was asleep and went to your own one.

Tomorrow is another day.

…

June 22.

“Y/n, breakfast is ready.” you heard mom's voice from the kitchen. Telling her you'd be coming soon, you headed to the bathroom to comb your hair and wash your face.

On the dining table you saw a plate with your favorite breakfast. Pancakes with honey, it couldn't not make you happy. You smiled and sat down opposite your mom. Woman was in a joyful mood.

“Good morning, dear, how did you sleep?” she asked gently, examining your face expression. That's how your conversation started, about everything and nothing at once. She told something about her plans for today, for a week, about her friends, about how one of them gave birth again. You just enjoyed her monologue, sometimes nodding and shaking your head. It was nice for you to see a sparkle in mom's eyes, it was something strange and unique for you, but warming soul. “I absolutely forgot that soon is your birthday!”

“Oh, really? If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have remembered…” you answered in confusion, fidgeting in your chair and twitching your leg. For some reason, the mention of your birthday made you uncomfortable. Probably because it will be your first birthday without your father. After all, when he was alive, you never really celebrated it. The maximum that was — sweets that your mother gave you in secret from him. You wonder what will happen this time?

“How are we going to celebrate?” Mom asked, smile on her face.

You looked at the floor, nervously fiddling with your shorts. You scratched your head, trying to think of something, but no idea came to mind. Your thoughts are empty again.

“It's your 18th birthday… We need to celebrate it well somehow.” for a second she paused, before looking at you with cheerful face. “Oh… Mr. Afton!”

Your eyes widened in surprise, because after the funeral, your family stopped communicating with Afton family.

“Mom, what are you up to?” you frowned. To be honest, you always got shivers running down your spine from his name, because your last meeting was at that cemetery, on the day of your father's funeral. Memories have entered your mind, forcing you to remember your last dialogue with Mr. Afton.

After the burial itself happened, you ran away from the crowd away. Your heart was racing like crazy, trying to jump out of your chest. You sat down on a wet bench, covering your face in hysterics. Tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping onto a puddle under the bench.

“Young lady,” a low-pitched male voice called you out of hysteria. “Everything is okay? You've been sitting here for hour.”

You opened your eyes and raised your head. Next to you was standing was a tall, middle-aged man with dark brown hair, dressed in black trousers and a jacket. He leaned towards you, holding an umbrella over your head. His face seemed painfully familiar, but because of the hysteria, you couldn't remember who it was.

“Oh god, Y/n? I didn't recognize you, little one. Why are you sitting here all alone?” he smiled broadly as he sat down next to you on the bench, still holding the umbrella for you. “Your mom is looking for you, she's so worried. Her beloved girl is lost.”

You recognised this man. It was none other than William Afton. One of your father's friends, he often came to visit you, and your family also visited him. You were embarrassed by ignoring his questions because you didn't know what to respond. He's been staring at your face the whole time.

“Come on, princess, I see how cold you are.” with these words, he took off his jacket, putting it on your shoulders. “I understand how hard it is for you, honey.”

You haven't received so many nicknames from any men for all your 17 years of life. Never, not once. His voice at some point began to seem more comfortable and soothing. Because of all the surging emotions, you burst into tears again in front of him, no longer hiding your face. William, not wasting a minute, threw umbrella and took you in his arms, so that your face was hidden in his chest. His cold hands stroked your hair, soothing you, calming you. It may have looked strange from out of context, but you really needed support in such hard moment.

“Don't cry, Y/n. You'll be fine, little one.” he talked and talked endlessly, but because of your own tears and sobs, you ignored everything, only burying your nose in his chest more.

“He's the owner of a pizzeria! Do you want to celebrate there? I'm sure he'll give us a discount in honor of such an event.” her smile never disappeared for a second. You were already beginning to doubt at how real her emotions were.

“Are you sure? We don't have much money anyway…”

“Never mind, I want you to finally have the best birthday, dear.” she winked and got up from the table, putting the plates and mugs in the sink.

Your lips curled at the thought of having to see William again.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

10 Jikook Fanfictions Part 1

I said I'd make a list before the end of the year and I kept my promise. Now, it's difficult to choose, especially when I have more than 300 bookmarks and unfortunately I also started doing that some year and a half ago. Safe to say, there's probably plenty of good fics I read that are now lost. Anyway, enough with the boring chit chat, here's 10 random jikook fics in no particular order and most likely, several other parts will follow, probably next year 😉

1. Dead in the Water

It's been a couple of years since I read this and honestly, I barely remember much, but what I do know it's that it had an impact on me. Usually fics that have death as a central theme end up resonating with me, but perhaps it's because I've always been attracted to more darker fiction. This one is gritty and there's a lot of pain and I must have cried a lot (those tend to stick in my head)

2. we're holding hands beneath the silver screen

I think this story is taking place in the 90s (you'll see that a lot of the fics I recommend are taking place in the past). I think I ended up reading everything ChimneyCricket wrote, but this one remained a favorite. Coming of age during a summer in Jeju in the 90s. Apart from the theme, it's the writing that made me stick with it.

I'm not the biggest fan of young adult stories. Or better yet, it's not something that I'd go to as a preference. When I do, it's more of an indulgence and thankfully, I found some writers (like this one) who can do a really good job with the genre.

3. Stockwell

Another writer that I've become a big fan of after reading one fic of theirs. And I think it might have been Stockwell that did it for me. I like that it's fanfiction with adult themes for an adult audience. And I also resonate with a lot of the cultural references and themes. I will also admit that this fic leaning into the enemies to lovers trope was a selling point because I'm a sucker for it. I can't help myself.

4. Burn for You

This is a complete self indulgence for me and I embrace it. Just like watching Bridgerton is a guilty pleasure for which I don't actually feel guilty (and the inspo for this fic). This story has everything and I must say the combination of lust, fear of revealing feelings, rumors, proper behavior and hidden romance is a lethal combination!

5. Light of a century

I might have recommended this story before, but it being inspired by Up on Poppy Hill is not just due to the plot, but the writing is able to evoke that studio Ghibli mood. This fic is to be read on a hot weekend afternoon.

6. Map of the Soul

This might be one of the most complex fanfictions I read due to the amount of research needed, but also in the depiction of political contexts and identity politics. Most of all, I like it because as much as relationships are a vital part of the story, there is an entire world surrounding the main characters. Events and other people that have also room to develop and not just remain props that advance the story.

7. Proceed with Caution

I don't know what snatchim did with this fic, but it's the only one I ever reread multiple times and I'll probably do it again in the future. I don't even reread books from my library, let alone fanfics. But Proceed with Caution did it for me. Perhaps it's because of the process of Jungkook inevitably falling for Jimin and even though it's a bad thing considering the context, it's so good. Maybe it's the image of Jimin with a bellybutton ring or maybe because the picture of hot Californian days in the 70s is so vivid, it feels like a nostalgic Paul Thomas Anderson movie.

8. Dishwater World They Said Was Lemonade

The description does not do this story justice because it's so much more than that. It's a canon compliant thriller with really complicated and complex characters and once again, a story meant for adults who understand that it's fiction. Unfortunately, judging by the comment section, a lot of people cannot distinguish betweem real people and characters. For those of you who might be fans of Korean thrillers, this story might be the one for you. It's also one of my favorite jikook fics as well.

9. souvlaki

Need I say more, considering the description? This is a self indulgence as well, but of a different kind. If I happily read tropey fics, I also like the ones that can sound like a uni course. Set during the 1997 FMI crisis in SK, any reader will get familiar with a socioeconomic and political perspective of that time through the eyes of the main characters. If you're only looking for romance, this one is not for you.

10. you wouldn't remember

I think littleflumes might be currently my favorite writer of canon compliant jikook. I think the author really captured their dynamic in its essence and the room left for fiction perfectly fills in the holes left in the last 2 years and up until the present. But what did it for me, not only with this story, but the others in the series as well, is that it's concentrated almost entirely on the two main characters, almost living in a bubble of their own in which their relationship can be explored.

[echo-bleu]

Disability pride request? Two characters of your choice hanging out, maybe one using two forearm crutches and one using two canes. They can be friends or partners - I just generally love seeing disabled characters interactng with one another!

How about three disabled characters?

Once upon a time @camille-lachenille sent me a prompt about Míriel having Ehler-Danlos Syndrome. I had already sketched a disabled Celegorm with EDS in mind and, thinking about how it's genetic, had an epiphany about Celebrimbor (and the meaning of his name) and I drew him as well. So I wrote a fic about all three of them dealing with chronic pain, but I still hadn't drawn Míriel. That oversight is now fixed!

They have more in common than just chronic illness xD.

This is still titled "The EDS gang" in my files, I'm going to stick to it. Set sometime in Fourth Age Valinor, when most things are good again...

Disabled Tolkien characters series

(Feel free to send me more disability prompts! I love drawing them.)

More ramblings about disability aids that devolved into bullet-point headcanons under the cut. ID and transcription at the end, but they're also in alt text.

[CW: this is all fairly light but discussion of death and trauma and you know, everything that comes with these three.]

I do not know how to make comics. I'm sure that's very obvious but, you know, learning new things and all that. One thing I learned was that my usual style of rendering does not work with it as well so I rendered them entirely twice.

It was meant to be day 21 and 22 of my October challenge, because surely I can draw and colour a full page in a day (spoilers: no). In the end it was a combined 15 hours of work over 3 and a half days because I made it as complicated as I possibly could 😭 Still, I had fun and learned a lot.

Note: Ehlers-Danlos syndrome is a connective tissue disorder, affecting basically how your cells are glued together. There are a lot of different symptoms (and different types of EDS) but a frequent one is joint pain and hypermobility, and it's at least partly inherited.

Míriel:

Red was Míriel's colour first. She's not into gaudy things and rarely wears vivid colours, but almost always something red. She barely wears any jewellery since reembodiment, mostly for sensory reason (She is very autistic. That's something she gave Fëanor, Curufin, Caranthir, Ambarussa and Celebrimbor, at least.)

She died of post-partum (and general) depression and energy depletion from childbirth or something, but the chronic illness that was taking all of her energy and keeping her from her craft certainly didn't help.

Also pregnancy was horribly rough on her, partly because EDS can be affected by hormonal changes.

She's actually been better since reembodiment, because she has better accommodations (Finwë did his best but he was very lost) and also a Vala on hand who makes her very good painkilling tea.

She wears knitted compression gloves that she designed to help with hand pains.

Her wheelchair is of Noldor make, but I'm sure Celebrimbor will have suggestions for improving it.

The tapestry that she is weaving is actually this painting of Finrod that I did a while ago. I figure that she's representing calmer, nicer things now that she doesn't have to weave her grandchildren's downfall and deaths.

Celegorm:

He was in a relationship with Oromë before the Exile. After his reembodiment, it took them a while by they talked it out and forgave each other. Oromë doesn't quite get elves, but he's really supportive.

He has a pair of wolf-head canes carved by Nerdanel. He alternatively uses both, just one and sometimes none depending on activity/pain level.

He wears bandages as compression garments because this is a world without elastane. His leggings have reinforced knees for support.

He's always heard about Míriel having the same thing as he does from Finwë, and he knew that when he started showing symptoms, Fëanor was terrified that he'd fade too. So for a long time, Míriel's story was kind of hanging above his head.

That's why it takes him a while to go seek her out after he's reembodied. Celebrimbor understands why it's important to him and he pushed him to it a little bit, so Celegorm dragged him along.

They're going to get along great. Míriel is both the quintessential grandmother and also she has a twisted sense of humour that Celegorm will just love.

Celebrimbor:

Celegorm was always his favourite uncle, and they became very close when Celebrimbor started having symptoms in the early years in Exile, and Celegorm stayed with Curufin in Himlad for him.

It took Celebrimbor a while to forgive him after Returning (not as long as Curufin but still) but they've gone back to being really close.

He was really unlucky with reembodiment: while he wasn't reborn with the physical aspect of his torture, the memory of pain and the trauma made his chronic pain a lot worse than it was before, and he can no longer walk unaided.

He designed the silver ring and wrist splints back in Eregion with Narvi's help, and ended up literally living up to his name (which means "silver fist/grasping hand").

Paradoxically these were a great motivation for him to work through his trauma and go back to the forge, because he couldn't find a silversmith in Valinor who could make good enough ones for him, even with all of his sketches and specifications.

A lot of his work since reembodiment has been designing and making disability aids for people.

He uses platform crutches to spare his hands as much as possible. He invented and designed them, of course, as well as the KAFO brace that he wears here. He's also a part-time wheelchair user.

He is still wearing dwarven beads in his hair. He obviously didn't bring anything back from Middle-Earth but he asked Gimli to make them for him in remembrance of Narvi. His tunic is also dwarven-inspired.

He is pretty chill about Sauron here. I don't know if there was a redemption (I have feelings about @chthonion's The Harrowing and @mynameisjessejk's Otter Mayhem) or if he's just been through enough elf-therapy to be able to joke about it. Celegorm's sense of humour is just Like That.

Celegorm and Celebrimbor are about to try Vairë's special painkilling tea for the first time 👀

Between all of them they should really open a disability aids shop or something. They just might! Míriel doesn't really ever leave Vairë's house but I think Celegorm and Celebrimbor will keep visiting her a lot, and eventually all of the grandkids will as well.

Image description and transcriptions:

Two digital comic book pages.

Image 1: The first case takes the whole width, showing two pairs of feet with each two canes/crutches on a tiled floor, with a speech bubble saying "Do you think she'll want to see us?"

The second line has two cases in 2/3 and 1/3 format. The first shows two hands in red fingerless gloves working on a tapestry on a loom. The second shows part of a light-skinned face in profile, with curly white hair. Three speech bubbles say "My love?" "Um?" "There are people here asking for you."

The bottom part has one case off-center showing the same hand undoing the brake of a wheelchair, with a speech bubble saying "Your grandson and your great-grandson." above and one saying "I'll be right here." below. Then a full-length off-case portrait of Miríel, a light-skinned elf with shoulder-length curly white sitting in a wheelchair and pushing herself. She's wearing a pale pink embroidered dress with red accents, red fingerless gloves and elbow pad and brown boots and smiling.

Image 2: A single large case shows two elves standing in a room with a tiled floor, with a large door and two tables behind them. There are thread spools on one table and a tea set on the other. One elf, Celebrimbor, is brown-skinned and slightly chubby, with long black hair in a braided bun, wearing a red tunic and dark green pants. He is leaning on two decorated platform combo crutches made of wood and metal, with a KAFO brace on his leg. He wears finger and hand silver splints. The other elf, Celegorm, is pale and has long white hair in a high ponytail with small braids, he has tattoos on his neck and arms and he wears bandages on his shoulders, elbows and wrist. He wears a green tunic, leggings and wrap-around gaiters. He is leaning on a cane and holding up another cane, pointing at the first elf. Both canes have handles carved in the shape of wolf heads.

The speech bubbles are arranged around and below them, giving this dialogue, with the speakers distinguished by the shape of the bubble (the parts in parentheses are smaller text in the bubbles):

Celegorm: "My lady, my name is Tyelkormo, and this is my nephew Tyelpë." Miríel: "I know who you are, my wonderful children. Come sit." Celebrimbor: "That would be nice, thank you." Miríel: "Vairë, my love, would you make us some tea?" Celebrimbor: "My lady!" Celegorm: "A Vala who can make tea! (I could never get Oromë to do it.)" Miríel: "It was a long domestication process." Vairë (off screen): "Hey!" Celebrimbor: "Instant hot water! That’s nice. (I wonder if I could replicate that.)" Miríel: "She makes wonderful hot water bottles." Celegorm: "Oromë just uses his hands as hot pads." Celebrimbor: "Ew, I didn’t need to know that." Celegorm: "What? Just because your Maia burns everything he touches–" Celebrimbor: "Shut up." Miríel: "You must both tell me everything about yourself. And your partners!"

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

"hey Lucid Dreamer make up your mind, caught on the other side."

"you dream for the one you swoon."

synopsis// a boy you believed to simply be a figment of your imagination ends up being real.

pairing// izuku midoriya x gn!reader

word count// 3.4k

contents// fluff? maybe like a hint of angst? UA is a hero college, y/n's quirk is never told/explained but plot armor yk.

notes// i feel like this kinda sucks n is kinda cringe bc i wrote this MONTHS ago but i digress !! anyway omg guess what... this is actually inspired by a song... omg i know ive never done that before how unique!!! the song is the dreamer by I the mighty (my fav so good ughhhh)

You lean against the sink, palms flat against the countertop, your head hovering over the sink bowl, water dripping from your face. You, in a poor and ultimately futile attempt, splashed yourself with water to try and calm your nerves. Tomorrow was your first day at college, but not just any college; no, it was your first day at UA, the ultimate hero college. How could you not be nervous for something like that? You sigh deeply before standing up straight and grabbing a nearby towel to dry your face off; once finished, you begrudgingly shut the bathroom light off and make your way back into your room. You stop at the side of your bed, looking down at your bedside table and the clock on it.

The clock reads one a.m., and you groan; even if you somehow manage to fall asleep right now, you’ll still be completely dead in the morning. You ignore that thought and slip back under your covers, sighing. You lie there for what seems like an eternity with your eyes closed, tossing and turning, trying desperately to fall asleep but to no avail. You quickly return to lying flat on your back before turning your head to the side to check the time. You let out the loudest and most guttural groan in frustration, realizing it’s barely been ten minutes. Once you’ve accepted that you can’t fall asleep and probably aren’t going to for a long while, you decide to just lay there glaring at your ceiling, as if that would help your situation at all. Eventually, your mind starts to wonder toward everything and anything, from your first day of UA tomorrow to your childhood, and you suddenly remember him.

You frown at his remembrance; you haven’t thought about him in ages, nor have you seen him in ages—which makes sense given that the him in question is an imaginary friend from your youth, and typically, most college students don’t have imaginary friends anymore. Now that the first thought of him has occurred, you can’t stop the rest from coming. Recalling how you spent your entire childhood with him. You first met him a few months before you turned five. You had just come to the realization that you weren’t a late bloomer in developing your quirk; no, you simply didn't have one. So it’s safe to say that almost five-year-old-you was absolutely devastated and you cried yourself to sleep that night.

You ended up waking up in a cold sweat, soon realizing that this was not your bed—nor your room, for that matter. There were All-Might posters plastered all over the walls, and even the new sheets that covered you were All-Might themed. After looking around the room in confusion, your attention was drawn to a desk in the far corner of the room and the video playing on the computer that sat atop it. You made your way out of the bed and toward the desk only to find a little boy sitting there, a boy who didn't seem shocked to see you there at all. After a few minutes of talking with him, you learn his name is Izuku, and he’s also quirkless like you, something you were excited about considering how terrible and alienated you felt about it.

The two of you were inseparable after that day, or as inseparable as you and a figment of your imagination could be. Considering that you only ever saw him once you fell asleep, you spent more time sleeping than what would be deemed healthy your whole childhood, constantly sleeping just to spend time with your only (imaginary) friend. You appreciated having him around since he was constantly going through the same things you were at the same time. Like when, you realized you truly were just a late bloomer in middle school, and then that night when you saw Izuku, it turned out he was also a late bloomer. Though it was bittersweet, yes, you appreciated it, but how sad and lonely were you that your brain felt the need to provide you with an imaginary companion for all of your huge life experiences?

Though in high school you stopped seeing him when you slept completely, you were relieved at first to finally feel normal. Relieved to not be the only teenager who still had an imaginary friend, but that relief very quickly faded when you realized how lonely you were without him. Even though he wasn't real, Izuku was your closest and dearest friend, and you missed him so much it hurt. Most days, you'd take sleeping pills in hopes of seeing him again, but to no avail, your childhood best friend seemed to have been completely wiped from your brain. So you accepted it; it took a long time, but you eventually came to terms with the fact that he was just your imaginary friend, and that was all he’d ever be; he wasn't real, and he’d never be, so you stopped thinking of him. Until tonight, when you ended up dozing off while thinking about him. 

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

You groan as you awaken to a faint light shining in your face. Your eyes shoot open when you remember that you didn't leave any lights on or leave your curtains open.

You’re not in your room.

Your heart begins to race.

You are not in your room.

You sit up straight, anxious yet impatient, and are pleasantly surprised to see the familiar walls filled with All-Might posters and the familiar All-Might themed bed sheets, which you can't help but laugh at because if Izuku ages when you do, he'll be a college student with All-Might sheets. Suddenly, your gaze darts all around the room, hoping to spot Izuku, but he's nowhere to be found, and you frown.

“I can make up his room again, but not him?” you mumble angrily to yourself.

You get out of his bed with a sigh and begin looking around his room; everything is mostly the same as you remembered it, but there are some new things. There are new pictures of him and his friends on his walls scattered amid the All-Might posters, as well as clothes thrown haphazardly on his floor and a messier desk. All in all, it appears to be his room, but a more mature version, which you chalk up to your brain just taking after your own room since it seems like your brain likes to do that a lot. You attempt to pick up some things from his desk only to be brutally reminded that anything you touch here simply ripples away before returning to normal, as if you just touched a puddle of water. Except for his bed, you can't physically interact with anything here. You dont hear the door creak open because you're too busy glaring at the stuff on his desk that you can't touch.

“Y/n?” someone calls out breathlessly from behind you. 

You whip around so fast that you momentarily lose your balance, mouth agape, as you stare at the boy in front of you. “Izuku?”

He cracks the largest grin you’ve ever seen from him. He looks exactly how you remember him, yet different all at once. He still has his curly green hair that messily falls in his face despite his best efforts, and his cheeks are still permanently flushed with his constellations of freckles, but this Izuku is bigger. He’s tall and lean, you can see all the muscles that have grown on him, and you think if you ran a finger down his jawline, it would cut you. But it doesn't matter; you can't touch him anyway; he's not real.

“Holy shit! I can't believe it's you!” He exclaims excitedly, and he looks just like he used to when he would tell you about All-Might as a child.

You can't help but giggle at his excitement because you're feeling the exact same way. “When did you start cussing?” you ask, still giggling.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah well, I picked it up from a friend of mine…”

“It’s really nice to see you, Izuku," you mumble softly with a grin as you take a step forward toward him.

Izuku’s entire face turns into the perfect hue of pink. “It's really nice to see you too, Y/n,” he mumbles back, “I missed you.”

He’s not real, what are you doing?

“I missed you too,” you say without missing a beat.

Izuku poorly attempts to bite back from smiling even harder than he’s already been this whole time as he walks to his bed. Once he's sat down, he pats the space next to him, and you go wide-eyed. He remembers that you can only interact with his bed?

You sigh and murmur to yourself, “Of course he remembers; he’s pretty much you, Y/n.”

He tilts his head at you. “What’d you say?”

You shake your head quickly and sit down. “Nothing,” you squeak out far too hastily for belief. 

“Where have you been?” He blurts out quietly, and the way his voice wobbles ever so slightly sends a twinge of agony directly to your heart. God, your brain is very good at making him seem like he has actual emotions.

You sigh and fidget with your hands, which are resting in your lap. “High school was rough, but at least it's over now, right?”

He hums in agreement. “It was rough for me too... Do you wanna talk about it?”

You shrug. Oh fuck it, why not? This is essentially your brain giving you free therapy; you might as well indulge yourself. “I’ll talk about it if you talk about it.”

He nods enthusiastically. “Deal.”

You sigh before lying down, and he does the same, turning your heads to look at each other. “I’m gonna be honest, high school was only rough for like a few reasons.”

He frowns. “You say that like you think it means it shouldn’t have been rough... Any reason is reason enough.”

You give him a small smile before continuing, “One of them was just me pushing myself to my limit to try to get into college, another was just not really having any friends, and uh... The last one was because I missed you.”

You don’t miss how his eyes practically flutter at your words. “Would you believe me if I said all of those reasons were also why high school was rough for me?”

You hum. Yes, because he's literally just made up to make you feel less alone. “Zuku, you have pictures of yourself with your friends.”

“I know, I know! but I didn’t really make them until senior year…” He explains sheepishly. “You mentioned college; you’re going, right?”

You nod. “Yep, I’m assuming you are too?” 

“Yeah!” he exclaims. “What college are you going to?”

You exhale heavily in defeat, remembering that you do, in fact, have college to attend when you end up waking up from this. “UA, I actually start tomorrow.”

Izuku sits up excitedly. “No way! I’m going to UA too!”

Of course he is.

You sit up with him. “That’s great, Zuku! I’m so proud of you for getting in. Not like it’s been the only thing you’ve ever talked about since we were little.”

He laughs, and if you were standing up, the sound would’ve made you weak in the knees. “I did talk a lot about that, didn't I? But didn’t you also talk about not wanting to go to UA?”

Even though you know he’s not real, you're flustered by how much he remembers about you. “Yeah, changed my mind.”

“And what made you change your mind?” he asks, coyly. 

“Definitely not you.”

“Rude."

“Okay, maybe it was you,” you admit sheepishly, mostly because you’re embarrassed at how a figment of your imagination could have such an effect on you.

He smiles at you warmly and places his hand mere inches away from yours. Lord knows he’d love to hold your hand, but he also knows that if he even tries, you’ll disappear. “I never forgot about you, Y/n.”

You go wide-eyed at his unexpected confession, and a lump forms in your throat. “I—I never forgot about you either, Izuku,” you practically have to choke out the words past the lump in your throat.

“You know, we practically grew up together,” he reminisces fondly. “And we've still never actually, um, I don’t know, met in person?”

Cause he's not real.

“I know.” 

“You should find me,” he whispers, his voice deep and low, and his eyes never looking away from yours, sends shivers down your spine.

You swallow harshly. “Find you?” 

He nods, his gaze still unwavering. “At UA, we’ll both be there. Find me.” 

You can’t.

“Okay."

He smiles softly, but there’s a hint of melancholy in it, and you realize why when he says, “One of us is probably gonna wake up soon.”

You feel your heart drop; he’s right; you’ve been here far longer than usual; it’s only a matter of time. “Izuku."

“Yes?” 

Oh god, this is so humiliating. What has gotten into you? Why are you seriously about to confess to someone who isn’t even real? “Izuku. I lo-“

He puts his hands out in front of him in a stop pose and immediately interrupts you, “Don’t.”

If possible, your heart drops even more; actually, no, it doesn’t drop; it breaks. This is your brain, your imagination. Why is this not going as planned? How is someone you made up rejecting you?

“Don’t?” you ask quietly for confirmation, like you don’t even really want him to clarify what he meant.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I want to say it too, but I want to say it in person.”

Okay, well, that’s never going to happen.

“Izuku.”

“Please?" he pleads, his expression softening. "Find me and tell me that face to face.”

You.

Can’t.

“Okay.” 

He can’t help but smile. “Okay.” 

You return his smile before sighing. Oh fuck it, this is most likely the last time you’ll ever see him again. “I’m going to do something, but the minute I do, we’ll wake up.”

He looks at you wide-eyed, slightly afraid even. “Do wh-“ 

He doesn't have time to finish his sentence before you’re pulling him into your embrace, or you would be if you could touch things here, so the minute you do "touch" him, both of you are rippling away like reflections in a pond.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

You jerked awake at the sound of your alarm clock, sitting straight up. Your chest heaves as you take in the fact that you’re back in your room and you just saw your imaginary friend, whom you're evidently not over, which is, within itself, embarrassing that you even caught feelings for someone who's not real in the first place, but you digress. You cringe as you have to practically peel your covers off of you from how much you were sweating. You quickly find yourself back in your bathroom, your head hovering over the sink and water dripping from your face. You, again in another futile attempt to calm yourself down, tried splashing your face, but like last time, it didn’t work. Every time you close your eyes or let your mind wander for even a second, you're met with Izuku telling you to find him. You can’t seem to escape how he was staring at you, like he could see right through you, like he was real and sentient. Like he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. You slap your cheeks softly as if to slap the thought away. 

After a few moments, you take a deep breath and point at yourself in the mirror. “No. Nope. We are not going to be delusional today, Y/n. We have places to be,” you say to yourself, half-heartedly.

And someone to find.

You shake your head at the thought before ignoring it ever happened and getting dressed.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

By the time you were finished getting ready, it was already a little past eight in the morning, and class starts at nine, which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that you have to walk. You practically flew out of your house and down toward UA, never stopping for a second, even when you were breathing so heavily that it sounded like you needed medical attention immediately. You start to calm down a bit when you can begin to see UA, but you’re still running, even through the other college students who are calmly heading toward the entrance. But you can’t stop now because, honestly, if you do, your legs would most certainly give out on you and then you really would be late, so it’s either you keep running or you'll tumble to your demise. The closer you get to the entrance, the more people you have to run past and the more crowded it becomes, so it’s no surprise when you run into someone's back just as you're about to enter UA.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” You exclaim breathlessly as you stumble backward from the impact.

The person stumbles forward momentarily before regaining their footing. They turn around to face you, reassuring: “It’s okay! Don’t wo-“ 

Both of you grow wide-eyed when you’re face to face with each other, and you feel your mouth go dry.

“Izuku?”

“Y/n?”

You don’t say anything; you simply stare at each other in disbelief until recognition flashes in your eyes, then excitement; your whole demeanor shifts as you realize what's happening.

“Izuku!” you exclaim excitedly as you quite literally jump into his arms, causing him to stumble backwards, falling down and taking you with him. You instinctively cover the back of his head with your hands to save it from hitting the pavement. It dawns on both of you simultaneously that you’re touching him. He’s real, you’re real—and you’re touching him, and he’s actually alive. He’s actually a person, a true thing, no longer just a figment of your imagination.

He smiles up at you, who’s straddling him from the fall, your face hovering over his. “You found me.”

You nod fervently. “You’re real,” you remark breathlessly.

Izuku reaches up and cups your cheek with one of his hands. “You’re real.”

You can't say anything or do anything but laugh with glee; he’s real. His curly green hair is real; his constellations of freckles is real; he’s actually real. You push a strand of his hair out of his face and watch how his cheeks flush scarlet.

“You’re staring, Y/n.”

“How can I not?”

You notice his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows harshly and brings up his remaining free hand to cup your other cheek, both hands engulfing your face, and you know there's no way in hell he doesn't feel his palms burning from your face growing hot.

“Can I kiss you?”

You go wide-eyed, your mouth falls slightly open, and you catch his attention flit down to it before returning to your eyes. You nod slowly and lean down hesitantly.

Izuku meets you half way by lifting his head off the ground, and with his mouth just inches from yours, you close your eyes, nervous from the anticipation. You can feel his breath fan against your face as he prepares to kiss you. But when he does, he doesn't kiss your mouth; he more so kisses the corner of your mouth before pulling away slightly to see you staring at him in confusion, though you aren't confused for long when he suddenly and roughly crashes his lips against yours passionately, as if he’s been waiting for this, dreaming of this, and who's to say he hasn't?

You can't help but smile into the kiss, and he does as well. You pull away slightly, both of you trying to catch your breath, but even so, Izuku is looking at you puzzled and disappointed. Before he can ask why you pulled away, you lean back in and cover his whole face in tiny kisses, eliciting little giggles out of Izuku that make you kiss him even more just to hear the warmth of his laugh.

“I love you,” you mumble inbetween pecks on his face.

Izuku pulls away from your kisses, causing you to stop momentarily and pout, before he's leaning back in and kissing you all over your face.

“I love you.”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

[seasonsbloom]

bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you’re not so sure anymore.

wc ; 23k; yes you read that right you can’t be more confused than me idk either and i wrote it in six days

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of previous character death, explicit sexual activity (Explicit sexual content (oral f and m receiving, p in v, like one sentence about choking but not rlly, some dom/sub elements, a little bit of degradation and praise kink), age gap, inexperienced reader, more angst, sappiness, feelings so many feelings all the feelings

note ; i don’t know what to say, this is literally INSANE i’m feeling INSANE this was a fever dream i wrote 8k words today none of this makes sense but it’s OVER IT’S DONE IT’S FINISHED anyways this isn’t proofread but i love you all besties and girlies and babes pls don’t hate it

also this would never have been possible without sol aka desertsagecelestial the best lines in this whole thing are credit to her sol i love you hand in marriage NOW

Hangman doesn’t lose.

And people call him cocky, arrogant, conceited… but the thing is, it’s the truth. He’s not exaggerating. He just really is that good.

When Hangman wants something, he gets it. Promotions, missions, girls, difficult to obtain first editions of Spiderman comic books… Hangman figures out a way.

Of course, it wasn’t always like that. Back when Jake was younger, when he was the invisible kid at the back of the class who nobody wanted to play with, he had to fight tooth and nail for everything. When his father said he’d never amount to anything, it took Jake years to push back, to say no, you’re wrong. But he did, eventually, joined the Navy, graduated top of his class at Top Gun, became someone people knew, someone people looked at, someone who wanted to be seen.

So Hangman doesn’t lose because Jake learned how to fight.

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

Jake rips his helmet off, ears still ringing with the roaring of the engine, heart still hammering the way it always does after a landing. He’s half adrenaline, the highest of high, half jitters. Head still firmly stuck in the clouds. Only this time, there’s the unfamiliar, bitter taste of failure on his tongue. 

He doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or surprised.

Captain Mitchell, having climbed out of his own plane, approaches with a frown. Just a few steps away, by the entrance to the hangar, where the Californian sun is flooding the asphalt with golden light, a throng of the other pilots has formed.

If Jake even sees Rooster, he might start throwing punches. He’s toeing a precarious line here - ascension or plummeting.

“What was that?” Maverick wants to know, fiddling with his helmet’s clasp. “You flew straight into my line of fire, Hangman.”

So, yeah, maybe Jake just got shot down in less than a minute. So, yeah, maybe he made a rookie mistake. So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really bad day.

“I still maintain that he got dumped last night,” Coyote says. There’s no malice to the words, but Jake wouldn’t be surprised if he and Payback had some money running on this.

“I did not get dumped,” Jake growls for what feels like the fiftieth time. Seriously, his tongue is starting to go numb.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, “you totally got dumped.”

Now that might be actual malice. Phoenix decided last night that whatever had happened between you and Jake was clearly his fault, and she was therefore firmly and squarely on your side.

In Jake’s opinion, there are several things wrong with that assessment.

First of all, there shouldn’t even be any sides. It’s not like your circle of friends has to pick teams in a divorce. Secondly, even though she constantly complains about him, he’s known Phoenix for years. She met you less than a month ago. Shouldn’t she be in his corner? And then lastly and most importantly… Jake has no idea what the hell he did wrong.

It’s all pretty unfair.

“I told you that I didn’t get dumped,” Jake repeats, forming the words slowly and carefully in the hopes that they will sound more convincing than he knows them to be. “We weren’t dating.”

And he can’t explain it, that clenching in his stomach, that lump in his throat. He can’t explain any of it, except that it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar, in a way that’s unwelcome.

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

That’s Rooster, definitely. Jake tilts his head back towards the high, high ceilings of the hangar to avoid catching the other pilots’ eyes. 

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

“Wow, you know Shakespeare?” Phoenix says immediately. “I didn’t know you could read, Bagman.”

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

“Hangman,” he says, and something about his voice is severe enough that Jake snaps to attention. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

He’s one hundred percent playing for time here. Sue him. He needs to come up with an excuse.

“Did you mess up because you were thinking about a girl?”

And the thing is, Jake wants to say no. He wants to say, No, Sir, I had a bad night. He wants to say No, Sir, the sun was in my eye. He wants to say, No, Sir, I was dodging a bird strike.

But every word turns to vapor on his tongue. He can’t get anything out.

And so he just stands there, blinking like an idiot at his instructor.

Because the truth is, Jake can’t for the life of him remember what he was thinking about as he went up on the plane. Considering you’ve been on his mind pretty much non-stop since you met, and it’s only gotten worse since you stormed up to him at the Hard Deck last night, it’s not unlikely that he really was knee-deep in a train of thought revolving around you.

You’ve been haunting him. A specter squeezing into the cockpit with him. A ghost sneaking into his bed. Riding shotgun in his car.

You’re everywhere, at the bottom of each glass, soaring in the skies, under his skin, in his bloodstream. He can’t shake you.

There’s real disappointment on Maverick’s face, and Jake’s stomach drops. The older man sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys…” he says softly. “This isn’t a joke. Up there, you can’t be distracted, not by girls or boys or anything juvenile like that. You can’t be distracted by anything. This is life or death. Death, do you get that? I won’t have it. And this goes for all of you.”

He makes sure to let his pointing finger wander over all of them before he storms off, the door slamming behind him.

An awkward silence spreads among them, punctured only by the shuffling of feet and somebody clearing their throat.

“Well,” Rooster says finally, slapping Jake on the back with enough force it almost buckles his knees as he makes for the door. “Thanks for that, Hangman.”

Jake should probably say something, but his mind is wandering again. He’s thinking of you, standing in a sea of broken glass, Mojito staining the front of your shirt, eyes shuttered and forlorn in a way he hadn’t seen before… 

He gets the feeling now.

“Jesus,” Coyote says, stepping up beside Jake. “The way Captain Mitchell is talking, you’d think he isn’t hooking up with Penny on the down-low.”

Something about Coyote’s voice tells Jake he feels bad for him. He doesn’t like the idea of that, not one bit, but he also can’t really find it within himself to do something about it right now.

“Mitchell and Penny are hooking up?” Jake asks, genuinely surprised.

Bob, passing by them, frowns. “Hangman, you really aren’t very perceptive, are you?”

It’s so out of character that for a moment, Jake considers if he’s somehow managed to go through a black hole and ended up smack dab in a parallel universe where Bob, of all people, goes around insulting others. Where Jake, eternal bachelor, famed ladies’ man, messes up flight maneuvers because he’s too busy thinking about a girl.

“Did… did Bob just shade you?” Coyote asks.

For a moment, Jake seriously considers hitting his head against a wall.

So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really, really, really horrible day. So much for never losing.

+

Something’s off.

First of all, Penny’s never invited you to dinner. Second of all, this is decidedly not the kind of establishment you were expecting.

Penny seems like a burger and fries in her car sort of girl. Maybe a few bottles of beer or a couple of milkshakes to wash it all down. The little restaurant twinkling golden on the beachfront is entirely out of character. 

Narrow round tables are covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, fairy lights are strung to the rafters, and behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, boats bob up and down on the waves. It’s a tiny place, cramped but charming. Upbeat Jazz plays from invisible speakers, and a smiling waitress leads you past what seems to be only couples on anniversary dates.

“Here you go,” she says as she seats you at your table, right at the glass front, and hands you each a menu. “I’ll come to take you guys’ order in a minute.”

You sit in the plush chair, frowning. Penny is perusing the menu like nothing’s wrong.

“Oooh, Lasagna al Forno… that sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Penny,” you interrupt, not even opening your own menu. “What’s going on?”

Penny barely glances up at you. “You needed to get out of the house, sweetie.”

And she’s not wrong. You spent the last week since your… altercation with Hangman curled up in your bed, letting the anxiety eat away at you. The walls of your room closing in on you, the weight on your chest pushing you down until it practically molded you to the mattress.

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound empty even to your ears.

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

“No, you’re not,” she says, voice firm. “You’re miserable.”

When you ended things with Hangman, you didn’t think much about whether you were making the right decision. You just wanted out. You wanted it to end, so scared of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if you dipped even deeper into that pool. So scared that it might start meaning more than what it already did, that you would put your heart on something that was bound to end anyways.

Because guys like Hangman… handsome guys, confident guys, guys that hang around bars with toothpicks in their mouths… guys like that break you apart without a second thought.

And you’re already broken enough.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate and finally open your menu, staring at the entrées without seeing a thing. “I’m glad things are over between Hangman and me. It’s better this way.”

Penny is quiet for a moment, then she says, “Sweetie, you need to talk to him.”

“No, I do not,” you answer immediately. This is not the first time you’ve had this conversation. “What could I possibly have to talk to him about?”

“Oh, just… maybe you could explain to him just why you decided to break both your hearts, I don’t know.”

You purse your lips. “Penny. Hangman doesn’t care. He said so himself. This didn’t mean anything to him.”

And it’s so stupid. But his words replay in your mind like a broken record, like an endless loop, again and again. This was nothing. The cold upward turn of his mouth as he said it. Calm, collected. Unfazed.

You’re an idiot. You spent a few weeks flirting with a guy who wanted to get into your pants, and you made it into something it never was - made it big, made it important, made it matter, when really, to him, it had only ever been a game from the very beginning.

And now he’s off, somewhere, flying his planes, living bigger than you ever will, dreaming better, and you’re left on the ground, scrambling to pick up the pieces of yourself.

It’s pathetic.

But Penny looks at you from across the edge of her menu and says, “Pete says he’s been fucking up majorly during training. He’s distracted.”

It gives you pause for a moment and your heart - that stupid, incorrigible thing that never learns, never lets go, that latches onto everything - stutters in your chest.

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

Penny jerks her head. “This wasn’t nothing to him.”

The smiling waitress returns with a notepad, and Penny orders lasagna and a bottle of wine. You settle for some kind of risotto, mainly because it’s the first thing your eyes land on.

After she’s left, you take a deep breath.

“It…” You hesitate. It’s so difficult to say it, to admit it, but you think if you don’t get the words out now, you never will. “It didn’t, Penny. I’m not… I’m not really someone people remember. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just me. This didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.”

And Penny’s face softens. All her irritation of the past few weeks, the constant nagging when you came over for the tutoring session, the stream of texts asking you to come over for drinks, when she knocked on your door earlier, uninvited, and forced you into the shower, into a dress, into her car, it all just melts away. There’s nothing there now, not even pity, nothing there but genuine, real compassion, and you think you’re going to cry right here, in the middle of this restaurant…

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, reaching across the table to cup both your hands in hers. “You’re worth so much more than you think. When will you finally realize that?”

And it’s like this: since your mother’s death, you’ve just been so horribly, achingly lonely. The sort of loneliness that goes bone deep, that burrows into your bloodstream. You’ve drifted through the world unmoored, untethered, not belonging anywhere. Sure, you met people, but they disappeared from your life as quickly as they entered it. You let yourself become invisible, see-through like cellophane.

But with Penny, it’s like she sees you. Really sees you. In a way you don’t think anybody except your mother ever did, right down to your insecurities and flaws.

And somehow, with Hangman, it was the same. He saw something there with you, saw what you needed and what you wanted before you even really knew it yourself. And you don’t know if that’s just something about him, something he can do with any girl, or if it’s something special, if he understood you, all you know is that it terrified you half to death.

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

It’s a good thing the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine and a bread basket because you’re pretty sure you would have started sobbing otherwise.

You think you’re going to thank Penny, eat your food, try and enjoy the evening, and then maybe crawl into bed at the end of the night and cry a little more. Just… make the best of it.

But Penny glances over your shoulder, and something mischievous passes over her features. Suddenly, you feel a little sick.

She rises from her seat, and by the time you’ve glanced over your shoulder, they’re already at your table.

“Hi, Pete,” Penny says, grinning. “Hi, Hangman.”

You’re doing your very, very best not to look at him. Your stomach is turning. Perspiration builds up lightning-quick on the inside of your palms.

“Hi, Penny,” the older pilot you’ve never talked to but have seen hanging around the bar several times echoes, giving her a soft smile. He greets you by name, and you’re so stunned, so excruciatingly uncomfortable, that you can’t even react.

Pete manhandles Hangman into Penny’s vacated chair with two hands on his shoulders, and then you don’t really have a choice but to stare at him. He’s right there, in your line of sight.

Hangman looks as shocked as you feel, but there’s something else, too. He’s still handsome, of course, still tanned and blond and perfect, but something seems to have shifted. His hair is just a little less tidy, the bags beneath his eyes a little more pronounced. For the first time ever, you see him in civilian clothes - a t-shirt and jeans, something softer around the edges that makes your insides clench.

All initial instincts of flight bleed right out of you. It’s half hope, half fear, that keeps you rooted to your chair.

“You said this was a lesson,” Hangman says to his superior, looking, for lack of a better word, desolate.

“It is,” Pete answers, patting his shoulder before withdrawing.

And Penny says, “Listen, I know the owner. If you guys leave before finishing your dinner, there’ll be hell to pay.”

She points at Hangman. “I know your boss.”

Then she points at you. “I am your boss.”

And that’s final. Penny has a way of getting what she wants.

Before she leaves, she leans down to hug you and whispers softly, “Sweetie, you don’t need to go out of this evening dating him. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. But I think he deserves an explanation, at the very least.”

She draws back, smiles at the two of you as if she’s just performed some great, benevolent act, and then disappears with Captain Mitchell.

You half expect Hangman to get up and leave the moment the two are out of earshot. You half expect yourself to do the same.

But you both stay where you are, at that table, actively avoiding the other’s eyes.

The waitress comes to drop off your food. Hangman pours both of you a glass of wine and then downs his in one go.

Finally, he sighs like he just lost some internal fight and says, “I can’t believe they totally just parent-trapped us.”

“Parent-trapped?” you repeat, a little dumbly.

“Yeah, like… tried to set us up. You know, like in the cinematic milestone with Lindsey Lohan?”

You nod.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The gears in your head are turning on overdrive. You feel near frantic with nerves.

“Personally,” you say, your mouth moving before you’re really aware that you’re speaking, “my favorite bad matchmaker is Emma Woodhouse.”

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him. 

“You don’t know Emma? By Jane Austen?”

“Jane Austen?” Hangman takes a sip of his water. “Is that the one with the Pride & Prepaid something? Where everybody goes to each other’s houses and just talks for hours?”

You’re going to have an aneurism. 

“Emma,” you say, now having trouble controlling your voice, “is one of the greatest pieces of literary fiction ever created. And you mean Pride & Prejudice.”

“Really?” He leans back and looks at you. “So what’s it about, then?”

“Well,” you launch into an explanation, jumping at the chance not just to fill this horrible silence but also to talk about one of your favorite books, and the words just seem to flow from you now, “Emma Woodhouse is this really pretty, really rich young Lady, yeah? And she decides that she’s not gonna get married, so instead, she tries to find a husband for her poor friend Harriet. So she wants to set her up with Mr. Elton, only it turns out Mr. Elton is actually into Emma, and at some point, they’re alone in a carriage, and he proposes marriage to her, and it’s super awkward, but then Emma thinks she’s in love with Frank Churchill who also turns out to not be for her and in the end, she realizes she’s really been in love with Mr. Knightley all along, who’s like a really close family friend, only now Harriet might be in love with Mr. Knightley, too, and they have a bit of a falling out and….”

Much too late, you stop yourself. The embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles all the stronger.

Hangman is looking at you with a somewhat dazed expression. You can’t believe you just said all that.

You drag your fork through the mess on your plate, cheeks hot, and round it off by saying, “Anyway, it’s really about Emma realizing the errors of her ways and becoming more considerate of others, and it’s a commentary on class and privilege and all. It’s pretty good.”

“Okay,” Hangman says, and you have never wanted the powers of teleportation more than you do at this moment.

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

After another moment, Hangman says, “That just sounds like the plot of Clueless.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“You… you know Clueless?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises nearly to touch his hairline. “Do I know Clueless?” he repeats. “Is Cher Horowitz one of the best cinematic characters ever created? Of course, I know Clueless, I’m not a barbarian.”

You stare at him until a big blop of risotto rice lands on the tablecloth.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, moving to mop the spilled food up with your napkin. “Clueless is like, one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Yeah?” He grins, seemingly relaxing just a little bit. “Mine too. So, did Jane Austen steal the plot?”

You can’t help it - it punches a laugh out of you.

“No, it… Clueless was based on Emma. The novel came out like… 180 years earlier, I think.”

“Right.” Hangman nods. “Well, if it inspired Clueless, it must be a pretty good book then.”

You’re almost sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had without Hangman trying to get into your pants. It also might be the longest conversation you’ve ever had about your interests without someone shutting you down.

You’re developing a headache.

“Listen,” Hangman says suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. Something in his face has gone serious. “I understand what happened. I was pushing for something you didn’t want, and I pushed too hard, and you put a stop to it. That’s fine. It’s good, really. I respect it.”

And that’s not it at all. But you don’t know how to tell him that he’s got it all wrong, that it’s not that you didn’t want it. It’s that you wanted it too much. Wanted him so much it felt dangerously close to falling for him. Wanted him so much you knew you were giving him the power not just to see you, but to leave you.

He takes a deep breath.

“That doesn’t mean we have to avoid each other. Let’s just… let’s just be friends, okay?”

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

“Friends,” Hangman confirms. He’s nodding his head.

Penny told you to explain it to him, made it seem like an imperative, but as you sit there, you realize she was wrong. You realize it doesn’t matter. Not to him, at least. Those words in the bar cross your mind again. It was nothing. His indifference to all that emotion you carry everywhere you go.

And you’re so angry with him, even if you know that you’re the one who brought this down on you, you’re the one who decided to end it. So angry you want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until that mask he carries finally slips off, until you get to see what lies beneath that.

Because the truth is, beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, you’ve spent the past week thinking of him. In bed, in the shower, at the gas station. And you missed him, even if that doesn’t make any sense.

And if you don’t tell him the truth, if you just let him believe his sexual advances were just a little too much for you instead of revealing the real depth of your feelings… well, then maybe you can at least preserve the last shreds of your dignity.

Besides… maybe, you think, it’s better to get any piece of him than nothing at all. Better to be friends than never to see him again. At least this way, you’d be safe.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice sounds far away. “Yeah, friends. Okay.”

Hangman smiles, and it’s a real, genuine smile as opposed to his usual smirks. His eyes go all crinkly, and you clutch your fork tighter.

And after that, it’s… nice. You find out, to your own horror, that you actually do like Hangman. He’s funny and witty, and when he isn’t trying to fuck you, you realize you actually have things in common.

Together, you empty the bottle of wine and have another glass each, finish your meals, and share a plate of tiramisu that seems to melt on your tongue.

You squabble about the bill, but finally, Jake concedes and lets you pay, even though he looks like he’s about to start muttering in anger.

You like it. It kind of feels like finally being on even ground after weeks of fighting an uphill battle.

When you step out of the restaurant, leaving the Jazz and the smell of pasta behind, you pause. It’s a bit of an unsettling realization to come to, but you don’t want the night to end.

Hangman stops a pace or two behind you, tipping his head back into the breeze.

He looks younger like this, out of his uniform, with a blush painted on his cheeks by the wine, with the wind tousling his hair. All his edges blurred into something almost gentle. Boyish.

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

Jake, you think, and something deep inside of you aches. Jake.

Smiling, he turns to you. “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t trust your own voice, so you just nod.

“Alright.” He starts towards his car, then immediately stops. “Actually… do you mind taking a walk on the beach? I think I should sober up a little more.”

No, you don’t mind one bit, and that’s the danger of it all.

“Fine,” you agree. You mean for it to be clipped, but instead, it comes out like a squeak.

Jake, who doesn’t seem to notice your tone, smiles and leads the way down a trodden path that takes you by the restaurant’s trash cans and then onto the sand of the beach.

It’s colder here, enough that you wrap your arms around your torso to leech off your own body warmth.

Jake is already halfway out of his jacket before you begin protesting.

“Come on,” he says. “I know you don’t believe it, but my mother actually did raise me to be a gentleman. I keep telling you.”

So you let him drape the jacket over your shoulders, and suddenly you’re enveloped in his scent, and your mouth is dry, and your stomach clenches.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

You walk along the beach for a while in perfect silence. The wind dances through your hair, the air smells crisp and fresh and salty, and the waves roll in from the sea, white foam that nearly licks at your feet.

It’s peaceful. Serene. It’s dangerous because it feels so much like a date, and you want to hold Jake’s hand so bad, and he’s almost devastatingly handsome in this light, but you ignore it. Look straight ahead and pretend you’re not feeling it.

Finally, Jake stops and sits down in the sand. Hesitantly, you follow his example, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” Jake asks, staring out at the waves.

You frown. “Seriously?”

“What? That’s a normal question people ask their friends.”

You don’t know about that, but you do answer, “I don’t know. I don’t really remember?”

“Not at all?”

You pause. It’s almost too easy to be truthful with him, and with a start, you realize that you trust him.

God, you must be an idiot.

“I used to…” You clear your throat. “Well, there was this house on my street back in Seattle. A house with a blue door. I used to dream about buying it one day and living there with my husband, and my kids, and our dog.”

You half expect him to laugh at you, call you childish or naive, or a romantic. But he doesn’t. He just listens, face utterly void of judgment, and your stomach swoops.

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “But it was the first real dream of my life. I don’t know if you ever really grow out of those.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, you probably don’t, right?” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he continues, “Mine was becoming spiderman. Honestly, I’d still give my right arm for it.”

And it actually makes you laugh. An honest, genuine sound that echoes across the beach.

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night. 

“I like that sound,” he says softly. “Do it again.”

To cover up the feeling rising up in you - something you’d describe as bashfulness, if that wasn’t so disgustingly ridiculous, something that warms you inside out - you feign nonchalance, say, “Well, tell me something funny, then.”

“Something funny, yeah?” He leans back in the sand with a sigh as you nod, balancing his weight on his elbows, and turns his head up at the night sky like he’ll find inspiration up there. “I thought Star Wars was real for like… an embarrassingly long time.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like, full on.” He nods, face almost solemn. “I looked Han Solo up in history books and shit, I got so confused when I couldn’t find him. I was just like, do people know about this, like, they have to know about this, like about little green Yoda guys and….”

You can’t help it. You start dissolving into laughter halfway through, and Jake looks up at you, grinning.

“Are you serious?” you ask through your laughter. The thought of little Jake thumbing through history books frantically as he searches for Han Solo - who you just know was his childhood idol - is almost too much.

He shrugs. “That’ll be my secret. Did make you laugh, though.”

“Yeah, you did,” you admit, and then you let yourself fall into the sand beside him. It’s cool, grains catching in your hair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll spend the rest of your week trying to get them out again, but it’s worth it for the view. 

The night sky stretches endless above you. You’re close enough to the sea and far enough from San Diego that the light pollution has bled out here, that you can see the stars twinkling up there. A million miles away, yet so close you think you could pluck one if you just stretched out your arm.

“Maybe I should be a teacher,” you say, and then freeze up. Because, what the fuck? Where did that come from?

You’ve never even thought about that, but it just burst out of you, like something you’ve been carrying in your chest your whole life.

Awash in the surprise, you can do nothing but blink for a while.

“A teacher?” Jake repeats. “What subject?”

“English,” you say immediately. Okay, well. Guess we’re having epiphanies about ourselves then. “It’s just that… well, I… I like tutoring Amelia. It’s my favorite time of the week, I think. And I… I love all those books other people are forced to read. I even like Catcher in the Rye, can you believe it?”

“Even Catcher in the Rye?” Jake says, mocking you by letting out a scandalized gasp and slapping a hand over his mouth. You laugh and shove at his shoulder. 

Grinning, he says, “I think you’d be a great teacher.”

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I think you’d be great at anything you put your mind to, really. But I saw you talk about that book earlier… it’s like you were glowing. You love that. People are always best when they do what they love.”

It’s unexpectedly wise. It knocks the wind right out of you.

You need to take a moment to collect yourself, avoid the intent gaze of his eyes that makes it feel almost like he knows you.

“Have you always wanted to be a pilot, then?” you ask.

Jake shrugs, a movement you feel more than see, his arm moving up where he’s pressed against yours, shoulder digging a deeper furrow into the sand.

“Maybe. I guess.” You think he won’t say anything else, but after another moment, he goes on, “My father is a general, you know? It’s sort of a family tradition.”

You didn’t know that, but it sort of makes sense. Another shade to color Jake Seresin in with.

“He must be really proud of you,” you say, thinking of your own father, who hasn’t called in months.

Jake is quiet for so long that you glance over to check that he hasn’t fallen asleep. His eyes are open, though, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

“Not really,” he says, finally. “My father always thought I was a disappointment. I remember one time in middle school, there was this boy… He was a real bully. He liked to slam me into lockers, and one time he broke my nose. My dad just said it was my own fault for not fighting back.”

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Nothing I do ever really… is enough for him.”

There’s something in his voice you never thought Jake capable of: defeat.

Your chest aches with it.

“Not even when you graduated Top Gun?” you ask carefully. “You were top of your class, right?”

Jake shrugs again. “He didn’t come to the ceremony. Mom said he was sick, but… I don’t think that’s true.” He exhales, and it’s a shaky, fragile sound. “Sometimes… sometimes I think he’d only ever be proud of me if I got shot down. If I died in combat or something.”

Your reaction is visceral. Heart plummeting, stopping, arm jerking against him.

“Don’t…” you begin, then shake your head vehemently. “Don’t say that, please.”

He glances at you, looking almost surprised at your outburst.

“It’s not…” You hesitate. “It’s not worth it. Not if he doesn’t recognize it already.”

“Recognize what?” 

And Jake won’t take his eyes away from you. You feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“That you’re… that you’re a good pilot.”

You swallow, immediately embarrassed by your own words. You can’t even look him in the eyes.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never even seen me fly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and mean every word, “I know.”

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

It doesn’t say half of the things you want to tell him, at the same time as it reveals much more than you want it to.

And you remember: It was nothing. Shrugging off everything he made you feel. Laughing as if nothing had happened. Telling you without as many words that you were just another conquest, just another girl in a line of girls, nothing special about you, nothing important, nothing relevant.

You want to hate him, yet something about Jake makes it impossible. Something about him keeps drawing you back. Even after everything that’s happened, wanting him is like a bad habit you can’t shake.

You can’t explain that.

But Jake reaches out to you and slots his fingers into the spaces between your own. Squeezes once.

Your fear got in your way. Even now, it chokes all words from you.

But that’s fine. You think, somehow, Jake understands anyway.

He’s quiet for a while and then says, “Why are you here, then? In Fightertown, I mean.”

It’s a good question, one you don’t know how to answer. 

Finally, you say, “My mother died.” 

And then you freeze. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, and suddenly it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. 

Haltingly, almost shell-shocked by it, you continue, “And it… it made me realize that I’d built my whole life around her. And when she was gone… well, that life was gone, too. Like that dream about the house with the blue door… It didn’t seem to matter anymore. So I just left. I just… drove until I got to Fightertown, and then I decided to stay because… I don’t know. There was nowhere else to go, anyway.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and you concentrate hard to blink them away.

“And do you like it here?”

You’re so grateful. You’re so grateful he doesn’t tell you that he’s sorry about your mother, that he doesn’t judge you for not having had a life apart from her. That he doesn’t ask about your father or your friends. So grateful that somehow, again, he seems to understand what you need: Not the past, but the present.

“Yeah,” you say and are surprised to find you’re telling the truth. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

Then you glance at him. “Unless the most obnoxious naval aviator in the history of the world almost knocks you over in a bar, of course.”

Jake laughs, a carefree, bellowing sound that has you feeling a little bit like you’re soaring.

“Only because you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he says, winking at you.

And it’s toeing the line. Not really friendly, not really platonic, but so Hangman, so Jake, that you don’t even mind.

You smile back, and then you turn your eyes up to that sky, to those stars, and listen to the whisper of the waves, holding tight to Jake’s hand.

+

The thing about fear is that it’s not a one-time situation. Overcoming it once doesn’t get rid of it - it just goes stagnant for a while, lulls you into a false sense of security, and then it pounces again.

So walking into the Hard Deck is a little easier, but the rest of it is just as hard. Reassuring yourself that you’re wanted here, that you’re not intruding, that nobody will look at you weirdly.

Hangman and Phoenix invited you. Separately, you tell yourself. You know the owner. You’re gonna be okay.

You can’t spot any familiar faces when you finally get the courage to make it from the front porch into the actual bar. It’s all just strangers mingling.

Mostly looking for a little bit of liquid courage and something to occupy your time with until the others arrive, you make your way to the bar and flag down one of the unfamiliar bartenders to order a cocktail.

After, you turn to people watch. They’re everywhere, laughing and flirting, people lining up shots in neat rows on bar tops, people knocking back shots, people playing darts and pools and footsie, people laughing with their friends or at their friends. It’s almost shocking, all that display of life. It makes you think of yourself, alone in your room for days, weeks, years. How much did you miss?

“Can I buy you another?”

The guy is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice. Not Hangman-level handsome, but… that’s not the sort of thoughts you should be having anyway. Curls, kind eyes, a dimple on his cheek. Cute. The kind of guy you might have stared at in the supermarket a few months ago, would have lost your mind over if he had smiled at you in the frozen foods section.

“Oh,” you say as he slides up to you, folding and bracing his arms on the tabletop. “Uhm…”

“No strings attached,” he promises, holding up his hands like he wants you to check that he’s not carrying any weapons. “You just looked lonely.”

You laugh, feeling a little bit out of your depth. “Did I really?”

He nods, eyes twinkling, and says, “Yep. I could tell all the way from the other end of the bar.”

That’s probably not a good sign, you think. Gotta start working on my poker face.

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the guy introduces himself, offering you a hand.

This feels a lot like a precipice.

Part of you knows you should give in. Let this guy buy you a drink, let him flirt with you, let him take you home. Get an ego boost and have a nice time. This, you think, was what Penny meant all the time she talked about getting the sexual frustration out of your system. 

Not whatever the fuck that twisted thing you and Hangman had going on was. Definitely not that, because it didn’t get a single thing out of your system. In fact, it only ended up injecting more into your system. More worries, more insecurities, more pain.

And it’s over, you know it is. He listened when you asked him to stop, and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not interested in you, that you were less than a fling, that you were just a possibility that never came true. That you were nothing. And yet… you’re not ready to let it go. To let go of whatever sliver of hope you’ve held onto.

But then you think of Jake at the restaurant, how easily he’d brushed it all off, how he’d said friends. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not really. He’d just wanted to get it out of the way. And he’s so confident, so sure of what he wants, and if he wanted you… then he would have gone after you by now.

You know he would have.

So you smile and say, “Are you a naval aviator?”

Jason seems surprised by that, but he nods his head. “Yes, Ma’am. Just graduated Top Gun a few weeks ago.”

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

Jason laughs. “Not the reaction I usually get. Are you not a big fan of pilots, then?”

“Not particularly,” you say. “I don’t think they’re good for my mental health. Or the environment.” 

And then he laughs, and his dimple distracts you, and it’s light and not heavy, and it feels simple in a way you’ve been missing.

So you let him buy you a drink. And you let him flirt with you. And you try, try, try your best to forget about the anxiety gnawing at your bones, about the voice telling you it’s wrong, about everything that’s holding you back.

You just want to be normal. You just want to have fun. You just want to be free of the ghosts haunting you.

And in a way, it’s easy. Jason isn’t aggressive like Jake was, isn’t so handsome it seems like a miracle he’s even looking at you. He’s nice and funny and a little bit boring, and that’s good, boring is good because boring is normal, it’s trivial, it’s safe.

Hesitantly, you place a hand on Jason’s arm and bask in the way it feels when he smiles at you.

And then the intrusive thought comes, unbidden, unstoppable, bleak: If Jake were here…

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

+

Jake is having an aneurism.

That’s the only logical explanation for any of this. He feels like somebody is peeling his skin off like he’s an orange.

“Yo, Hangman!” 

A hand starts wiping up and down through the air right in front of him rapidly, and Jake blinks against the blur of colors it leaves on his vision.

“There you are, dude,” Payback says, laughing. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake mutters, turning back to his friends. “You’re just not that interesting, Payback.”

Way less interesting than that scene unfolding near the bar, at least. But also decidedly less prone to provoke Jake into committing arson, so probably the safer choice.

“What are you looking at anyway?” Payback inquires, getting on his tippy-toes to look across everybody else’s heads.

Jake just manages to catch him by a shoulder and force him in the opposite direction. The last thing he needs is to get shit for this, too. He’s already got enough to deal with by just trying to untangle the thicket of his own emotions.

“I’m looking for Bob. We shouldn’t leave minors unaccompanied,” he lies, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel into his voice.

From where she is leaning against the vintage Pacman machine, Phoenix gives him a look like she isn’t buying anything that he’s putting down. But she doesn’t point it out, and Jake sort of feels like weeping in gratitude.

He takes a seat at the table next to Coyote and starts playing with the label on his beer bottle, mainly so he doesn’t feel the urge to start looking for you in the mess of the crowd again. The paper is soaked through by the condensation, crumbling into tiny balls that stick between his fingers when he rubs too hard.

“So, day after tomorrow, huh?” Fanboy says. “Gonna know our fate. You nervous, Hangman?”

The worst part is, Hangman - Hangman, of all people, whose life for the past ten years has revolved around little more than the Navy, than his plane, than his performance up in the air - has pretty much forgotten that the day after tomorrow they’d announce who was about to go on the mission that could potentially become the most important of his career. It’s just that there are much more imminent, pressing things happening right here, right now. Like some dude chatting you up with what are probably the sleaziest lines you’ve ever heard just a few steps away.

He clears his throat. “Why would I be nervous?” he asks, but it lacks his usual edge. “I’m going anyways, no question about it.”

“I don’t know,” Rooster interjects. “You’ve been flying sort of shitty the past week.”

Jake’s fingers clench around the neck of the bottle.

“No shittier than you, Bradshaw. You fly like you’re trying to let senior citizens pass through traffic.”

Payback frowns. “You okay, Hang? That barely made any sense.”

Truthfully, Jake is so distracted he can’t even concentrate enough to come up with something that’ll really piss Rooster off. Not when you’re right there, and he’s not the one making you laugh. Not when he asked you to be friends while really all he can think about is you underneath him with that glazed look in your eyes he’s put there once before, you moaning his name, you in his shirt, you with your mouth wrapped around his…

“Hangman!” That’s Phoenix, now sitting next to Rooster, looking like she’s about an inch from slapping him over the head with her beer bottle. “I asked you a question.”

“Huh?”

Everybody’s staring at him. He’s still trying not to look at the bar.

“I said,” Phoenix repeats, speaking deliberately slow like she’s scared he won’t understand otherwise, “that I don’t want to see any physical fights. So we’re all going to accept the decision tomorrow. Get it, Bagman?”

He shrugs. Right now, he’s so decidedly uninterested in who goes on that mission he can’t imagine even getting upset about it.

“Fine by me,” he mutters and moves to take a sip of his beer. Only, when he tips his head back, it brings the bar right into his line of sight.

And there you are, sitting almost in the exact same spot you were the very first night he approached you. Back in one of those dresses, the ones that drive him insane, the ones playing much more prominent roles in his late-night fantasies than he’d ever like to admit. Legs crossed primly and tucked to the side, all that smooth, soft skin, and Jake can’t stop himself, can’t not imagine getting to run his mouth down the line of that leg, can’t not imagine taking that dress off you, can’t not imagine making you whimper for him, again and again and…

A pale hand lands on the small of your back, just half an inch from where the dress drops low to expose that skin he was just thinking about, and Jake feels like somebody sucker-punched him.

“Okay, somebody switch seats with me right now,” he says, and his voice has climbed to unprecedented heights. It just bursts out of him.

It startles Bob so much he almost drops his beer. Liquid goes sloshing all over Coyote’s lap, who yelps, jumps up, and dumps half his whiskey over Payback in the process. In the ensuing mayhem, everybody seems to forget about the culprit.

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

She looks at him with the sort of knowing, accusatory eyes that make him think he should be on his knees begging for forgiveness or something.

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

And then a hand ghosts over his shoulder, fingernails painted a delicate pink, and for a second, he hopes, thinks he’s going to turn around and find you there, smiling at him, eyes shining, but it’s a different face that greets him. His heart, soaring for a moment, plummets to the ground.

He’s seen the girl around the bar a few times before. She’s pretty. The type he’d go for usually, the kind of pretty thing he’d fuck and leave and never think about again.

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes the corners of her painted mouth curl up like the lower half of a heart. “I’ve seen you around. Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s the sort of straightforward behavior he prefers usually. Hangman has never been much for playing it coy, for insecurity. He likes someone who goes after what they want, who knows what they want. At least he’s always thought he did.

For a second, he can see it: a little bit of flirting, some coy touches, letting her take him home, getting his rocks off, then disappearing forever.

But his heart just isn’t in it. The whole thing feels empty. Useless. Wrong.

So he shrugs her hand off, gives her a polite smile, and says, “Maybe some other time.”

The girl is drunk enough that she doesn’t care much, just shrugs and saunters off to find someone more accepting of her advances.

When Jake turns to face his friends again, Coyote is gaping at him with his mouth hanging open.

“What?” Jake asks, for the first time in his life actually uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s receiving.

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

“Cause you just…” Payback looks seriously concerned. “You just turned down a pretty girl, man. Are you feeling okay?”

And that’s when Jake realizes what just happened. With a dawning sort of horror, he sets his bottle down on the table and stares at the condensation rings, the crumpled napkins, the half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His head is spinning.

So, like… what the fuck?

Since Jake finally got to move out of his parent’s house, since he got out from under the gaze of his father - always judging, always finding him lacking - since he joined the Navy and found out that he’s one of the most talented pilots they’ve ever had, he’s had a pretty good idea of who he is.

Arrogant, sure. Cocky, even. Abrasive, at times, calculated, cunning. But with enough skill to back all of it up a hundred times. He knows he’s handsome, knows he can get any girl he wants, and he enjoys that. Basks in it. Based half his personality on it.

So Hangman knows who he is. Knew it perfectly well, right up until the moment he met you.

And just like that, he’s going not just after an inexperienced girl but a girl who might not even like him, and he keeps telling himself it’s just about the chase, just because you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and there’s something exciting about getting someone who doesn’t make it easy, but it’s starting to sound like a bad excuse, because then why did he ask you to be friends just so he could stay close to you, why did he tell you things he’s never told a soul, why did he feel like the earth was shattering beneath him when you said he was a good pilot? Why can’t he stop thinking of you?

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?” 

Even Rooster sounds genuinely concerned, but Jake doesn’t hear him. Not really, at least.

Because up at the bar, the guy has leaned in even closer, leaned all the way into your space (and Jake just knows he stinks of beer and sweat, and his palms are probably damp where he’s groping your waist), and is whispering something into your ear and you’re giggling, and Jake sees full-on, deep, deep scarlet.

He’s out of his seat before he can register it, halfway through the bar before he remembers moving. Elbowing people out of the way and probably spilling more than one drink in his path. He doesn’t care. In fact, he doesn’t even notice.

All his attention is laser-focused on you and all the places that dirtbag is touching you.

“Alright,” he says much too forcefully when he finally reaches the bar and slaps his hands onto the countertop with a noise so loud it almost has you jumping out of your seat. “I think I told Penny all her drinks are on my tab. Like perpetually. Eternally. Whatever, pick one.”

The poor, unassuming bartender stares at him. “I… Who are you, Sir, like I…?”

Jake ignores him. He turns to face you and the douchebag, both of you staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Now he’s a little concerned his smile might look like a serial killer about to woo his newest victim.

“Uhm,” you say slowly, glancing at the guy behind you, “Hangman….”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupts before you can even get out a complete sentence, “I told you you can call me Jake.”

You pause. Then you start again, “Jake….”

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He leans around you, offering a hand. “I’m Hangman.”

The guy blinks. “Yeah, hi. Jason. Nice to meet you.”

Jake nods, shakes his hand, then turns to you. Bends down to press a kiss to your cheek, lingers for too long. Draws back and basks in the stunned look on your face, the wide eyes, just for a moment.

“You sleep well after last night?” he asks. “You must have been exhausted.”

And he’s laying it on thick, he knows he is. Leaves his hand resting on your shoulder for too long, lets his thumb stroke over your collarbone in a slow, drawn-out movement just for the hell of it.

He can’t explain it. It’s just… it’s just that he can’t forget the guy’s hands all over you. It’s just that he can’t forget your face last night, bathed in the moonlight, your laughter that made him think his chest was caving in. It’s just that he feels if somebody else makes you laugh like that, he may never be happy again.

“I don’t…” You blink up at him, face almost entirely blank. “What?”

One of his hands lands on your thigh, just above the knee, half on the fabric of your dress, half on the warm skin of your leg. And it’s pushing it, he knows that, but it’s not like he decided to touch you. It’s more of an instinct, a reassurance to himself. You’re there. You haven’t left.

Not yet, anyway.

He can see the way Jason looks at you. He knows that look, knows exactly what he wants to do, and it lights a fire inside of him, something pathetic and possessive and uncalled for.

And all he can think is: That guy won’t treat you right, I can do it better, I know what you like, I know it, I see it, I know you…

But apart from his own ego, apart from the cocky part of him that knows he’s got you pegged, knows he could set you off and have you coming on his tongue, his fingers, his cock quicker than you could make sense of, there’s something else there too. A strange, unfamiliar protectiveness. Something that makes him think: What if this guy hurts you?

Not because you’re fragile, not because you don’t know yourself, but because Jake knows you. Has seen you. 

Knows this runs deeper than anything else, even if he doesn’t know what that means. Even if it scares him shitless.

He can’t let some other guy take you home. He just can’t.

“Hangman,” Jason says, leaning across you and giving Jake a small, almost shy smile. “Man, you’re a legend.”

“I…” Jake was prepared to hit him with something else bordering on rude, but this throws him for a loop. “What?”

“At Top Gun. Everybody talks about you all the time. It’s an honor to meet you.” 

The guy’s eyes are positively glowing, his cheeks ruddy with alcohol and excitement. Jake, who was hellbent on hating him, suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

“I’m sorry, by the way.” The guy - boy, some spiteful part of Jake things - gestures in your general direction. For a second, Jake feels indignant on your behalf before he realizes he’s the one responsible for this. “I didn’t realize this was your girl. Backing up right away. Sorry.”

With raised hands, he disappears into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the sea of uniforms.

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

You’ve slid half out of your seat, gathering your bag from where you’ve draped it over the back of the chair by the strap.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to help you but withdrawing his hands immediately when you whirl to face him.

There’s something on your face, something he’s never seen before, and with his stomach dropping down to his knees, he wonders suddenly and belatedly if he may have miscalculated severely.

That night at the bar, when you’d walked up to him and told him to leave you alone, it had been a little like somebody had pulled the ground right from beneath his feet. Like that magic trick with the tablecloth, only this one had been bad and botched and bungled, all the china and the glasses and the cutlery falling and smashing.

And yet the way you’d looked at him… He could have sworn you weren’t telling the truth. 

Jake isn’t dumb, fuck what Phoenix says, and he’s been with enough girls to recognize desire when he sees it. So he was almost entirely sure you were lying when you told him to leave you alone.

But then… what if that had just been his own hope? Building nothing into something. Wanting you to want him the same way he wants you.

In the end, what he thought you wanted didn’t matter. All he had to go off were your words, and those were clear enough. The choice needed to be yours, or it meant nothing.

And Jake was a lot - bastard, asshole, fuckboy - but he wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want. Never.

So he’d let up. He’d listened to you. He’d tried to pull back. Even as it had hurt him in a way he could not explain. Even as it had broken him apart.

And then Maverick and Penny had to meddle, and he’d gotten to know you in a way he hadn’t planned for at all. Had learned that he didn’t just want you, he liked you. Wanted to keep listening to you as you rambled on and on in intelligible loops about books you liked. Wanted to read them, wanted to talk to you about them. Wanted to make those dreams come true: buy you that house with the blue door, give you that dog.

He can’t understand it. He can’t explain it. All he knows is he wants to be close to you.

But with the way you’re looking at him right now, pure, unadulterated anger on your face, he realizes you might not feel the same way at all.

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused. “What did I do?”

This is not his day at all. Or his week. In fact, he’s not sure it has been his month.

You frown at him for a moment, completely silent, and it unsettles Jake in a way he can’t explain. 

He’s always known who he is, has been so sure of it, but now, with you… It’s like you make him question everything.

“I’m going home,” you say, pushing past him and heading for the door.

He’s too dazed to move for a moment, and then he’s chasing after you, trying to recapture his earlier speed but failing. It’s gotten even more crowded in here, every available inch of space occupied with sweaty bodies. He calls your name, but you don’t turn.

By the time he catches up to you, you’re out in the parking lot.

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

You whirl on him with a murderous expression on your face. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Don’t call me that,” you say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Since you first met, the two of you have been exchanging sharp remarks. You have teased, you have taunted, you have circled around each other like wild cats around prey. Always toeing the line between flirting and fighting. Always toeing the line between foreplay and sparring. A tightrope act.

But this tips the scales decidedly. There’s nothing coquettish about it, nothing good-natured. The words have teeth, have fangs, have claws. They sink into his heart with perfect precision.

“I…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was…” He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. Tries to grin but thinks it might end up as more of a grimace. “I was saying hello.”

You shake your head before he’s finished his sentence. “No, you weren’t. You were ruining my night. You always… you always have to ruin my nights.”

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

“I just…” Jake realizes he might have to explain this to you. Or at least attempt to, since he doesn’t even know what his explanation would be. “That’s not a good guy.”

You glance back at the bar, and an incredulous expression spreads across your face. 

“That?” you repeat, voice rising. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

“So? I wasn’t… I wasn’t about to marry him.”

Jake’s chest feels tight. He’s breathless when he asks, “What were you going to do with him, then?”

“I was…” You shake your head suddenly, breaking off halfway through the sentence, changing course. “That’s none of your business!”

“Yeah, it is!” he protests, but he knows he’s in the wrong. Still, he can’t stop himself. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Oh my god!” You throw your hands into the air, and he’s never seen you so upset. Everything that came before now seems only like a crude imitation. This, though… this is true, genuine anger. “Stop it. He’s… he’s just a cocky pilot, you’re not that different….”

Somehow, the comparison has Jake clenching his teeth. He amends, “He’s not good for you, then.”

For a moment, your face goes slack, and he knows he’s just said the wrong thing.

“That is notyour decision,” you say, voice suddenly quiet and all the more dangerous for it. “That’s no one’s decision but my own.”

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that. 

You’ll always make your own choices. He hasn’t had a shred of an illusion to the opposite even for a moment, hasn’t even wanted it any other way. You will always go your own way.

You’re so much stronger than you realize. Going on after losing your mother. Giving up a whole life. Starting over a million miles away without family, without friends, without anything but yourself.

It’s what he admires. It’s what drives him insane.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says because it’s the truth. “You’re my friend.”

Something on your face shatters. 

“Friend,” you whisper dispassionately. “Sure.”

You rub your hand over your face, and suddenly you look so tired. All he wants is to wrap you in his arms, tug you closer, take you home. Make sure you’re okay.

“Hangman,” you say softly, almost gently. “I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can be your friend.”

And it’s fear coursing through him. Naked, unmistakable fear.

If he can’t see you again, what will he do? This new Jake, the one who’s unsure about everything unless he’s right next to you, that new Jake… what will he do?

How can he go back to how he used to be when it’s like slipping into a costume that doesn’t fit anymore?

“My name is Jake,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he needs to hear you say it. “I want you to call me Jake.”

“Stop it!” Your voice is louder again, an edge of desperation creeping into it. “Everybody else calls you Hangman, who cares if I….”

“You’re not everybody else!” It just… slips out. And then it’s out in the open, and he can’t believe he said it, doesn’t know where it came from, only knows that it’s the truth. “Not to me.”

You’re staring at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers tangled in the straps of your bag.

And you’re so beautiful, even in this empty parking lot, even in the unflattering light of the street lamps. Even with the sweat pooling at your hairline and the anger in your eyes.

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

But he’s shaking his head. He let you go once, but now… now he has to… he has to…

“You’re special,” he says, even as you’re shaking your head. “You are to me, sweetheart, you are, you….”

“You said it meant nothing,” you blurt out, then shut your mouth with an audible click of your teeth as if you wish you could clamp the words back in somehow.

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

You take a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and then you say, “That night when I told you to leave me alone. You told Coyote that this… thing between us. That it was nothing.”

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

“I… I did?” he asks, words slow, sluggish, like he’s thrusting them forward through the mud.

Your face falls. You say, voice almost a whisper, “You don’t even remember, do you?”

He wants to say no, I do, of course, I do. He wants to protest.

But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s lie to you.

Truth is, he doesn’t know at all what he said. The moments after your confrontation in the bar are shrouded in a fog of confusion for him. He was just trying to make sense of what you’d said, untangle the mess of his mind. He was just trying to save face.

It’s not nothing, he should tell you. It was never nothing.

But then, if it’s not nothing… what is it? This thing between us, you’d called it.

Jake doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t even understand why he can’t just let you go the way he usually does. He could just turn around, go back inside, find some other pretty girl, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

I think of you when I go to sleep and when I’m touching myself, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I carry you with me up into the plane, into the sky, into the clouds. I want to sit with you in bars and in restaurants and on beaches. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want, I want, I want…

There’s pain on your face, something raw, something real.

Jake can’t breathe.

“I’m leaving,” you say, and then you just stand there for a moment, looking at him almost like you expect him to say something.

He seems to have lost all ability to speak. You purse your lips, your eyes waterlogged, and then you turn on your heel and walk to the car.

Jake stands in the gravel of the parking lot until the headlights of your car have faded into the dark of the night. Then he trots back into the bar blindly, finds their now mostly deserted table at the back, and slumps into a chair.

He feels empty.

Phoenix’s face appears in his vision after what could have been five minutes or five hours, almost comically large.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Jake says, but his voice sounds like a stranger’s.

Immediately, Phoenix squats down to look at him better. “What?”

He points at his chest, where it feels like a tiger is on a rampage. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My chest.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Phoenix, I think I fucked up. Like… big time.”

Her face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. She asks, a tinge of panic edging into her voice, “Did you drink too much? Hangman?”

He shakes his head. “I think I hurt her. I don’t know, I… I think I fucked it up.”

She searches his face for a moment, and then she’s straightening up, taking Hangman by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. Her grip is like a vice around his wrist, and he yelps.

“Alright,” she says, “you’re coming with me. Now.”

Jake would have protested, but the look Phoenix gives him shuts him right up. If there’s anybody he’s ever met capable of coldblooded homicide, it’s Natasha Trace.

So he lets himself be tugged into the last corner not yet wholly occupied by people past the halfway point to intoxication.

Phoenix lets go of his wrist in favor of stemming her hands into her hips. He’s pretty sure he’ll find bruises on his skin come morning.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Jake asks, even though he has a pretty sure idea where this is going.

“Don’t… meddle, okay. You had your chance, you blew it. Let her move on.”

“It’s not…” He struggles. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Phoenix repeats. God, she really is capable of violence, he knows it, and she’s not far from resorting to it. “Are you stupid, Hangman?”

He opens his mouth, but she’s already plowing on.

“Friends don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip their clothes off and go at it in crowded bars, Jacob.”

Jacob. The last time somebody called him that was when his mom caught him trying to sneak out of the window at sixteen to go see a band with his first girlfriend. He got grounded for three weeks.

Somehow, he thinks Phoenix won’t be that merciful.

“Like… obviously you have some kind of feelings for her, but….”

He doesn’t even hear the rest of what she says. Her mouth keeps moving, but none of her words reach his ears. All he can hear is a high, whistling noise cutting clean through his eardrums.

“Hold on,” he interrupts, “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Phoenix pauses for a moment, staring at him like he’s trying to convince her the earth is flat.

“Jake,” she says - not Hangman, not Bagman, not even Jacob, and hoooh boy, he’s in for it now - slowly, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says.

Phoenix blinks. Takes a moment. Another. Then she says, almost carefully, “Jake, you can’t be that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

It’s not the first time she’s called him stupid, but it might be the first time she actually means it.

And Jake would protest, only he feels pretty stupid right about now, too.

“Please…” She touches her forehead like she has a headache and exhales loudly, slowly. “Please tell me you’re not honestly stupid enough not to know.”

“Know what?” Jake asks, and he’s never felt less like himself.

He’s in control of things. He takes risks gladly, but they’re always calculated. Things don’t just… fly under his radar.

But right now, he feels like he missed something profound.

Phoenix looks at him with what could be either pity or actual hatred.

“Jake,” she says, enunciating each word with perfect precision, “you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” he says, almost automatically, and he’s so dizzy.

Phoenix waves his words away with a quick jerk of her hand. 

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone, Jake,” she tells him. “When you’re with her, how do you feel?”

“I feel…” And he can’t believe he’s talking about this, but in a way, it makes sense. Maybe Phoenix is the only person he could ever tell this. Phoenix, who has always seen through him and all his bravado. “When I’m with her, it’s like… like I can just be myself, you know? And I want… I want to know her. Everything about her, even the bad things, but I want her to know me, too. Not just Hangman but… Jake. And I want to… I just want to be with her all the time. I want to tell her about, like, everything, even the little things that I’d never tell somebody else, and I…. When I’m with her, it doesn’t feel like I need to prove anything. It’s like I can just be. I’ve never… never felt that before.”

His voice trails off.

The irritation has bled out of Phoenix’s face, making way for something softer, smoother, something almost tender. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Bagman,” she says, voice halfway to affectionate, “you know what that means.”

For a few moments, he just breathes.

And yeah, he does. In a way, maybe he’s known for a while now, at least since the set-up, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. That it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. That it’s so much more than nothing. That it’s so much, it scares him.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t instantaneous. It crept up on him. You permeated his life in stages, and now you’re everywhere.

At first, he just thought you were pretty, thought he could get into your pants and out of your life in the span of a night. But you gave as good as you got, kept pushing back, and suddenly it was like a personal quest to get you to give in. You looked up at him on the beach behind the Hard Deck through eyes as scared as they were determined, and something shifted. Not profound yet, not significant, but the first domino to drop in a long, long, long line.

And somewhere, at some moment, he could no longer pinpoint, the game he’d played had ended, and he hadn’t even noticed. The last domino had toppled.

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

“I’m in love with her?” he says, almost a question with how his voice rises towards the tail-end of the sentence.

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him. 

“Oh God,” he says. “Then I… then I really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agrees through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I think you really did.”

+

It’s the hottest day of the year, and the aircon at the gas station breaks down.

The heat is unbearable. You stripped off your employee vest hours ago, but it barely helps. The single fan you found in the back oscillates stale air through the room.

You’re counting down the minutes until the end of your shift, until you can drive aimless circles through town just to bask in the cool of your car. Until you can drown in your own self-pity and another family-size serving of pasta and the dark thoughts swirling around you like storm clouds.

Your boss has disappeared into the back room, and it’s only five more minutes until you’re off, so you trek towards the cold drinks section and wonder if you should spend the few extra dollars on an iced tea. When the bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer, you’re still standing undecided in front of the opened fridge, letting cool air caress your face.

Phoenix is in civilian clothes, her hair released from its tight bun for the first time. It falls in glossy waves down to her shoulder blades as she smiles at you warmly.

“Hi.”

“Oh.” The sight of her makes something in your stomach clench uncomfortably. Couldn’t she have come in five minutes later? You’d have been gone by then. “Hi…”

“Penny said you’d be here.”

You blink. “You… were you looking for me?”

Phoenix nods and steps up to the register to look at the cheap sunglasses on display.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says casually.

The fear of it all creeps up on you, and then it envelopes you. You’ve been trying and failing to push it to the very back corners of your mind for the past day, keeping your hands busy in hopes it would keep your head idle. Pretending you weren’t constantly replaying last night in your head - the bar, the parking lot, the anger, and the ridiculousness of it all. Jake saying you’re special, and then not even remembering the moment he’d broken your heart. Looking helpless in a way you’d never seen before.

In the rearview mirror, growing rapidly smaller and further until he disappeared completely, Jake looked almost like a little child.

“You and Hangman had a fight,” Phoenix says, and it’s not even a question. Just a statement.

“Yeah,” you agree because it doesn’t feel like there’s much sense in arguing. And no reason to, either.

Phoenix nods and watches as you round the counter. For some reason, you feel it’s not a bad idea to get some distance between you and her for this conversation. The counter is like a barrier.

“Hangman is…” Phoenix hesitates. “Hangman is an idiot.”

“No, he isn’t.” The words are out before you can stop them, and then frustration almost makes you bite your tongue. “He… he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you hate him.”

You swallow, look away. Shrug your shoulders. “No, I… I don’t know.”

None of this matters. After last night, you’re never going to see him again.

For a long, long while, Phoenix is silent. And then she says, “He’s in love with you.”

And it should be earth-shattering, world-stops-spinning, music-stars-playing. But they’re just words.

Your heart is racing.

“He…” You shake your head. It’s a cliff, the plummet beneath you, your fingers gripping the edge for dear life. You want to believe her so very, very badly, but your common sense tells you it can’t be true. “He barely knows me.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, chuckling, then shakes her head. “I know, but… you have to understand… This is something special. I mean, this is Hangman we’re talking about… he doesn’t open up to people.”

You think about sitting side by side out on the beach. Sharing secrets before you let the waves carry them out to sea. Spilling your heart into his hands and trusting him with it. Realizing, suddenly, that he had done the same.

“I think…” Phoenix’s voice has gone very gentle. “I think you’re very similar. You and him.”

A week ago, you would have laughed at her. Just five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed her. And now…

You fall.

When you think about it, it’s not so far-fetched. Jake, up in those clouds. You, down on the ground. In the end, you’re both lonely. In the end, you’re both afraid.

“Anyway.” She smiles at you and pushes off the register. “I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Something inside you stumbles. 

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

“Yeah, we’re shipping out tomorrow morning.”

“Shipping…” Suddenly, it takes tremendous effort to breathe. “What?”

Phoenix pauses, furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t Jake tell you? About the mission?”

“What mission?”

Phoenix groans, shaking her head. “See, I told you. He really is an idiot.”

+

Jake looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. The dark bags beneath his eyes have bloomed into purplish bruising overnight, and he blinks at you almost owlishly.

 “Why weren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That’s the first thing you say to him, and it’s not at all what you were planning in the car on the way here. It slips out the moment you see him, and your voice isn’t firm or strong at all, it’s a small, fragile thing. A teacup teetering on the edge of a moving tray, about to shatter.

He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “How did you get here?”

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

Jake has rented a place on the second floor of a modern apartment complex off base. It’s so much nicer than the house you’re living in, with stairs that don’t creak, no mildew in the hallway, and locks that look like they actually work.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and you sound out of breath. It’s not even because of the stairs you just took two steps at a time. “Why weren’t you?”

Jake exhales audibly, nods once, and opens the door wider. “You wanna come inside?”

Only now do you notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung almost as low as his swim trunks were that day on the beach. Hastily, you snap your eyes away, head already spinning.

You push past him and into the apartment, careful not to touch any of his skin. Who knows what other unhinged things that might drive you to do?

His apartment is neat, tidy, clean, but that doesn’t surprise you much. It’s also obviously a rental, lacking any personal touches except for a few shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door and his Top Gun diploma and plaque displayed on a dresser. Of course Jake travels with those, you think, almost grinning. He’d never miss out on a chance to show off.

There’s an aircon blasting somewhere, and you almost crumble to your feet with gratitude.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, heading towards what you suppose to be the kitchen. “I have… water? I’d offer to make you a Mojito, but I don’t think I have any limes. Or any rum. Or any mint, so…”

“Can you…” You falter and watch as he pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the wood. “Can you just explain it to me?”

His shoulders lift and lower with his breaths. After a moment that feels endless, he turns to face you.

“Explain it to you?”

You nod. “Why you didn’t tell me. Why you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, unperturbed, but there’s something affective to the movement, something almost performative.

“After last night… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re shaking your head, jaw clenching. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? That you’re about to go on some, some… stupid top-secret mission, that you might die, that….”

He interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t matter. I’m not…”

“Of course it matters!” Your voice is shaking. “It matters! It changes… everything.”

He squints at you. “How could it change anything?”

“It… it changes things because….” You stumble, try to find the words that elude you. “Because I thought we’d have more time.”

“More time?” Something about his voice is almost hopeful. “I thought you… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He’s right. You didn’t. At least you thought you didn’t. You thought the best thing you could possibly ever do for yourself, for him, was to stay as far away from Jake Seresin as possible. In a change-your-name-and-leave-the-country kind of way.

And then Phoenix walked into that gas station, and losing him had suddenly seemed so real, had gone from a distant fever dream to reality, and you didn’t have much choice anymore. All you wanted was to see him again. All you wanted was for him to call you sweetheart, smile and flirt and tease. Even if it drove you crazy. Even if it was the last time.

“Hangman…” You shake your head, correct yourself, “Jake, I… Do you like me?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you knocked at his door, and something in his expression changes. Without hesitation, without a slither of doubt in his words, he says, “Of course. Of course, I like you.”

You have to sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from jumping several paces ahead. In your chest, your heart speeds up.

“And not just…” you pause, the word carnally already on your tongue. “It’s not that you just want to fuck me?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “No. Not at all. Yeah, sure, that’s what it was about in the beginning, but then… I just… It started changing, and I’d never felt that, and I… I think I got scared.”

“You got scared?” you ask, not unaware of the note of disbelief in your voice. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jake could ever be scared. Someone so confident, so brilliant.

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s a glimpse of the Jake you know, the one who drives you to the brink of insanity, “I’ll take that shock as a compliment.”

It’s a white-hot relief to find that he can still joke with you. That not all of the relationship you’ve built has washed away in the torrent of the last few weeks. 

“It’s just…” You look for a way to explain it. “I don’t know. You just always seemed like you had everything figured out.”

That makes him laugh, and you stare at his face scrunching up, his eyes shining. He says, “I’ve got nothing figured out. I haven’t even figured out what to eat for dinner tonight.”

You laugh. Even through all of it, he can still make you laugh. Even though nothing is resolved, even though you don’t understand any of it, he can always, always make you laugh. Even when you don’t want to. Even back when you still swore you hated him.

Jake settles down, and something darker crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is almost hesitant.

“I’ve never… I’ve just never done something like this?”

“Like this?” you ask softly. 

Neither of you has ever defined this thing between you. You’re scared now, scared he has a different idea about it. Maybe you don’t want to hear his answer, want to live just a moment longer in this fantasy where Phoenix is right, where he likes you, where he wants you the same way you want him.

Carnally, romantically, wholly. Just… all of him. The good, the bad, the worst. The parts that drive you insane with anger and the ones that drive you insane with lust. The way he can break you apart and put you back together.

If he calls you his friend again now, if he says it was nothing… You don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know that you won’t just break apart.

“Like this,” Jake repeats. “Something real.”

And your heart soars.

“Real?” you whisper, voice so quiet you think he can’t possibly have heard it.

Jake nods. “Real.”

“So it…” You trail off, shake your head, try again, “So it wasn’t nothing?”

He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And there’s none of his bravado, none of his cockiness. The armor is discarded, the mask is off, and there’s just Jake beneath it, not some hotshot pilot who’s got it all figured out, but a man, one who’s a dumbass at times and broken in so many ways and just as scared as you are.

You’ve never felt the way you feel about him before. Not once in your life.

“No,” he says, “it was never nothing to me. I’m sorry I said that. I know I hurt you, and it’s not an excuse, but I just… I just said it because I got scared. Because you dumped me, and honestly, I was hurt, and I liked you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had all of these doubts, and I didn’t understand it, but… It was never nothing, sweetheart. It was… everything.”

He shrugs, something on his face that tells you he’s embarrassed by his own earnestness, uncomfortable with it, but your ears are ringing with that word. You can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face - broad and genuine and a relief after all these days in that prison of your room. Like stepping into the light after all the darkness. Like setting foot into airconditioned climates after hours out in the Californian heat.

And Jake smiles back, like a reflex, like a magnet. If you move, I move.

He’s made a step, and now it’s your turn.

So gather all your courage, that slithery, dodgy thing that’s been eluding you for months, and you grab it by the neck and thrust it forward, say, “Jake, I think I’m in love with you.”

His face goes completely blank, and with a sudden, horrid lurch, you think that maybe you’ve miscalculated, maybe it’s too much, maybe…

You backpedal, “I know it’s way too early, and I don’t really know you, and maybe in a month I find out you don’t like peanut butter, and I can never speak to you again, but this has never happened to me before, Jake, and I’m terrified, I’m so scared, but I just know I wanna be with you, I wanna figure it out together, and I hope you feel the same way, because, because I… I think I…”

“I like peanut butter,” Jake interrupts you. When you blink at him through the haze your rambling has plunged you into, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The sort of grin you have never seen him give to anyone but you.

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

“In fact,” he says, moving closer to you, “I love peanut butter.”

“Yeah?” 

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, as you tip your face up, as your heart pounds, as your vision blurs, “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

And you don’t want to start crying, but you can’t help it. They just well up, like all those emotions you’ve been swallowing down for months now, longer than you’ve known him really, have finally ballooned into something too big for your body to hold, looking for any way out.

Jake frowns, wiping at a teardrop from your cheek like he’s trying to get an annoying stain off his laptop screen. Only like… a little gentler.

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

You laugh, a water, bubbling sound. “No, it’s… it’s not… it’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, looking down at you with his eyebrows raised way too high for it to be anything than exaggerated. “I confess my love, and you think it’s fine? Jesus, romance really is dead.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already, Bagman, or I’m gonna strangle you, I swear I will, I’m not….”

You don’t get to finish.

Kissing Jake isn’t at all like you imagined. He’s soft but firm, and yet you can tell, underneath it all, that he’s almost nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know at all how to proceed now that it’s actually real. That it means something.

All that cockiness melted away.

It’s so strange, but suddenly you realize that maybe, just for a moment, you’re going to have to take over. So you wrap your arms around his waist, draw him closer, draw him in, open your mouth beneath his and sigh into it all.

Jake comes willingly, follows your pace easily, smoothly, casually. The way he does everything. Ready to take anything you throw his way.

Finally, something inside of you seems to whisper. There’s an ache, a yearning, something that swells inside of you, grows bigger and stronger by the minute. You’ve never wanted someone this bad. It’s finally happening.

All that waiting, all that wishing and hoping and dreaming… It was worth it, you think. All of it.

His hands are warm on your cheeks, and they feel large, in a way that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are a little chapped, but he tastes sweet as if he’s been eating chocolate. He angles your face back a little more, his tongue running along the seam of your mouth, his fingers clenching into your hair, and your heart seizes as you think, suddenly, how close you came to losing this, to never having it at all, to missing out on it, and it’s so… it’s so…

You pull back when the intrusive thought inserts itself into the moment, when the anxiety makes your bones itch, look at him and say in a voice that seems to come from miles, worlds, universes away, “You’re not going to die, are you?”

It’s all you can think about - your mother fading away, flowers raining on an open grave, and being alone, alone, alone…

But Jake just smiles, rubs his thumb once along the line of your cheekbone, and says, “And miss out on getting to kiss you, sweetheart? Not a chance.”

And you haven’t belonged anywhere in so long. Have been so lonely, so broken, for so long you thought you’d never feel any different again. But here, right now, with him solid before you, with the knowledge that it’s real, it’s true, it’s not a game, and it’s not in your head, it doesn’t feel so horrible.

Because Jake knows you. Not just the pretty parts, but the ugly ones too.

How you push people away. How your fear paralyzes you sometimes, makes you mean and closed-off, and makes you lie. To him, to yourself, to everyone.

Jake has seen it, and he’s wanted you regardless.

And maybe that’s just it… how he can calm that anxiety with a word. Not banish it, not erase it, but silence that nagging, gnawing, horrible voice you’ve carried with you for so long. Make it bearable.

You’re going to die if you don’t have him. And yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but who cares? If the past few weeks have shown anything, it’s that you and Jake aren’t just good with the dramatics… you excel at them.

“I did it,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret the words, clamp your mouth shut and feel the blood rush up into your cheeks.

Jake draws back a little to get a better look at you. “Done what?”

And you could kiss him for taking it all in stride. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

Actually, you could kiss him just for… well, existing. But his ego is big enough already; he really doesn’t need to know all that.

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly. 

“Care to be a little more specific, sweetheart?” he says gently. “I think we’ve established I don’t have the best memory.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers going to trace a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, and there’s just so much of him, so much golden skin and so much muscle and so much confidence, and you’re going to fall apart, you know you are, you’re not going to survive this. “I touched myself. The way you asked.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, an exhale, but you know he heard you. Because the reaction is visceral - fingers tightening where they have slid from your face to your waist, chest undulating with the sharp intake of breath, shoulders stiffening.

Nerves make it impossible to look at him. What if he doesn’t like it, what if…

But, as always, somehow, Jake seems to know what you need. Seems to understand without ever having to say it that now, you want this to be something else. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, fingers hooking beneath your chin and turning it upwards, “look at me.”

And you do. It’s not like you have a choice, your body reacting before your mind even registers the words.

Right now, you think, Jake could tell you to jump off a bridge, and you’d go find the nearest one for a dive.

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, hodded, an intent shining in them that scares you as much as it excites you.

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

You nod, too scared your voice might fail you to try and use it.

“So, are you ready to answer my question, then?”

You know what he means right away, which is just a testament to your memory being decidedly better than his.

Instantly, the words ghost through your mind again, wrap around you like vapor. Have you been a good girl?

“I don’t…” You clear your throat as Jake steps even closer, walks you backward until your back hits the wall, until his hips are inches from yours, until he’s crowding against you like he wants to climb into your skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s so close now, and it’s different, the whole air is different. Charged now, darker. Hot even with the aircon running.

Maybe you’re going to faint. You feel like you’re going to faint.

“I think,” Jake says, voice lowered into a mumble, “you know exactly what I mean.”

He braces both hands on the wall by your head and cages you in. It’s so reminiscent of the night out behind the shack that you would have laughed if you hadn’t been scared to move even a muscle.

Not trusting your voice, you just shake your head. And it’s an act because by now, even you have understood that that’s half the fun in this game of power Jake and you have been playing from the very moment. But you also just want to hear him say it again, have been dreaming of those words on his lips for weeks now.

Jake hums, and his breath washes over your face. There’s barely an inch between the two of you now - you can’t even think anymore.

“I know you’re smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiles, just for a moment, and it’s sweet, a little dopey, and so decidedly out of place that you realize he knows just as well as you do that you’re pretending. That he appreciates it as much as you do.

“Alright,” he whispers finally, leans closer to run his mouth over the arch of your jaw, lips barely a whisper of a touch as you strain into it, breath catching in your throat. “Sweetheart… have you been a good girl for me?”

It’s the rasp in his voice and those words and the agonizing whisper of separation between your bodies. It’s the lack and the promise and that tight, hot coil of want that writhes in the pit of your stomach.

With a gasp, you clench your thighs together in search of relief.

“I don’t know,” you say because, truthfully, you don’t. You don’t even know your own name anymore.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

“Yes,” you say, immediately, voice almost a whine, head spinning, “yes, Jake, I’ve been a good girl for you.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, entirely unaffected, face blank as he moves to card a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you think about?”

He asks it almost casually like he’s asking about the weather or your shopping list and not just which sexual fantasies you got out of the spank bank the last time you got off.

“I…” And his hand begins tracing a long, long line from your cheekbone down to your mouth, dragging across your jaw and onto your jugular. And there, just once, he presses his thumb into your pulse point. It’s the barest hint of pressure, the illusion of the rest of his fingers wrapping around your throat, but your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. 

It draws the truth right out of you.

“You,” you gasp, “I thought about you.”

Jake acknowledges it with a nod, but there’s something to be said about his eyes flicking to your mouth, about the hand still braced against the wall by your head clenching.

“What part of me?”

You want to answer, but he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your throat where his hand had been just a moment ago, and for a second, you lose all ability to speak.

“I… Your mouth?”

“My mouth?” Jake repeats, words muffled against your skin.

Pressed flat against the wall, unable to move, with your heart pounding a patter against your ribcage, you can do nothing but nod. “Yeah.”

Jake hums, and the sound vibrates through your body. By now, you must be soaking through the front of your shorts, you think.

“And where did I put it?” he asks softly, drawing back to look at you.

And there’s such… hunger on his face, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slack, and it’s going to kill you, death on impact, you’re not going to make it.

But that’s fine. What a way to go, anyway.

“On… on me,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, and it’s so… mean. You like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls. “Be specific.”

“I don’t know.” 

It’s all you can say. Who cares what you thought about that night? He’s here right now, so can’t you just do it for real instead of talking about your fantasy like this?

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “You’re not that dumb.”

And it could be crossing a line - should cross a line, maybe. You never would have thought it possible that you could be into something like this, but you are. It sets you off in a way you wouldn’t have expected, makes you weak in the knees and dizzy, and you want him on you, want him everywhere, want him more than you’ve ever wanted him before.

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

When it came down to the wire, you know you’re the one with the finger on the lever anyway. The moment you say no, stop, he’ll listen. So you’ve always been the one with the final decision.

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

“I…” You have to close your eyes, swallow against the lump in your throat. “You put it between my legs.”

He squints.

“Here?” he asks, and his hand lands on the inside of your thigh, about two inches off from where you want him.

It startles you enough that you jump, a sound of surprise falling from your mouth. And then he applies pressure, squeezes the meat of your thigh once, and you’re moaning, eyes widening with the sensation of it all.

Jake grins.

Bastard, you think, but then that thought goes out the window too, disappears in the fog that has descended on you.

“You imagined my mouth here?”

You shake your head, whimper, tip your face back and open your mouth like you can compel him to kiss you just like that.

“Be a good girl and tell me, yeah?” he whispers, but there’s something strained to his voice, something glazed to his eyes.

“No, I…” But you can’t say it. Not like this. It’s still too much, and it frustrates you, makes your eyes burn, makes your breath hitch into a gasp like you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You whimper, “Jake.”

“Shh,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then finally, because in the end, he always does, Jake takes pity on you.

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

The sound that escapes you is pathetic, barely more than a whimper, and before you know it, you’re nodding as you slump against him.

“Tell me,” he says into your ear, hand still on your thigh, mouth still against your cheek, his breaths fast and loud, “I want her you say it.”

And if you weren’t sandwiched between him and the wall, if he weren’t holding you up, you know your legs would have given out.

“You…” You swallow and take a deep breath, stell yourself, say, “You put your mouth on my pussy.”

And he groans, a loud, sudden sound that seems to burst from him unbidden like he just couldn’t hold it back. 

You’re almost stunned by it, by the discovery that he’s just as affected by all this as you are, that he wants you, too, and it does your head in, makes the world spin, makes you clutch at him a little tighter.

“You like that?” he asks, something almost frantic to his words now. “Having your pussy eaten? Does that get you off, having a tongue in your tight little cunt?”

You can’t help it. You mewl, drop your head into the crook of his neck, and wish you could stay there. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, feel it soaking through the fabric. Every move has the seam of your denim shorts pressing against your cunt, sends shocks of lightning through you, but it’s not enough, not enough, never enough.

Your heart is beating in your throat, and the embarrassment takes a moment to set in amidst the chaos of your sensations, but it comes. Eventually, the way it always does.

“I…” You falter, squeeze your eyes shut, push your face further into his neck, so grateful he can’t see you, and then you whisper, as if speaking it out loud could somehow make it more real, “I’ve never… you know… no one’s ever….” 

Instantaneously, Jake’s fingers tighten against your thigh, and then they tangle in your hair, and he pulls your head back with enough force that you can feel it, that it travels in shock waves through your scalp, all the way down to your toes.

He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Honey,” he says, and there’s something serious to the word beneath all that desire.

And you have trouble concentrating because honey, he called me honey, and your chest is so full of that feeling you only get with him, the one that makes you feel that everything will be alright, that nothing will hurt you, that you’ll be just fine.

“Honey,” he repeats, “do you trust me?”

And you don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Not even for an instant.

“Yes,” you say, and mean it. Mean it like you’ve never meant anything.

And Jake smiles, smooths your hair back, rubs his nose against yours. And then he said, “Would you let me? Would you let me put my mouth on you, would you let me eat your pussy until your legs are shaking? Would you trust me with that, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl?”

You’re going to disintegrate. It can’t be possible for one person to want another so much. It just can’t be possible.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

He makes a choked sound, and then he steps back suddenly, tugging you with him by your wrists, and you stumble against his chest, let him guide you through the apartment blindly. It’s a wonder your knees don’t give in as you stumble against him like a fawn, as he pulls you like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” you ask, head spinning in rapid circles. Like you just got off a merry-go-round.

“I’m not going to eat you out against a wall for the first time,” Jake says.

And it would be almost romantic if it weren’t so filthy, such a quick turn-around that it could give you whiplash.

“Oh.” You blink as he pulls you into his bedroom. “I thought the wall was sort of hot.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

But then he turns, lets go of your wrists, leans down to press a quick, soft kiss to your mouth that leaves you chasing after him.

Affectionately, he brushes his fingers over your cheek and says, “I’ll do it right, honey, I promise I’ll make it so good, you’ll wonder how you ever went without it. I’ll have you coming for days.”

The thing is… you don’t even doubt it.

Jake has always been able to back up all that talk. It’s one of the things you hate about him. It’s one of the things you love about him.

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

It’s so much harder when he makes you do things because that’s when the anxiety gets behind the wheel, when the doubt creeps in. But in the end, that strange instinct to listen to him, to trust him, always wins out.

You pull your shirt over your head, and you can’t look at him.

“Shorts, too,” he orders and then, almost like an afterthought, adds, “and your bra.”

Your hands are shaking so hard that you struggle with the clasp of the bra, the button on the shorts, but finally, you free yourself of both, and then you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked except for a pair of panties so wet you think you’re probably gonna have to throw them out come morning, and you’re shaking even though you feel like you’re burning up, like a fever in your blood, like a yearning in your bones.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and you want to cover yourself, but you can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there as you feel his eyes on you like hot irons, as you stare at the cologne bottles on the dresser.

What if he doesn’t like me? you think, mouth dry. What if I’m ugly.

And then Jake says, “Sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re going to cry.

“Now get on the bed and spread your legs so I can get my mouth on that gorgeous cunt.”

You’re going to have a stroke, and then you’re going to cry.

You do as he says, scooting backward on the mattress until you’re far enough up the bed to put your head on one of the pillows. Jake’s sheets are a dark blue, soft cotton, and they smell like him, like his cologne. Cinnamon and spice. The scent wraps around you, envelopes you. You clench around nothing.

If this is what his smell alone does to you, how are you going to survive his mouth on you?

The mattress dips under his weight, but you can’t look at him, keep your head on the ceiling instead. It’s all too much. It’s not nearly enough.

And then his face appears above you, and his smile is almost goofy as he leans to kiss you once, twice, three times. They’re just soft pecks, but you open your mouth and pull him down to you until you’re chest to chest, until you can feel the weight of him.

He slides his tongue into your mouth with a groan, pulls you closer with a hand on your hip. And it’s skin to skin, his palm hot and heavy, and you want him all over you, want to cover yourself in him, every inch. It’s very wet, very warm, too much spit in both your mouths, but you don’t even care, not when his teeth nip at your lower lip, when he pants against you, when it makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart right here, right now.

Finally, you get your hands on him too, on all that skin, let them run across his chest because you’re so drunk on the feeling of it all you forget even to think if you’re allowed to do this. His heart is racing beneath your palm, just as quick as yours is, and that’s a reassuring thought, that he’s affected by it all too.

Jake does something with his tongue, something that has your insides twisting, clenching like a fist, and you moan into his mouth, wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up, desperate for some kind of friction, of relief, not above humping him if that’s what it takes.

You feel it immediately - Jake is rock hard against your center, against the quick but firm pressure of your cunt, and it makes you squeak the exact moment it makes him choke.

“Jesus,” he grunts, fingers wrapping around your wrists and pushing them back into the pillow, pulling you off him and forcing you down into the mattress with a force as gentle as it is firm. “Stop distracting me, sweetheart.”

He draws back until he kneels between your legs, looming above you. All the lamps are off, but the blinds aren’t drawn, and moonlight spills like liquid mercury across the bedroom floor, across his skin. Inevitably, you think of that night out on the beach behind the Hard Deck, the light tangled in his hair, a study in blue.

“I think I remember telling you to spread these,” he says casually, tapping a single finger against your kneecap.

You want to tease him, want to say something about how his memory seems to be working pretty well of a sudden, but your brain won’t cooperate.

Instead, you do as you’re told, even as you feel like it might kill you, and spread your legs further.

Immediately, Jake’s eyes go to what lies between them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice gone husky, “you’re so wet, honey.”

If you look at him, you think your heart is going to fail, so you just keep your eyes on the ceiling. Unlike your own, it’s completely free of water stains, and that’s just about the last coherent thought you have.

Jake leans forward, maneuvering around until his chest is pressed to the mattress, one hand on your thigh, the other spread on the sheets, and then his mouth is on you.

And okay. No more teasing then. Straight to business.

Over the fabric of your panties, his tongue moves against your center, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes, open your mouth even as no sound escapes. He just mouths at you for a moment, inhales deeply like he’s trying to smell you, and the thought sets you off, has you clenching your teeth, curling your toes. Then he presses a kiss to your clit through your cotton, and you’re seeing stars. 

“Oh,” you say, and he laughs, moves away to hook his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties, pulls them off unceremoniously, helps you lift your hips. They become another piece of fabric added to the pile of your clothes when he throws them over his shoulder without looking, eyes focused only on your center.

And then he leans forward, and you’re bracing yourself, steeling yourself, but nothing could ever have prepared you for the first stroke of his tongue through your folds. It has your hips rising, hed rearing back into the pillow, mouth shaping a word that never escapes it.

Jake’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and he moans once, and then he really goes for it. Burying his whole face in it, opening his mouth like he wants to devour you, tongue wet and wide and hot on your cunt, teeth just grazing your clit as he licks broad stripes from your hole up to the apex. He sets a leisured, moderate pace like he’s got all the time in the world, but you’re pretty sure yours is running out. Five more minutes of this, and you’re a goner, and it’s all too much but not enough, and you want to get away at the same time that you want him closer, and your head is spinning, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening in the sheets.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you all but keen, fingers flying to his hair, his shoulders, your stomach. You can’t settle, can’t stop jerking, have no control over your own body anymore. All over the place, all over him, mind a mess and heart a mess and body a mess, and you can’t believe nobody’s ever done this to you before, and how have you ever lived without the feeling of Jake’s mouth on your pussy and you’re going to rip your own heart out and…

And then he catches your wrists in one hand, forcing you to look at him where he’s barely lifted his head from between your thighs. And you freeze, all the world narrowing down to nothing but his face, his voice, just him, right there with you.

He says, “I got you. I’m taking care of you, pretty girl.”

Above the sheets, by your hips, he laces his fingers through yours.

When his mouth meets your cunt again, there’s no restraint left. He fucks his tongue inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling back, your legs straining to spread even further, to the point of pain when your muscles protest, but you need him closer, deeper, harder, and you’re so empty, aching with it. The only thing grounding you are his hands, the only point of you that seems connected to reality as the rest goes floating into space, reduced to nothing but a conduit for pleasure, for want, for yearning.

His tongue goes from your hole to your clit, one hand untangling from your death grip so he can slide a finger into you. He’s gentle about it, careful almost, but there’s no point, you’re so wet he goes without resistance, not an ounce of tension in any of your muscles. You couldn’t tense up if you tried, everything gone liquid and loose and lax. 

And it’s good, so good, so…

Jake pulls off you for a moment, breath panting and hot against you, just to check, “Did you do this too? When you thought about me, did you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

And it takes you a moment because you can’t remember if you have a mouth, can’t remember how to use it, and when you finally do, anyways, your voice is like a foreign sound, something from a different planet.

“I… tried, but it… I can’t… angle’s all wrong, it doesn’t….” He crooks his finger, and you sob, moment of dubious coherency gone, and then there’s only one word left in you. “Jake.”

And he grins, always so cocky, always so sure, adds a second finger, and buries his face into your cunt again. You keen.

It’s so wet, all of it. Your pussy and his tongue and his fingers fucking through it, fucking in with squelching sounds that should be embarrassing but make you burn hotter instead, your bodies slick with sweat, and you’re pretty sure there’s saliva dripping from your mouth, but you can’t stop it, can’t help it, can’t do anything but hold on and take it. Everything he’s giving you.

And you remember your ex trying to finger you in that bedroom covered in Twilight posters, eons ago, nothing but discomfort and awkwardness, and god, if this is what it should have been like that you want a refund, you think you’re owed compensation from the universe because that’s not fair, people were feeling this while you were telling yourself five minutes of rutting against your own finger on your clit was enough to satisfy you?

“You taste so good,” Jake groans into your cunt, “could eat this pretty pussy all day. Could stay right here forever, with my tongue in my gorgeous girl.”

And it’s almost scary, the way it builds, how high it goes, how tight it winds you. The precipice gapes below you.

“Jake,” you whimper, gasp, thrash, “Jake, wait, I’m gonna….”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, voice vibrating down into the darkest parts of you. “I’m here, honey, you can let go now, come on, sweetheart, I wanna see, I wanna taste….”

And you’re crying, cheeks and chin and neck wet with the tears, and you feel pathetic, but you can’t help it, free hand going to tangle in his hair, holding where you want him as he moves his fingers just so, grazing something inside you, tongue circling around your clit with just enough speed, just enough pressure.

“Please,” you sob, terrified he’s going to change up, and it’s going to get away from you, terrified he’ll stop. “Please. Please.”

It becomes a mantra, a litany, and then he squeezes your hand and plunges his fingers deep, curls them, and you’re toppling over that edge, hurtling, spinning, falling.

It’s bone-deep. It curls around you, it breaks you apart. A rope snapping. A coil unraveling.

You feel it everywhere, in your core and your toes and your fingers. A tightening and then the breathless, heart-stopping release of it all racing through you. It has you arching off the mattress, fingers tightening in his hair, legs trembling with tremors you can’t control, howling his name.

It seems to go on forever, his fingers fucking you through it, his tongue stroking you through it, and there’s nothing in your head, nothing but that blinding, strung-out pleasure.

Jake just keeps going until you push his head away with force, overstimulated to the point that pain shoots up like tiny pinpricks. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open.

“I don’t know who those guys who didn’t eat your pussy were, sweetheart,” he says from between your legs, mouth still slick with you, eyes still dark, voice still breathless, hands still on your thighs, “but they must have been the biggest idiots in the history of mankind to miss out on that.”

You can’t answer. You’re afraid you might never be able to speak ever again.

Jake crawls up the bed until he can stretch out beside you, and finally, you can close your legs, draw them up to almost to your stomach and angle them away. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, more exhausted than you’ve ever been.

“You okay, honey?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss you. You can’t even reciprocate, just stare at him.

“Uhm,” you say.

He laughs at you, and if you could move your arms, you’d hit him. As is, you just blink at him, dazed, confused, still caught up in the intensity of it.

“That good, huh?” He grins like the cat that got the cream and wraps an arm around you, pulls you against him. There’s something reassuring to the feel of him, the slight damp of his skin and the solid muscle against the mush of yourself.

And then, voice suddenly so much softer, he says, “You did so well, honey. My best girl.”

Maybe you shouldn’t like it so much, but you can’t help but beam, cling to him.

“Next time,” he says, voice back to the levity of his pride, “I think you should sit on my face.”

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

“Your… face?” you repeat, hesitantly, unsure if you’ve misheard.

Shameless, he nods. 

“Don’t worry about suffocating me or any of that shit, it’d be an honorable way to go down.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, and then you laugh, and he laughs with you, and it’s like somebody poured liquid sunlight into your chest.

But then you shift against him, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly you’re not just aware that you’re lying in a puddle of what is essentially your own slick and Jake’s spit, that you’re still completely naked, but even more pressingly that he’s still hard.

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Jake, who has stilled your movement with a hand on your hip, clears his throat. He has a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… go to the bathroom.”

And he means it, is about to get out of bed when you hold onto him, wrap yourself around him like an octopus, shove your face into his chest, so you don’t have to look at him as you say, “No, I… I want it.”

Jake freezes.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t have to….”

“I want to,” you interrupt. And it’s clumsy rather than sexy, but you reach for his sweatpants, palm at him through the fabric, breath catching when you notice the dark stain of pre-cum on the front. “I want you inside of me.”

It’s so much more forward than you’ve ever been, so out of character, but it feels good to be honest, to tell the truth, to articulate what you’ve been dreaming of for months.

Jake groans loudly as you begin to rub at his length, drops back against the mattress without any protest.

“You want it?” he asks, searching your face as if he’s looking for any trace of a lie, of hesitancy.

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

Jake clenches his eyes shut for a moment, exhales a shaky breath, and then he nods, leans over to open a drawer on his nightstand, and gets out a condom.

And he’s saying, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart, but you barely hear him.

Because there it is, right on his nightstand. Front cover up, a gas station receipt shoved as a bookmark between the pages about a quarter into it.

Emma by Jane Austen.

“You… you’re reading it?” you say, interrupting whatever other filth was pouring from it, and Jake blinks, follows your gaze, pauses.

And then he has the audacity to blush. 

“Well,” he says, “you said it was your favorite, and I wanted to… I don’t usually read much, so it’s… a lot, but I think I get it, why you like it I mean, and….”

You pull him into a kiss, and you pour all of yourself into it. All the gratitude and the longing and the love. Everything you feel for him, right there, condensed into the slide of your mouth over his.

When you pull away, his eyes have gone dark again.

“I like you,” he says, and it should be bumbling, awkward, but it’s beautiful instead. “So much.”

You giggle. 

“I like you too,” you say.

From the first moment, Jake and you were planets circling each other. And now, finally, you’ve locked into orbit.

Jake rolls over you, kisses you again, only it’s even filthier this time, reminiscent of what he did between your legs, and within moments it’s gathering in your stomach again, growing once more, and you’re wet and wanting and pliant beneath him.

He pulls back to finally get rid of his sweatpants - how weird that he was still wearing them this whole time, you think - moves to roll on the condom, and you look down at his cock, open your mouth and… falter.

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming. 

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off. 

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon. 

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

[vase-of-lilies]

My World, Your World

❀ Mommies!WandaNat x Little!Shapeshifting!reader (f)

❀ MD/LG dynamics, fluff, shapeshifting reader, pet names (sweetie, little bunny, firecracker), SFW age regression.

❀ Request: Oh crap there are fanfics of us (Natasha and Wanda react to fics about them) Dragon AU (Reader is a little who can shapeshift into a Dragon)fem reader is a little who shifts into a dragon and her mommies find this adorable.

❀A/N: I got this request from someone who found me on AO3! @SashaWalker2, thank you for your request and I hope that I fulfilled it to your liking! I have never done anything with shapeshifting before, so this will be a fun and new adventure for me:D I have been doing research (watching how to train your dragon) so I really hope this turns out! :D

The world you live in is a little… crazy. Earth 0092 is what it is called by the Avengers. The Avengers are from a different type of earth, but they are currently being hunted on that earth, so they came to this one. The one where you call home. They made themselves a part of your world when they arrived through a portal at the top of a skyscraper in the city. At first, it was cool since you had seen something like it before, but once you saw a man made of Iron, a godly looking one with a hammer, and one with a metal arm, you were officially scared. 

Meeting two of them made it better. The two women you met were named Natasha and Wanda. Natasha had short, white-dyed hair, and Wanda had beautiful long natural red hair. They were both equally beautiful and equally different from each other. Both had different attributes, such as Natasha. She had more of a protective personality while Wanda had a motherly instinct as well as a loving personality. 

You had met them while you were working the register at a record store. It was Wanda that you had noticed first. However, it was Natasha that noticed you first. You stood out like a sore thumb in the dark lighting of the store. A pink striped shirt with a blue cardigan over the top, blue jeans with a couple tears in them, along with a pair of messy paint-covered Converse. [Or any type of stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb outfit:)]

Nat smiled at you, and you returned that smile with a question. “How can I help you ladies today?” You ask, and Wanda turns to you once she hears your voice. The two women look at each other and shrug. 

“We wanted to see what music you had here. We are new in town and would love to compare.” Wanda said, smiling at you from the first aisle of records for sale. You hum at the odd statement, the music you have here being the only music in the whole world. There are four artists that make music that you know of, and everywhere else streams the same music. They must be really new if they didn’t know about the four artists…

You nod softly, not sure what they were to expect, but you let them explore your shop without bothering them. You couldn’t help but hear them talk to each other about what they found; “Wait, these are the same people who wrote this. Are there only a few people who made it to this shop?” The white-haired woman asks, confusion lacing her voice.

You connected the dots from the day the portal showed up. 

“You must be a part of the Avengers team that showed up the other day!” You exclaim, walking over to them. They nod in response and watch you as you grab four of your favorite records. “These guys are super cool, they formed about 293 years ago and have been keeping up with the times. They are robots, in case you didn’t know. And this lady, she is super cool. She has written too many songs to count. But she sounds like a siren. Maybe she is one but cut out her powers when she sings. Im not sure. Anyway! I hope you can find what you are looking for.”

Wanda and Natasha watch you with a smile as you explain how the shops and music work in this world. They take the recommendations with open minds and decide that they would come back another time with more questions. And they did come back! They came every day that week to get to know you and the shop. 

It was after the full 7 days of visiting you that they finally decided to ask you out on a date with them. You said yes, and they were slightly surprised when you were so direct with them. On Earth 0092, there was no such thing as homophobia, everyone was equally ok with one another and left people alone. It was definitely a world that Wanda and Nat could get used to as they were ridiculed on the earth they were living on.

The first date you all went on was one of the best experiences! You had never been very active in the dating scene, but you knew once you found the right person (or people) you would know that you were in good hands. As you got to know Wanda and Natasha, you found out things about their earth that you never could have imagined. 

“Man, humans are assholes.” You conclude, hearing the way they explain the fact that politicians are the ones who target them, and are the most evil in their world. It surprises you most to find out that a lot of what is a reality in your world, is complete fiction in their world. One thing in specific: Dragons. 

When they came to Earth 0092, they notices immediately that there were dragons in this world. But they also saw humans, so they suspected that the majority of the population was just ok with having dragons from the mountains wander around. They of course didn’t know that those were actual people that lay underneath the vicious yet gentle dragons they see in the sky above all of the buildings. 

It was a dragon's world, with humans adapting and growing up with them. Some include shapeshifters who care for the pureblood dragons. You yourself were a dragon, but at your age in human years, you are [enter your above 18 age here]. Which means you are only a baby dragon at this point. You have not yet transformed yet, and you don’t know when it's going to happen. Some humans have transformed at the age of 14 or 15, but you were a late “bloomer.” Well, that's what your mother called you. 

You chuckled along with Wanda and Natasha as they expressed their fears of fire-breathing dragons, and dragons that they thought would hurt them. But you were able to soothe them easily, “I promise you, they are harmless unless you provoke them. They used to be our enemies, but someone decided to ride one and tame it. They are almost like puppies in that aspect. They just want to be loved, and cared for.” 

They listened to you, and you were so grateful for that. You really liked the way you felt when they were kind to you, and understanding the reality of your world. They told you stories of their world, where dragons were seen as enemies through movies, and how they were “slain” when a princess needed to be saved. They even told you about an interesting story from a movie called “Shrek” where a donkey and a dragon had children. (?) It confused you a little bit, but you listened with an open mind. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” Wanda asked you, and you really had to think about it without exposing yourself. Your… littler self. 

“Well, I really like to color, ADULT coloring books! I like coloring in adult coloring books, with colored pencils and paint and stuff. I also like listening to that robot band I told you about. But other than that, I really like to travel. Just around.” You said, almost exposing a rather embarrassing side of you in your opinion. What you would find out, is that it is perfectly natural and the two women would be supportive of you. 

~~~~~~~~

It had been a few months now since the Avengers had shown up to your world, and the two women you had gone on a few dates with had convinced you to move in with them. They had found a comfy apartment, slightly bigger than your former one, and had helped you adapt to a lifestyle of living with people that love and care for you. 

As Wanda sits on the couch and scrolls through this world's social media, you and Natasha are baking cookies in the kitchen. You two are laughing and taking in each other's company but as you look through the island window to the living room, you see Wanda staring at her phone in shock. You tilt your head and you ask her, “Is everything ok, Wan?” 

To your surprise, she responds with a small chuckle. “People are writing stories about us…” She says, piquing your interest as turns her phone towards you and Natasha. You approach her and you let out a small laugh as you look at the screen flooded with pictures and stories about Wanda and Natasha. You sigh in relief as you don’t see anything about you, but you can’t help but get a little jealous, seeing all of these men and women talking and fantasizing about your girlfriends. 

“Wait, are these fan fictions of us?” Nat asks, genuinely surprised. 

You let out a huff, and sit back against the cushions. You hear a small chuckle and you see Natasha giving you a side eye asking, “Aw, is our little baby jealous?” 

You shake your head defiantly and look at the pictures slide-showing on the large screen TV in front of you. Wanda and Nat give each other a sly look, and Wanda puts her phone down, giving her full attention to you. “Hey, sweetie, look we won’t read that stuff. I would rather spend my time with you and Natty. I wouldn’t want our little one to feel betrayed, right mama?” Wanda looks up at Nat smiling as you begin to fall into the space that they so willingly took in. 

You were certainly surprised at first when they accepted you but were eternally grateful that they loved you the same. Once you told them that you were got little, they understood knowing that it was a thing back on their Earth, but still wanted to explore more with you. 

As you fall deeper into your little space, you lay your head on your Mommy Wandas' chest, sighing and letting out a small whine. “Don wan to see ovver (other) peepo (people) tawking (talking) ’bout yous and mama.” Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, the quivering of your lip making your mommies coo at you. 

“Oh my sweet little bunny, it's ok, we promise to not read that stuff, ok? We pinky promise!” Nat holds out her pinky in front of you as she kneels down, and you link your pinky through hers. 

“Onwy (only) if yous pwomise (promise).” You reply, sighing, your eyes watching a piece of dust fly towards you. In the same moment of not really thinking, you sniffle and that little fleck of dust lands right inside of your nose. Letting out a whimper, you feel the sudden need to sneeze. 

Sucking in a deep breath, your nose tickles in just the right place and you let out a loud sneeze. In an unexpected instance the room filled with a soft pink puff of smoke. Wanda and Natasha looked at each other, confused beyond their mind. 

“Oh, my god…” Wanda whispers, looking at the little pink dragon curled up and asleep in her lap. 

“Why didn’t she tell us she was a dragon too?” Nat whispers, running her finger softly over the small spikes that line your back. “She’s just a baby one too…” You react to your spikes being touched by squirming a little bit. You let out a sigh and a little puff of smoke comes from your mouth, indicating that you were a fire-breathing dragon. 

Wanda tilts her head at your sleeping form, “She seems harmless, she has to be, right?” She says, praying to her god that she is safe, even in the loving presence of you. Well, dragon-you. 

Your breaths are soft and you look peaceful in your moment of sleep, the two women looking down at you with love, adoration, and care in their eyes. As you squirm a little, Wanda gently picks you up, fitting you perfectly in her cupped hands, up and lays you on the small pillow decorating the couch. “There you go, little one, all comfy and cozy.” Wanda smiles, gently running a finger over your pink, scaly snout. 

With a small ‘boop’ to your nose, your two mommies chuckle at the way your dark magenta nose scrunches in response. Wanda takes note and keeps that maneuver for future use. Wanda and Natasha sit on the couch together, holding each other and keeping an eye on you until you woke up. Just a few minutes later, your little legs stretch in front of you and the cutest yawn ever seen escaped your mouth. 

“Oh my god, that- that was absolutely adorable!” Wanda says quietly, not wanting to frighten you in your sleepy state. She ogled at your pink scales that shimmered in the light from the sun. She wondered ‘Does she play like a dog?’ She thought she could buy you toys and made sure to add a couple to her grocery list the next time she went. 

As you were waking up, you let out a small growl and your eyes flutter open. Once you see where you are and who is around you, you sit up and stretch almost like a dog. Your tail stretches out and wags a little bit as you sit down on the pillow, looking up at Wanda and Natasha with innocent, puppy eyes. 

They are a little cautious at first, knowing that some dragons can be dangerous. “Hi, little one, can you understand me?” Wanda says, leaning on her hands on her knees as she looks you over. A little tilt of your head and a small nod make it known to the two women to that you can understand them. 

You do a little spin, and you hold up your small yet big claws, indicating that you want to hold onto one of their hands. Natasha takes your talon (dragon paw) and smiles as you flex it just like you were holding it as a human. As you take your talon away from her hand you jump off of the couch, letting out a small ‘hmph’ as you lose your balance and topple over on the soft rug below you. With a little shake of your head, you stand up and walk around the legs of Wanda. 

They both chuckle and Wanda picks you up. “I didn’t know our little one was the cutest little dragon ever!” She coos at you and you visibly smile up at her. Your eyes sparkle in the sun and you nuzzle your snout against her chest, your tongue licking small strips on her neck. 

Natasha steps behind her wife, looking down at you with a bright smile, petting your head with a gentle hand. “Our little firecracker.” She says in a small voice.

~~~~~~~

After a few weeks of changing in and out of your dragon form, your two mommies have sometimes come home to a pillow or two torn up and fluff all over the place. Or you passed out on the little dragon bed they bought for you. As you grew, so did the bed, but since you were still just a baby dragon, you did not grow so big. But it was always a joy for your mommies to come home to see you. 

Even on days when you weren’t feeling yourself, they loved you to the fullest in both human and dragon form. They would know exactly how you feel the moment they see you laying down on the couch, where you really aren’t supposed to be when you are a dragon, but they can sense something is wrong. 

They care for you so, so much, and love you even more. Nothing would change that fact. No outburst, tiny fire your breath causes, especially being a dragon. Absolutely nothing. And you love them for that. You constantly thank them and never disappoint them in the slightest. The most you do is set a pillow on fire, but that's an easy fix thanks to Wandas' powers. 

They will never stop loving you, no matter what happens. 

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PART 1]

Don't ask me why I wrote chapter two literally a day after the first, it's a mix of the nice comments I got and the fact I'm enjoying myself more than I expected, haha.

Ghost crashes into his desk chair, throwing two folders on the table. One was the Sergeant’s report, which he had to go through and approve before forwarding to Price, and the other…

The other was Soap’s personal file. He technically didn’t have clearance for it anymore, but Price left it on his desk next to the report, and Ghost figured he won’t notice if it disappeared for a couple hours.

Besides… he was supposed to read it before the mission. He just didn’t care in the past.

Ghost opens the file, and immediately gets greeted by a picture of Soap. He’s younger and seemed to be holding back a smile for the photo. 

John “Soap” MacTavish. Somehow, Ghost can’t see how this fiery Sergeant shares a name with the captain.

The rest of the file is pretty standard. Born in Scotland (In a town Ghost never heard of), age 27, enlisted at 16. It gets more interesting when he reaches the Revenant section.

Or, whatever he can see from it. His Reaping, his first death, is completely blacked out. His powers list the explosion immunity and creation, but another line is censored. Ghost feels cheated of information - the amount of red tape around Soap would be concerning, if it didn’t make him that more intrigued.

He flips through his previous missions fairly quickly, not expecting much of it to be uncensored. Lad was SAS before dying, the reports are practically a solid block of black ink.

Ghost continues to the medical reports, fully intending to skip those as well, and he keeps flipping, and flipping, and flipping…

An icy hand grabs at his throat. Frowning, he slowly flips back.

The frozen feeling persists when he starts reading. 4 years ago, mission in Austria. Exposure to thermite explosion, 3 fingers missing and loss of motor function to his left leg. 11 months ago, C4 accident, right ear, eye, and majority of throat missing. 2 years ago, grenade explosion, massive damage to liver and stomach.

Combing through all records, Ghost took a moment to realize no medical procedure was noted. Which means Soap didn’t receive any.

He shut the folder.

Something different from the freezing horror he initially felt started rising within him. It was rage.

The personal folder gets thrown aside, and Ghost focuses on the mission report. Right. Perhaps this will shed more light on what Soap is capable of, because honestly right now he can’t bare thinking about how much damage the Sergeant suffered through any longer.

The report is well-written, as any soldier of Soap’s rank would be. Ghost enjoys seeing just how competent Soap was, clearing rooms at neck breaking speed. What catches his eyes is the reason the explosion at the warehouse happened.

He never did get an answer to that…

As it turns out, Soap did get spotted. But according to the report, it wasn’t a hostile that activated the explosive. No, Soap himself did that. The reason given is “estimated risk to Bravo 0-7”.

…Soap thought he was in danger?

Ghost racks his brain trying to understand why. Did he think Ghost didn’t clear the third floor yet? Did he think… they were going to alert backup?

And he decides to… blow himself up.

He hastily signs the document and grabs both folders. So much information, missing, blacked out, red tape stopping him from understanding. Ghost has long learned that he won’t, can’t understand everything, orders from higher up not to be questioned. But it has never bothered him more. 

Never left this feeling of missing out.

When Ghost reaches Price’s office, the light is on and a lingering smell of cigars wafts even through the closed door. Shit. He’ll have to explain how the amount of folders he took suddenly multiplied.

“Weird how that happens, doesn't it Ghost?” Price shouts from beyond the door.

Bloody hell his stupid mind reading powers can be a real pain in the-

“You better not finish that thought Lieutenant!” 

Sighing, Ghost finally opens the door. “I thought you’re on break, Captain”, he places the folders on his desk.

Price glares at the two folders before he looks back at him, eyebrow raised, “clearly”.

Ghost glares back. Not like he has anything to say to his defence.

Price breaks the tension with a little huff, “You know you could’ve just asked for the file, right? I could tell the Sergeant left an impression on you.” he laughs.

Not needing the Captain to mock him further, he bites back “report’s signed, permission to be dismissed?”

Price smirks and dismisses him. Ghost doesn’t miss the thought that leaked from him, “told you, you two would get along.”

He walks away before Price could read his own.

Smoking becomes less intimidating after you die once. Honestly, if it comes to the point he dies from lung cancer, he’ll be happy.

He’ll take that little comfort either way. Watching the smoke dissipate to the night sky, a handful of stars shining through. Little droplets of rain drizzle on the tin roof above him. It’s almost peaceful. 

Almost. If only he couldn’t hear Gaz complaining from the floor above him.

“Look, he’s doing it again.” the recruit next to him makes a questioning sound, “Ghost, he’s bloody brooding. I swear, he’s been like this even since that mission with the revenant, what’s his name…”

The recruit mumbles something, “right! MacTavish. I’ll pay a good amount to know what happened with him… you think-”

Ghost slams a fist at the tin roof, “I can fuckin’ hear ya Garrick!”.

“Good! Tell me what happened there!”

He throws the cigarette and stomps it. Can’t get a moment of silence around here…

Gaz still tries to interrogate him while Ghost walks back to his room. He would talk to him when he feels like it, kindly suggest to never bring up that mission again. 

Ghost doesn’t need more things to remind him of the Sergeant.

Sometimes he wonders if he ever was as bad as these rookies. Watching one trip on thin air, taking down 3 others poor sods trying to complete a run, he rather believe he wasn’t.

He approaches the 4 idiots, who are now literally shaking while craning their neck to look at their lieutenant. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get up!”.

The rookies finally pull their heads out of their arse and scramble up. While they try to get back on track, he shouts, “five more laps for you four! Get a move on!”.

The ones that finished the training murmur behind him something that sounds like a long list of expletives, maybe about wishing his mother got an abortion or the likes. 

Ghost couldn’t care less. But, for the sake of discipline, he throws a scowl at the group, shutting them instantly. 

It’s on days like these, where Gaz is away on mission, and Price buried under mountains of paperwork, that Ghost’s thoughts wander back to that mission six months ago. To a certain Scottish Sergeant, to daft jokes and a weird shared understanding. Fingers flickering with flames, blue eyes shining with them.

Useless thoughts. All they do is leave a bitter trail behind them.

On days like these, he can’t help but crave bitterness. 

The recruits finally finish their run, and Ghost dismisses them before they can cause more trouble, effectively declaring it “not his problem”. He should be more grateful of Garrick, he’s much better at handling the FNGs.

As he makes his way to the showers, one Private stops him. He looks familiar, but Ghost doesn’t bother learning any of their names.

“Captain Price orders you to his office.” the Private almost sneers at him. Ghost nods and walks away. 

Once, a long time ago, he might’ve put the Private in his place, perhaps when he cared more. Now he knows better. His powers speak loud and clear. If he wished, he could wipe the entire base off the face of this godforsaken earth. It might be because of this fact, most soldiers abhor him.

They can’t help hating what they don’t understand.

Three well practiced knocks and a “come in!”, Ghost stands in front of the Captain. Price looks surprisingly chipper for the amount of files on his desk. That makes one of them.

“To what do I owe the occasion, Captain?”

Price flashes a warm smile (one he would call fatherly if the connotation didn’t want to make him want to puke) “I’m considering adding a new member to the 141”.

His first reaction is ‘fuck no’, and Price’s face sours at that. But Ghost is willing to entertain the Captain, so he asks, “you got any candidates?”.

Price motions to the dozen or so files on his desk, “take a look”.

Ghost raises an eyebrow before sitting down and taking one at random. Sergeant Thomas Anderson, 28. Revenant powers… “Breathing underwater? Really.” Ghost shuts the folder and glances at Price, “I’ll take him when we go on a bust against ultranationalists from Atlantis”.

“Not everyone is as deadly as you, Simon” Price sighs, “go on, check the others.”

Several files later Ghost is left wondering how many practically useless revenants are out there. He’s sure just thinking this is considered some sort of blasphemy among Reapers, but as he wasn’t struck down by an eldritch being yet, it’s safe to say he’s free to continue looking down at them.

He knows deep down it’s not their powers that bother him. Hell, Garrick’s Gravity manipulation isn’t that lethal, but the Sergeant knows how to effectively use it to his advantage.

Ghost simply can’t see himself working with any of them. He understands they’re in desperate need for more taskforce members, no matter how strong its three revenants are, but if they’re about to add a forth, he better be useful.

Scouring the table, Ghost realizes he went through all folders already. Price picks up on that.

“None of them up to your standard?”

Ghost crosses his arms, “not in the slightest”.

He spots a personal file on a cabinet on Price’s left, “what’s with that one?” he nods towards it.

Price turns his head, “ah, he’s currently on a long term assignment. Higher ups aren’t gonna let that one transfer so easily.”

Ghost’s interest was piqued, and he leaned to grab it. Price didn’t stop him, but he had a weird glint in his eyes. Ghost gets the feeling this outcome wasn’t unplanned.

He opens the folder and a pair of familiar blue eyes stare back. He looks up at Price.

The captain tilts his head, “well? In terms of strength, no one gets close to MacTavish. I’d dare say you and him could be evenly matched-”

“I’ll take him.”

Price falters, “what?”

“I’ll accept a new member if it was Soap.” Ghost states, leaving no room for argument. A bubbling feeling of excitement washes through him, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. The mountains of questions Soap left behind him come back to the forefront of his mind. 

And he feels… hopeful.

Price shakes the surprise off his features, and he looks tiredly at the file, “...I can’t promise any miracles, but I’ll do my best to get him.” He takes out a well deserved cigar, “I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you Captain”, the words don’t encapsulate just how grateful Ghost is.

“Now scram, I have about 50 calls to make.” Price waves his hand and picks up the phone. Ghost makes his exit before the Captain changes his mind.

Garrick returns from his assignment the following morning. The reason Ghost knows that is he watches the door to mess being slammed open while he tries to drink his morning tea.

“GHOST!” Gaz shouts, swiveling his head side to side, searching for him. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could actually go invisible like some rumors suggest.

But alas, he finds him quickly enough, and rushes to his table, uncaring of the several heads following his actions. 

“Garrick” Ghost greets him, “how was the missio-”.

“We’re getting a new 141 member?!” Gaz cut him off, the excitement in his voice palpable, and he visibly starts floating a few inches off ground. Ghost tries to be annoyed with him, but he always found Gaz’s more energetic approach to life endearing.

“Nothing’s final yet, settle down.”

“But you know who it is, right?” Gaz sits in the chair in front of him, “c’mon, you gotta tell me!”

Ghost considers lying and saying he has no clue either, but he figures he might as well rip the band-aid now.

“It’s Sergeant MacTavish.” he tries to sound bored.

By the mischievous look on Garrick, he knows he failed miserably, “ohoho Ghost… Did you suggest your mysterious Sergeant to Price?” he grins like the menace he is, “seems like you won’t be able to hide what happened on ‘The Mission’ for much longer-”

Ghost slams his mug on the table, “nothing to hide, Sergeant.”

But Gaz is already 3 steps ahead in his brain, “I’ve heard he can create explosions, you think he could shoot up like a rocket? Could work well with my powers…”

Ghost stands up and groans, “he’s not a bloody spaceship Gaz, fuckin’ hell…”

He has a feeling Garrick and MacTavish will get along just fine.

The following days are… weird. Ghost never waited in anticipation for something as impatiently as he does right now. The clock seems to tick at a snail’s pace, and he finds his focus impaired. Thank his Reaper he’s not on a mission right about now…

Price is practically living in his office, constantly making calls and going through document after document. From what he understands, Soap is highly sought after for his explosion immunity, the best defuser there is.

Ghost is bitterly reminded of the huge pile of medical records in his personal file. That taste he rather not chase.

As for Gaz… His excitement grows by the day. It reminds Ghost that while the Sergeant is very friendly and always finds someone to talk to, he’s also one of the very few revenants on base.

He wonders if it feels as alienating as it does for him from time to time.

It’s not for 2 weeks later that he and Gaz are summoned to Price’s office. The place reeks of cigar smoke, and Price himself looks like he’s in need of at least 24 hours of sleep. But a triumphant attitude emanates from him in waves, and Ghost knows before he even opens his mouth what he’s about to say.

“It wasn’t easy, and I had to use every connection I had up there, but I got great news for you lads.”

Gaz smiles brightly, and turns his head to look at Ghost.

“I can finally say Sergeant Soap MacTavish is officially a member of the 141”.

Garrick cheers and floats high enough that Ghost has to drag him down before he slams his head against the ceiling, and sees the Captain’s expression shift.

“But…” Ghost starts for him. Of course this wouldn’t be this simple, nothing ever is.

Price exhales loudly, “Soap still has a couple of unfinished missions he will need to attend before he can join us fully.”

Gaz finally picks up on the mood shift, ‘...he will still be with us on base though, right?”

“Yes”, the Captain scratches under his iconic hat, and not for the first time Ghost wonders if it’s glued on with the way it refuses to fall off, “he will train with us, so take those few weeks as an opportunity to learn to work together. He’s quite powerful, and I think you will find… creative ways to work together.” with that last sentence, he glances at Ghost. Curious.

“When will the Sergeant arrive?” Ghost asks.

Price takes a quick look at the calendar, “3 days, early morning.”

That sends Garrick on a marathon of questions to Price, and Ghost retreats to into his mind.

3 days… 3 days and he will see those flames dance again. That Scottish lilt and crooked smile. 

Ghost feels his mouth stretch in a hesitant smile, as if the muscles almost forgot the movement, and notices Price mirroring it.

Perhaps he could give a chance to hope.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! I appreciate it a lot <3

[squirmhoney]

Hello, can I request aemond x half sister (daughter of aemma and Viserys), Aemond was very attached to this sister, who always defended him and her father sent her to the Vale (with House Arryn), after the Driftmark incident, where she was against Rhaenyra and for Alicent.She returns to King's Landing at Vaemond's petition, and then Aemond knows he can't let her go again, so just some dub-con, with the dark obsessed Aemond with his childhood crush on his little sister.

Where you’re meant to be

A/N: this isn’t as dark as I initially planned it out to be. Very sorry for that. But I have been writing a lot of my stuff to be bit darker and felt like I needed a little bit less. Still read the warnings before hand and hope you like it. Also the reader is older which I hope is okay, I imagine them to only be three years apart max so just changing maybe the ages around of the characters so that Aemond is older and closer in age to reader. But is she is Aemma’s child she’d have to be older. Warnings: slight non-con. Dub con. Obsessed Aemond. Slight knife play (if you squint) Oral (f receiving). Smut. 18+ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (sister) Word count: 2.4k

Master List

When the call to Kings Landing came, you were weary to take it. While you understood Vaemond's pleas for help to keep Driftmark and have it passed down to him, you didn't want to go against your sister. Not after what had happened at Driftmark all those years ago.

While you still believed in the moment defending your younger brother was the right thing, you had despised how things had been left with Rhaneyera. She was your older sister and you truly loved all of your siblings.

However, it was a chance for you finally to escape your confinements at the Vale. You would be glad to see your family again. You had been sent so many letters from your brother Aemond of all the changes in Kings Landing. He constantly sent you letters of how the family had changed, especially how he had changed.

Some of the letters were borderlining on inappropriate as he told you of how he longed to be with you, to touch you. How he even dreamt of you night after night, reaching out for you in his bed only to find that you were not there.

Never could you see your brother in that light. Instead you believed his sweet words just to be a reminder of how much he truly missed you. You had been so close growing up, it would only make sense.

Aemond wrote his letters as if they poured from the deepest part in his heart that only beated for you.

He was glad to hear the news of your return. He was so ecstatic at the thought, he found himself unable to sleep at night, pacing around his room thinking of the very moment he would see you again.

Eventually the day came but Aemond found it hard to see you. As soon as you arrived Vaemond was on you like a viper, convincing you to vouch for him in the throne room against your own sister. If not that, his father and mother trying to also persuade you on the matters. Aemond couldn’t care less on the situation, Driftmark didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was for everyone around to leave you alone.

It was a few days in before he finally was able to be with you alone without pestering voices constantly in your ear.

You had finally taken to your father’s chambers, hearing that he was up and in some sort of stable mind. You sat beside him, breaking down instantly as you cried into his chest. The weight of the world sat on your shoulders as you didn’t know which side to be on. You couldn’t tell your father the reason for your sadness, instead telling him you had just missed him all these years.

After Viserys fell asleep, you left the room to find Aemond stood by the door. His eye looked up from the floor as he unclenched his hands at the sight of you.

“Father has just gone to sleep,” you told him, gesturing towards the door.

“I wasn’t waiting for him,” he said, grinning down at you.

“I fear I have neglected you, little brother.” You stepped forward opening your arms as you pulled him gently in for a hug. He pulled you in tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of you head. “I have missed you, Aemond. I’m sorry I haven’t seen you since I’ve arrived there has just been a lot on my mind.”

“I’ve noticed,” he hummed, releasing you from his grip.

You looked down at the floor, your arms dropping to your sides as you played with your hands in distraction from your thoughts. “I thought seeing father would bring my spirits up but seeing him like-” your voice broke suddenly and you coughed trying to muffle your tears.

Aemond’s fingers reached below your chin, pulling your head up to look at him. He didn’t think as he pressed tender kisses to your puffy cheeks, only wanting to wipe the pain away from your face.

You hands lightly pushed him away as your hands touched his chest. His own hands held them there as he kept you close.

“Aemond,” you warned, pulling your face away to stop him. “Stop.”

“I’m only kissing your face, sweet sister,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He furrowed his eyebrows placing the pretend confused facade on his face as he stared down at you. “Like I used to do when we were children.”

“But we are not children now,” you whispered, looking from side to side at any passers by. Only the guardsman, who didn’t dare watch you both, in sight. “These things aren’t appropriate anymore.”

“Let me take your mind off of things,” Aemond told you, placing his arm out for you to take. “If you’d like to make up for not neglecting your favourite sibiling.”

You shook your head as you grinned up at his words, taking his arm to follow him through the corridors.

“Aemond. Y/N,” a voice called from behind you.

You turned around seeing Alicent walking towards you. Her hand instantly clawing around your arm as she stopped next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind Aemond but I hoped to take Y/N for an hour or two before the evening,” Alicent said, pulling you towards her side.

Your whole body tensed but you grinned at Alicent, nodding your head. She practically dragged your body away from Aemond as she took you through the halls, not allowing him a second to protest.

Aemond’s chest tightened at the sight of you leaving him once again.

_

Nothing turned out the way you had expected at all. All you knew was that you were glad you didn’t have to take a side. However, you were deeply upset by the sight of Vaemond being killed and after the appalling sight of your last meal, you found yourself packing your belongings.

Maybe your father had made the right decision to send you to the Vale. Maybe marrying one of Jeyne Arryn’s sons wouldn’t be so bad, you thought.

“My love,” a voice called out to you in the dim room.

You jumped from the sudden sound, surprised to see Aemond’s figure by the open door.

“Aemond,” you gasped, placing a hand on your chest. “You frightened me.”

“What are you doing?” He questioned, noticing your stuff all over the place.

“I’m leaving,” you told him, pacing around your room once again. “I came here for what was asked of me and now I have to go back.”

“You’ve barely seen me,” he stated, grabbing your arm to halt your movements.

“You can come visit me in the Vale,” you tried reassuring him.

“No, you’re not going back,” he snapped, yanking your body close to him. “You’re not meant to be there. You should be here, where you belong.”

“My life is in The Vale now.” You gazed up at him, noticing the sadness and pain in his face. He instantly reminded you of the day that you had left all those years ago. How he had clung to your body in hopes you would stay. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re not going,” he hissed, holding your face between his hands. “I won’t let you leave me again.”

His lips crashed down onto yours, hands holding your face in a harsh kiss. You were paralysed as you felt his lips work against yours feverishly until you snapped out of it biting down on his lip to stop him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling away slightly from you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, furrowing your brows as you glared up at him. You put some distance between you, unsure of his next move.

Your eyes widened as he lunged forward again, making you both fall onto your bed as you scrambled away from him. He caught your ankle, dragging your body back towards him as he hovered over you. He pulled out his dagger from his side and at the sight of it you froze, being cautious.

The dagger traced along the open skin at your chest, slicing through your dress until Aemond was able to rip the rest apart with his hands.

“You do not want to leave me sister,” Aemond whispered, tutting at you. “You missed me so much or at least that was you told me so in your letters.”

Everything started making sense as you watched him slide a hand down your body. The letters of how he would express how much he missed you, how much he loved you, how much he needed you. It wasn’t brotherly love, no. It was something deep and dark, a desire that lurked in his eyes as he gazed down at your bareness in front of him.

“You’re not a liar now, are you sister?” Aemond questioned, face moving down to your chest.

Your nipples pebbled as his breath fanned across them, bringing his lips to suck on your skin as his hands groped at your tits. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt yourself become slightly damp at the feeling of Aemond touching you.

“I wou- wouldn’t lie to you,” you muttered, struggling to speak as he moulded his body into yours.

You could feel his bulge pressing down against your core, making you shiver in delight.

“So, why leave me?”

You couldn’t think of the answer as he rutted his hips into yours, the friction rubbing against you in a way you had never felt before.

“Aemond, this isn’t right,” you told him, hands gripping onto the sheets as he rubbed himself against you.

“But it feels so good,” Aemond hummed, sliding further down your body. “Doesn’t it?”

Every inch of your body told you this wasn’t right but when his hands squeezed the skin of your thighs, wrapping your knees over his shoulders, you felt yourself unable to fight it. His hungry eyes lit up as he looked between your legs, drinking up the sight of your wetness.

“Just relax.” His breath hit your core, making you gasp as your hole clenched around the air. It was desperate for some touch, practically begging for it as your core dripped with wetness.

Aemond gazed up at you before his face dove into your pussy, lapping at your clit instantly. You moaned bucking your hips up to his face.

“Aemond,” you whimpered, hand pushing you away from him. “We can’t, I can’t.”

He snapped your hips back towards him, holding your body down with his strength. His face dig deeper into your cunt, fingers now slipping into your entrance to cut off anymore protests from you.

Aemond ate you out like a starved man, enjoying the luscious taste your cunt provided. Never had you had a man touch you before and with the pleasure Aemond gave you, you’d be ruined for all men. Every movement from him built you towards an intense feeling and elicited noises you never knew could fall from your own lips.

“Aemo-” You cried, feeling your orgasm wash over you as Aemond continued his actions. The pleasure made you light headed, gazing down at Aemond in pure bliss as he slowed his actions.

He grinned up at you, lips covered in your juices as he started working at his clothes to strip them off. You couldn’t think as your legs still felt shaky from the orgasm, unable to think clearly as you just watched him.

His hands pressed your legs down onto your body, leaving your cunt bare for him as he crawled up your body. You could feel something sliding up and down your slit, coating itself in your juices. It prodded against your entrance and every time it nudged against your clit, you moaned.

“Aemond,” you whispered, slipping into a daze as he entered you slowly. The position with his weight over you left you completely vulnerable to him, even allowing him to completely bottom out into you. There was a slight pain as you felt the fullness of him being inside you, hissing as you gripped a hand around his bicep.

“It will feel better, I promise,” he reassured you, moving out of you slowly. He pressed all the way back in making you scream in slight pain and pleasure feeling every bit of him in your walls.

You found yourself grinding up onto him, enticing him to move faster into you. Aemond held onto your legs for support as he hit you deep and fast. You were unable to stop your moans as your walls clenched around him, wanting to hold him there for eternity.

“Aemond please,” you begged, needing your release again.

His fingers worked against your clit, rubbing harsh circles there sending you closer to the edge. “See how your walls wrap around me. See how we fit so perfectly together. You were meant for me.” You couldn’t deny him as your came again, only moaning his name as you felt you cunt grip him tightly.

He came soon after, cum spilling into your walls as he pounded into you relentlessly. He groaned into your ear as you felt him twitching inside of you, unable to shake the feeling that your cunt gave him. When he finally slowed down, your walls surely filled with seed, he fell on top of you and didn’t pull out from you.

He shifted his body from side to side, allowing your legs to fall beside you. His head rested beside yours on the sheets, his cock deep within you still as your walls hugged him comfortably.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you told him, turning your head to look at him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Aemond told you, hovering his face over yours. He held you possessively close, not allowing for a second for you to move away from him. “You will stay here with me now.”

“I need to go back to the Va-” you words were caught in your throat as he snapped his hips into yours.

“You need to what?” Aemond taunted, allowing for you to open your mouth to protest before repeating his actions. “I’ll keep you so docile with pleasure that you will be unable to leave. If that doesn’t work, sweet sister, I’ll tie you to my bed.”

His words however didn’t make you scared or want to run away. You felt yourself able to relax in his presence as your arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

For the last few days you had only found pain and sorrow in the red keep but Aemond reminded you of the joy you once felt there. Something your mind wanted to slip into as you forgot about all that had happened, if only for a moment.

“I’ll stay.”

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