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candiid-caniine · 6 months

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Hey! Long time no see, i know i said id send you a fantasy i thought you'd like but now ive forgotten almost all of it, oop!

Life happened, and uh, i saw that you mentioned your libido being a bit low, which definitely is my case too (im recovering from depression, now that im okay id love to get my FULL libido back, or at least a good percentage of it) do you have any tips on that?

Also any recs of blogs writing in the same vibe as you? (same-ish kinks would be nice but im specifically looking for queer inclusive stuff!) it makes me 10x hornier than the regular video/photo porn!

Hope you're well, you pathetic little thing!

💫

hi friend!! ugh i feel you. sorry i haven't got any advice on regaining ur libido...we just let mine wax and wane as it will, though denial has been a big help in keeping it steady!

i've heard good things abt ginseng and some other herbs. obvs use at your own risk, mind that some herbal treatments can cross-interact with certain medications, remember that pre-packaged supplement pills are often unregulated and may contain toxins, and be aware that some herbal remedies work better on pw certain anatomy than others, and finally that many herbal remedies considered to increase libido are largely untested on trans folx!

finally, sorry it's taken so long to answer this ask...i'm autistic and have been cataloguing lol. i present to you a list of other blog recs under the cut, organized by general vibe! i've tried to primarily include blogs that do their own posts rather than those who primarily reblog :)

note that my headings may provide some context as to what to expect, but you read at your own risk and each blog will typically have its own trigger warnings addressed in the header/pinned. additionally, i've not tagged some of the ppl below because they prefer that "Men DNI" blogs not interact, and idk if "no cis men" qualifies ahah!

all blogs below are queer- and/or trans-inclusive, if not exclusive! there is no detrans/misgendering, at least I don't think - i don't tend to follow those blogs.

hard kinks (blood, knives, etc; includes primarily-cnc blogs):

@puppy-mommy , who also does general t4t kink content, but does state untagged hard kinks!

@visciousest is someone whose blog i scroll when i'm in a Certain Mood ahah,, i won't elaborate

@hell-hound-bites: just. fuck. would drool on his knife blade.

@snuff-fag: its username should give you fair warning as to how wild its content tends to get, so please browse responsibly.

@condor-bait is taking a break right now, and all my love is with him as he takes care of himself. he made me feel so valid and so fuckable as a young trans person learning to love myself in a new way, and i've always been too shy to tell him how much his content meant to me one-on-one (yes, despite its often-extreme themes!), and he deserves as much time as he needs to heal!

@unwillingfvckpuppy for mostly cnc and medical kinks! if you like his style, but not so much their harder content, he also has a more-tame main blog--i just mainly follow/scroll this one!

@vampvictim: top-tier cnc/intox stuff, plus some great knife/bloodplay :)

@cryptidtid is wonderful and holy shit i follow a lot of hard kink blogs lol. incredible

@cnc-pet: i have been following her for a long ass fucking time lol. they post a lot of really good cnc and stories, but you'll also find a lot of aftercare tips and advice on her blog! i really admire blogs who try to balance horny content with best practices

@dollobotomy

general kinky content:

@excessively-queer . just plain old good shit :) there's a good amt of edging and degradation.

@clouded-king was honestly one of my earlier introductions to the queer/t4t kink community on here and how fucking euphoric it can be :) he posts some hard kinks, but generally it's a balance of a lot of different kinks so read his pinned at your leisure!

@ / cottontailx : just good kinky nsft posts :)

@ / digitalpenetration: often specifically t4t which i love!!

@femmelovefemme can step on me :)

@bigothteddies: could not build this section w/o mentioning him :) they had a big influence on my fantasies for a long time!

@hazelj-xoxo: bigtime want her to cuck me. have followed her across multiple blog deletions lol

@transpidered is forever an icon!

@subspaceemo

@writefinch for great stories and text posts

edging and denial, specifically:

@6irlpet is 1 of my go-to hands-down-pants scroll sessions :)

@droolkink is my inspiration!

@flustersluts does exactly what the name implies lol. a good helping of other kink content too :)

@puppycvnt is a 10/10!

@barkwoofbarkwoofbark: we r denial friends imo!!

@strawbrrysub

@blyssful-abyss

@urhighnessbitch is a big fav <3

non-detrans genderplay:

@butchviolence does amazing butch supremacy stuff and i,,, fucking hell. even just seeing their username puts me in a Particular state of mind ahah. they also post hard kinks so be aware as you proceed!

@mtfdomme: i literally just reblogged from her today lol. tbh i want to be their little stupid pupthing. it's not all transfem supremacy undertones/overtones, but that's what i mainly follow her for, plus just general t4t goodness! also, their general personality? and the way she shuts down people who disrespect their boundaries? huge inspiration for me!

@cuntboydestroyer: take me to the animal shelter and neuter me. good lord.

@the-kind-of-dame is the main inspiration for my recent genderplay post lol

@terfbreaking-tgirl (be warned of dykebreaking if that's an issue for you)

@barbarian-lesbian is my other inspiration for the recent genderplay post

@superiorineveryway

weird asf (/complimentary; my favorite type of shit. robots, ND-focused posts, etc):

@specksizedgoddess has introduced me to things i didn't know, like...existed, and that's saying a lot as one of my special interests is kink! never knew how down bad i was to be a tiny buggirl, nor how much i wanted to be someone's stupid little robot... BIG tw tho: there is snuff and gore content here, so proceed with caution if you don't wanna see that!

@sapphling fucked me up real good with some bird!sub bondage posts awhile back lol

@nobelisha: found them through their ghost cnc post so that's why they're in this category ahah! they don't have a pinned so proceed w awareness :)

@devout-cleric: hierophilia/religion kink, and i'm something of an acolyte of hers :) if you've read this far down you may as well know i'm her Little Lamb anon lol

piss/omo:

@latenightomo

@pissheartmybeloved - their URL makes me crack up every time, plus good content!

@hold-it-a-little-longer - good scenarios/imagines!

@ohmyrashi - (i think) my original intro to omo!

monsterfucking/terato:

@septimus-moonlight was my first real introduction to trans-positive terato and i've never settled for half-fun cis-oriented terato ever since :) mind tags!

@eggedbellies as well!

@bredpun doesn't appear to be active lately but still good for a scroll!

@steamandcream

@of-mutts-and-men

#t4t nsft #asks #gen #denial #h/d #advice #💫 anon

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years

Text

I Would Walk 10,000 Miles To You

Summary: The first thing you notice about Jake "Hangman" Seresin when he rings your doorbell at 1:30 in the morning is that no matter the time of day, he is devastatingly handsome. The second thing you notice is that he is absolutely smashed drunk. You know your hands will be full dealing with your brother's friend tonight. Well, you suppose he might be your friend too.

Pairings: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Falling in love with Brother's Best Friend (kinda), strangers to friends to lovers, pinning, Deployment, love confessions, Praise kink (if you squint), light angst, happy ending, Slight AirForce slander, drinking.

A/N: No use of Y/N this time. The readers' brother is also a pilot, call sign FreightTrain. I've been fiddling with this for a while, but I finally just decided to post it. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them.

You and Jake had become unlikely friends. Jake was one of your brother's college friends, having graduated from the Naval Academy the same year and then continuing to flight school together. You had met him once or twice over the years back then. You had always thought he was attractive, but you were just his friend's little sister. So, you never put much thought into him outside the occasional brief times your paths would overlap.

Then a few years later, when talking to your brother on the phone, you found out that Jake was on deployment, having a rough go of things. His dad couldn't be bothered or couldn't figure out how to send Jake any care packages, and his mom hadn't been in the picture for a long time, according to your brother.

Less than a week later, you had a care package on the way to him. You filled it with some generic snacks and items that your family had asked for over the years on their own deployments. You also sent a card with well wishes and signed it from your whole family.

At the last minute at the post office, you had thrown in a note to him asking that if he had any specific requests for items to please let you know, and then attached your phone number.

The thank you text message you received a few weeks later when he got the package was short, genuine, and sweet. You hadn't thought much more about it or him after that. Your goal had been accomplished of helping out your brother's friend and a serviceman.

Then a month or so later, you received a text from Jake again. It had been extremely tentative. He asked if you could send some specific sunscreen he liked, which didn't irritate his skin and a few other products. He also included that he would pay you for it and emphasized that if it was in any way an inconvenience, you didn't have to. Repeating at least twice to feel no obligation to fulfill the request.

What were you going to do, though? Leave this man alone without necessities that worked for him? Absolutely not. So you put together another care package with things he liked and started a new note on your phone titled Hangman's likes.

This time you signed the ‘thinking of you’ card from yourself. Hangman thanked you again once he got the package, asking to PayPal you the money, but you refused. Jake didn't like that, and it led to you having a playful argument. It was the first time he had actually called you on a deployment. You had answered the call, unsure, having forgotten what his voice had even sounded like after the years since you had a conversation with the man. Those long past meetings had been minimal interactions to start with.

"Hello?" You asked hesitantly, not sure the call wasn't a butt dial.

"Hello there. How are you?" His voice was quiet and deeper than you had remembered it. There was a slight crackle to the line, something not uncommon over long-distance wifi calls like this.

"Hi, Hangman. I am well. How are you doing? Holding up, I hope?"

"Yeah, I'm doing okay over here. A lot better now that you sent me all the good stuff."

"Well, my family and I want to help support you in any way we can. I promise it's not an inconvenience at all. I understand how hard it is what you're going through." You trailed off, not entirely sure what else to say.

"I really appreciate it, but I know how much everything costs. So, you need to let me pay you back." His voice was still kind but had a stern undertone like he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Absolutely not."

"I will get info from your brother," he all but growled the threat.

"I will tell him to not give it to you," You quickly reply. He huffed in frustration hearing that made you laugh.

"That's not very fair," Jake complained to you.

"Sorry, I'm not big on fairness when someone needs something," you told him kindly. You ended up talking for fifteen more minutes, asking about other things he might like in a care package, with him trying to evade your questions.

You told him you had to go, and he thanked you once again for being willing to support and help him out. He also threatened that he would find a way to pay you back once again. You found it hard to stop grinning after the conversation.

Knowing products only last so long, you set up a regular schedule to send Jake some items. Like clockwork, you would get thank you calls from him and harassment on how he could pay you back. Jake would also ask about your life, seeming genuinely interested. The conversations started to vary the more you talked. Your cards in each of his care packages became more personalized, beginning to fill with inside jokes.

At the end of that deployment, you felt an odd mixture of sadness and happiness. Of course, you were glad Jake would be back stateside and on regular duty, but it also seemed like the most obvious natural conclusion of this odd friendship that had developed.

For Jake's last care package, you filled it with stuff that would be most useful for traveling back to the United States. It was also the first care package you hadn't gotten a thank you call for since the initial one.

Hangman minding his manners, had at least sent you an appreciative text. It felt like a nail in a coffin moment. You had to fight off an abysmal mood for the rest of the week, reminding yourself that you were only helping your brother's friend out. It was never any more than that, and it never would be. Telling yourself that only helped so much, though.

You call Jake for the first time, upset almost two months later. You had opened your mail to find a letter with crisp blocky lettering giving your name and address. The return address was one Jake Seresin, with a US address you didn't recognize. Inside was a beautiful thank you card filled with Jake's same neat handwriting. It had a heartfelt thank you for what a difference you made on his deployment. It made your heart flutter.

What did not make your heart flutter and instead actually made your blood boil was the amount of money that had been stuffed into the card. Inside the card were way too many hundred dollar bills lined up and, on top of that, a visa gift card.

You were clicking the call button on his contact before you even made it back inside the house. The phone rang and rang. When he did pick up, his voice was crisp and business-like. It was almost unnerving to hear him so clearly, after being used to crackly spotty calls.

"This is Lieutenant Seresin."

"Tell me, did you always have this much audacity, or did you learn it in the academy?" You asked him, voice dripping with sarcasm. There was a long pause from him before he started chuckling.

"Well, hello to you too, Darlin. I haven't heard from you in a while."

Your stomach did not flip at the nickname; there was no possible way. You almost had to pinch yourself to focus back on the conversation.

"That isn't an answer, Hangman. You know it is not safe to send this much money in the mail. Plus, you know I didn't want to be paid back!"

"I knew if I wrote a check, you wouldn't cash or deposit it," he says. His voice is still teasing, and he is clearly enjoying one-upping you."

"I am sending this back to you."

"Absolutely not." The teasing in his voice was less present now. "If you don't want to see it as paying you back, fine. Then just look at it as a thank you for being one of the only things keeping me sane during deployment."

You sighed heavily into the phone, but your anger waned at his claim that you helped him. The silence stretches a little, and you feel acceptance slowly filling you.

"I am just not comfortable with it. You know there are other ways to say thank you. I would have been delighted with just a card." You told him.

"Oh really?" Jake asked, that amused tone coming back again. "What would some acceptable forms be then?"

"It's too late; you chose money."

"I'll brainstorm some other ideas then."

"No, you can't do anything else now."

He doesn't say anything to that, only hums into the phone.

"I'm so sorry to call you out of the blue like this. Are you busy?"

"No, not busy. I just got home from work,” he tells you.

"How is being back in the States?"

"Weird," Jake says honestly.

Before you know it, you two talk for another hour, and Jake feels like your friend again. You two talk every once in a while, and you finally start to think you might actually be real friends.

During his next deployment, you don't even hesitate to start sending him care packages again. Jake is just as thankful; each time he gets your care package, flowers are delivered to your door within a day or two. Then written thank you cards come at a much more delayed pace, postage from the other side of the world accompanied by Jake's clean handwriting and sweet messages. You much prefer it over the money he sent the first time.

The pattern continues through the whole deployment and two TAD also. This time your friendship never waned, only growing stronger. You still get flutters when talking to him sometimes. It never ventures beyond that, though, and you eventually give up trying to be flirty or hopeful something would develop between you two. Jake never seems interested in you that way, and sometimes it feels more like he sees you as a little sister than even a friend, which is a low blow.

However, it really starts to reach a breaking point when Jake excitedly tells you that he is getting restationed to a naval base in your area. The concept of being an in-person friend with Jake is foreign. At first, you aren't sure you can even handle it. Seeing his handsome face, wanting him, knowing what the products you have bought for him over the last two years smell like on his skin. Seeing how his eyes crinkle when he smiles and matching up his facial expression to different tones of voice you are familiar with, it is just as difficult as you imagined it would be.

You had tried to distance yourself initially, rationalizing that you were too busy to fit a new friend in your life. However, this never worked with him; he would go above and beyond to accommodate whatever weird schedules you would throw at him. This is how he became more of a best friend to you. The whole situation really came to a boil on a Friday night in August.

The first thing you notice about Jake "Hangman" Seresin when he rings your doorbell at 1:30 in the morning is that no matter the time of day, he is devastatingly handsome. The second thing you notice is that he is absolutely smashed drunk.

"Jake?" You ask him like he might disappear and this is just a dream.

"Hello, Darlin," His accent is three times as thick after drinking, and he sways a little where he is standing. His hair was messy, and his eyes had a glassy glazed-over look to them.

You quickly look around, trying to figure out how he got here. There wasn't a car in sight, though, which was somewhat of a relief. At least you knew that he hadn't driven by the lack of his truck.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted," he starts to say but then abruptly snaps his mouth closed. His face scrunches like he is trying really hard to concentrate. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when they open again, he looks a bit like a lost puppy. "I don't know."

You sigh and wrap your arms around yourself, throwing open the door and ushering him into the house. "How about you come in?"

A grin instantly split his face, and he walked through your door, brushing extremely close to you, ignoring the ample space you left for him to go through the door. He went to your kitchen and slumped into one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar. You closed the front door, locking it before following after him.

"How did you get here?" You asked.

"I walked."

"You walked from where?" You were wracking your brain, trying to think of anywhere close by he could have been and gotten this drunk.

"Was at Red Brick Rhythm," he tells you, his face propped up on one of his hands, his elbow planted firmly on the counter. Jake doesn't stop looking at you either, his eyes following your every move.

You fill up a glass of water and pour in some liquid IV before handing it to him, trying to place the club in your mind. Then you gasp, suddenly remembering where it is. "Jake, that's like five miles away."

He hummed noncommittally and took a big gulp of the water. He set it down half full now and was looking at you like he was waiting for some sort of prize at his effort. You are half tempted to tell him he is a good Lieutenant, but instead, you try to escape his gaze by looking in your fridge.

"Are you hungry?"

“I'm always ravenous, sweetheart," he tells you and winks. Jake makes you laugh, and you start to examine the contents of your fridge.

"What do you want then? I'm not sure I have much."

He didn't answer you, so you turned to find him staring at you again. Jake responds in a dead serious voice, ”I'll take anything you give me."

You sighed since that didn't help you but watched him fight to keep his eyes open and decided to throw some tater tots in the Airfryer real quick.

"No complaining with what you get then."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, nodding his head slowly. The action made him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

You parked yourself against the counter, leaning back against it to examine him. "How are you feeling? Okay, do you need anything?"

His eyes open, and he slowly blinks at you a few times, and a severe frown suddenly mars his features. You want to run your fingers over the crease in his eyebrows and the shape of his lips until he smiles again. You almost have to physically shake your head to dislodge the thought from your brain.

"Did you have a date tonight?" He blurts out as if he finally noticed the makeup on your face and your hair that is still styled. He had caught you before you were ready to wash off the night. You hesitate for a moment, not sure you actually want to talk about it, but decide to tell him. You don't want Jake to think you couldn't find anything better to do on a Friday night than stay home.

"Yeah, I did."

"How was it?"

"It was good," you lied. It had actually been terrible.

The man you met from Hinge had shown up late and ditched the bill on you, unwilling to split it as you requested. On top of that, he had asked you three whole questions before he went on a rant for the rest of the date about what he thought women should and shouldn't be doing.

The lie you told Jake didn't ease the frown on his face, though, or the darkness in his eyes. His free hand drums against your countertop in a light staccato, drawing your eyes towards them and his academy graduation ring. "Couldn't be too good if you answered the door, and you're here alone."

"Who says I'm here alone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. "There could be a satisfied man in my bed right now. Or maybe we did the deed, and he is already on his way home."

"You wouldn't have answered the door," Jake says slowly. You can see his drunk mind doing mental gymnastics at the possibility you presented to him. However, the severe look on his face eases significantly after that. "And you don't look satisfied, Darlin."

"I don't look satisfied?" you question him. This line of conversation was quickly entering a place you two had never gone before. "And you would know what that looks like, Hangman?" You tease him.

"I could make you very satisfied. No sane man would let you out of bed once he had you there, let alone this early at night. With your pretty little mouth still looking in perfect shape, I bet you didn't even make it to second base."

His damn fingers hadn't stopped their drumming on the counter, and suddenly they were the only thing filling your thoughts about how they would feel against you, in you. He also looks distracted, though, staring at you again. You bite your lip, trying hard to clear your mind to figure out how to redirect this conversation.

"Are you doubting my capabilities to satisfy you?" He questioned your words catching up with him. He stood up from the stool he had been sitting on, looking much steadier on his feet than when he showed up at your door.

"Don't think I could ruin that pretty makeup, tangle your hair, eat you out until you cried? Make you beg for me? You doubt I could make you forget your own name? Then put you back together again?" Every fiber of your being knew he could probably do every one of those things and not even put in much effort.

"No, I don't doubt your capabilities. Just…" you finally choked out and trailed off, feeling like there suddenly wasn't enough oxygen in the room.

"Just what?" He asked you, and his voice was sinfully deep.

"Just that you don't know when I look like that." You supply, the words were stilted and awkward.

"What if we found out together then? Me what you look like. And you, what it feels like."

He made to move closer to you, but you instinctually held up one of your hands, and he stopped freezing in place. You finally averted your gaze from him to the Airfryer dinging. You grabbed a plate and threw the tater tots on it, collecting some condiments from the fridge so Jake would have options.

He was still standing in the same spot and hadn't moved any closer in the process it took you to get the food. Jake’s bright eyes burning into your back.

You can't quite quell the heat simmering in you from the line of conversation. The sinful tone of Jake's voice. Of course, those were all things you wanted from him, things you imagined. But that wasn't realistic, and he was drunk. You were his friend's little sister, probably his most robust support system during deployments, his close friend and confidant. One drunken tumble in the sheets wasn't worth risking that.

You sigh heavily, setting the plate down on the counter where he had been sitting. "Sit down, Jake, and eat."

He follows orders well because, of course, he does. He dips a tater tot in some of the homemade BBQ sauce he had given you a few months ago and shoves it into his mouth. Jake has that same look he did with the water, which he is once again sipping, like he is looking for praise. However, under that, he looks a little defeated, his shoulders hunched slightly.

"Listen," you start slowly, trying to craftily pick your words so no more damage can be done. "You are drunk, and I was just teasing. It's nothing, Jake."

"I'm not too drunk," he defends himself, munching on another tot.

"You're sloshed," you say, pointing a finger.

"I am not sloshed, sweetheart. I walked all the way here. I drank water. My words aren't slurring." All of these were valid points, and his drunk mannerisms were improving by the minute. However, he was still inebriated. He had been drinking tonight, and you could use that as a defense.

"Doesn't change that you have been drinking, Jake."

He then dropped a tater tot that was halfway to his mouth and glared at you. He had never glared at you before. You weren't sure how to handle this situation. Instinctively you flinched a little at the harsh look, which lasted for a minute longer before he dropped his head low and stared at the plate.

"Am I just your pity, friend?" He asked you quietly.

"What? No, of course not!"

"I know I'm not the only one of Freight's friends you have sent care packets." He said using your brother's call sign, which made your eyebrows raise. Jake had known your brother, FreightTrain, since well before that was his call sign and they went to flight school together.

"Of course, I help support some of them when y'all are deployed. I am literally in the American Legion Auxiliary, you know," you said, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal.

"You send Bradshaw care packages," Jake said, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "He told me about it. "

You glared at him then, not about to put up with him being jealous over something like that.

"And so what if I do? Rooster is my brother's friend, just like you. And the man is an orphan. Who else is going to send him packages?"

"He is a grown man who can take care of himself."

"The same can be said about you, Jake."

He huffed, and that annoying crease in-between his eyebrows deepened along with his frown. His bottom lip caught in-between his teeth, biting it a few times in frustration before letting go.

"Do you want a list of all the people I send them to? I don't understand your issue here."

"The issue is," Jake clenched his fist and jaw before growling out the rest of his sentence, "I'm not just Freight's friend to you! We are more than that."

"Are we?" You ask him quietly, not knowing that was actually true.

Silence hung in the air between you while you waited to see if he would fill it. Waiting for Jake to reassure you that no, of course, y'all were more. That he cared about you as much as you cared about him. That you weren't just a convenient and useful person in his life. That you could have your beautiful friendship and so much more. However, instead of giving you those reassurances, Jake decided to finish his water and stand up again.

"I'm sorry for bothering you tonight, Ma'am. It won't happen again."

"Jake, no," you said softly, being the one who moved towards him now. "Stop. Where are you going to go? It's the middle of the night. You can stay here and finish eating."

"I can't impose more than I already have, Ma'am."

"Stop calling me Ma'am," You snap at him, already feeling the hurt of this encounter ringing through your veins.

"I can't stay here," Jake told you, and you were just thankful he didn't attach Ma'am to the clipped sentence this time.

"Well, this is me temporarily waiving my third amendment rights. Okay?" you say gently, pleading with your eyes. You were reeling from this interaction. Part of you still felt charged by his suggestive words of what he could do to you. Part of you was desperately worried you had somehow messed up your friendship. Then there was part of you that was confused about this jealous problem he seems to have with you sending care packages to other people.

"No, not okay."

"Not okay?" You parrot back.

"Do you know why I walked all the way here?" He asked you, his tone dead serious, and the glaze that had been there in his eyes when you first opened the door was almost entirely gone.

"Because you couldn't remember anywhere else to go?"

"No," he said calmly. "I came here tonight because I was drunk, and the only person I wanted to see was you. I always want to see you. No matter how far away you are, my feet are begging me to walk towards you: from down the road, the other side of the country, the middle of the ocean. You are my soul's compass point now.

"Normally, I can resist. I can act like I'm just your friend or your brother's friend. That I was just assigned this base randomly, without any subtle and insistent requests to my superiors for reassignment here. I can pretend that I don't have every single one of your cards saved. I have so much control all the time, but I am so tired. And tonight I was drinking, then I just couldn't stop my feet anymore from walking here, to you."

Every possible thought in your brain suddenly ran to the exit. The only thing occupying your mind was the look of pure sincerity on Jake "Hangman" Seresin's face while he poured his heart out.

"Jake," you whispered, taking a few steps toward him. This time, however, he was the one who stopped you, holding up his hand.

"I've never felt like I wasn't good enough before. Maybe a bit when I was younger, but not since I got over all my childhood bullshit and went to USNA. Definitely not since I figured out I'm actually the best at something as a pilot in flight school. But now I can't escape the feeling. I run the numbers all the time. I try and figure out if I have interpreted the signs wrong. I just can't wrap my mind around why I'm not good enough for you."

Jake might as well have taken a knife out of the block sitting by your stove and stabbed you. That would have hurt less than the tight feeling in your chest hearing him admit he felt insufficient. Jake's posture, the way he shrunk into himself, was wrong. He refused to meet your eyes now. It was all wrong, so incompatible with the man you knew Jake Seresin to be. He looked like he was about to keep going, but you didn't think your heart, which had just ripped itself into pieces, could handle hearing anything else.

"Enough," you growl out, slapping your hand down on the counter. "I won't hear another word of this." That just seemed to make Jake shrink more into himself, and he looked seconds away from hightailing it out of the door.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves and make a fully conscious effort so that your voice came out kind and caring. "You are worthy, Jake. I am ashamed if, for some reason, I have contributed to making you feel like you aren't."

"That's not enough to make you love me," he whispered, still not looking at you.

"Look at me," you begged. His eyes remained on the abandoned plate, so you repeated your request just as softly. Finally, when those sea glass eyes poured into yours, they were filled with hurt and panic. You tried to find the words to adequately say how you felt, the words that could make him understand the situation you were in.

"I love you too much to love you, Jake." You immediately wanted to stick your foot in your mouth hearing the words out loud.

"What does that mean?" He asked, which, to be fair, was a valid question.

"It means I care about you too much. It means you are too special to me. You are too good of a friend to try and fuck it up by adding more. I have to have you in my life. I won't lose us just because we decide to have sex or try something else, and it doesn't work out. It could never be worth it enough to even entertain losing you."

"Well, I love you too much to keep being your friend. I can't hear about your dates or watch you care about someone else. I can't be your friend anymore, pretending I'm not in love with you. It would never be genuine, and you deserve more than that."

Tears spring up in your eyes at his words, and your hands clench into fists. The only thing that stops you from sobbing is the steady breaths you are reminding yourself to take. "Then I guess we are at an impasse."

"This is the end then," Jake's voice breaks when he says end. You can't hold back the tears anymore; all it takes is two blinks, then they slide down your cheeks in fat drops.

"Don't say that," you beg him.

"I don't know what else to say."

"Take it back, say that you are drunk. That you don't love me. That I'm your friend's annoying little sister, who you promised to keep an eye on. Tell me you aren't leaving me. Tell me something that will fix this between us."

Silence stretches between the both of you again. Tears keep falling down your face, your eyes were begging Jake for comfort, but they only meet the steady resignation in his.

"I hate seeing you cry." He finally utters, which just makes you cry harder.

"Please," you didn't know what you were asking him for, though. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to self-soothe and find some form of comfort. Jake continued staring at you. He made a micromovement like he was going to come comfort you at least twice but stopped himself each time.

"I'm going to go." He gave you one final look and spun on his heel towards your front door.

You only let him get to the hallway, where he originally kicked off his shoes and was starting to shove them back on his feet. You caught his arm, wrapping your hand around it, stopping his movements.

"Don't do this. I love you."

"You're breaking my heart," he whispers, covering your hand with his own. Jake's USNA ring felt cool against your flushed skin.

"If I let you have me, will you stay?"

"No, not now that I know you don't want me."

"I never said I didn't want you," you retort, squeezing his arm a little.

“No. I could have bared simply not being enough or that you found me unattractive. What you told me was worse."

"I can't lose you over this. Not over drunken words and feelings."

"I'm not drunk," he growled out with a steel edge to his voice. "I'm not even a lick beyond stone-cold sober anymore. So stop implying my words and feelings are anything beyond genuine. I ain't asking you for tonight, sweetheart. I was here asking you for forever."

God, you knew that was what he was asking for, but that only made it so much scarier. His hand started to slip from where it covering yours. You twisted your hand to catch his fingers in yours. Ever so slowly, you brought it closer to you and brushed your lips over his knuckles. Jake's eyes were tracing your actions watching intently. When your lips touched his skin, he audibly gasped. The intake of breath was so minimal you wouldn't have heard it if you hadn't been standing so close.

"My date was terrible," you whispered to him, not letting go of his hand and holding it close to yourself. Jake raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, so you just continued on. "They always are bad, even when they should be good, because they are never with you. And I also have kept all of your thank you cards. I've dried every bouquet of flowers you sent to me, so I wouldn't ever have to throw them out.

"I dream about you and think about you all the time. I didn't even want to be friends when you first moved here, because I was already more than in love with you from texts and phone calls. The first time I smelled your aftershave, which I had bought you, on your actual skin, I wanted to jump your bones. You didn't make it easier for me, Jake, looking like you were crafted from marble by an artist. And then I found out you tip servers well. I learned you are just as funny and kind in person as you were on the phone. An accomplished, decorated Naval officer, giving me any time of day even as a friend still seems ludicrous. You are too good to be true and certainly too damn good for me, Jake Seresin."

His pupils were blown wide, and his mouth open just the tiniest bit. He leans forward, you are fully expecting him to kiss you now, but instead, his forehead presses into yours. It's a grounding feeling, the weight of skull against yours, your breath mingling. It reminds both of you that this is real. His free hand comes to cup your cheek pushing away the stray tears still clinging to your cheeks. Your eyes pouring into each other, hardly even blinking.

"I can be yours then?" he asked when your breathing had evened out.

"You already are mine. You've been mine for a long time, haven't you?" You reassured him and asked him in the same breath.

"Yes. I've been yours. Always yours," Jake muttered lowly.

"Good. You are so good. Too good." You praised him, and his face split into a grin, and you were tempted to break the moment you were having and kiss him silly.

"Will you let me love you then?" He asked you a moment later.

"Yes, but it won't be easy," you warn him.

"If I wanted anything easy in life, I would have joined the Air Force." Before the joke even fully settles, or you have a moment to defend the Air Forces' honor, Jake's lips press against yours. The way his mouth feels against yours is even better than you had imagined.

You invite him to your bed, but he refuses to sleep with you, even if it is just sharing a bed, before at least one proper date. You try to fight him on it, but Jake says he can't be anything but a proper gentleman. You make up the couch for him, taking too long to tuck the blanket around him because you keep getting distracted by kissing every inch of his face. Finally, you go to bed when you can't stop yawning, realizing it is past three am.

In the morning, you wake up sure the night before had been a dream. However, you are proven wrong when you make your way out of your room. There you find Jake shirtless in the kitchen humming to the music he has playing on his phone, flipping pancakes and bacon. The sight and scents combined literally make your mouth water.

"Can this count as our first date?" You ask him before even saying good morning. The laugh it prompts in him is warm and fills the whole room before settling your chest. You know it's a sound you never want to stop hearing.

#jake seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #topgun imagine #hangman imagine

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cowgurrrl · 2 months

Text

Slow It Down Cowboy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: this ended up being so chunky but I hope that’s okay

Summary: The wall [5.8k!!!]

Warnings: academic blackmail??, bad administrative decisions, an even worse parent, Joel comforting reader, more art talk, slight angst

As the sun sets earlier and the weather dips below the usual heat, things actually start looking pretty good. Andie, somehow, found time off of work and is coming home for a few days during the long winter break. You've gotten back to making art you actually care about now that you're in a race with Joel. All your students are settled and starting to come out of their shells, making more experimental art. Ellie continues to show up with cups of coffee with your name on them before anyone else can spill into your classroom, and you continue to text Joel.

How much are you spending on coffee now?

I thought we agreed to keep certain things secret.

Joel Miller.

Hush. You deserve it.

In between lessons and at lunch, you'll manage to catch each other at the right time and shoot messages off as fast as they come in. He helps you fix a squeaky chair over text, and you help him set up a care package to send to Sarah. It's nice even though you haven't really seen him since the night of the gallery opening. Even things at the bar seem to be doing better, and you're making enough to not have to worry so much. But you're most proud of the list of students whose art will be shown at the winter showcase, Ellie's work among them.

You make a big deal about it and send in an announcement to be read in the morning, congratulating all the students. You even go out of your way to announce it in all your classes and offer extra credit to any student who shows up to support their classmates. Surprisingly, your rag-tag group of moody teenagers actually seem keen about the opportunity. Things are going well. You're happy, healthy, financially stable(ish), and your guards are down for the first time in a long time.

You're working with quiet music playing over your computer when the knock at your door sounds during planning period. You stand to open it, but before you can, you hear a jangle of keys and the popping of the lock. Principal Martinez walks in, squints at you, and immediately turns on the overhead fluorescent lights that haven't been used in God knows how long. They buzz in protest as your eyes adjust.

"Hey!" You manage to sound cheery even though she looks like she means business. "I'm assuming you're here about the winter showcase?" You ask, and the line between her brows deepens.

"The what?"

"The showcase? A couple of my kids from the art club got accepted to have their artwork shown in a gallery downtown. It was on the announcements this morning. I can send you the information about when the event is." You offer. Something clicks, and she shakes her head now that she knows what you're talking about.

"Oh, that," she says. "No, I'm not here about that."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Not exactly." She says, and you feel panic pool in your stomach like an unwanted visitor. "Dalton Green's father has brought his grade in your class to my attention."

"He hasn't turned anything in to me since September. I can't grade an empty page," you say, hoping that she's as aware as you are that it's the beginning of November. "I sent an email to his father and football coach back in October, but I still haven't seen any work from him."

"Mr. Green says he's positive his son has turned in work. Are you sure you haven't just misplaced it?"

"No, I've graded and given back every single assignment from the semester."

"Let me be clear," she says. "Are you sure you haven't just forgotten to put his grades in? It's an easy mistake to make. You could always just input them now so that he's eligible to continue playing. You wouldn't want to bench a perfectly responsible young man. Would you?"

"Ma'am, are you suggesting I lie about Dalton's grades just so he can keep playing football?" You ask, your panic quickly turning into frustration.

"It'd be such a silly thing to fail something as simple as art. Especially when the funding for the school comes directly from our team's ability to perform. Sometimes, as teachers, we have to make sacrifices to ensure the greater good of our students." She says. It never fails to surprise you how condescending people can be when it comes to your job. Martinez will be gone in a year to fight for a place on the school board, and it's clear she's not pulling her punches even now. Still, you're floored by the ask. Never in your career have you been asked by a principal to lie about a student's grades.

"I'd be willing to make certain accommodations, but I'm really not comfortable doing that. If he wanted to turn something in, I could find a way to give him half credit." You say. Her face changes almost imperceptibly before she straightens up with a cynical smile.

"Well, I think since you had the idea, you should be the one to call his father and tell him the good news," she says it like it's a reward, but it feels like more of a punishment. Your good mood comes crumbling around you as she looks at you expectantly. You have principles as a teacher. This is one of them, but how far are you willing to go to protect it? "I have a meeting with some people from the school board, but please let me know what conclusion you and Mr. Green come to regarding Dalton's grades." She says as she walks out of your room, not even bothering to look at you over her shoulder as she speaks to you.

"Fuck," you mutter as the door closes behind her. You stare at the phone and think about your options. You can't let her walk all over you just because she's your boss, and you won't compromise your values just so the football program will thrive. But you also really don't want to make this phone call. If Dalton's dad is as pleasant as he seems over email, you can't imagine this going well. "Fuck." You say again as you pick up the receiver and search your records for Dalton's dad's phone number. You find it, and in a burst of confidence, dial the number and listen to the line ring, secretly hoping he won't pick up.

"Green." His dad says in place of a greeting, and you take a deep breath.

"Hi, Mr. Green. This is Dalton's art teacher from school. I understand you had some issues regarding his grade in my class?" You tread very carefully, but even then, he scoffs.

"You're damn right I have some issues. Why are you failin' him? He's gotta pass to play football, and Principal Martinez said you'd get it sorted."

"Yes, sir, that's why I'm calling," you say. "Dalton hasn't turned in any of the assignments I've given out since September, and because of that, I've been unable to give him a good grade. However, I can make some arrangements to give him half credit for every assignment he turns in before the end of next week. That should give him more than enough time between classes and practice."

"He told me you lost his assignments."

"No, sir, I haven't received anything from him." You say. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you almost hope the call dropped before he can respond.

"Are you sayin' my son's a liar?"

You spend the next twenty minutes being berated over the phone, not even allowed to get a word in without being cut off. Several times throughout the call, you think about hanging up and unplugging the phone, but you know that'd only make it worse. God forbid he show up at the school and humiliate you in front of the other staff or, worse, students. No wonder Dalton has issues if this is how his father speaks to people. If your day wasn't ruined by your encounter with the principal, it certainly is now. You handle it as well as possible until he gets near the end of his rant and takes a deep breath.

"I just can't believe they'd let a teacher as horrible as you work there. What right do you have to teach anything?" He says, and that's what really gets under your skin. Suddenly, hot tears spring in your eyes, and your throat feels like sandpaper.

"I don't know." It is the only thing you can think to say.

"Call me back when you have a real fuckin' solution and not whatever bullshit this is." He spits before hanging up the phone. You put the receiver down and bury your head in your hands, trying your best not to cry. Your molars buzz, and it feels like your head is swelling with pain. His insults and backhanded comments echo in your ears, and you can't hold the tears back any longer.

What a fucking shit show. You know Martinez won't do anything about the verbal abuse unless you're willing to lie about grades, which is a ridiculous request in the first place. Dalton's dad won't back down, and you can safely assume Coach Sanders is next up on the roster if you don't do something soon. Why can't you get a kid to turn in a fucking piece of paper? Are you really that bad of a teacher that you're losing an argument with a seventeen-year-old? Is this the hill you want to die on?

You think about going upstairs and seeking refuge in Mrs. Tomlinson's English class, your favorite coworker and the one who hides the good snacks in her desk, but you know she has a class, and you don't want to embarrass yourself. Andie is seven hours ahead and probably asleep. You're friends with people from the bar but not good enough friends that you could call them crying about a situation like this. The realization that you're alone in this makes you more emotional, and you have to stifle your sobs behind your hand.

You jump when your doorknob twists open again, and you half-expect Martinez to be there with an I-told-you-so look on her face. You quickly turn so your back is to the door and wipe the tears on your face. You can't stand to be humiliated again today. When you turn back to see who entered your classroom, Joel's big brown eyes soften when he sees how upset you are.

"Honey," he murmurs, and you almost start sobbing again at his soft tone. "What's goin' on?"

"I didn't know you were coming today." You sniffle, trying to pull yourself together. He walks over and drops his toolbox on a nearby table so he can pull you up from your chair.

"Supposed to be a surprise." He says as he tucks you into his chest. You hug him tightly and let him rub your back in the quiet of your classroom. His shirt smells like laundry detergent and the cold wind sweeping through the hill country. He should be wearing a jacket, but he's not, and you can feel goosebumps on his skin. For a minute, you just cling to him and cry, staining his shirt with tears, but he doesn't care. He's patient and shushes you gently as he adjusts his hold on you to bring you closer. You bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your head.

"What are you doing here?" You ask into his skin.

"I found your missin' piece for the projector. I thought I'd come install it for you so you'd stop fallin' off things tryna get it to work," he says. He leans back just enough to swipe your hair out of your eyes and rests his hands on either side of your face so you can see him. You want to turn away because you know you look like a crying mess, but he doesn't flinch. "There she is," he whispers fondly when you meet his eyes. "Your turn. What happened that's got you all upset?" He asks, swiping his thumbs under your eyes to catch stray tears.

"Just… a really shitty call with a parent." You say, not wanting to get into specifics just yet.

"Anythin' I can do?" He asks, and you shake your head. Just his presence is enough to make you feel better. His big, warm hands holding you like you're precious is a big plus, too. You run your hands over the muscles hidden by his shirt and take a deep breath.

"Just this," you say, and he smiles. "'S a very nice surprise."

"I might've had ulterior motives." He says sheepishly, and you chuckle.

"What are your ulterior motives, maverick?" You ask. You honestly don't know where the nickname came from, but it's stuck around. You've heard it used by old southern women when talking about someone who's independent or doesn't follow the rules. "There goes maverick again!" They'd say when their unruly son would go speeding by in the kitchen. You think the private name suits him.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, without a hint of shame or doubt in his voice. You almost fold just because of how he's looking at you through his long eyelashes. Almost. The age-old sound of your projector whirring reminds you where you are, and you straighten up.

"Not here."

"After I fix the projector?" He negotiates, and you laugh at how quickly he bounces back.

"After you fix the projector and we're not on school campus anymore."

"Deal," he says as he turns away from you and toward his toolbox. "You should time me. This might be the fastest replacement I've ever done."

"You're really that motivated now?" You tease, the levity between you two draining the dredges of your bad afternoon from your brain. He smiles and digs in his toolbox for the right screwdriver.

"For you? Of course." He says. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a smile, and he winks at you. He's barely standing on a chair before you grab his arm and stop him.

"Wait," you say. You're not really sure what the plan is, but you also don't care. Joel, however, looks confused. "I found an old step stool in my storage closet the other day, but it's on the top shelf. If you can get it down, that might be a little safer."

"You've had a step stool this whole time, and you're still climbin' on tables?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at you. "You're gonna put me in an early grave one of these days."

"Quit that," you laugh as he steps off the chair. "I didn't have time to get it down whenever I needed it, and I just forgot about it until the other day. C'mon, I'll show you where it is." He sighs dramatically but follows you into the dusty storage room filled floor to ceiling with various art supplies. It's hidden by a suspicious-looking, windowless door just off to the right of your classroom. You think it might've been used as a tornado shelter when the school was much smaller and younger, but since then, it's been renovated into a personal storage room.

The second the door closes behind him, you turn around, push him against it, and kiss him before you can change your mind. He gasps into you like he wasn't expecting this but quickly grabs your waist, anchoring to you and kissing you back feverishly. You really had planned on making him wait until you were safe, far away from school grounds, instead of pulling him into the nearest private space like a teenager. But you figured if Martinez can break the rules, why can't you?

Your hand snakes through his hair and plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing a content sigh from Joel. His lips are a little chapped and firm against yours. He tastes like coffee and something sweet, and you want more. You tip your mouth up to him to kiss him deeper, and he grips your hips hard, his fingers grazing the skin just under the hem of your shirt. You test scratching your nails over the back of his neck, and he shudders beautifully under your touch. In one move, he switches places with you and pins you between him and the door.

With him in control, he slows down just a little, kissing you softly like he's got all the time in the world. You've realized Joel likes treating you like you're made of porcelain. Like all it would take is one wrong move, and you'd fall apart under his touch. He lets you make the first move every time, tying his hands behind his back until you say the word in an impressive show of self-control. Even at the art gallery, when there was so much tension between you, you thought you'd choke on it; he wasn't the one who initiated. The knee-jerk reaction of flipping your positions against the door to take control is his first show of power, and you like it. What do you need to do to get him to do it again?

The bell sounding through the intercom breaks you apart, and you groan at the intrusion. Nothing is keeping you after school today but you aren't ready to separate from Joel just yet. You rest your head on the door and stare at him as you vaguely hear the sounds of rowdy kids flooding the hallways. His lips are swollen and a little pink, and his hair is messy from all your pulling.

"What?" He questions your staring and you shake your head.

"I just like looking at you," you say. "Your hair is also a mess, but that's a completely different story."

"And whose fault is that?" He laughs and musses his curls back into place. You help with a few strands at the back and smile when everything is tame again.

"Good as new." You say. Now, it's his turn to peer at you, and you give him a confused look. You swipe under your eyes as if there's mascara stuck there and fix your hair, waiting for him to give you the all-clear, but he just chuckles.

"I can't believe you pulled me into a closet to make out."

"Me neither, honestly." You admit as the both of you dissolve into delirious laughter. You wait in the closet for a few more minutes so the hallways can clear out (and you can kiss a little more) before you finally exit, checking that it's clear and then opening the door wider for Joel. When he sees his toolbox sitting on the desk where he left it, he sighs and glances between you and the ceiling.

"I'm never gonna get to fix that goddamn projector." He mutters, and you laugh as you pass in front of him and pat his shoulder.

"Next time, maverick." You say. His grumbles disappear as you pack up your stuff side-by-side in silence. It's nice to not feel like you always have to fill the space with conversation. It's enough for papers to rustle as they land in your bag and his tools to clink as they find their proper homes. The hallways have gone quiet, and the eerie silence of an empty school slowly creeps up on you.

Joel's boots squeaking catch your attention as you unplug your computer and start turning off various lamps around the classroom. He stands in front of the whiteboard where you have a big print of a Rothko painting displayed for today's art history lesson. He tilts his head as he looks at it like he's trying to find some hidden meaning or perspective, and you smile to yourself at the motion.

"Lots of people think it's not much to look at." You break the silence from the back of the room, and he looks at you over your shoulder.

"I didn't say that."

"I know. I'm just letting you know what certain historians say," you say. You finish with all the lamps, and the only light coming into the classroom is the little bit of natural light streaming in from the windows near the ceiling. Stray dust spins in the air as you join him in looking at the poster of the Rothko, and you try to imagine what he's thinking.

It's a little unnerving, like most of the ones Rothko made towards the end of his life. The vast darkness on the top half of the painting is daunting, while the gray at the bottom helps ground the viewer, at least a little. If you look closely enough, you can see the various washes and brushstrokes he used to create the painting. Obviously, a lot of skill and time went into something like this, even though not everyone wants to see it. "It's hard to know what it meant to him. It probably didn't mean anything, honestly. He wanted people to have sensory experiences with his art, so you only get as much as you put into it." You explain, and Joel nods but doesn't look away from the painting.

"Is it the surface of the moon?" He asks.

"What makes you say that?" You interrogate, trying to hide your excitement at getting to hear him tell you what he thinks of art.

"Well, it kinda looks like I'm standin' on the moon and lookin' out into space." He says as he runs his finger over the divide between the two colors.

"Where's the Earth, then?"

"Maybe I'm on the dark side of the moon."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe the Earth is just too far away, and I can't reach it, but I know it's there. If the moon started spinnin' faster or somethin', I could see it, but maybe it's not for me to see..." It's incredibly profound, even if he doesn't realize it. You see where he's coming from based on what you know about his past and almost want to reach for his hand, but you don't. "But I don't know. What do I know bout art?"

"A lot," you answer quickly, hating how he talks about himself like he's stupid. "You know a lot. That was a really good analysis." He hums noncommittally and bumps your shoulder with his.

"What bout you? What's it to you?" He asks, and you sigh as you look the colors over again.

"A wall and the night sky."

"A wall?"

"Yeah. It's either protecting me or keeping me in, but either way, it's there, and there's not much I can do about it. I could stay where I am and never find out what's beyond it and be safe, or I could climb the wall and never be the same again. I wouldn't know what's behind it or what's out there— that's why it's all black at the top— but maybe that's what's so interesting about it. The unknown." You say, and Joel hums.

"You should be a teacher or somethin'." He says, and you laugh and move to grab your backpack off your desk.

"It just might be in the cards for me," you say. "What's Ellie doing tonight? Don't you have to pick her up?"

"She's actually going to the movies with some friends tonight." He says, beaming with pride, and you gasp dramatically.

"Is she really?"

"Sent her with twenty dollars and everythin'."

"Oh, that's so good! She's doing so good! I knew art club would get her out of her shell." You clap your hands, and he nods, smiling.

"She certainly ain't shy anymore. It feels like she's always on the phone with someone these days." He's a little nostalgic for the little girl who used to cling to her dad, and you make a sympathetic sound.

"Don't you worry. I'm sure she'll want to hang out with her old dad during winter break."

"Old?!" He parrots as you usher him out of the room, your keys jingling on your arm.

"Her words, not mine." You say as you walk out into the empty hallway with him and lock your classroom door behind you. He scoffs and grumbles something under his breath but doesn't push you for any insider information on Ellie. You like having your secrets with her, and as long as she's not a threat to herself or others, you'll keep those secrets until she's ready to tell him.

You walk out to the parking lot together to catch the last few rays of sun scattering across the sky and smile when you see that Joel somehow managed to park close to your car. He loads his tools up in his truck bed while you throw your backpack in the backseat, but neither of you gets in your car immediately after things are settled. Instead, you wander back over to his truck and lean against one of the doors.

"So, if Ellie's out with friends, what are you doing for the rest of the night?" You ask, and he smirks, stepping into your space. You think about scolding him, but the parking lot is practically empty. Plus, you like having him close. In the orange light of dusk, you feel safe next to him and his truck. He quirks an eyebrow at you and looks serious.

"Are you askin' me on a date?"

"It's not a date."

"Is this the same thing like you weren't gonna kiss me, and then you did?" He teases. You roll your eyes and push off his truck, putting your arms up in defeat.

"I didn't realize Joel Miller hated spontaneity so much. Fine, I'll stop doing it." You start walking back toward your car, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back before you can get far. You smile when your chest collides with his and look up at him.

"Now, I didn't say all that," he says. "'M just surprised. You're gettin' ballsy."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't think so," he says as he leans forward like he's about to tell you a secret. "I think it's pretty hot, actually." He whispers lowly in your ear, his breath fanning out across your neck and making your face hot. You shove at his shoulder, but he just laughs and grabs your hand. "What? You don't like me callin' you hot?"

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"I ain't hearin' a 'no.'"

"Yes, Joel, I like it. Is that what you wanna hear?" You finally relent, and he shrugs with every ounce of sass.

"Maybe," he says. "I also wanna hear what you were thinkin' for our not date."

"Oh, something super romantic."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Whataburger meals and milkshakes." You say, and he makes a play at his knees giving out under him.

"A woman after my own heart." He groans, and you roll your eyes.

You could take separate cars. It'd probably be easier for getting home and take away an extra stop, but you don't really care about that when you climb into the passenger's side of his truck. He doesn't seem surprised by your decision to ride with him and rests a hand on your thigh the second he pulls out of the school parking lot. He asks about your day, painting, and even if you've heard anything else from Henry as he drives. You rant a little about Principal Martinez and ask about his day, so he gets a turn ranting about headers and structural issues. You're not exactly sure what he's talking about, but you nod and listen anyway, and he doesn't critique you for not knowing.

When you get to Whataburger, you have to scout to make sure there are no teenagers you recognize before going in. Of course, he opens the door and lets you order first like a gentleman, but you elbow him out of the way so you can pay before he can even reach for his wallet. By the look on his face, you would've thought you ripped a cookie out of his hands. "It's my turn!" You say, but he still looks shocked when you hand him his orange and white striped cup. You choose a booth near the back and continue talking about your days or recent developments until your food comes, and then you talk in between bites. It's not romantic, but it is comfortable.

He updates you on Sarah's progress in medical school and even shows you pictures on his phone of the last time the three of them were all together. He looks lighter when he's with the both of them like all the pieces of his heart are bound in those girls. You like to think it is. He tells you how he's looking at grants for small-business owners in Austin and is eligible to apply for a good amount. "'M just nervous I won't get any." He says, and you shake your head.

"They've got insane amounts of money they're looking to give to hardworking people. I bet you'll be a millionaire by the end of this bet." You say, and he chuckles as he pops a fry in his mouth.

"What bout you?" He asks.

"What about me?"

"How's the search for a gallery goin'?" You take a deep breath at his question and shrug.

"I don't really have anything to submit just yet, but some places are taking rolling submissions, so I can send something in whenever. I just want it to be good."

"'M sure it will be." He says, and you give him a look.

"You haven't even seen any of my work. What if it's awful?"

"Then I'd lie and say it's the best thing I've ever seen."

"So you’re a iiar."

"At least, I'd be a considerate liar." He says. You're about to start arguing with him about it when a pair of familiar eyes meet yours across the restaurant. Before you can even think about a tactic to get out of the situation, she's already up and walking toward your booth.

"Oh, shit," you mutter, and Joel's eyebrows furrow until he finds who you're looking at. His face falls exactly the same way you're sure yours did.

"Hi!" Marnie greets as she lands in front of you. "I haven't seen you in a minute!"

"I know! I've been meaning to text you about getting drinks, but I keep forgetting!" It's a lie. A considerate lie, but a lie nevertheless.

"Oh, you're too sweet. We'll set somethin' up," she says as she turns to Joel. "And you! I haven't seen you since Sarah moved. How is she?" Oh, shit. How does she know you and Joel? He recovers quickly with a charming smile and a nod.

"Yes, ma'am. She's doin' real good up in Boston. Keepin' outta trouble and everythin'."

"And Ellie? How's she doin'? She still makin' art?" 900,000 people in Austin and countless Whataburgers within 100 square miles, and the person who walks into the one you're in is the one you used to work with at school. Not only that, but she knows Joel's kids. She knows Joel. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Yeah, she's still doin' art. She's good at it. She's seein' a movie with some friends from school tonight." He says, and Marnie's eyes light up at the mention of the high school while Joel tenses.

"Oh, my gosh, how's the new classroom? I completely forgot they renovated that old teacher's lounge a couple years ago."

"It's good. The equipment's a little old, but nothing's fallen apart yet. You'll have to come see it sometime."

"We'll have to find a time!" She says, always insanely cheerful. "Well, I'll let y'all get back to your meal, but I'd be kickin' myself if I didn't come over here and say hello to you two. Joel, please tell the girls I said hi."

"Yes, ma'am," Joel says politely. With that, Marnie turns and walks back to her waiting husband and says something that sounds like, "I know them!" Your food is suddenly cold and unappetizing when you look at it, and your stomach is in knots. The warm bubble around you and Joel has burst, and you're left in the stark light of the truth. "D'you wanna go?" Joel whispers, and you nod.

He takes your trays and throws away the food before opening the door for you to walk out into the cool night air, avoiding Marnie's stare the whole time. He doesn't reach for you or help you into the truck. He barely looks at you until you're in the safety of the cab. The world is spinning around you, and alarms are sounding in your brain. What the fuck just happened?

"How do you know her?" You ask Joel, staring straight ahead, and he swallows hard.

"She was Sarah and Ellie's science tutor," he says, and your eyes flutter shut. "How do you know her?"

"She was the science teacher at the high school during my first year there. She left to go to a different school after that, but we were pretty close."

"So, she knows you're a teacher at the same school my kid goes to."

"And she knows Ellie does art, so she knows she would be one of my students." You slowly piece together how bad this could be. You got caught having dinner with the parents of one of your students. If Marnie says anything, word could travel through the district until Martinez hears about it. You'd be in much more trouble than you already are with her. You could be accused of giving Ellie special treatment and violating school policy.

"Fuck." Joel mumbles, mirroring your exact thoughts, and you nod.

"We can't do this." You whisper, not wanting to admit it, especially after such a nice day with him. He doesn't protest. He feels the gravity of the situation. You want to put your hand over his. You want to hug him. You want to comfort him the way he comforted you, but you can't.

"I know." His voice is even and controlled like he's choosing his words carefully, but you can hear the disappointment in his words. You can't go back to an hour ago when you were laughing and pulling him into storage rooms. You have to stay where you are. You have to stay safe. He is the personification of your wall and you have to be okay with not knowing what’s beyond it.

You can't do this.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

#hippies and cowboys #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us au #tlou au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us fluff

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rodolfoparras · 1 year

Text

Soap Alphabet; G= Goofy, K=Kinks, L=Locations, 18+, MINORS DNI, | insp by this.

Pairing: John Soap Mactavish x male reader

content tags: handjobs, exhibitionism, glove fetishism (I think that's the word idk Soap likes getting u off with his gloves on)

Stand alone/ part of a series

A/N: I've been seeing this a-z alphabet thing going around here and on tiktok and wanted to give it a shot, this is meant to be a blurb of some sort, I just dont know how to shut up thats why its a wee bit long.

“You want head ?” Soap asks as he nudges you with his shoulder.

You turn your head to the side to look at him, and despite the mask that you’re wearing he knows you’re raising a brow at him. “We’re literally at a stake out”

“So ?” He asks with a shrug, not really seeing any issue with having his mouth on your cock while on the clock “You’ll keep watch while I do all the work. Well technically we both will be doing the work” he says, chuckling at his own joke.

You turn your head straight forward, gaze falling upon the soldier stationed a bit further away from the two of you “What about him?

Soap turns his head to the soldier as well (what’s his name again? Marvin something?) only to see him being as oblivious as ever to the pairs of eyes burning into the back of his neck. “What about him?” Soap asks as if nothing could deter him from this side quest, not even the presence of someone else.

“He’ll see” you try to explain, as if he’s somehow forgotten about the potential consequences while forming this great plan.

“That’s what we got this bad boy for” he says and gestures to the rock laying in front of you. It’s rather large in size and manages to hide two grown soldiers pretty easily. The only thing is that it has a large opening in the middle of it but as long as one lays low (which the two of you have been doing) onlookers are only able to see your heads and shoulders. Technically he’d be able to suck-

You can't believe that you’re actually considering this.

But once you realize there’s really not much to do here anyway other than lay around in the dirt (something you’ve been doing for a good hour or so), you agree to his suggestion.

“Hell yeah “ he cheers once you agree to do it. You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm as you roll over to lay on your back, while the other man stays laying on his stomach. Once you’re laying on your back and your head’s propped up on the heavy stone, he scoots down to be eye level with your lower half. His hands are quick to find their way to the waistband of your pants, wrestling with the belt and fumbling with the buttons.

“Fucking gear- can’t take it off- why are these things so heavy- oh thank fuck “ he says once he manages to take them off and before you know it you’re stripped down to your underwear, cold air caressing your exposing skin and sending goosebumps through your entire body.

“Oh you’re really into this idea” he says, taking note of the way your half hard cock presses against the fabric of your underwear.

“Can I tell you something?” He says as he starts trailing kisses up the expanses of your thigh “been thinking about this for a long time now” he explains as he runs his hands down the sides of your body“ you know getting to suck you off on a mission, I’d make sure we’re safe off course but you get the gist of it no?” he continues to say , and fucking nuzzles up against your dick.

“Wait” he almost shouts ”can I use gloves for this?” he asks and it almost looks like he’s fucking giving you puppy eyes.

“Yes yes, just get on with it Mactavish “ you say, annoyance clearly showing on your face as you tug at his hair in warning.

“Oh-oh-alright geez just thought I’d ask for consent, it’s important you know “ he says, clearly still teasing and clearly enjoying himself.

“And I really appreciate it babe but I really need your mouth on my co-“

All of sudden gloved hands pry at the waistband of your underwear, tugging your boxers down to your knees, and freeing your dick.

The cold air is rather unkind to your sensitive skin, raising goosebumps all over your body every time the wind caresses it.

“Will get u all warm real soon give me a minute yeah?” He says, noticing the goosebumps that rises on your skin as he spits onto your dick and on the glove he’s wearing. “What? Need lots of it” he says and shrugs innocently once he takes notice of the look you give him.

At last he wraps a gloved hand around your dick, warmth emanating from his palm as he starts stroking root to tip.

Your head hits the rock with a soft thud, eyes squeezing shut, heavy breaths escaping your lips, as you allow yourself to relax in his grip.

His pace is slow and gentle at first, as to not hurt you with the rough material of the glove. The spit does aid in making the movements much more fluid but you can still feel the fabric tugging and taunting sensitive skin, leaving you hissing every time it grazes your sensitive tip. Apologetic fingers are quick to soothe the sting, slicked with spit and thumbing at the tip. But despite the slight pain that comes with each and every stroke, you find yourself welcoming it, hips bucking into the palm of his hand.

“Oh fuck yes, you look so hot right now, Can’t believe you’re letting me do this, dear god” his hand settles on a slow and gentle pace, but it quickly turns careless and eager once your cock’s fully hard and weeping. A curious thumb goes to collect the precum dribbling from the tip, smearing it all around the head before he continues stroking your dick.

You’re twitching in his grasp, hips bucking into the palm of his hand and boots digging into the muddy ground “please, please, please ”

He ignores your pleas, solely focused on the sight in front him. “I have been thinking about this so much, you don’t even know, wanted to see my gloved hand wrapped around your cock, can’t believe you let me do it, love you so much”

He soon settles for a steady pace, occasionally he’ll twist his hand close to the tip, making you furiously buck up against him.

“Fuck fuck fuck” you moan as you continually thrust up into the palm of his hand. You’re sure by this point the soldier must’ve heard something, but you’re far gone to care, heels digging further into the floor as he speeds up the pace of his hand.

“Shh he’ll hear” he says with a chuckle as he presses his lips against yours in an attempt to suppress your moans.

“Fuck him” you whine out against his lips, hands burying in his hair to keep him close to you.

“Actually I was hoping you’d fuck me” he says with a wolfish grin on his face as he quickens his pace.

Another moan, much louder than the previous one escapes your lips.

“As much as I like hearing the pretty noises you make, we need to be quiet for the next part or else we’ll blow our cover” he says, once again reminding you of the soldier who’s still very much present.

He goes to take off the glove on his other hand, successfully pulling it off by just using his mouth before he palms the thing and gestures for you to take it.

“This isn’t part of your fantasy is it?” You pant, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Maybe” he shrugs innocently but there’s no missing his devious grin. “But you’ll still need this “

“Then get to it” is all you say , as you bite down on the glove, tasting leather on your tongue.

“With pleasure” he says before he goes to bury his head between your legs.

[Once it’s all over and done you hear the Scotsman say to himself “Saving this as a souvenir “ before he pockets the two gloves he’d been using.

“You’re one strange man, Mactavish, you know?”]

#John soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #soap x reader #soap x male reader #call of duty #Alec writes #this a repost

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tac-bat · 1 year

Text

Why I hate how the elders are treated and misinterpreted in a big chunk of the fandom. Rant!

Before we start

I mention fat phobia, and talk about how certain hair types and cultural clothing is described as "food" as a response to what some of the elders are perceived by alot of the fandom. These comments are not only directed at some elders, but many folks who have gotten representation from them are also affected these comments that many thrown around freely.

I’m at my breaking point and will get heated on an array of things but I don’t care

You're entitled to your own opinion, even if i heavily disagree with it. If you don't wanna read then just scroll, because I will rip apart the interpretations I talk about under the read more tag.

If you "don't see this happening" or believe this "doesn't happen" that doesn't mean it didn't happen, Tumblr isin't the only social media I have. I've dabbled in the official Discord, on Instagram, and god forbid Pinterest too, i've seen it all.

Let’s go in order, most issues I have a bone to pick with are more prevalent in some elders more than others.

Daleth

They’re just forgotten, really. Even with knowing what Isle looked like before. Flourishing even, populated seen in the switch trailer and even making an appearance in the Auroras' concert for runaways, they’re pretty much never talked about. And if they are they're just kinda only the butt of pee-paw jokes

Ayin

Their characterization is just confusing to me. I've seen a lot of them portrayed as happy-go-lucky. I’m not saying they can’t be happy, but from what I’ve seen, that’s all they are to a lot of folks in the fandom that I’ve seen. Which really confuses me because in their cutscene they wake up in a daze, notice us, are sort of like "ah, hi," and get straight to work. And they’re gentle, tipping the pot to the butterfly they make to enter. But then there's their orbit cutscene, where they look tired and a tad grouchy after being woken up—not mean, just tired. Again, nothing wrong with it, but it’s pretty one-dimensional to me to just see them as all that.

On a more bitter note, i've seen alot of "fat jokes" or straight up fatphobia in art and comments alike about their body, "Why are they so fat?" -a comment i've actually seen in the discord regarding Ayin. it's disgusting.

Teth

I have so much shit to say about them.

They're not mean simply because they took your light.

"But they snatched it away." Motherfucker, you're looking surface level. THINK!

Imagine you're dead, stuck in limbo for god knows how long, rotting away without anything to do. And you enjoy building and creating, and you were possibly the catalyst for the production of darkstone; your temple could be a goddamn factory for it! So much so that your anvil and hammer are in your constellation; they're a part of you. It’s what you love. And now that you're dead, with no light to fuel, no life to live, forced to sit there with broken shards, it'd bore you, drain you. And then a child appears with a flame; and for the first time in thousands of years, if not more, you can create, build, make something.

And you do.

You take the light without a second thought, regaining your strength and setting to work to help this child pass through your realm to the other elder. You just put all your focus on making the diamond, and when you finish and are proud of it, you send it up to the sky. You’ve created again. And in your orbit cutscene, you're much gentler, no longer bound to that soul-sucking abyss of nothing, so you honour the children who gave you light, your gift. Taking your time and presenting it to them with grace.

That’s what Teth does; that’s what they do. Yes, they seem like a more serious person, but they’re in no way mean. Did they take your light away? Yes. But putting yourself in their shoes for just a moment can make you understand why.

Samekh

I love the twins; I’m a fan of them, and I love Sah in particular with all my being. Which is why this one I will get very passionate about.

It baffles me how those two got the impression of being idiots who share a single brain cell. I don’t mind the jokes, but some people think that’s all they are. Which is just so wrong, like? How can you be so wrong? Would a ruler who built their fucking realm, Valley Triumph of all names, in a goddamn mountains? Would the most prosperous, decorated, and successful realm be led by idiots? Let me repeat that, They built the realm Valley of Triumph, in the fucking MOUNTIANS! Do you know how hard it is to make a city that size in those conditions? MOUNTAINS ARE FUCKING BRUTAL, WITH LESS OXYGEN, EVEN LESS WITH MASK'S, AND FOR HOW UNPREDICTABLE THE WEATHER IS ITS INSANE. Yet valley thrived! They thrived in those mountains, creating impossible architecture, floating buildings, and sports ranging from sliding to flying to manta racing.

Would idiots who share a brain cell accomplish that? No! It's incredible what the twins achieve—an amazing realm and, in my opinion, the capital of the sky. Eden, on the other hand, seems more like a sacred place where you ascend. Not to mention the Citadel? Hello??? It's fucking fantastic; it's incredible how they created such a beautiful realm in the mountains. They wanted races; they got them; they wanted enrichment; they have theatre, gondolas, even the coliseum, and races too.

The twins can be silly and serious, and they are shown to have the same rivalry as all siblings do. But they are not dumb idiots, not in the least.

Tsadi

Tsadi, like Ayins, is just confusing. I’m not too well versed, but I’ve seen iterations of them where they side with "Resh," who is really just a concept art character that has definitely changed from the base game in concept art. Even then, they've never officially appeared in-game; you just have those statues in Wasteland. And in those interpretations of seeing Resh as a full-fledged character, they’re seen as "evil," which I don’t agree with at all. I mention them because most of the time, Tsadi would side with Resh in the war to mant; them seeing Resh as pro-Darkstone in the war (the diamonds Teth makes, and that we light up, basically the main power source for sky), this would imply Tsadi destroyed their realm because they followed the "king." However, their sun shield is right there; based on the memories of wounded warriors, it shows that they were on the "sun side" of their friend. If they we're pro darkstone and was on the same side as the hypothetical "king" wouldn't they have a diamond shield?

"But the spear falling in warrior's and seeds memory could be them," would you expect Tsadi to attack their own realm, where civilians are in warrior memory? Attack their own PEOPLE for the reasons I stated above?

Lamed

Like most of the elders, they're pretty much forgotten. And frankly, I haven’t seen any character interpretations that stick out, so their section is more about how they’re mistreated. Mostly on their headscarf, which is confirmed to be based off a hijab by one of the devs, Ash. Who explains why we should be respectful about it.

And god, so many POC deal with shit already because their hair or cultural clothing are described as food or even worse which many hate. It's disheartening to see almost every joke or comparison refer to Lamed being an "Egg".

More stuff that piss me off

"Bad rulers"

I despise when folks call the elders "evil" or "bad rulers," not seeming to care for their people or even being seen as lazy, which baffles me. Have you watched the vault cutscene?

ALL OF THEM ARE ASSISTING ANCESTORS, AND EVERYONE IS LEADING, GUIDING, OR CREATING THINGS FOR THE ANCESTORS IN SOME WAY.

For fuck's sake, Flight Guide is Ayin's apprentice! Would someone who doesn't care about their people bother with an apprentice? Even a flight guide shares the same pattern on their pants as Ayin, and the same pattern on the flight post's. It's ridiculous how folks can spew the most disproven zero reading comprehension ever when this shit is right here.

And they're not saints; they made mistakes, of course, but I see them wanting the best for their people and the kingdom. But in the process, they made huge mistakes that piled up and spilled over, resulting in the kingdom's downfall. But it wasn’t done out of malice; they tried and messed up big time, but they weren't evil, not one bit.

How many treat Lamed and Teth when it comes to shipping

I can’t stop who you ship; as long as it’s not weird and illegal, it’s whatever for me. Some pairs are not for me because of personal preferences/ familial head cannons, but I do dabble in ships. Yet it’s more mellowed out to me just saying "cute" when I see fanart and moving on. But it irritates me that when Teth or Lamed are shipped with most people, they appear to be more submissive in some ways. I’m not saying they can’t be happy, but to me, in so much ship art, it seems like just because they look more feminine, they’re suddenly almost always a blushing or shy mess, or (and I hate to use this term) a tsundere for Teth in some other cases. But that’s completely my biased opinion.

Fucks sake in my earlier time in the fandom, I was a Lamed/Tsadi fan, but again, it’s mellowed out to me just seeing fanart and thinking it's cute and moving on if it comes naturally. But I didn’t make one meek and the other an alpha male or some dumb shit when I used to draw them as I've seen many do. I mention this because I can see some folks calling me hypocritical for pointing this out. But the reason it irritates me is when Teth or Lamed are paired with someone (who often appears to be masc) almost always seem out of character simply because they're with said person. Which rubs me the wrong way since they are usually almost always seen as fem presenting in many folks eyes. Again, I don't have an issue with the pairs themselves; it just irks me when only their personalities seem to be changed for the sake of it, where it's just out of character.

How some elders greatly overshadow others and leave them in the dust

I'm guilty of this, fucks sake most of my content is twin stuff. And while I can feed on alot of twin content here, many folks who are fans of any other elder's barely get crumbs, even less so with Daleth, Ayin, And Lamed who are pretty much left do the dust. Which I hate because i know why.

The reason, Twins and Teth and even Tsadi are so popular when they others aren't is because they're "conventionally attractive", all are fit, all are gorgeous and can be attractive to many. Yet so can the others be appreciated, yet they aren't. Again, i know a hypocrite because of my blog being mostly twin stuff, yet even blogs like mine that don't focus on a single elder barely draw Daleth, Ayin, and Lamed. It sucks ass.

I think that’s all. I’m just sick of how the elders are treated by everyone.

#i was talking with some friends how the elders are treated by the fandom and im just so done #so i wrote this #isle elder #prairie elder #forest elder #valley elders #valley twins #wasteland elder #vault elder #sky elders #sky cotl #skyblr #sky children of the light #sky: children of the light #sky: cotl #tac rambles #fatphobia #i think thats all

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granolawriting · 8 months

Note

Could I request a platonic piece with Anakin and a teenage Padawan reader who’s having nightmares she thinks are visions? If this isn’t your style that’s ok ^^ If you do write it, plz tag my sideblog, eternalwanderlustvagabond

Oh sweetheart, this is totally my thing! I just don't see all too many people wanting it, is all. I will gladly write any kind of fic, and this one was a sweet deviation from the norm. thank you for the request <3

·˚ ༘ fears of a padawan; Anakin comfort text ·˚ ༘

word count: 1.2k!

request for @eternalwanderlustvagabond :)

Screams. That's the thing that you remember most. Alongside the clashing of blades and the thuds of bodies dropping, that's all that stays in your mind as you wake up covered in your own sweat. Heavy breaths, petrified over what you’ve just seen.

For weeks now it seems, every so often you’ll have a dream, perhaps, of what seems to be all of your friends, family in a sense, in a battle they can't win. It haunts you. You don't even want to sleep properly anymore, anything to get away from the prospect of those visions returning.

Visions. They have to be. Despite being only a padawan, you found yourself to be quite the well-versed one. People had a lot of faith in you, they roped you into the same category they often did Anakin-- which undoubtedly made him one of your closest confidants. Both having been picked by the council to train past the average due date, and both displayed grand abilities with the force. But he just seemed to have such a better time handing such a blessing and a curse. You were in awe of him.

These dreams, premonitions, began to affect even the way you trained. Staying up until late into the night, and limiting your sleep to short increments that don't lull you into enough comfort to dream, doesn't do too well with days that require mental strain and physical fitness. You began falling behind in a way, and people noticed. You were stuck at a crossroads of sorts; did you relieve yourself of having to handle these visions you had, or did you rest yourself well enough to perform at the level everyone expects you to?

Then, it’d hit you. You'd never properly talked to anyone about this, you never told anyone how you felt, keeping it locked away deep inside of you you’d rather carry your sorrow by yourself and bear the consequences of silence than speak up about it. A part of you felt as though it wasn't important enough to justify a council meeting, that your pain didn't warrant any help, and you didn't want to be a burden to anyone else in a way. Who could you even talk to about this? Surrounded by younglings who wouldn't understand, or padawans focused on their own training, and heaven forbid you spoke to the higher-ups on this matter-- when they have actual pressing matters to attend to. Some worse than your dreams. You decide to stay to yourself once more.

The soft clacking of blunt heels echoes in an otherwise empty hall-- another unsuccessful training session under your belt, apparently. You felt dejected, and those around you grew curious about your behavior. Another night you would spend awake in your room, tossing and turning over the fears that you couldn't tell anyone about. Or, so you thought.

A second sound of feet growing rushed in the hallway you both shared, an unfamiliar tune of what seemed to be an even unfamiliar stride draws ever close to you until you look behind you to see who could greet you at a time like this.

“Hey, do you think we could talk for a minute?”

It was Anakin. You had almost forgotten about him as you were so wrapped in yourself, but this question makes your heart drop. Is he here to talk about your low performance? Did your master send him? Did something really happen and you never said anything?

“Oh, of course, what's the issue?”

You respond in the most casual tone you can muster, just barely coated over the fear and worry lacing every syllable you speak.

“Is, everything okay with you? I mean this genuinely. I've seen the way you’ve been training recently-- it's not like yourself. And I know you like I know myself. You are strong, and something really must be getting to you right now, I can almost see it in your eyes.”

You stand there silenced for a moment.

“Oh- but, please, correct me if I'm wrong. I don't mean to assume I just wanted to check on you. I care for you.”

You feel a tear well in your eye at the sound of that. He was your friend. And as you stood there, a mouth slightly open as you tried to get the words out you felt that realization wash over you. Maybe he could do something about it, maybe he would understand what you were talking about-- maybe, he's experienced them too.

“Anakin, I've been having visions. Visions of our masters, our friends, they were-”

Getting choked up on your words for a moment you pause to compose yourself. Anakin looks at you with eyes full of attentiveness, not a smidge of judgment is found within his eyes focused on you, a mouth closed to allow himself to listen and even more let you compose yourself without interruption.

“They were, in a battle that can't be won. I watched them get hurt, and fail. There was nothing I could do, it was like I was an outsider to my own future. And, I can't sleep over it. I can barely eat anakin. To be honest I'm a mess. And I just don't know what to do, I don't want my family to die.”

A frown forms upon Anakin's face, but it's a sentimental one. Empathetic, even as he opens his arms for a hug and you with tear-ridden eyes follow his embrace. His arms folded around your back he soothes your sniffles into his robe with a thumb tracing your back, and a soothing reply;

“Oh- oh, it's okay. I know what you’re talking about, truly. It's okay to be afraid of those. You love us, and we all love you just the same. There's no reason to feel bad to be so scared of things like that, it's more than natural. But listen to me okay?”

He raises his hands to your shoulders, as means to look directly into your eyes before what he says next;

“You don't have to worry, okay? You and I are alike in so many ways, and I can promise you, they’re not visions. No matter how vivid they may be, the force can't do that to us. You can't see into the future, not even master yoda can, okay? So don't feel like you have to bear that kind of burden. You’re just afraid, and that's okay. I am too. Every day I walk these halls I worry I won't be good enough. And sometimes, that seeps into my dreams as well. And I feel hopeless, just as you are. But you can't let that overtake you. The only way to overcome these dreams is to overcome the feeling of not being good enough to help those you love the way they help you. And the first way to start is knowing that you help me, just as I help you too. We’re in this together okay? And we always will be.”

His eyes are stern, but they’re coated with care. Said with a small smile on his face to comfort you, he brought you into an embrace once more.

“You’re a wonderful person, okay? And I will always be here for you. Always."

Is said close to your ear, a comforting voice and body overwhelms you and he holds you once more, and as you allow the tears to subside the words he said to you truly resonate with you. You are more than your fears, and your insecurities. And he's reminded you of that. Those who are strong, first have to convince themselves that they are strong. And just like Anakin, you wish to be strong. And with him by your side, you’re sure you can do just that.

#anakin skywalker #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #anakin x reader #hayden christensen #sw anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin fluff #anakin comfort #sw fluff #star wars fluff #x reader #fluff #anakin

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roseofbattles · 4 months

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This has become something of a tradition at this point so ten good things that have happened this year/things I'm proud of!

Greatest Hits of 2023

1. TRAVEL. I went a lot of cool places this year which after the last few years felt like a big deal. Highlights were a trip to Boston with a group of old friends, and a trip to NYC with a group of new friends 💗

2. I got a lot closer to my reading goal with 41 books this year - if I finish the book I'm currently reading before the end of the year. I really loved reading The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller.

3. My garden has done great this year - that's the best part of where I live in California 100% is that I can grow things year round. I picked more tomatoes this week and am growing so many other things.

4. A lot of writing happened this year - less fanfic and a lot more original work. I'm hoping to finish the first draft of my novel in 2024. I'm really proud of what I've accomplished with it so far - it's my longest piece so far at ~75k words

5. I tried a lot of new recipes this year with a lot of success! Cooking is something I love but struggle to do for myself so it's been really helpful cooking virtually with a friend every other week. Favorites included: 20 minute creamy sausage and gnocchi and coconut curry chicken meatballs I also made Yor's stew which was delicious!

6. I sent a lot of letters this year! I've always loved to but I made a concerted effort to send more this year. It's always a joy to hear when someone gets one, or getting one back. (If anyone wants a pen pal lmk ;))

7. My Spanish has improved! I knew virtually no Spanish when I moved to California but I'm able to have basic conversation with my coworkers now which is very exciting. Learning a second language has been a goal of mine for a long time and being around people who speak another language every day is definitely helping me practice.

8. Saw two new musicals: Le Mis and Hadestown (I know I'm one hundred years late to Le Mis) but I had forgotten how nice it was to see live performances like that. Both were incredible

9. Lots of time with new friends and old this year was a highlight; having people visit from out of state and also over to play board games

10. Survived a lot of bad things! Including a terrible roommate and a lot of stress related to that. That's been a huge improvement.

Bonus: something I'm hoping 2024 brings is more rest, and more time with the people I love 💞 This year has been simultaneously endless and over in a blink and it's been a very exhausting one, emotionally and mentally. I'm very grateful for all of my friends and family and also my cat, who is the best cat

Tagging anyone who would like to participate and also @lantur @firewoodfigs @nightofnyx8 @x-rainflame-x @fullmetalscullyy @janetfraiser @possumsinatrenchcoat @smoothshine @thatisadamnfinecupofcoffee @musing-and-music and @littlewitchbee if any of you would like!

#remembering the good things can be hard sometimes #but it's important to do #personal #i hope you all have a lovely year ahead of you

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brightside-of-the-upsidedown · 1 year

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My first fill for @harringroveson-bingo and first story for the Stranger Things fandom!

Title: Too Good (First in the Just Right series)

Square: B3 - Knotting

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Harringrove (Future Steddie & Future Harringroveson)

Word Count: 13,137

Additional Tags (they're a summary of their own): Eventual Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson - Freeform

Guest Starring Billy's Knot, Be prepared because Steve wasn't, Press F for respects

OmegaVerse, world building, Gratuitous Smut, Gratuitous 80s music, Billy Hargrove is Bad at Feelings, But he's in therapy and getting better, The AU where everyone goes to therapy and Uncle Sam foots the bill

Steve is a bad bitch and he knows it, Omega Lore, Harringroveson endgame, But this chapter focuses on Billy and Steve, Steve and Billy are in love but they're still competitive little shits, courtship rituals, Courtship,

Steve is prime real estate and alphas do in fact recognize, Getting better but realistic relationship between Billy and Max, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Sibling

Billy cons ahem is a charity organizer for rich people, Steve wants to be a guidance counselor, Overuse of Bon Jovi lyrics

Help me I've forgotten how to write a summary, send help, have I forgotten anything? More lore as we go, explains more about Billy and Eddie’s survival in the sequel, Lots of shovel talks, and a literal shovel

I had to post this because otherwise I was going to keep picking at it, Smut got out of hand and became this, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Billy Hargrove, Alpha Eddie Munson

Disabled Steve Harrington, Disabled Billy Hargrove, Disabled Characters, Tattoos, Scars, Scenting, Steve's scent is apple pie

Neil is gone but he's still a dick, the best revenge is living well, Omegas have knots, Princess Bride flirting, Billy is a secret nerd, Be safe everyone and enjoy! Top Billy Hargrove Bottom Steve Harrington

Summary: Billy promised to be good. Steve was starting to think there was actually such a thing as too good.

AO3:

#harringrove #harringroveson #metalsandwich #harle hums #steve harrington #eddie munson #billy hargrove #stedilly #billy antis dni #steddie

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railingsofsorrow · 5 months

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𝙾𝙲𝚃. 25𝚝𝚑; 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖘.

summary: iris's letter.

pairing: spencer reid x oc!iris valentia

w.c: 706

warnings/content: mentions of food poisoning, vomit and fainting; mentions of self medicating; mentions of Alzheimer's disease; angst (not much); fluff; “ODU” is the acronym for “Old Dominion University”.

A/N: LAST LETTER!! we are done with act 1, now we'll proceed with act 2. next chapters are going to be in narrative style.

navi

masterpost

series masterlist

whoever wants to be tagged for this fic, fill this out or dm me.

[letter 1] [letter 2] [letter 3] [letter 4] [letter 5] [letter 6] [letter 7] [letter 8] [letter 9]

October 25th.

Dear, Spencer.

My whole department fell in sick yesterday — including my students, barely anyone was spared. Some kind of food poisoning? I don't know, people started throwing up, passing out and whatnot. We didn't know what to do!

(Yes, this is how I start my letter. I had to vent to someone how weird this is!)

I immediately called 911 and the cafeteria became swarmed with EMT's. My first supposition was that something was wrong with the cafeteria food. I never eat there because I either bring my own food or... I just don't remember eating until I'm off to go home. So, I tested it, the cafeteria food. But no. Nothing was wrong. I still find it weird that this happened out of nowhere, but my colleagues think it wasn't anything serious.

ODU was on the news today. Same thing happened. I can't shake this off, it can't be a coincidence, can it?

Sorry, I needed to ramble to somebody.

Ah, Spencer. It's too late for that, I already care enough to worry. What other resources are you trying? I hope you are not self-medicating yourself, it's not good. You're not doing that, right?

I have a friend that I could recommend you. She's a neurologist so she could be more helpful — you've probably been to a lot of those, but she's really good.

Her name is Clare Thompson, her office is in Washington, DC at Georgetown. If you want, I can make an appointment for you, we're close friends. If not, then just ignore this. I'm not trying to push you into anything, I'm just concerned.

What you said reminded me of the concept “Athazagoraphobia”. I researched about it to include it in my MD thesis about Alzheimer's disease. It means exactly what you said: fear of forgetting something or someone, or being forgotten.

I relate to you on that. But I'm more afraid of being forgotten. Sometimes I think that if I don't put my mark in the world, then how will people remember me? Do you feel like that too?

I absolutely know what you mean about the dolls... They're creepy. I had a few when I was a child, I don't know where they disappeared to though, I think my mother donated them. Either way, I'm happy not knowing their whereabouts.

I am happy that your friends are threatening you to to go out more.

Yes, maybe he is sick. It's an option I've considered. But he usually sends an email letting me know he will miss class. Fabian is not the kind of student that misses class without a plausible reason. He's very dedicated and one of my top students.

Of course you'd take is as a challenge, Doctor Reid. I could tell you were the competitive type from the moment you told me you were a rebel as a kid (no, I'll never forget that, you book thief).

Oh, did you really like the book? I'm so glad. Yes! I have like 5 recommendations to you but I'll spare you two: After Dark and Sputnik Sweetheart. Tell me what you think afterwards.

Something reminded me of you today. I was grabbing my coffee and I guess I picked up the wrong order. Do you know why I think that? Because it was the sweetest beverage I've ever had. I could've dropped dead right there if I had taken another sip. Disgusting, really. My blood vessels were almost clogged up. The person left in a hurry and left their coffee right beside mine on the balcony. Oh! And guess what: it was written “Reid” in their cup. I know it is a common name, but it reminded me of you.

Don't forget to drink water and eat, Spencer. As always, be careful. Looking forward to hear from you soon! <3

Love,

Iris.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @chayceschultz; @cultish-corner

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#sun-bleached paper petals fic #spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

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marzmeltdown · 10 months

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Familiar Taste of Poison - pt.3

⌦ Pairing: Wonwoo x Fem!Reader ⌦ Genre(s): series,, angst,, fluff ⌦ chapter specific genre: fluff,, angst ⌦ Warning(s): !!TW: LIGHT MENTIONS OF Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse, mentions of depression!!, reader kinda uses Wonwoo, a lot of this will be in multiple pov's(I will clarify when it changes pov's), some mention of being sick, swearing, most of this chapter is all Wonwoo's pov, Wonwoo goes on a date with someone else. ⌦ Word count: 3.07k ⌦ Summary: You and Wonwoo have been friends since childhood, though you're both a little estranged from one another, the only contact being when you call Wonwoo for help. ⌦ A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than the last two but a lot happens to push the plot forward. It's really random that I put skz in here but I needed someone who had a sister. Fun fact about me, cause it's brought up in this chapter: I'm allergic to apples. The end of this chapter almost had a bitch crying at 4 am. If there's anything you feel I should improve on in the future, don't hesitate to let me know! You can find progress updates on this story and everything else I write in my pinned post every Wednesday.:) ⌦ I have attached a link to a website with help hotlines around the world, this series has heavy themes of mental health and substance abuse. This link will be added to every chapter. ⌦ International Mental Health hotlines

⌦ Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

⌦ marz’s tag list ⌦ marz’s req form

⌦(Wonwoo's pov) It had been a little while since he had heard from you; granted, you had never gone longer than a month without needing him to clean up your messes. This new-found silence from being your knight in shining armor allowed him to begin streaming again. For awhile, he had stopped because your calls of need would come in at least 4-5 times a week.

To say he missed you would be an understatement; he would lie awake after a long night of streaming, waiting for his phone to ring so he could pick you up. After three weeks of no calls, he began to believe that you had fully forgotten about him, all because of a little spat that he could've handled better. He had plans to express how he felt about you, but the world had different plans that day. Maybe you two just weren't meant to be friends anymore.

Wonwoo had tried to take his mind off things; he would distract himself by playing video games until the sun went down. That night, like every other night, he stayed up to play online with a few friends.

"If I die one more time because you're not paying attention, I'm gonna strangle you," Vernon threatened through Wonwoo's headphones. To be honest, Wonwoo was a little distracted today; he kept glancing down at his phone, hoping for a call, a text, or something.

"Sorry, I've just got a lot on my mind," Wonwoo replied, the sounds of his mouse clicking and keys clacking filling his room and his eyes beginning to grow tired from staring at such a bright screen for an extended period of time.

"Woo, you need to let her go. She's clearly not interested in your friendship and hasn't been for awhile," Minghao said. If Minghao were talking to anyone else, they surely would've been offended, appalled that he could say something so cold so calmly, but Wonwoo appreciated his honesty; he wouldn't want Minghao to be any other way.

"I agree with Hao; you should put yourself out there; stop waiting for someone who isn't hurting without you," Seungcheol chimed in, everyone having paused their game to give Wonwoo some free therapy while they sat in the Fortnite lobby.

"Are you guys suggesting a date?" Wonwoo asked, pushing his glasses up as he put his hands on his face, muffling his question just a bit.

"Well, I wasn't, but I know someone who'd be great for you," Seungcheol said. He could hear the shrug in his voice, playing matchmaker so nonchalantly. "I'll send you her info; she thinks you're cute anyway," he added. Within seconds, his words were emphasized by the sound of Wonwoo getting a text message. He glanced at the notification, half hoping it was from you and half hoping it wasn't.

It wasn't.

Wonwoo opened his phone, seeing that Seungcheol had sent her Instagram profile along with her phone number. He clicked on the link, leaning back in his chair as he scrolled through the professionally taken photos that filled the girl's profile.

"She is really cute," Wonwoo said, clicking on a few photos. There was a familiar face in a few of the photos, though they looked too much alike to be anything more than siblings.

"Seungcheol, is this Chan's sister?" Wonwoo asked, zooming in on one of the photos to get a better look at the girl's alleged brother.

"Bang Chan?" Seungcheol asked.

"Yea, Bang Chan,"

"Yea, why?"

"Just curious," Wonwoo said. He chewed on his bottom lip as he swiped back into his messaging app, looking down at the series of numbers Seungcheol had given him. "You said she thinks I'm cute?"

"Yeah, she talks about you all the time at work," Seungcheol said.

"Well, I'll text her when we get off. Wanna go for one more round?" Wonwoo asked, setting his phone down and getting ready to unpause the game.

"Sounds good," everyone said, continuing with their match.

One game turned into two.

Two games turned into four.

4 turned into 6.

By the time Wonwoo looked at the clock on the PC that displayed his Discord server, he was shocked.

3:26 a.m.

Wonwoo must have really had a lot on his mind; he never stayed up this late, not unless you had needed his help. He yawned, stretching his back when they were back to the games lobby, cracking his neck as it had grown stiff from sitting hunched over a keyboard for so long.

"I think I'm gonna get off guys, I'm getting tired," he said, not waiting for them to object before closing the game and turning his headphones, mic, and pc's off. Wonwoo grabbed his phone as he got up, walking to his closet to grab a pair of night pants and changing into them.

He unlocked his phone, looking at the number again as he began brushing his teeth. After a moment of hesitation, he finally added Hannah's contact information to his phone, messaging her as soon as he finished brushing his teeth.

⌦ Wonwoo: Hey, it's Wonwoo. I know this is super random, but Seungcheol gave me your number, if that's okay.

Wonwoo didn't expect an immediate answer; it was almost 4:00 in the morning. He looked at the unopened message as he left the bathroom, slipping his phone into his pocket and turning off the light. His phone dinged as soon as he walked into his room, and he only opened it once he had lied down in bed.

⌦ 3:55 a.m.

⌦ Hannah: Hey, Wonwoo! It's totally chill; why're you up so late? (Read 3:55 a.m.)

Wonwoo found himself smiling at her message and answering immediately.

⌦Wonwoo: I could ask you the same thing, lol. (Read: 3:57 a.m.) ⌦Wonwoo: But I was playing Fortnite with Cheol and a few other friends and lost track of time. (Read: 3:57 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: That sounds like a lot of fun. (Read: 4:00a.m.) ⌦Hannah: Why did Cheol give you my number anyway? (read: 4:00 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: Uh, he's trying to play matchmaker. (Read: 4:00 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: Right (Read: 4:01 a.m.) ⌦Hannah: Well, what are you doing tomorrow? (Read: 4:01 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: Nothing as of right now. (Read: 4:02 a.m.) ⌦Wonwoo: Why are you trying to ask me out? (Read: 4:02 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: Yea. (Read: 4:02 a.m.) ⌦Hannah: How's coffee sound tomorrow at noon? (Read: 4:02 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: You're straight to the point, aren't you? lol (Read: 4:03 a.m.) ⌦Wonwoo: But, noon tomorrow sounds great! (Read: 4:03 a.m.)

⌦Hannah: Great, I'll send you the cafe's info tomorrow. I'm about to fall asleep (Read: 4:03 a.m.)

⌦Wonwoo: Awesome, sleep well (Delivered: 4:04 a.m.)

Wonwoo reread the small interaction he had with Bang Chan's sister, smiling softly as he put his phone on the charger. He turned off his light, took his glasses off, and went to bed.

⌦(Wonwoo's POV cont) Wonwoo was thankful for his habitual routine of waking up at 9:00 a.m. every morning, regardless of when he went to bed. He forgot to set an alarm, having fallen asleep as soon as he put his glasses on his nightstand. Waking up this early gave him a few hours to kill before he had to get around, creating a schedule in his head for how long it would take him to eat breakfast, take a shower, shave, get dressed, and drive to the cafe. He planned on being 15 minutes early; he was always early.

Hannah had already sent Wonwoo the address of the cafe; thankfully, it was only a fifteen-minute drive from his apartment complex with traffic. He ate a light breakfast of two pieces of toast and a glass of apple juice; he'd be damned if he were going to willingly drink orange juice. He rarely ate toast, but with few food ingredients in his fridge or cabinet, toast was his only option.

With thirty minutes to spare after getting ready, Wonwoo grabbed his keys, locking his door as he left to go to his car. Hannah was already at the cafe when he got there, sitting in her car as she waited. Wonwoo parked next to her, pulling out his phone to let her know he was there. When she looked up from her phone, he waved at her with a smile, stepping out of her car to greet her on the sidewalk.

"Hey! I'm so glad you could make it," Hannah smiled as she pulled the taller male into a hug. Wonwoo was stunned at first; she surely was a bold woman, which he seemed to like about her.

"Why wouldn't I?" He chuckled, hugging her back for a moment before they pulled away and walked into the cafe.

It was a small cafe owned by a sweet elderly couple from France. The cafe always had French music playing softly through the store speakers; normally, Wonwoo would have found it nice and cozy, but today it felt cheesy. The two sat down after having ordered their drinks, exposing the poor barista to a small argument over who was paying for their drinks. Hannah won.

"So, tell me about yourself." Hannah smiled, taking a sip from her cappuccino before moving it to the side of the table so she could place her elbows on it, letting her chest rest against her forearms.

"There's not much to know," Wonwoo chuckled, swirling his straw around in his Americano and watching the ice move around with it. "But I'm in college for mechanical engineering, I stream on Twitch sometimes, and I'm a big Marvel buff," he said after a moment.

"Mechanical engineering? So you're smart and cute, huh?" Hannah teased, smiling at the redness that grew on Wonwoo's cheeks from her compliment.

"Tell me about yourself," Wonwoo said, directing the conversation back to the original topic.

"Well, I'm in college for fashion design; I also really like Marvel; and I want to get into PC gaming," she said. Wonwoo looked up at her, stunned that Seungcheol had finally set him up with a girl who shared some of his same interests, and he was already friends with her brother.

Wonwoo was pulled out of his thoughts as his phone rang in his pocket. He looked down at his pants and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Your name and contact photo were displayed on his screen; seeing this made his smile drop slightly. He clicked the side button, silencing the call, before looking up at the girl he was on a date with. "Sorry about that; I thought I put my phone on silent," he said as he placed it back into his pocket.

"It's no problem; if it's important, you can step out and answer it; I won't be upset," Hannah said, gesturing to the window that the two were sitting by. Wonwoo shook his head.

"It wasn't, and besides, it'd be rude to answer a call on our first date," he said.

"And you're considerate? Well damn, I might ask you to marry me right here," she laughed. She stood up after a moment, and in that moment, Wonwoo half expected her to get down on one knee and ask her to marry him. Instead, she grabbed her coffee with one hand and his hand with the other, pulling him up from his seat. "Wanna go on a walk?" She asked, swaying their hands back and forth.

"Are you gonna murder me?" Wonwoo asked, grabbing his coffee from the table.

"I might," she winked, sipping her cappuccino once more.

"At least you're honest," Wonwoo chuckled. His phone began to ring again once they left the building. He looked at it and canceled the phone call.

"Wonwoo, if you need to answer that, I don't mind," Hannah reassured as they began walking along the pathway.

"I don't, I promise." He said.

The walk was nice, and Wonwoo and Hannah seemed to be getting along a lot better than he would have ever imagined. It didn't take long for it to start raining. May's weather was never consistent, which seemed to be the only consistent thing in Wonwoo's life. Inconsistency. Wonwoo had given Hannah his sweater as they walked back to their cars; only when Hannah safely got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot did he leave.

He looked at his phone for a moment, seeing that he had five missed calls and ten messages from you, asking for your help. He almost answered the texts, apologizing that he was busy and couldn't get to his phone. Just as he was about to send his text, he sighed, thinking about what his friends had told him only 12 hours ago. Instead of sending the text, he closed his phone and drove home.

⌦(Reader's POV) You groaned angrily when your phone went to voicemail for the second time. Where was he? Why wasn't he answering? Was he still mad? Your head began spinning, even though you couldn't tell if it was because of your impaired state or because Wonwoo was finally giving you a taste of your own medicine. You had ghosted Wonwoo for the better half of your freshman year of college, having found new friends and devoting all of your weekends to partying, so when you finally got ahold of him, he was shocked.

"He works from home; where is he?" You said it angrily, your plethora of messages having been delivered but unread for the better part of two hours. That was what really set you off. He couldn't even give you the respect to apologize.

Against your better judgment, you snatched the keys from your kitchen counter and stumbled out of your apartment, having decided to confront him at his apartment. You've had a few years of practice when it came to driving under the influence, taking back roads, watching the road extra carefully, and driving cautiously, it was easy. Parking your car, you stormed up to his apartment, noting that his car wasn't in the parking lot when you had gotten there.

You called him again.

and again.

Until finally, you gave up on calling him and decided to send him a hundred more text messages.

⌦You: Wonwoo, I need your help... (Delivered: 11:00 a.m.)

⌦12:45 p.m.

⌦You: Wonwoo, why aren't you answering me??? (Delivered: 12:46 p.m.)

⌦12:57 p.m.

⌦You: Hello? Where are you??? (Delivered: 12:58 p.m.)

⌦1:05 p.m.

⌦You: I'm at your place (Delivered: 1:05 p.m.) ⌦You: Hello!!!!! (Delivered: 1:05 p.m.)

Just as you were about to call him again, you saw that all of your delivered messages had been read. You watched as the three dots by Wonwoo's name appeared.

Then disappeared.

Appeared again.

Until they disappeared for a final time.

Your texts to Wonwoo began to be sent one right after the other, sitting with your back against his front door as you drunkenly blew up his phone. Fifteen minutes had passed before you saw a pair of feet standing in front of you. You looked up and saw the man in question.

Angrily, you stood up shoving your phone in his face as you began to speak.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for two hours now! Where were you?!" You yelled, and Wonwoo gently pushed your phone out of his face. He looked down, unlocking his front door before opening it to let you in. He waited for you to walk inside, quietly apologizing to his elderly neighbor before stepping inside himself.

"I got coffee," he said, setting his keys on the table by his front door and taking his shoes off.

"It took you two hours to get coffee." You asked in disbelief, crossing your arms as your blurred vision did its best to lock onto him.

"You didn't let me finish," he continued. He sat the now-empty to-go cup on his kitchen counter. "I was on a date."

Your heart dropped, and you weren't sure why either. He was only your friend, your shoulder to cry on, and your emergency contact because you knew he would bend over backwards for you.

"Oh," you said.

"Yea."

"You still could have answered after she left," you said. Your anger had softened just a little bit.

"Why? So I can pick your drunk ass up from some stranger's front lawn? It's 2:30, and you're already fucked up." He said, "Your jaw dropped. What was his deal? Why was he being like this?

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you being such a dick all of a sudden?" You asked.

"Because I'm tired of only seeing my best friend when she needs me to be her chauffeur because her other friends left her strung out on God knows what in some stranger's bathroom because she's too drunk to get home." He said. You could see that his words were hurting him just as much as they were hurting you; he wasn't making eye contact with you either. "I can't drop everything to come save you every time you need me; I have a life too," he said. This time his words were soft, almost upset that he'd finally told you how he really felt.

"Fine. I'll leave then." You said this, stepping toward the door only to have the pathway blocked off. "Wonwoo, get out of my way."

"No, I can't let you drive home like this," he said.

"Wonwoo. Get out of my way." You repeated. He didn't move.

"No," He said.

"Now you care about my safety?"

"I've always cared about your safety!"

"Evidently not; evidently it was a burden to you!"

"Do you know why I always dropped everything to come get you?" He snapped.

"To feel better about yourself?" You asked, your words laced with anger. Your eyes began brimming with tears, and your body began to shake. You need to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Because I love you, y/n!" Wonwoo snapped back. He stopped for a second, realizing what he had just said.

"What?" You asked, finally looking up at him.

"I love you.. and it kills me that you're killing yourself like this, but I can't be around you anymore if you're going to continue to hurt yourself. I will always love you, y/n; I hope you know that." He said this, grabbing his keys off the table once more. "Let's go; I'll take you home." You were sure this would be the last time you'd ever hear from him again.

13 notes · View notes