#ANYWAYS on a less sappy note

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

UPDATE What's up, it's the proposal guy. You said you wanted to know how this turned out, so I figured I'd tell you. First some context though, because I'm mean and I wanna keep you in suspense longer.

1- I don't wanna doxx us so I'm not telling you where we live, but suffice to say, neither of us are American, and gay marriage has been legal here for less than five years. For both of us, this is the first relationship we've had where marriage was even an OPTION, and I think that's where we've been getting some of that whole 'this has to be a REAL proposal with EVERYTHING' idea.

2- I gotta figure out how to explain this properly. So, I'm pretty used to being the GUY guy in relationships? I was always the one who did the nice gestures, not the one they got done for. Before I met my dream guy, I didn't really notice or care that it was such a thing, I just assumed that's how shit worked. Also, I promised I wouldn't talk a lot about his stuff here, but his last boyfriend before me SUCKED. Anyway point here is, it turns out we both REALLY like feeling swept off our feet sometimes, and a big part of finding each other has been getting to feel special for once? That's a stupid sappy way of putting it the point here is I think all that's what morphed into "I need to be the one getting proposed to, also it has to be completely perfect", and then our Petty & Extra genes got involved.

So I'm sitting in bed thinking about all that up there, and watching all the comments coming in basically being like "Dude, you are BLOWING this" on repeat, and telling me to compromise, and I look up and see him flossing in the bathroom and making all these doofy faces at the mirror, and it's like a switch just flips in my brain, and I'm like "Oh, I'd rather he gets to have his perfect proposal than we both have an okay one". I'm gonna do it.

Morning rolls around, and while I'm 'out for my jog like normal' I hit up a pawn shop for a temp ring (the ring pop thing is cute but NOT HIM). I found one I was at least confident wouldn't get ruined the first time he got his hands greasy (he fixes old machines as a hobby it's hot as hell), got back home, and hid the box in the toe of my nasty ass workout shoes in the bedroom closet, since I figured he'd check there last.

He was still asleep, because he stays up late no matter what and then is SHOCKED he's tired the next day, so I called and booked a table at our usual anniversary spot. (Side note about the 'he picks bad restaurants' thing. This isn't an 'I like Greek, you like Chinese' situation, dude's just BAD at finding places. He either assumes pricey is tasty and I get to eat some overrated gourmet bullshit, or he'll try and find something hip and underground and risk giving us food poisoning again, and he REFUSES to give up and pick somewhere we've been before when it's his turn to plan date night. I'm obsessed with him <3.) Date was set, I'd propose on the 21st.

Some of you might have noticed this, but fun fact! It's currently the 16th.

Last night I'm doing dishes and he's been sent to our room for mug collection duty, and he's taking FOREVER, so I go check just in case he found the ring, because the man's a gift tracking BLOODHOUND. Turns out he hasn't, he's found my Angry Box.

I assume other people have an Angry Box? Basically, we had this huge messy fight right when we first moved in together, and I never wanna let it get that bad again, so I have this shoebox where I keep a bunch of our stuff I can look at if we're fighting and hopefully cool off. There's one of those photo booth roll things, letters we wrote when he moved back with his parents for COVID, the wine cork from our first date, shit like that. Anyway, he's just sitting on the floor staring at it, and I explain about the Angry Box, and then he! Proposes!!! Kind of.

He definitely didn't have anything prepared, because by 'propose' I mean 'ugly cried & rambled at me for several minutes before I figured out it WAS a proposal', but once I got on the same page it was amazing. I said yes, and he had to admit he didn't have a ring for me because he was CONVINCED he'd win and I'd do it, so I grabbed mine because, yeah, he was right. He was like "this is the ugliest ring I've ever seen" and I was like yeah well the plan is to replace it later and he went "No. You can pry this off my cold dead fingers. After I'm buried with it." So I guess it's not a temporary ring anymore.

I'm just gonna go ahead and skip to this morning. I pointed out we still have the reservation, and he said I should propose there anyway because "We can get a free dessert. They have those creme brulee shot glasses you like. And for love, or something" and I said ok deal, but that means you gotta get me a ring to keep it fair, and his eyes LIT UP. When I swung by his work for lunch he was still on the phone with a jeweler and he had a whole page of notes on three other ones. Pray for me.

OH PS: I was RIGHT that he'd been the one behind the cat biting me, but it wasn't about the proposal stuff, it's because I paid my baby sister three dollars to shout 'fuck you' every single time he enters a room she's in for (if you ask me, he should be madder at my sister for charging so little), and he did it by giving her a bunch of treats for biting his hands too, so now neither of us can pet our baby girl without oven mitts on. HOLY SHIT I love this man.

Oh my goddddddd I love everything about this <333 I awwww'd out loud on a voice call, like, six times while reading. You two are friggin perfect for each other and so obviously smitten with each other and I wish y'all all the happiness in the world

PS Are y'all planning to have a big wedding? If so oh boy I can't WAIT to get that one in the inbox

Original post

#aita #am i the asshole #aita update #the saga of proposal anon

[irisintheafterglow]

can I say that? (pro!bakugo x you)

summary: you tell katsuki he's pretty. he doesn't know how to respond.

wc: 0.7k

cw/tags: established relationship, swearing, the tiniest bit of angst but mostly tooth-rotting fluff, very obvious laufey and sound of music influence

note: fun fact, "the sound of music" is probably one of my all-time favorite comfort movies. i like the singing and the love story :))) so that's why this scene is in here, it's just the most romantic scene in the movie for me and i really love the implication that finding your soulmate is a reward for doing something right in your past. anyways i talked too much, happy valentines day and enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3 happy valentine's day!

You know, I was thinking and I was wondering two things: Why did you run away to the abbey? And...what was it that made you come back? 

“Hah?” 

“Don’t ‘hah’ me. You heard what I said.” He grunts dismissively and continues to watch whatever old movie you decide to put on the living room TV. You knew he didn’t want to admit it, but the sappy actions of the main leads had his heart racing. You stick your pointer finger into his side only to find a solid wall of rock-hard muscle. “Hey. Say something other than ‘hah.’” 

“Fine. Why the hell’re you poking me?” His eyes flick down to meet yours for a moment, a warning against you jabbing his secretly ticklish spots. Well, I had an obligation to fulfill…and I came back to fulfill it.

“Because I don’t like your answer,” you reply, adjusting your position on the couch. You were practically lying on top of him, one leg swung over his waist while you rested comfortably in the space between his side and the back cushions. One of his arms draped over the edge of the armrest, the other securing you as close to his body as humanly possible. It was a feeling of warmth that made your brain fuzzy, the skin to skin contact heavenly intimate. Your words had slipped out unconsciously and you didn’t know you’d verbalized your thoughts until his blunt response. “I feel like you didn’t actually hear me.” He glances down at you again like you’d sprouted four legs. And I missed the children.

Only the children? 

No–yes!

“Of course I heard you. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” Isn't it right that I missed them? 

“Okay, then respond.” His deflections were becoming weaker, so you kept pushing while simultaneously fighting the urge to turn and bite his bicep.

“Thanks, I guess?” You roll your eyes and your silence finally gets through to him. “Was that not the right answer?” I was only hoping that perhaps you…

“It was an attempt,” you say slowly. Perhaps you might…

“A decent attempt,” he mutters. Yes? 

“Agree to disagree.” You feel his temper flare and brace yourself to get flipped onto your back and pressed into the couch. The action, however, doesn’t come. Instead, an uncharacteristic frown passes over his expression, one that usually didn’t appear if it were only you two. “Kats, did I say something wrong?” He shrugs one broad shoulder. Yeah, something was definitely bothering him. Well, nothing was the same when you were away…and it'll be all wrong again after you leave.

“No, but I think I did,” he mumbles. And I just thought perhaps you might change your mind. 

“Baby, it’s not that serious if you don’t want it to be. A ‘thanks’ is okay. I’m sorry I was teasing.” He shakes his head. Well, I'm sure the baroness will be able to make things fine for you. 

“It’s not that.” You reach out to grab the remote and mute the movie for the time being, before turning to give him your full attention. “I’m just not used to getting called that kinda shit.” 

“Being called…pretty?” 

“Yeah. It’s new,” he explains quietly. “You’re the only one who’s ever told me that.” 

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” you respond gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. He practically melts under your touch. “Would I lie to you, Bakugo Katuski?”

“I fuckin’ hope not,” he says with ironic seriousness and you smile, his own chuckle lightly rumbling through his chest and against your body. “But, I think I like it.”

“Being called pretty?”

“Mhmm. It’s kinda nice.” 

“As long as I’m not feeding your already inflated ego,” you point out and he barks out a laugh, a real one. “Can I call you ‘pretty’ more often, then?” 

“I guess so,” he replies nonchalantly and it’s your turn to frown. The shit-eating grin that pulls at the corner of his mouth is not lost to you. He was an idiot sometimes, but he was your idiot. 

“Bakugo Katsuki.”

“Fine, fine. Yes, call me ‘pretty’ more often.” He pauses and you look at him expectantly, waiting for the pieces to click. “Please.”

Nodding in satisfaction, you reach out to unmute the movie and settle back onto his chest, letting your eyes flutter shut. He sighs contently, rubbing his hand up and down your back and sliding you both further into the numerous pillows. So somewhere in my youth or childhood…I must have done something good. His voice drifts into your ears as you start to doze off, soft and precious like telling a secret. 

“I think you’re pretty too.” 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#i really hope this is readable lol #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bakugo fluff

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOTES — JESS MARIANO

based on a request

masterlist

pairing: jess mariano x reader

description: after months of mutual pining, jess arrives at luke’s having read your favourite novel. oh, and he has some notes.

warnings: swearing, jokey sexual reference, other than that just tooth rotting fluff vibes

author’s note: thank you so much for this request, i loved it sm i had to immediately start writing!!! i hope it does jess justice — i love writing him so much. i may go back and edit some bits im not 100% happy with — but i hope you enjoy!!!

pleaaaaase let me know what you think — i love love love reading you guys’ feedback <3

———

“I finished it.”

If you were anyone else, you’d have jumped out of your skin at the sudden, and rather loud, appearance of someone beside you.

But this was you, and it was Jess, so you were more than used to your ‘peaceful’ study sessions at Luke’s being interrupted by his ever-present smirk, his flirting and his endless supply of smartarse comments.

Not that you could complain.

You’d grown used to his omnipresence over a year ago. And it had been months now since you’d realised that you no longer just tolerated his company — you enjoyed it a ridiculous amount and instead longed for it when he wasn’t around.

You eyed him quizzically, noting how proud of himself he looked for reading your favourite book, but also noticing an unusual lack of self-assurance glimmering through his expression.

“I would ask if you mean this trig stuff for Mr Elton,” you gestured down to the homework you’d been painfully poring over for the past hour, “But I know you too well to expect you to actually do your homework, so what are you talking about?”

He didn’t mention that the real reason he never studied in your trig study sessions was because he was more often than not too busy staring at you and coming up with things to say to make you laugh.

Jess raised his eyebrows, but then shook his head and cleared his throat to do a godawful impression of you, “Oh Jess, I can’t believe you’ve never read it. My favourite novel in the whole world and you’ve never read it!”

You scoffed, “If that was supposed to be me, get out of here.”

“Please, like you really want to get rid of me,” he teased, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of you, “Then you’d be miserable and heartbroken and, even worse, have to actually finish your trig homework. Besides, I enjoyed it.”

Your eyes brightened up at this, and you could tell he noticed, “Don’t look so surprised, Y/N. Your taste isn’t that bad… I mean, you hang out with me don’t you?”

“For some reason, yes,” you pretended to grumble, feigning ignorance of the butterflies in your stomach at his usual smug smile, “But you really liked it?”

He sat down in the seat opposite you now, pulling the book from his bag and slamming it down in front of you, “Well, I have notes of course.”

You rolled your eyes, at which he couldn’t help but laugh, “Hey, it wasn’t terrible. I did say I enjoyed it… Some of the notes are nice.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

“You wound me,” Jess feigned a pout, “Romance isn’t usually my genre and you know that.”

“Of course. Hemingway fanboy is too cool for my sappy romantic books, huh,” you joked, heart still racing wildly at the notion he’d even started reading it, let alone finished it.

“Pfft. Austen fangirl should be less rude and give more Hemingway a try, I say,” he quipped back, tongue in cheek.

“Hey, I like Hemingway,” you shook your head, “I just don’t go to bed and jerk off over how great I think he is like you so obviously do.”

He shook his head and pulled a face that faked shock, “And how much time in the day, on average, would you say you spend thinking about what I jerk off over, huh?”

“You are such an ass,” you tutted, swatting his arm, “Approximately none, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“Anyway, if you’re done being gross, let’s get back to the important thing here. You read my book,” You reached to pull the book towards you, only for him to snatch it back and rest his elbows on it.

You furrowed your brows at him, “What’ve you got to hide in there?”

His eyes narrowed, his lip between his teeth now as though he was thinking hard about something.

“C’mon, Mariano,” you leaned forward, “I assumed that since you brought the book with you, I’d get to see at least some of your notes.”

His fingers were picking at the edges of the book’s cloth sleeve, his toes drumming on the floor anxiously like they’d recently begun to do more often when he was around you.

He heaved out a deep sigh, “Look. I’m going to give you this, and then I’m gonna leave the diner, alright? And then, and only then, you can open this book up, and you can read what’s in there. And if you never see me again it’s ’cause I’ve died of embarrassment or something. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes, chin on your palm.

He slid the book in your direction now as you watched him swallow thickly and cocked your head to the side like a curious puppy, “Ever so cryptic, aren’t you?”

“You’ll figure it out, Miss Marple.”

With that, he rose to his feet and darted out of the diner before you could even say another word.

You briefly made eye contact with Luke behind the counter, who watched you carefully for a moment before looking down at the book now carefully clutched between your fingers.

You wasted no time then, pulling open the book and desperately skimming for whatever the hell he was talking about.

You weren’t sure what on earth you expected to find when you flicked through its pages, but it most certainly wasn’t a plethora of sticky tabs with scrawled notes on about how the protagonist reminded him of you.

You expected even less, then, to find a note in Jess’ handwriting at the very back of the book declaring that he realised halfway through — when the two love interests whose relationship bore a crazy resemblance to your own, realised that they were in fact in love — that he’d been stupid to deny that he even liked you, let alone that he’d quite obviously fallen stupidly in love with you.

Shock coursed through you, your heart racing at the uncharacteristically romantic and yet somehow still so incredibly Jess gesture.

You stood up, almost knocking over your chair as you placed the book under your arm and turned to leave, “I’ll be back—uh, soon.”

Luke nodded, “Go get him kiddo.”

You smiled, butterflies whirling in your stomach as you left the diner almost as quickly as Jess had just minutes ago.

You knew exactly where you’d find him — perched on the bridge swinging his feet and letting his mind convince him you wouldn’t in a million years feel the same.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps approaching, you saw him clench his eyes shut as if in hope that he was imagining you and that you’d soon disappear.

“You can’t confess your love for me and then run away, Jess,” you bit your lip as you teased him softly, “It’s not fair not to give me a chance to say it back properly. You do get bonus points for how much of a romance novel cliché that move is, though.”

He sighed, a deep heavy sigh of relief, and it was as though suddenly he reverted to his usual self, “Technically the book confessed my love for you, actually. And the window for reciprocating hasn’t quite closed yet. I’m all ears, pretty girl.”

You loved this.

You loved how easy things always were for you with Jess.

Everything that went unspoken still never went unsaid — sure, you’d been flirtatious friends for a while now, uncertain of quite how seriously he reciprocated your feelings, but deep down you always sort of knew.

You loved that ever since he’d come to Stars Hollow, he’d shown that he cared in his own silly little ways.

And he loved you.

And you loved him.

You sat down at his side, still clutching the book tightly as he finally looked across at you with a small smile.

“You’re such a romantic, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you,” you nudged his side teasingly, “But I— Jess I do love you, and I’ve probably loved you for a long time even though I didn’t want to let myself admit it.”

“Wow, okay Mr Darcy… Wait ‘til Luke hears that the real reason you’ve only just told me that is because you think he’s embarrassing,” he mocked, but you felt him shuffle closer, “I’ve definitely loved you for longer than I thought I had too, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Much better, Miss Bennet,” you laughed, linking your arms and leaning against his shoulder as he pressed a small kiss to the top of your head.

You felt Jess’ chest rise and fall as you closed your eyes and let the sound of the stream beneath you wash over you.

“So, like, I don’t know the protocol with the whole ‘best friends to lovers’ trope like you do, so you’re gonna have to help me out here,” Jess chuckled.

You sat back up to look at him whilst still keeping hold of his arm, “Hmm, I think what’s meant to happen next is you kiss me and ask to take me on a real date. Pretty sure that’s right.”

“Right, everyone’s favourite cliche moment,” Jess rolled his eyes jokingly but cupped your face with his palms, “God, what have you done to me?”

“You looove me,” your response was muffled as he pressed his lips to yours to shut you up, at first gently and then with a touch more urgency.

When you pulled away, he let go of your face and smiled softly, “So about that date?”

“You got it, Mariano,” you grinned, kissing him quickly once more as you paused, “But you’re going to have a tough time doing anything as romantic as annotating my favourite book and writing me a love note, you know.”

He scoffed, “Oh I’ve got plenty more where that came from, Y/N.”

“Is that a threat?” you giggled, leaning back into his side.

“Just you wait and see.”

———

ok so i kinda lost my way with this a bit eventually and i’m sorry it’s quite short but i had sooooo much fun writing it. i love jess so fucking much and i’m so grateful for all the jess requests i get — trying v hard to work through them asap because it’s so fun.

thanks for reading! here’s my masterlist for more <3

#jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano #jess mariano x you #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano x reader #gilmore girls #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine

[hxyleswritesthings]

Alpha!Katsuki Headcanons

Author's Note: I'm working on an actual written blurb for these two, but in the meantime, enjoy this snapshot into what their relationship is like!

From here on out, his omega will be affectionately referred to as BB, just as a pet name.

Bakugou is aged up to mid-20s here, and this does contain slightly mature content so read at your own risk.

BB is quirkless!! Sometimes Bakugou teases her for it, stressing that she needs her big, strong, pro Hero alpha to take care of her and keep her protected. He’s also known for telling her to sit her “basic ass” down. 

She doesn’t really mind the teasing, or the lack of a quirk. She used to be self conscious about it growing up, but now she doesn’t see herself as anything less for it. 

She’s a total crybaby, like big fat Deku tears. She cries a lot when she’s stressed, and don’t even get me started on how she can get when her hormones are all out of whack from preheat. 

Cries a LOTTT during sappy romance movies as well.  One time she got so worked up Bakugou had to cut the movie off halfway, despite her protests. 

These two are stupidly in love with each other!!! Not a single person expected Katsuki to be so open and vulnerable as he is with her, but it’s been such a pleasant surprise!! He’s still the hard exterior Katsuki they all know and love, but it’s impossible to miss how much happier and calm he is around his omega. BB can take him from explosive, aggressive, alpha to someone who’s pulling her close and outright purring at her affections within a matter of moments. 

 He’s very protective of his omega but he’ll be damned if he becomes one of those alphas that has to control her every move. This means BB loves to go out with her friends, but he will be dropping her off and picking her up after, as well as triple checking his ringer is on in case she calls for anything. Everyone jokes that he’s a total mother hen, but it’s an arrangement that makes them both the most comfortable. 

Before he had marked her, there was one time she called him because another alpha was making her uncomfortable at the bar. Katsuki was with Kiri and Mina at the time and let’s just say that Mina had to go in to retrieve BB (checking up on her friends to make sure they were safe as well, ofc), while Kiri held Bakugou back so that he wouldn’t march in and make a scene. It led to him causing a scene outside the front door anyways.

He only calmed down once she was safe and in his arms, her face tucked into his scent glands as her previously sour scent turned sweeter as she calmed down.

BB is very shy at first, but completely opens up once she gets comfortable. This means she tends to be quiet around new people and stick to her alpha’s side, but once she trusts someone, she literally doesn’t shut tf up. 

No, seriously. Bakugou introduced her to the squad once they were officially courting. They had dinner at his apartment, and the poor girl barely spoke while everyone sat around the table, eating. A few hours (and drinks) later, she was practically glued to Kiri’s side, talking his fucking ear off. Bakugou quickly learned that the two are very similar, and they’re best friends now who love to make his life hell. 

About Kiri!!! Kiri is not mated yet, but he has been courting an omega for a while and the two are literally meant for each other. They have double dates with Bakugou and his girl all the time and BB and Kiri’s omega are very close!! 

Whenever they’re at a party, or having a night out somewhere, BB is infamous for pulling Bakugou away after a few drinks to blow him. He always teases that he won’t let her next time, but he’s just a man. He’d be crazy to deny his pretty little omega wanting to get on her knees and make her alpha feel good. 

Yes, this did occur at a hero gala one time. They tried their best to play it off but their friends all knew the blush adorning their cheeks was not from the alcohol. 

Before quitting, BB used to work at a coffee shop in between classes. She would also hang out there to do schoolwork. This is how they met each other. Bakugou caught whiff of her scent one day while on patrol with Kiri, and he was immediately hooked. He bought her a refill and a pastry and the poor dude was stumbling over his words trying to introduce himself. 

He was so nervous, hands shaky as he spoke to her. Kiri definitely teased him about it, but clearly it had worked as BB had slipped him her number before the two men left.

She always felt very safe around him, even from the start. He became a safe space for her very early on in their relationship.

On their first date, he took her to get takeout and they ate it sitting on a blanket at a local park and trying to guess the life stories of different strangers around them. 

Their second date he invited her over to his apartment and made her dinner. She showed up in a dress and heels, and couldn’t help but keep staring at his biceps as they bulged underneath his button down he had chosen for the night. He even set the table with flowers and candles. What a romantic!!

Bakugou was absolutely swooning over her!!! They cleaned up together after dinner, giggling like children as they splashed sudsy water on each other. Bakugou poured them both another glass of wine once they were finished, showing her to the balcony where they sat and talked in the cool night air. 

The night mayyyy or may not have ended with Bakugou’s head underneath the poor girl’s dress, thighs shaking as she fell apart on his face. He moaned into her, cleaning her up with his tongue before pulling away, helping her pull her panties back up into place and pressing a few kisses to her lips as he pulled her into his arms on the couch. He drove her home later that night, making sure she was safely inside before taking himself back home. 

They went on a few more dates before he decided to court her, showing up at her place with a new blanket and a sweater of his he had scented, as well as her favorite chocolates as a courting gift. BB accepted immediately, tearing up at the gesture as she pulled him into an embrace. She left him briefly to add the two new items to her nest, breathing in the mix of their scents deeply once she had finished. She quickly returns to Bakugou, instructing him to take his shoes off before pulling him into her bedroom and inviting him into her nest for the very first time. It’s an emotional moment for both of them as he climbs in, making himself comfortable and allowing his omega to scent him before tucking herself into his chest, the both of them practically purring. 

They spent the rest of the day in her nest and Bakugou even called out the next day for some extra time with her.

#bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #mha smut #mha fluff #alpha bakugou #alpha!bakugou #alpha katsuki #alpha bakugou katsuki #a/b/o verse #omegaverse #mha fanfiction #bakugou x reader #alpha! kirishima #alpha kirishima #alpha bakugo katsuki #alpha bakugo

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it. 

#Steve Rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #marvel smut #MCU smut #Avengers smut #dizzy is BACK #did you miss me?

[wooahaes]

we won’t change (because we’re engraved in each other’s hearts)

pairing: non-idol!joshua x fem!reader

genre: fluff. sappy, sappy fluff.

word count: 0.7k~

warnings: alcohol mentions/drunk shua + reader. one mentioned rebuff towards sex. a very not-sober shua being the sappiest man in the world for readers bday.

daisy’s notes: tbh i should rank the group based on how fun i think itd be to get drunk w them. my lil wooahae man made it easy for me to say someones dead last bc he doesnt rly drink since it makes him sick, so thank u jihoonie

All you had wanted for your birthday was a nice night together with your boyfriend, and Joshua was going to ensure you got it.

Most days, Joshua doted on you, and today had been no different. From the second opinion he gave when you asked for it (which pair of heels to wear tonight, did your eyeliner look alright...), to the way he slowly zipped you into your dress before planting a chaste kiss against your neck, and the way his hand found yours on the trip to and from the restaurant. The first time had been his way of holding onto you, just to keep himself tethered to you with a subtle smile and a question about how the rest of your day had gone. The second was to keep himself close to you while he nearly stumbled over himself at times, the alcohol in his system making his steps a little less certain than before--but with your hand in his, he could at least make sure that you didn’t trip up anywhere.

Which brought him to now. He was lying in bed, having changed out of his nicer clothes, and waiting for the very-exhausted you to make your way from the bathroom back into your shared bedroom. Even if his teasing kisses down your neck had been met with a “not tonight, Joshy, I’m sleepy,” he was still excited to see your pretty face when all was said and done. His face was illuminated by his phone as he scrolled through social media, a pillow in his arms as he waited for you to come and take its place.

“Shua,” you had dragged out his name as you stumbled back into the room. How much did the two of you drink again? Joshua wasn’t sure, but he was already clicking his phone off. “Move over.”

“This is my side,” he teased.

A groan. “So mean.... And on my birthday, too...” But he watched you make your way to his side anyway, and he slid over to give you room to nearly face-plant into the mattress.

From there, he could see how your face was still slightly wet from going through your cleansing routine. He could smell the moisturizer you used, too--fruity, because you always preferred those scents. He reached out, tugging at you slightly as he shoved the pillow back into its proper place.

“Pillow’s gone,” he said. “I’m here.”

Without answering, you moved, crawling into his arms and settling there. He held you against his chest, moving to press a tiny kiss against your neck.

“Josh--” You mumbled, only to burst into quiet giggles as he continued to press quick peck after peck against your skin, “that tickles.”

“I love you,” he said, smiling softly. He could feel himself already starting to drift off, and he stifled a yawn before planting another sleepy kiss against your neck. “Thank you for looking after me,” he squeezed around your stomach a little. “And for loving me.”

Your head dipped back, bumping against him. “You’re sappy tonight, huh...”

He chuckled against your neck, hot breath fanning your skin. “I mean it. Thank you,” another gentle squeeze, “for being a part of my life. And for saying yes when I asked you to be my girlfriend...” He paused, stifling another yawn. “Even though Jeonghan asked you out five minutes earlier to make me jealous...”

“I don’t like Jeonghan like that, silly.” With a few taps against his arms, he let you go. You turned over to face him, one hand reaching up to hold his face. “Josh. I think you drank too much, honey.”

Again, he just laughed softly. “I mean it!” He leaned in, planting one final kiss against your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, you sap.” You snuggled in closer, legs intertwining with his.

With one hand curled around your back, he’d begun to trace hearts with his fingers. “Thank you for being born,” he said softly. “I think... I think we’re soulmates.”

“Joshua...” You squeezed him gently. “Go to sleep, honey.”

“I mean it,” he said again, softer this time. “Happy birthday.” He nuzzled his head closer to your own, eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you for finding me.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao​ @wonuziex​ @synthetickitsune​ @cinnamoroxie​

#wooahaes.fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #svt x reader #svt imagine #seventeen x you #svt x you #joshua hong fluff #joshua x reader #joshua fluff #joshua hong x reader #joshua x you #wooahaes.23

[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.

#hangman fic #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #mine #f: bh #goodbye

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 2

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Part 1 | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Chapter word count: 1,900

Chapter summary: A flashback to how it all began, featuring cosmetics as a charisma modifier, because why the hell not?

Five years ago

The vampire had invited himself into Asmodea’s tent and now lounged, catlike, on a rug nabbed from the druid grove, lazily observing her as she applied her makeup. 

The neckline of the ruffled shirt he wore allowed a peek at the ridges of his chest muscles - the overall image was reminiscent of a drawing one might find on the cover of a sappy romance novel. Or would be, had he been less gaunt. The shirt itself was also quite worn, Asmodea noted, and not just from their last few days of travel. Repaired in places, with thread that didn’t even match its colour.

Magistrate my ass, she thought. A common thief masquerading as a noble, maybe.

She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, though she did find his company amusing. 

He certainly had a big mouth on him. …Figuratively speaking. When it came to the literal meaning it was, for all intents and purposes, rather perfectly shaped and sized, she caught herself thinking.

“Now who might you be prettying yourself up for, I wonder,” he purred. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by goblins and gnolls.”

“It adds to my charm even with goblins, I find,” she retorted. “And I don’t see you giving Lae’zel shit for applying her warpaint.”

“Lae’zel was openly glaring at me and trimming a branch into a stake just earlier this morning,” Astarion responded. “She could wear clown paint and a pink tutu, and I wouldn’t question her. No offence, darling, but your lute doesn’t inspire the same level of caution,” he said. “…And I’ve seen how well you aim your spells,” he murmured as an afterthought. 

“Is there no one else for you to bother?” she asked halfheartedly, sighing. “Perhaps you could try cozying up to Lae’zel so she doesn’t stake you? She might be interested - I doubt she’s had elf before.” 

“‘Had elf’?! You say that like I’m a cut of meat,” Astarion said with mock indignation.  

“You present yourself like you’re a cut of meat,” Asmodea shrugged. “With the subtlety of a mallet to the head, I might add.” 

“I suppose I haven’t had githyanki either...” mused Astarion. “But no matter, Lae’zel and everyone else are such bores. But you... I sense a kinship in you, my dear. I think we are kindred spirits.” 

“Kindred spirits?” she laughed. “A bard and a rogue, the biggest cliche in all of Faerun? You can do better than that!”  

“Cliches exist for a reason,” he mused. “Who knows, perhaps destiny has brought us together.” 

“Ah yes... I can see it now...” She snickered. “We will adventure together, gambling, thieving and whoring our way through each pub, tavern and inn on the Sword Coast, only to realise that true love had been before us all along.” 

“Why of course,” he agreed. “All because at the last inn there will be-” 

“Only one bed,” they said in unison.  

Asmodea laughed in delight as Astarion smiled.  

“Oh you are decidedly adorable!” She teased. “Shall we start a book club? I overheard Wyll and Shadowheart discussing some godawful mermaid erotica earlier, perhaps they’d like to join too.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with that one as well,” Astarion wrinkled his nose. “Too flowery for my taste. Anyway, don’t undersell yourself as merely a bard - you are really a warlock, darling.” 

“Only when it pleases me to set someone on fire,” she said, nonchalantly. 

“Well... You have been stirring a fire in me since the moment we met,” he said emphatically, leaning forward. 

“Ahhh!!! That is absolutely awful!” She guffawed. “I will need to remember to write that down somewhere so I don’t forget. Are you sure you don’t want to give barding a go? You’d be fantastic at it, going by the amount of bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”

“I think this world is a dire enough place without me torturing a fiddle or singing,” Astarion said humourlessly. “But coming back to your ah… skillset and its nature. Should we be expecting any further demonic visits in the night? Might you be in breach of your contract, with everything that’s been going on? Not that little horns and a tail wouldn’t suit you.” 

“Why the sudden interrogation?” Asmodea glanced at him with a frown.

“I thought it prudent to ask in advance in case I should expect to be delivered as a blood sacrifice to some demon,” Astarion shrugged. 

“My patron is fey. No sacrifices required.” Asmodea went back to her preparations. “The contract is simple: live under the name they’ve given me, provide them with entertainment, receive powers in exchange.” 

“...That’s it? ‘Be entertaining’?” his eyes narrowed. “That is the term of your contract?”

“That’s it,” she answered. “They have a particular liking for the absurd, vulgar and violent. Renditions of classical works or poetry recitals – not so much.” 

“…No time limits? Penalties? Guarantees? No other conditions?” 

“Look, I know it’s a shitty contract, but I was in a bit of a bind when I entered it. Quite literally,” she said defensively. 

“It’s awful, darling,” Astarion tutted. “I’ve seen more complicated deals being scribbled down on napkins in taverns.” 

“Do I look like a lawyer to you?” Asmodea glared at him.

“No, you look like a foxy raccoon that’s about to devour my soul,” Astarion tried to placate her. “...But quite frankly, you should renegotiate. Let me know if you ever want my help with it, I wasn’t lying about being a magistrate you know.” 

Asmodea only scoffed at that. 

“My patron’s been practically bouncing with excitement ever since I was snatched up onto that nautiloid - I think the ‘entertainment’ condition is very much in my favour right now.”

Astarion continued to observe her as she began pencilling a symbol on her forehead.

“May I ask why..? I do think it’s rather fetching, but... why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” she asked as she concentrated on her reflection, red pencil in hand.  

“The symbol in the middle of your forehead,” he rolled his eyes. “Why draw it? Is it for your patron..? But it can’t be, it’s not even the same every day.”

“It’s just for me,” she replied. Meeting his blank stare, she added: “They’re more likely to stay away from you if they think you’re crazy.” 

“…Who, ‘they’?” He asked, sounding annoyed.

“Everyone,” she said, simply. “Although it doesn’t seem to work on stubborn vampires.” She breathed a laugh, meeting his gaze, before continuing. “You have some real nerve, you know: propositioning me for sex earlier, and acting like you’d be doing me a favour.” She returned her attention to the mirror. “I meant it, you know. You’re not my type.” 

The sheer audacity of the proposal had nearly left her speechless when it happened, though its forwardness was growing increasingly… funny, the more she thought about it. It would have been insulting, had it not been so genuinely candid. The man truly believed that sleeping with him would be a gift bestowed by the gods.

She cursed as she botched and started to erase the symbol with her own spittle for the third time in a row. 

“Oh for the love of... Here, let me.” Astarion grimaced, grabbing the pencil from her hand, and sat up, kneeling in front of her. “Hold still... And close your eyes, I’ll retouch them as well.” 

She took him up on his offer. How many people could boast a vampire doing their makeup for them?

“What is your type?” he murmured softly as he worked.  

“Oh you know...” She replied, pensively. “Tall, dark, burly. Thick beard, tree trunk arms, strong hands. Smelling of woodsmoke. Brutally masculine.” 

His fingers felt cool on her skin as he delicately held her chin, drawing lines around her eyes. She sensed a light scent of bergamot and something earthy as he leaned toward her. 

Despite herself, she wondered how his lips might feel on hers. Were they cold? Were other parts of him..? Perhaps she would find out, later. After all, why not? Why shouldn’t she add a vampire to her list of lovers?  

The pencilwork stopped, but Astarion’s fingers lingered lightly under her chin. Asmodea opened her eyes to see him much closer than was reasonable or necessary. 

“Exquisite,” he whispered, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back, his index finger slowly running beneath her chin, gently tilting her face upward. 

Oh hells no. This was not happening now. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You didn’t just draw a dick on my forehead, did you?” she asked. 

Astarion blinked, producing a quiet little snort, creases forming around his eyes, adding to the smile that had already been on his lips. 

“I thought about it, but then I remembered that you do have a reflection,” he said, leaning back away from her.  

She considered his work in the handheld mirror.  

“Not bad... Not bad at all,” she said, turning her gaze back on him, with a raised eyebrow.  

“I have sisters,” he offered, by way of explanation.  

The vampire had a family? Curious.  

Astarion continued to linger as she began putting her things away.

“We’ll need something a bit more personal than that pompous name given to you by your patron, if we are to continue to travel together,” he said. “‘Asmodea’ doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. It’s nearly as bad as ‘Shadowheart’.” 

“Patron business,” she shrugged. “Don’t ask me why they chose that name in particular. The contract prevents me from even suggesting anything else you might call me.”

“So I’m free to choose a nickname for you myself then? Hmm... Asmodea, Asmodea... The first thing that comes to mind is ‘Assie’,” he said with a wicked grin. 

“I will blast you,” she warned, with a glare. “Darling.”  

“Shame, it’s all too fitting for your charming personality... What about... Asmo... No. Momo. No...” 

She groaned, throwing her head back as though praying to some god for patience.  

“No, no... I have just the thing for you,” he smirked.   

“By all means, humour me,” she sighed. 

He continued to grin at the half-even woman before him, taking in her intricate eye makeup, the symbol drawn on her forehead, the piercings and wild orange-red locs on her head. 

“My magnificent wild warlock...” He proclaimed, gesticulating with a theatrical flourish. “My darling little bard... I know who you are.” 

She narrowed her green eyes at him as he booped the tip of her nose with his index finger. 

“You’re Oddie.” 

She clicked her tongue but otherwise said nothing, in annoyed resignation, refusing to admit she kind of liked it. 

Wyll ducked into the tent.  

“We’re ready to go.” He gave Asmodea an apprehensive look before continuing. “Do you have any kind of plan for how we’re going to handle this..?” 

“My plan is to wing it,” she replied. “Just follow my lead, I’ve dealt with the fuckers before.” She turned to Astarion, getting up. “Come, ‘kindred spirit’. We’re infiltrating a goblin camp.” 

Astarion made way to his tent to grab his own gear, pleased with the progress he’d made. Oh, this quaint little creature could continue to feign disinterest for a while longer – she would do exactly what he needed her to, in the end. There was no rush – he had days, perhaps even weeks, to reel her in – not the mere hours he was accustomed to. What a luxury.

In the meantime, though he was almost loath to admit it, this little game was... kind of fun.

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @asterordinary

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles

[luffyvace]

Zoro x male reader headcanons

from my list on my profile :)

btw keep in mind there will be no ‘dom’ in this relationship for these headcanons. i have nothing against it as long as it’s still sfw so don’t be afraid to request that :).

zoro wouldn’t stand for a weak s/o

he doesn’t wanna have to worry for you

so if your weak he’ll make you train with him

and if your not ‘great! let’s spar!’

it doesn’t matter if you use swords or a weapons at all

yall gon spar.

y’all prob fight even more than him and sanji at this point

but not actually angry fight—spar fight

he’ll even teach you his no swords style if he has to 😭

also he’s not a huge cuddle bug or anything but he’s always warm

he’ll grunt if you snuggle up to him for warmth but won’t move you or anything

another thing—he always has your back

especially in fights

not really in petty arguments with other people tho

he might join in on it but not on your side

just to tease you

but you know he means no harm

except for with ero cook

then he’ll team up with you

😭

zoros love languages are quality time and acts of service for sure

zoros quality time looks like working out together,

trying to understand whatever hobbies you like

drinking contests

sitting in solidarity silence

and his acts of service is

saving your butt in battle

going shopping together

any little favor you need really

if your carrying something heavy and almost drop it he’s got you

he shows he cares in little ways like that

zoro is the one to tell it like it is in the straw hats

like he did when usopp left

and he won’t be afraid to call you out on your crap if your wrong

hes not trying to alienate your or something

he just wants you to realize what your doing and change to be a better person

youll have to stop him from getting into trouble btw

like the time he almost shanked charlos

and you always makes sure he doesn’t get lost :)

may or may not come of with nick names for you depending on what you look like/do a lot

like with sanji and ero cook

but they’re less insulting

if your a more excitable person he won’t mind same with being a chill person

hes indifferent about a lot of things

hes chill with 90% personalities and 100% of looks

the 10% of personality he doesn’t like is sanji’s

apologies to sanji kinnies :)

you and zoro kinda always end up going wherever the other goes

like y’all are always together but like not on purpose

it’s cute to robin and nami

zoro would open up to you about his past a good amount of months into the relationship

but it won’t be at random

itll probably happen after you open up to him about yours

then he starts thinkin

’should i tell him?’

he decides he’ll take the opportunity when it comes to him

it was a much needed conversation that let him get a lot off his chest

especially about kuina

he never directly told anyone about who she was

he always just says i promised someone

or his childhood friend

but he never went into depth

which is just even more confirmation that he really loves and trusts you

communication with him is actually pretty good

some topics might get skimped though

if he does something you don’t like subconsciously

dont hesitate to come to him about it

it won’t offend him

he’s a tough cookie anyways he’ll be alright

plus he’s all about betterment

so he’s open to criticism as longs as your being genuine and not sarcastic

he’s also most likely to take it if it’s from you

yall trust each other with y’all lives 100% on another note

if you wanna go on dates?

ya mean drinking contests?

nahh jk

but it won’t be anything sappy because he refuses to take any advice from love cook

just chillin somewhere peaceful on an island

hopefully you have navigation skills or at least not his sense of direction so y’all don’t get lost 😭

don’t let him lead btw

he’ll try to and insist he knows where he’s going

no he dont

stop him

you have to be stern or he’s going his way

hes kinda stubborn

you love that part of him too tho

💖

i’m proud with the way these came out!

i hope any guy that reads this enjoys because there is 100% a lack of male content- so here you are! :)

#anime #anime and manga #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x male reader #one piece zoro #zoro headcanons #zoro x you #anime headcanons #one piece anime #one piece x amab reader #one piece x reader #one piece x male reader #one piece x you #zoro hcs #straw hat pirates #anime fans #x reader #x you #x male reader #x male y/n

[chronic-boogara]

𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

celebration post because i’m not shadow banned anymore !!! i’ve had this in my notes for a long long time

michael myers

•sitting down for a long period of time , staring at the same spot? count michael in. he does that all the time anyways so why not do it with you.

•believe it or not he doesn’t much mind what’s playing he just likes to see what’s on.

•actually that’s a lie. he hates romance movies. something about them makes him sick to his stomach. and dog movies. he knows they’re going to die

•movie night is also a valid excuse for cuddles. you’ll hold him anyways but he’s stubborn

jason vorhees

•if it makes you happy jason will happily sit through a film or two with you. make it monthly!!

•he’s picky about the genre though! no horror please :( he’s a scardy cat. it’ll give him bad nightmares. kind of ironic coming from him.

•he likes to watch like a coming of age movie or a nice feel good movie. or some sappy romance.

•no sex !! or anything inappropriate. if it’s rated r he will not be watching it. he also doesn’t really care for marvel movies.

thomas hewitt

•tommy doesn’t like being still for too long, his body needs to move. he’s an active person in body

•put on a movie while he’s doing something. he doesn’t mind that

•isn’t really into tv so he could care less what you put on. podcasts are more his speed because he doesn’t really need to watch to follow the plot

bubba sawyer

•YES! put on a comedy and he will sit there for hours. work is second in his mind now

•cartoons>>

•similar to michael he doesn’t mind what’s on. but just like jason he doesn’t like scary stuff.his brothers will purposely pick movies they know bubba won’t like.

•he can’t sit down for too long so he’ll only be able to sit through maybe one film if that. he’s a busy body he has lots to do. plus drayton is always making him do things around the house.

vincent sinclair

•the two of you regularly have a movie night. over time he has collected many different obscure films. he can’t wait to show you

•he has a collection of art films that he keeps behind a shelf in the basement. it’s his little stash

•he doesn’t mind other films of course. it’s just not his first choice. movie night with his brothers are always interesting.

•actually loves horror films !! they’re some of his faves

#i missed you guys so much #slasher community #slasher comfort #slasher x reader #michael myers headcanons #michael myers x reader #jason vorhees x reader #jason vorhees #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer x reader #bubba sawyer #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair #house of wax 2005 #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #halloween(rob zombie) #friday the thirteenth #friday the 13th #fluffy slasher headcanons #esha writes

[tiredcreatur3]

exhausted from work toji needs some sort of a push to feel better and you, his wonderful wife, always know exactly what he needs.

-

sort of sub toji (lets reader take control for once), handjob, a whole lot of praise cuz baby boy needs it, married couple who’s still in their puppy love phase, just gentle sappy sex, what more to add.

enjoy.

—

he told you that he wasn't feeling the best today, having seen how tired and just done he seemed after coming home.

and of course, you wanted to help him let off some steam, coming to him as he dropped down to sit down on the couch, a big sigh leaving him.

"hey.." you whispered out softly to him, sitting down next to him with a small smile on your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

"hey baby." he hummed out to you, already feelikg his body become less tense once you cuddled closer to him, soon relaxing into the couch.

"long day?" you asked quietly, resting your hand on his cheek, gently caressing the lightly scruffy skin, staring at him.

"mhm.." he only nodded his head, leaning into your hand as he sighed again, closing his eyes for a second, seeming like he didn't wanna necessarily talk about it right now so you made a mental note to ask again later.

he soon leaned in to kiss you gently, placing his hand on your tummy as he kissed you slowly yet with so much love and care despite being exhausted.

and of course, you returned the kiss with the same energy because you missed your husband and in a way, you needed this as well.

"you been okay?" he asked softly against your lips, not pulling away for a while longer.

" 'm okay.. don't worry, hun." you smiled to him, resting your hand on his lap gently, hearing him hum in relief, gently combing his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"want you to feel better.." you whispered to him, pressing a few kisses to his neck and jaw which always seemed to melt away all his problems and worries, slumping into the couch even more with a soft sigh.

he didn't say anything and just kissed you again, knowing that he was never the best with words. but after being with him for a couple years and as his wife, you quickly got the hang of it.

you carefully rubbed at the slowly forming bulge in his work pants, it always getting him weak in the knees when you'd take control and just help him feel better.

"baby.." he groaned softly, his head already falling backwards, legs spreading and oh, you were getting him exactly where you needed.

you only hummed to his little groan, palming him through his pants just a while longer before undoing them slowly and not even bothering to pull them down with his boxers, they'd be going into the washer anyway.

your hand was soon wrapped around his stiff cock, letting him lean in and rest your head on your chest, eyes already half closed as he watched you get him off after a long day, other hand gently combing through his hair, feeling how his hand stayed on your lower stomach still which you just found absolutely endearing.

you began to stroke him, nice and slow, always stopping at the tip to lightly smear across the slit before going back down to the base, keeping your palm lightly squeezed.

his body already began to react to it, soft groans leaving him as oh, his cock was already so fucking wet and hard, his other hand itching to touch himself but he knew you didn't like that so he quickly recollected himself and stopped himself from doing so.

"o-oh shit.." he let out shakily, cock already trembling in your hand as you stroked slowly, not rushing it or anything, you really just wanted him to relax and calm down, forget about everything that's been weighing him down.

"there you go, baby.. just relax, don't have to worry about anything now, yeah?" you hummed out with a gentle voice, only feeling him nod as he still rested against you, cock so hard and stiff, yet the rest of his body went lax as soon as you started stroking him.

"i'm right here, toji.. right here." you said softly, reassuring him as he nodded again with a quiet something that sounded like a mixture of a whine and a hum.

"i-i love you." he whimpered out, looking up to you to say it as he never said it without staring into your eyes, seeing that satisfied yet tired worn out expression on his face, knowing he was getting what he needed.

"i know, beautiful boy.. love you so much more." you cooed, pressing a kiss to his temple and letting him rest his head on your chest again, watching as you stroked him, the pace becoming a bit faster now but still relatively slow.

you couldn't see his face but just from how he was reacting vocally and how red and trembly his cock was after few strokes, you knew that he was more than enjoying it and that's exactly all that you needed to know.

every time you moved your hand up and down, lubing his cock up with his own precum, you could feel how he'd tense up and then go lax right again, a pained yet soft whimper leaving him before you wrapped your arm around him to use your other hand as well, holding his cock at the base, squeezing gently as you palmed at the tip of his dick nice and quick which turned him into a little twitchy mess, breathy groans and whines leaving him as his legs closed in for a second, shushing him as you soon stopped and just stroked the tip for a second or two, just to egg him on and bring him closer.

"my beautiful good boy, look at you.." you whispered into his ear as he panted quietly, still so gentle and careful with him, even though he was bigger and stronger than you, yet you treated him like he was the opposite.

"gonna cum? wanna make me even prouder?" you let out to him, rubbing at the glans nice and slow, which always drove him crazy, just soft stunned moans leaving him, seeing how his hands were made into fists now, trembling as his cock stood nice and proud.

he nodded his head quickly, letting out little shaky 'yes, yes, yes', a choked groan soon leaving him once he was coming hard, long strings of cum landing on his shirt and his pants and your hand of course, not stopping to stroke him until he was done, smiling as oh, you were so so so proud of him, couldn't be prouder of your boy.

"just like that, hun.. feeling any better?" you asked him carefully while going back to gently combing through his hair, letting him rest against you fully now, leaving his cock for now even though you could see how painfully hard he was still.

he nodded his head, thanking you quietly as he looked up to you with the softest most dazed look you've ever seen, cupping his cheek gently.

"anything else you'd like, hm?" you smiled, just asking in case as he seemed to want more, you could just see it in his eyes.

"fuck me, p-please baby.. shit." he let out softly, seeming so so tired but you knew it'd help him sleep better, it always did.

"anything for my boy.." you let out, taking your pants off and just leaving your big shirt on, which was surprisingly toji's, straddling his lap as you lifted your shirt up a little bit, knowing he loved to watch whenever you'd put it in yourself, his big hands resting on your hips, just watching you with the most fucked out look while sinking down on his cock, head falling back soon enough.

"oh god.." he sighed softly, feeling how his cock trembled inside you, already rolling his hips a few times into you with quiet lil grunts, letting him use your cunt however he needed.

but soon enough he stopped after you began to gently and subtly moving up and down his cock, seeing how his face just completely melted, letting you do whatever you wanted with him, hands rested on your soft thighs, rubbing them every now and then.

“feels good? tell me how it feels, to..” you asked him softly, having been fucking his cock for a while, having that man practically drooling over how soft and warm your insides were and how amazing that felt. “are you okay?” you giggled a little bit, gently cupping his face and seeing how he only timidly nodded his head, soft shaky grunts leaving him with each roll of your hips, so so sensitive and overstimulated, you could tell.

“m-more than okay, sweet girl..” he let out softly, having to take a look at how good you were doing, staring as that was all he could do really, shaking almost unnoticeably with each and every roll of your hips. “like fucking heaven t-to me, shit.” he sighed, his hand moving up your hips and under your shirt, gently pulling it up, seeing how he stared at your breasts with the softest most fucked out puppy eyes ever once your shirt was off and on the floor.

“god, i love you, baby.. l-love you more than anything.” he sighed, cupping your breasts and putting one of your nipples in his mouth while kneading at the other, closing his eyes and oh, he just looked so calm and content while doing so, how could you ever get mad at him or tell him no.

“i know, to.. i know.” you smiled to him, gently combing your fingers through his hair, letting him suck on your tit and not have a care in the world, just languidly and lazily riding him, cock twitching every now and then.

but soon, you began to bounce your hips once again, causing the man to pull off after a lil bit, getting a sharp shaky inhale from him, shushing him quietly with a soft kiss.

“know you’re ‘bout to cum, pretty boy.. go ahead, ‘s a safe day today.” you reassured him, feeling how he was sort of holding back from finishing, you could always tell.

“wish i c-could give you a baby.. make you a mommy, know you’d take care of our baby so good..” he babbled softly, knowing that he did say that a few times, that he wanted a kid and all but you always thought he was never serious.

you definitely were ready to take that step in your marriage but you assumed that it’d be better if you talked to toji about it some other time.

you smiled to his words, gently rubbing across his cheek as you pressed a small kiss on his forehead, listening to his moans as it only took few more seconds and he was coming deep inside you with a quiet choked whine.

you stopped after a bit after having him finish, just wanting to wring every last bit out of him, cooing at how fucked out he seemed, all breathy and out of it.

“what a good boy.. feeling any better?” you asked, rubbing across his chest gently, having such heart eyes for your husband.

and all he could get out at that point was just a tired nod and a slow kiss, soon enough getting up and walking to the bedroom as you held onto him, letting him rest on top of you, head nuzzled in your chest, one hand holding your breast as he told you how much he loved you yet again, how grateful he was for you before falling asleep, cock snuggled deep inside you which seemed to comfort him quite a bit.

#toji fushiguro #toji x y/n #toji x you #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut

[k9wa]

༊*·˚ COLLEGE CLICHES. featuring haruchiyo sanzu, manjiro sano, keisuke baji, ken ryuguji, takashi mitsuya.

∴ SYNOPSIS : sappy and stupid college cliches i think the tokyo rev boys would fit.

∴ CONTENT : highschooler tries to write about college, fluff if you squint, this is a little silly, gn reader (no referring pronouns.)

∴ NOTE : if u would wanna see this with a few other characters feel free to lmk! hope u enjoy :]

༉‧₊˚. HARUCHIYO SANZU — who is your lifeline in adv calc, when your teacher is the biggest asshole and neither of you are as good at math as you thought.

⠀

sanzu slowly rubbed over the skin on his face as his eyes danced between his computer screen and textbook, and he came to the conclusion he genuinely had wanted to just die right then and there. 

his professor was driving him absolutely insane; another old man with a stick up his ass, who he swore only took up teaching to make a bunch of college kids feel like idiots, and it didn’t help that he was shit at his job either. sanzu wasn’t built for school, let alone calculus, and every day he remained in that class he questioned what the fuck possessed him to take it in the first place.

he threw the cover of his textbook closed and picked up his phone, opening his messages to the only reason he hadn’t dropped the aforementioned course.

sanzu: this prof is fucked

sanzu: like seriously wtf is half of this shit

♡: switch courses i dare u

sanzu smirked down at his phone when you had responded so quickly.

you two had made an agreement upon meeting at the beginning of the semester, and quickly bonding over your regret for choosing adv calc; the first person to drop the course owed the other one $100. (a good chunk of money, considering you were both broke.) it was the start of a beautiful friendship, and an even more passionate shared hatred for the man you were meant to be learning under. plus, haruchiyo couldn’t deny that he enjoyed talking to you outside of complaints and 3am meltdowns over whatever the hell the derivative matrix was.

♡: or come study with me

♡: cus idk wtf im doing either

sanzu: switch courses i dare u

♡: kys come over

sanzu snorted to himself, swiftly turning around in his chair and throwing his belongings into his cross body bag. as shitty as his class was, at least he had met someone worth sticking around in it for.

sanzu: im omw relax

♡: can u get coffee on ur way

sanzu: what happened to please

♡: please haruchiyo my favourite man in the whole entire world

sanzu: drop calc with me and i will

♡: shut up tbh

it was worth a shot.

༉‧₊˚. MANJIRO SANO

— who hit a volleyball straight into your cranium and insisted he buy you lunch as an apology.

⠀

embarrassed was an understatement for what you felt.

it was like some terrible romcom, something you only see happen in movies with an unrealistic representation of what post-secondary school was actually like.

some blonde boy— one who you’re sure you could have gone your entire life without knowing rather peacefully— handed you a bag of ice, along with a neatly wrapped egg sandwich from the cafe he’d dragged you to.

“you sure your head is okay?” he watched as you pressed the cold plastic to the back of your skull.

“yeah, i don’t think it hit me as hard as it looked.”

“well, it did kinda knock you off your feet.”

you glared at mikey, and he had to stifle a laugh at the expression on your face.

“i’m sorry! you’ve gotta admit it’s kinda funny right?”

you used your teeth to unwrap some of the parchment paper and took a bite from your sandwich, at least the food was good.

“you nearly took my head off.”

“well it's less funny when you put it like that.”

you couldn’t stop the chuckle that slipped past your lips at how casual he was being, despite the context that you were two total strangers.

“seriously though, ‘m sorry. y’know i never would have hit you if i was playing soccer, volleyball is a shit sport anyway” the way he crossed his arms and pouted like a little kid was the slightest bit endearing. “i mean, why use your hands when your feet work so much better?”

maybe it was the spur of the moment, or the likely concussion giving you a skewed sense of judgement, but part of your brain was starting to like him.

mikey couldn’t explain it either, but a similar part of his brain was glad he had gotten the chance to meet you, though the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“hmmm…i dunno,“

he tilted his head at you, wondering where your sentence was headed.

“i think you’re gonna have to buy me lunch a couple more times to make up for it.”

mikey couldn’t help but smile, he poked your forehead.

“i must have hit you way harder than i thought.”

༉‧₊˚. KEISUKE BAJI

— who always throws the best parties, but never actually enjoys them unless you show up.

⠀

the pounding on the door of your dorm was quick to pull you out of your focus, forcing your nose out of your books. there was only one person who would knock so aggressively at such an ungodly hour, and he’s lucky your desk chair was becoming uncomfortable and you were planning on getting up to stretch your legs anyway.

swinging the door open, there stood baji, hair tied loosely into a bun at the back of his head, and two coolers occupying each of his palms.

he handed one to you, you gladly took it.

“so this is what you’re doin’ instead of partying with me right now?”

keisuke followed you into your dorm, making himself comfortable on top of your bed, you sat on the free space beside him as you cracked open the can in your hand.

“i told you i couldn’t come like, three days ago.” he groaned at your answer.

“i didn’t think that meant y’would actually flake!” you chuckled as you sipped at your drink, eyes playfully rolling back.

“you’re gonna thank me when this exam rolls around and i actually have notes to give you.”

baji’s lips formed a tight line, he hated when you were right.

“what’s the big deal if i didn’t go? literally almost half of campus showed up at your dorm hall anyway.”

he groaned again, yet louder this time, sitting up so he could open his own drink. he reached his free hand out to flick you right in the tip of your nose, earning a quiet ‘ow..’ from you.

“cus it’s lame when you don’t come around!! and who else is gonna take care of me after i blackout huh?” he took a long swig from the can in his fist.

“how about you go drink your body weight and i’ll come get you in an hour?” although the offer was tempting, and you could see keisuke consider it for a moment, he shook his head and flopped back down on your bed.

“nah, rather chill with you anyway.”

he reached over to hold his drink in the air beside you, and you gently cheersed his can, being careful not to spill any liquid on your bed.

“so, the hell is the exam s’posed to be about anyway?”

༉‧₊˚. KEN RYUGUJI

— who sits in front of you in engineering, and covers up the entire white board in front of you.

⠀

not one note.

not one single note in your binder was finished, all half written or only partially filled out. you wouldn’t have bothered spending the money on equipment to take cute notes if you had known some giant would be sitting in front of you. how were you meant to write anything down when you couldn’t even see the damn board?

at first he intimidated you, how could you not be at least a little afraid of a man who stood at nearly twice your size? however, that intimidation quickly turned into pure irritation upon another day of more blank paper, and you were following him out of the room at the end of class before you had a chance to react.

“hey, you.” 

ken turned around to see who was calling out to, who he assumed to be, him. 

“oh, hey—“

“you’re switching seats with me tomorrow .”

“…why—?“

“because you’re way too big and i can’t see anything past you when you’re in front of me! and i am way too behind in my notes to even hope to pass anymore unless i get caught up!”

ryuguji stared down at you, who was oh so short and angry, while blinking silently as he processed the words being said to him. it was surprising how small you started to feel so quickly when he had to crane his neck down to make eye contact.

“we’re like, two weeks into the semester and you’re telling me this now? i would have moved if y’had said something sooner.” ken chuckled and placed a hand on his hip, leaning down to your height with the most smug look suddenly dawning on his features. you opened your mouth to respond, yet only a jumble of stutters fell off your tongue. the irritation had subsided, and the intimidation was back in full throttle.

“i'll tell you what,” he began, “why don’t you sit beside me tomorrow, and i'll share my notes with you so you can catch up.”

well,

you supposed that would work. 

“my way of apologizing for bein’ ‘way too big.’”

…you really did need those notes.

“okay, fine. that’s fine.” with a small bow, you turned around to begin your route to your next class, eager to run away from the awkward conversation you’d stuck yourself in.

“thanks, um, tall…guy— whatever your name is.”

and as quickly as you came, there you went. 

it was about to be a whole other problem when the next day rolled around, and you would discover ryuguji’s terrible handwriting.

༉‧₊˚. TAKASHI MITSUYA

— who is your favourite study buddy, and knows your cafe order by heart.

⠀

the smell of freshly brewed espresso and slightly stale confections danced through the air, a comfortable aroma for mitsuya to sit in while he scribbled at a design that had been picking his brain all day. the headphones in his ears played some random pre-made lo-fi playlist as he sipped his coffee (—black, 2 sugars) that had long turned lukewarm, yet was just hot enough to warm his palm through the paper cup. the booth by the window he was slouched in was empty, save for him of course, and he waited ever so patiently for his classmate to join him and fill the space across from him.

the sound of the cheap bell above the cafe’s doors chiming alerted him that you had finally arrived, and he pried his attention away from his doodles to see you shuffling over to the spot you both had become perfectly familiar with, laptop in hand along with a knit hat and matching scarf keeping you warm from the autumn breeze.

“how late am i?” you plopped down in your seat, placing the tote bag hanging from your shoulder onto the seat beside you.

“probably,” he checked his phone, “twenty minutes.” mitsuya pulled his headphones down so they sat slack around his neck. 

you groaned at his answer, you hadn’t meant to have gotten so hung up with club activities.

“i’m sorry, this stupid– festival is seriously giving us a run for our money. i didn’t even realize what time it was.”

takashi listened to you intently, nodding his head quietly as he pushed a small plate towards you; a croissant decorated in your favourite jelly, as well as a coffee cup similar to his own, the only difference being the mound of cream and sweetener inside yours.

the action had become so normal, you hadn’t even paid any mind to the way he would always order for you anymore, having your order ready by the time you arrived to meet him was just the usual.

mitsuya truly remembered the littlest details about your coffee order, from how thick you liked the foam on top to the temperature. not to mention his mental database of the variety of pastries you would eat alongside them.

“tell me about it. what’s your club doing again?”

he remembered, takashi just enjoyed the way you got so excited talking about it.

he listened to the way you rambled on, the way you so easily talked to him, how you could do it for hours, and not once would he be anywhere near sick of hearing the sound of your voice

⠀ ⠀ ⠀m.list⠀ ღ⠀send me an ask!⠀ ღ⠀navi

#haruchiyo sanzu #manjiro sano #baji keisuke #ryuguji ken #takashi mitsuya #sanzu haruchiyo #sano manjiro #keisuke baji #mitsuya takashi #sanzu x reader #mikey x reader #manjiro x reader #draken x reader #mitsuya x reader #baji x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev imagine #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev #UNEARTHLY

[brysbeddixt]

Watching the finale of MSP and I’m having FEELINGS, but I wanna talk about Sound real quick. He’s honestly my favorite character in the series, and I love how his characterization intentionally swerved what his archetype is meant to be.

From the first time he’s introduced, he seems like the cool, collected guitar boy who doesn’t show much emotion to people other than his SO (a la Sarawat 2gether). This has always come across to me as very deliberate on Sound’s part. He’s Tinn’s rival, so it’s assumed he gets good grades, is popular, all that. Maybe he holds people at arms length, because he assumes they’re trying to use him.

And the thing is, Chinzilla IS trying to use him. They are VERY up front about that fact. So when he joins the group, he’s aware of it, but so are they. There’s no deception there. And when he harshly critiques them, expecting them to throw him out, Gun just…says he’s right, quits the band, and gives leadership to Sound. Which he is WOEFULLY unprepared to deal with, and he realizes this. Gun has an emotional pull with the other members that he just doesn’t, so it’s an obvious relief to him when Gun comes back.

The thing is, you can tell that after Gun comes back, he’s STILL expecting them to throw him out. He’s been rude to them, pushed them, he’s waiting for them to say, “you’re a great guitarist, but you’re an asshole and we don’t want to work with you.” But Gun includes him in the ritual of eating barbecue pork, solidifying his place in the group instead.

From that exact scene on, Sound blooms in the narrative. He is NEVER portrayed as cold, or embarrassed by the rest of the group’s antics like his character typically would be. He LOVES doing their silly Chinzilla pose, is SO into it, is just so visibly happy to be included so wholeheartedly in the group. He eats barbecue pork, he goes along with their questionable plans and antics; he is just so unlike what he originally was trying to portray himself as. In the finale, he says, “You never made me feel like an outsider.” Because even when he first joined the group, it wasn’t Chinzilla keeping Sound on the outside, it was Sound himself.

And at least partially because of this, because he’s allowed himself to open up in a way he maybe never has, he starts to fall in love with Win. And this freaks him out, so he starts treating Win like he was used to treating people before Chinzilla. The thing is: Win KNOWS him. Win has gotten to know him through bickering, and compromising, and learning to like each other anyway. When Sound pulls away, he’s expecting it to go like it always does - or used to, when no-one knew him well enough to tell that something was wrong. But Chinzilla DOES know him that well; so Win notices, and then Gun notices. (And I LOVE SoundGun’s friendship so much, you have no idea. There’s so much mutual respect and understanding there.)

By the final episode, Sound is open enough to kiss Win on the cheek in front of everyone. We see in the flashbacks that he acts just as flustered and adorable as everyone else when the teacher catches them playing games. He’s there in almost every shot, because even in the narrative, the camera work, there is no Chinzilla without Sound. He leaves his guitar, the one he brought himself to the club, with a sticky note addressed to whoever comes after him to take care of it.

But Sound has ALWAYS been that kind of person. He hasn’t really changed that much - narratively - from that first moment he was accepted into the band, so much as he’s allowed himself to show other people who he is: which is a goofy, sappy, supportive, thoughtful person who is way less cool than most people think he is. He doesn’t have to worry about maintaining any kind of image, because the people that he surrounds himself with aren’t trying to use him for anything. They just love him, and he loves them.

#my school president #msp sound #soundwin #MSP ep 12 #sound saran

[namjooning-to-the-moon]

BTS MTL- Proposing to you at ✨Disneyland✨

Authors note: Hi guys, I actually had so much fun with this and it's so cute. Highkey in love with this.

Warnings: Absolute tooth rotting fluff.

Most

Jimin

Omfg fr though, I could totally see him doing this.

Jimin is a real life Disney prince and I will die on that hill.

Disney if you are listening, I need a Korean live action Disney movie and Jimin as the handsome prince.

I will accept nothing less.

Anyway…

You two as a couple give off that perfect Disney vibe so it makes sense he would propose there.

You are his ✨princess✨ so he wants a fairytale proposal.

He's extra af.

100% proposes in front of the castle.

Will propose during daylight hours so you guys can get cute engagement photos.

He will probably take you really early though to make sure there is less people around so it still feels intimate and special.

Has a whole speech planned and definitely makes a few Disney references.

Will probably say something like how you are the wish his heart made.

Will probably cry.

When you say yes, he has bride and groom Mickey ears for you guys to take cute pictures in front of the castle.

You guys wear them for the rest of the day.

He wants everyone to know that his ✨princess✨ agreed to marry him.

^ look at this man and tell me he is not a Disney prince.

Taehyung

Also would love to propose this way.

He would wait right till the end of the day though.

I feel Tae would wait till one of the late night firework shows.

You guys would have a little secluded spot away from the crowds but where you can still see everything.

You'd be looking up at the fireworks but he's not watching them.

He's only looking at you.

When you'd look at him to ask if he's ok he'd open his mouth but no words would come out.

He'd have a whole speech planned but his thoughts have left the chat.

Just gets down on one knee instead and just speaks from the heart.

Definitely cry's.

When you say yes he will pick you up and spin you around.

Takes photos of you guys with the fireworks in the background.

Will post them on Instagram with the caption "my happily ever after."

Then delete them ten minutes later lmao

Jungkook

Less sappy about it but would lowkey love to propose this way.

He's kind of an adrenaline junkie so I see him proposing on a rollercoaster.

He would wear a jacket to the park, even if it's hot, this man is wearing a jacket to cover up his surprise.

Will take you on a rollercoaster that has the pictures you can take home.

When it gets to the camera he will unzip his jacket and will have a t-shirt on saying "will you marry me?" on it.

You won't even know he's done it through.

When you get off the ride you will go sit on a bench and wait for him to come back with the photo he insisted on buying.

Will tell you to look at it.

When you open it and see the photo, he's already down on one knee with the ring waiting for an answer.

Will get so excited when you say yes that he will kiss you right there in front of everyone.

Will get emotional.

Takes a few selfies with you to post in the group chat with the proposal picture for the hyungs.

"She said yes."

Hoseok

This man lowkey hates theme parks fr.

He is scared of rollercoasters, we all know it.

He does love some romance though and he is extra af.

So he will indulge you a Disney proposal though because he loves you.

He isn't majorly into public displays of affection though so he will be more subtle.

I feel like Hobi would love to propose at one of the events they hold at Disney like the garden festival where they have all the flower displays and topiaries.

This man is staying as far away from rollercoasters as he possibly can.

Will bring a picnic with him to sit somewhere private and enjoy some pretty scenery with you.

Will probably steal some flowers from a display and put them into your hair.

You have some Rapunzel vibes going on and he is so in love.

Will gush his feelings out to you.

The biggest smile on his face when you say yes.

🌞Actual sunshine🌞

He has legit snuck champagne into the park in some water bottles for you two to toast the start of your new lives together. 

Jin

Honestly would not be his preferred way to propose but he knows how much you love a Disneyland proposal.

Jin may be world wide handsome but he is kind of shy at the same time.

Public displays of affection make him nervous af.

He's honestly lowkey terrified that he's going to propose in public.

He would take you on valentines day.

Spend the day doing cute things with you and trying to find the perfect moment.

He honestly didn't make a plan.

When you guys stop for lunch, he would take you to a bakery and buy a Disney valentines cupcake while you are sat outside ordering you guys some sandwiches.

The cupcake comes in a little box so he asks for a pen to write in the box.

Comes back and hands it to you.

You open it and see "will you marry me?" written in the lid

The ring is legit sat in the cake frosting.

Will be so excited that you said yes, that he will probably put the ring on your finger with his shaking hands while the ring is still covered in frosting.

Cue windscreen wiper laugh.

It's such a goofy (pun intended) proposal but it's totally him.

Yoongi

No.

Just no.

But also yes because he's a soft boy and he wants to give you the world.

He will find a way to compromise on giving you the Disney proposal you've always wanted but also him being comfortable.

Absolutely will not propose to you in public.

He will take you to Disney during the day and just spend a nice day with you.

Will book you guys into one of the hotels into the nicest suites they have on offer.

I'm thinking the Disney four seasons in Orlando.

When you guys come back from the park he has the hotel staff put flowers all over the room. 

Tells you to go put something pretty on for dinner on the grand balcony.

Full three course meal while you guys watch the firework display from across the lake.

Is nervous but eventually builds up the courage to tell you how much he wants to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Gummy smile when you say yes.

Proposing at Disney wasn't so bad after all.

Namjoon

404 error - footage not found.

No fucking way.

It might be his idea of hell.

He cringes at the thought.

But because you are his everything, he will find a way to give you a Disney proposal but just not at Disney.

Has no problems taking you there he just isn't proposing there.

He will want to stay in a hotel away from the parks too.

This just isn't his thing ok.

But…

This is how he will do it.

Take you to Disney for a super wholesome and cute day out.

Will be like Yoongi and have a whole set up planned for when you guys get back.

At the end of dinner he gives you a book that has super Disney vibes.

It's literally a book he's had made of your love story and it's illustrated to have you as the princess and him as the prince.

Think the book at the beginning of Sleeping Beauty.

Super fairytale vibes fr.

Then you get to a page that says 

"The next chapter…"

When you turn over the page the book is hollowed out and has the ring inside it with the words "will you marry me?"

He's in front of you know on one knee.

His dimples show when you say yes.

Least

#bts reaction #bts fanfiction #bts headcanon #bts headcanons #bts ffs #bts x reader #bts writing #bts imagines #kim seokjin #min yoogni #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #seokjin imagine #yoongi imagine #hoseok imagine #namjoon imagine #jimin imagine #taehyung imagine #jungkook imagine #bts fluff

[vampi-fixx]

seven deadly sins; valentine’s day dates ft. meliodas, ban, and king

tw: meliodas’ is suggestive at end. 18+

meliodas

the dragon’s sin of not showing he cares enough

He’s really not the romantic type, in the sense of flowers, chocolates, or declarations of love. Meliodas’ brand of romance is a shared beer by the fireplace, inside jokes, and knowing glances. But if you make enough of a fuss about it, dropping hints here and there, he’ll make you breakfast in bed.

Which would be cute… if the Captain wasn’t infamous for his terrible cooking skills. The pancakes he makes look absolutely delectable, but one bite has you wanting to hurl. But hey, he tried! That’s how most of his romantic endeavors go—down south.

Even if you say how much you want flowers and such, Meliodas acts oblivious. Or maybe he really is oblivious. His thinking is, if you really want flowers so much, you silly thing, why don’t you get them yourself? He doesn’t see the need for trite displays of romance; isn’t it enough that he loves you in his own way? If you persist though, he will show up with a bushel of flowers for you. Literally, the entire bush, roots and all.

While he’s sorely lacking in the romance department, you do notice that your tasks have mysteriously disappeared throughout the day. Chores? All done. Cooking for the Boar Hat? He’s got Ban on it. Feeding Hawks? His bowl is full of scraps the entire day. Meliodas may not be great at showing you he cares, but that’s kind of how he likes it. He shows his love by doing things for you in the background, without you even realizing it.

It takes a comment from King or Ban (“For a guy who’s so popular with the ladies, you think he’d be less clueless,” or a “Pfft, and you said I was unromantic?”) before Meliodas has the idea to ask you if you would prefer he gets you gifts, or grants you sappy declarations of affection. It’s not really his style; he prefers to keep the lovey-dovey talk under close quarters, But perhaps you notice Meliodas hovering closer by your side, his arm draping over your shoulders. These seem like casual shows of affection, but Meliodas only gets touchy with people he feels strongly for.

Once the day is over though, and you’re teasing Meliodas about his utter lack of grandiosity, he’s genuinely confused.

“Oh, do those things really matter to you? I didn’t know.”

As you splutter in indignation, Meliodas adopts a thoughtful expression.

“Huh. Sorry about that.” He sends you a crooked grin. “The... day isn’t over though. Want me to make it up to you?”

Your Valentine’s day ends with with a bang--or rather, banging. Ban, whose room is next door, complains about how you two need to learn to turn down the volume if he’s going to get any shut-eye.

ban

the wily fox sin who loves one thing more than treasure

Ban gets a kick out of teasing you about the holiday, especially if you’re excited about it.

“Valentine’s Day, huh? You got a boyfriend or somethin’ to spend it with?”

He plays coy. He acts like he has nothing planned, because he likes seeing you get worked up about it. Of course, he knows there are expectations around the holiday, and he knows that you have expectations for him, but he wants to hear you say it.

He yawns, rolling over onto his side and trapping you underneath him. As usual, Ban sleeps entirely nude, and the press of the hard lines of his body against yours has you flustered momentarily. He notes your embarrassment with a smirk, trailing a finger across your cheek idly. “What’s the big deal, anyways? Isn’t it just like any other day?”

You argue back, that it’s not just any other day, and Ban snorts, rolling his eyes.

“What I mean, babe, is... don’t I love you enough every day? Why do I gotta prove it?”

He acts like it’s an annoyance, but he already planned on making you your favorites for breakfast. Ban can make a solid 5-star meal out of any ingredients, but it isn’t until Gowther mentions his particularly good mood, and speculates upon it, that you find out it’s his birthday as well.

“Ban! Seriously? Were you even going to tell me?”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not like it’s a special day.”

But knowing that it’s his birthday makes you determined to do something special for him. It takes you all day to find the connections, but you manage to find him vintage ale imported from three towns over.

Ban is surprised to see a gift. He really does mean it when he says that he doesn’t expect anything special; his birthday was hardly a big deal for most of his life. If it weren’t for the fact that it coincided with a holiday, he would most likely forget it was a thing.

“Tch, I said you didn’t have to get me anything.” The edge to his words are softened by the tender look he gives you, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Twerp.”

Sappy declarations of love come easier to Ban, because for him, they aren’t embarrassing. They’re just his honest, unfiltered feelings.

“I’m lucky enough to have you in my life as it is.”

king

the fairy king who’s a hopeless romantic

King doesn’t even realize that it’s a human holiday until he’s strolling around town with Elizabeth and he comments on all the red and pink decor, the flowers in every window.

When she informs him, he nearly falls off Chastiefol’s floating pillow form.

“What?! I had no idea it was a holiday!”

He’s freaking out. Why didn’t you tell him? Did you really have such low expectations of him? How could he not have known?

“W-Why didn’t you tell me it was a special day?” he wails once he finds you. You giggle. “I had no idea! I don’t want you to think I didn’t–I didn’t care.”

Fairy-human relations are already complicated; much less when holidays exist in one tradition and not the other. Thankfully, King is a romantic at heart, and even if he wasn’t, fairies have their own holiday that involves cherishing their loved ones. He draws from that tradition in finding you the perfect gifts.

He darts all over the country to collect an assortment of flowers, each with their own meaning, all of them speaking to deep adoration and affection. King also collects fresh berries and makes you an array of pastries and sweets. The usually lazy Grizzly Sin of Sloth exerts himself more than he has in awhile, all to prove the depths of his feelings for you.

By the time he presents his gifts to you, the sun is going down, and King struggles to catch his breath. But then he presents to you the scene: a picnic for two laid out in the clearing of a forest, where the sun’s rays catch just right on the foliage surrounding you.

King is absolutely relieved when you take kindly to the pastries and flowers. He’s a bit shy to give you his last gift though, a collection of poems and lyrics about you that he’s been compiling. He’s too nervous to recite them out loud, so he hides one of the notes inside your bouquet of flowers, his face turning redder than the sunset once you read it, and express your adoration.

The rest of the day is spent cuddling on Chastiefol, King tucking one of the flowers behind your ears, and you doing vice-versa.

#meliodas x reader #ban x reader #king x reader #sds x reader #seven deadly sins x reader #sds imagine #sds thots; #tati writes

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - 2023 Begins!

Jan 20232 Wk 1

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Never Let Me Go (Tues YT) 4 of 12 - I keep saying this, but I can’t get over how delighted I am to have Perth back on my screen, and under the GMMTV umbrella. He is a stellar actor. I like that the first kiss of this show wasn’t btw the leads. Felt more realistic to high school. Big drama next week!

My School President (Fri YT) 5 of 10 - I missed these two so much last week. But also there was A MUSICAL INCIDENT and it caused a bit of a rant from yours truly. 

Between Us (Sun iQIYI) 9 of 12 - no ep this week, resumes tomorrow WATCH ALONG HERE.

609 Bedtime Story (Fri WeTV) 7 of 11 - Game remains my spirit animal (pushy fucker), and the plot of the main couple is interesting even if I don’t like the cheating component. 

Cutie Pie 2 You (special) 1 of 4 - Oh it’s a full on special. Very very pretty and, is possible, more sappy and full of manufactured angst. Nuea protecting Hia’s interests was sweet. Lots of making out. So... more of the same, basically. What year are we in now, anyway?

I Will Knock You (Fri Gaga) 8 of 12 - (note from my Thai language spy rgr ep 5: the writing on the stone tablets was their names + 2 family members) And now we are suddenly firmly in BL territory and baby Dom is just a baby Seme. No bisexual identity crisis needed... just diving into cheese fest. 

Remember Me (Sun Gaga) 13 of 14 - I would have kept JaFirst apart for longer, quite frankly. I mean otherwise why bother split them up in the first place? Please just end this show already. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The New Employee (Korea Weds Viki) 3 of 8 - I love them so much, and they are so cute, and this is not open to discussion. Viva la age gap! 

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner (Korea Weds iQIYI) 7-8 of 10 - There is a lot implied about the leads history together, but it was still nice to get backstory plus GAT KISSES. I love it when they flip the dynamic and give the uke agency. I’m really enjoying this show now, I’m even invested in the love triangle.

HIStory 5: Love in the Future (Taiwan Weds Viki) 2 of 10 - Side couple ascension: Daddy Long Legs trope, it’s been a while since I have seen this in ANY romance drama. I’m not really into the main couple, at least not yet (and I totally missed that they hadn’t met each other in person yet), but I really love the side dishes. It’s like H4 all over again only with less dub con.

Candy Color Paradox AKA Ameiro Paradox (Japan Fri Gaga) 4 of 8 - nothing this week. 

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching It

Love Bill (Vietnam Sat YT) - Bah Vinh is back but I’m too distracted. Also there’s a lot of fund raising stuff going on with them. I can wait.

The Star Always Follow You (Vietnam YT) - same Team RL peeps we have seen before (Sunshine, Stupid)

Moonlight Chicken GMMTV’s Midnight series (Weds YT) 1 of 8 eventually - first segment has begun bit it’s not the EarthMix messy gays. Sorry all, I’m so not interested in messy hets, so I’m waiting until they grace my screen.

Questions!!! 

Should I watch The Warp Effect? Tublr seems excited about it and BL bits look good? Will they end happy? Thoughts anyone? 

Till the World Ends (Thai YT) finished at 10 eps, the heat looked good but I don’t know about the ending with that kind of title, so did anyone risk it and want to tell me what they thought? I haven’t seen much chatter on my feed so I am not optimistic. 

In Case You Missed It

2022′s The Usual Night (Twitter account) from Japan is a 10-ep fake documentary series starring the members of Jpop group the Fantastics. It flew under everyone’s radars but apparently has a BL subplot featuring Yagi Yusei (My Beautiful Man) and Seguchi Leiya. This officially means they beat OnlyOneOf to the punch as the first inter-group BL pairing. Keito Kimura (Onoe from Candy Color Paradox) is also a member of Fantastics and in the show. Source reddit. No word on official international release. Japan is like that. 

OnlyOneOf’s Nine dropped the last (?) in their BL Kpop series, 'beyOnd' (be #6) 

I posted all my 2022 wraps, top picks, industry stats, etc.. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Jan 19: Individual Circumstances 8 eps - A reunion romance between a movie director who was once promising and a writer who disappeared due to past wounds. Stars JunQ (main rapper of 2nd gen group MYNAME) and Han Jung Wan (Mr International Korea winner).

2023 forthcoming BL master post is in the works... wait for it... I had to finish all the 2022 wrap ups first. Also waiting for the last of the studio announcements.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Never Let Me Go

Ah the love triangle. 

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner caught himself a live one. 

(last week)

Current Kpop earworm? You gotta check out VIXX (sub unit) new single. Gonna Be Alright = 2 BL stars in one croon. (Hyuk Color Rush 2 & Leo Happy ending Romance). *props chin on hand and bats eyes winsomely at Ken* So?

#this week in BL #BL news #BL gossip #upcoming BL #best BL #new BL #BL reviews #Thai BL #Korean BL #Taiwanese BL #Japanese BL #live action yaoi #Rakutan Viki #gagaoolala #GMMTV #VIXX #VIXX leo #VIXX ken #vixx hyuk #Color Rush 2 #Happy ending Romance #kpop #Never Let Me Go #My School President #609 Bedtime Story #Cutie Pie 2 You #I Will Knock You #The New Employee #The Director Who Buys Me Dinner #HIStory 5: Love in the Future