#also note that people not feeling like my friend isn’t their fault

[batterygarden]

oh no! your big brother's best friend is the only one around to help you put in a tampon 😣.

yuuta x fem & afab reader. 18+ MDNI.

cw: yuuta is his own tw, somewhat taboo dynamics bc he has viewed you as a sibling, graphic period descriptions and blood, um it's sexualized, everyone's adults, reader just hasn't used a tampon before, yuuta masturbating mention, 1.3k words

“I just- I don’t know what to do. She wants us to take pictures in the pool! Like, I can’t avoid it!”

“Um. Maybe one of the other bridesmaids could help?” 

“I’ve barely spoken to any of them! They’d think I’m so dumb, Yuuta!”

Yuuta can only lean against the bathroom door and bite his tongue, completely at a loss. He wonders if even the wisest man alive would know how to navigate this type of thing—his best friend’s grown little sister’s period troubles. 

“‘M sorry.” He says earnestly. 

He hears you sniffle and mumble how it’s not his fault. Then there’s a slam of what’s presumably a cardboard tampon box thrown to the floor. 

“God, these instructions aren't helping at all! It hurts!” 

Yuuta’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to, at least from his experience knowing people who menstruate. Tampons are, like, tiny. He catches himself before he can really pursue the train of thought he starts heading towards—one where he contemplates if you’re a virgin, and if somehow that could make it harder to put in. He has to mentally slap himself; he’s being disgusting. 

“The YouTube video I sent—“ 

“No, yuuta, I swear, my vagina’s just, like. Different from anyone else’s. I need a doctor to do this, not some video.” 

You’re talking through quiet sobs and he’s concerned and he cares about you but Yuuta also can’t help but think you’re being a bit ridiculous. Soon the both of you will be late to your own brother’s wedding. 

“I can’t do this! I'm really and truly starting to freak out, Yuu!”

“Okay, I think—“ 

“Can you just come in and help?” 

The breath is knocked from his lungs.

“Uhh..”

“Please Yuuta there’s no one else who can! We’ll be late!” 

Yuuta purses his lips, checking the time on his phone for maybe the third time in the past minute. 

“Um…” 

“Please, just come in”

Deep exhale. “Alright then, I’m opening the door.” 

When he does, he finds you exactly the way he expected, perched on your toilet with closed legs, your baggy tee barely concealing the space between your thighs—he’s glad to note that your hair and makeup at least seem to already be done and your dress is hung up and ready. He spots the tampon box on the ground in front of you, its contents spilling out on the bathroom tiles. Then his eyes find your hands hovering over your lap, one of them clutching a plastic tampon applicator, both of them with bloody fingertips. 

Yuuta squares his shoulders. 

“So what’s the situation?” 

He’s very consciously only looking at your eyes when he asks, staring too long anywhere else feels rude. 

“This thing is literally tearing up my insides everytime I try to use it—maybe I’m not putting it in the right way.”

“Kay,” Yuuta’s thoughts seem to be moving incredibly slow. “Uh, do you wanna try again and I could, like, read the instructions for you while you do it?” 

You huff, giving a nod. 

“Okay.” He fumbles with the box, sitting next to you on the edge of the bathtub. Another deep breath. 

“Place the tip of the applicator at the vagina opening…” he notices you doing so out of his peripheral. His cheeks could not get any redder. 

“Now slide it in, up to where your fingers are.” 

He notices the way you hold your breath when you try—then you squeal. 

“No, this sucks yuuta! I can’t even do that—I need to angle it perfectly parallel to my tummy so it won’t hurt and I just can’t.” 

He sees you’ve taken out the applicator again. 

“I honestly think you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be, yn.” 

“Well how would you even know?” 

“I mean. I’ve seen a woman put in a tampon before…” 

“The YouTube animation isn’t the same, Yuu!” 

“Uh, well… I meant maki.” 

Yuuta watches as just about every emotion on earth briefly crosses your face. 

“That’s—“ you shake your head. “Why?!” 

Suddenly he wishes he had just kept his credibility to himself. 

“She was my girlfriend at the time, it’s not like it was weird! What I’m trying to say is, you should just relax and not think about it so hard. I think you’re too tense and that’s why you’re getting hurt.” 

You hyperventilate a bit again—hopefully getting it out of your system—before nodding and trying again. This attempt ends in another sob. 

And there Yuuta sits, a foot away beside you, staring at the ceiling and praying to whatever god is out there for this moment to pass. 

“Yuuta—“ you sniffle, “can you do it for me?” 

…

Yuuta sighs a deep, long sigh. He… had an idea that’s where this was headed. And what’s he supposed to do? Leave you hanging right before a huge wedding which you’re both in the party of? While you’re crying and freaking out? 

“…alright, I’ll try.” 

He rolls up his sleeves, then he washes his hands, holding them up like he’s about to perform surgery.  

You offer the tampon. 

Gingerly, he plucks the bloody applicator from your fingers. 

He squats down in front of you then, eyes flicking to your sniffling face while wearing his own similar, very somber, expression. 

“You’re gonna have to open your legs.” 

Slowly, you do. 

And yuuta tries not to be weird about it—he doesn’t know what even constitutes a normal reaction here, but he can’t help but instantly engrave the image of your spread pussy, blood staining its lips and dripping out of it, permanently into his brain. He knows it’s permanent because he doesn’t want it to be. He knows he’ll think about it because he’ll try not to. This is some kind of test from the universe and he is failing. 

He stares for a second, instinctively catching every detail. The way red smears across the plush insides of your thighs, the way you clench yourself automatically under his gaze, the way a red drop oozes from your hole when you do. The shape of your lips leading up to your clit. 

He shakes his head microscopically to clear it, hoping you don’t pick up on his pause. He uses one hand to grip onto a thigh then, holding steady while he brings the applicator to you for the millionth time today. You make a worried noise. 

“Breathe for me?” 

When he hears you exhale, Yuuta eases the applicator in bit, angling it up whatever way feels natural, then he pushes the trigger so the tampon’s inserted. 

You make a surprised gasp, mumbling a little oh my god before sitting up straight. Yuuta knows it’s finally in there correctly. 

His hands are washed and he is out of that room faster than you could say thank you. 

The drive to the event is less awkward than it could be, thanks to the news podcast Yuuta always listens to and an interesting story spurring on conversation. But yuuta can’t stop thinking about it. He’s known you since you were kids—only ever looked at you like a somewhat annoying little sibling—but now his brain keeps reverting to thoughts of your warm little pussy every other minute. When you talk, when you look at him, when you hold his arm walking down the aisle before the bride. When you dance later in the night. And most importantly, when his fist’s around his cock in his hotel room later, turning in early even after one of your pretty cousins kept trying to get inside his pants all night. He might not have turned her down under different circumstances, but he knew he had to when his head kept reverting to you, eyes darting to find you at the reception almost every other minute. Drifting to your body whenever they did…

#yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta x reader #yuta x y/n #yuuta okkotsu fic #yuuta fic #tw.taboo dynamics #🐞 writes

[koqabear]

song equation for the 2K event!!(congrats🙇)

daniel ceaser, do you like me?+ soobin+ smut= fwb!soobin but he’s your best friend’s ex who she’s still not over😵

♫: Daniel Ceasar, Do You Like Me? // [2K Masterlist]

“Parties aren’t that much fun to attend to anymore, especially when you’re only there to tend to your broken-hearted friend. But there’s always ways to entertain yourself, ways that rely on a certain someone you’re meant to despise.”

soobin x fem!reader // wc: 4.0K // fwb au, angst, college au but it’s not rlly important, smut, MDNI.

warnings: it’s a rlly messy situation, neither soobin or the mc are good people !! mentions of alcohol, dom!soobin, sub!mc, fingering, biting, orgasm control(?), dry humping, breast play, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, pet names (good girl, pretty thing, etc.), cum eating, overstimulation, slight handjob, protected sex (from me??? what.) soobin is big 🥱, slight manhandling? degrading, praise, aftercare, lmk if i forgot anything !

notes: soobin’s a lil sassy in this one idk guys… i dedicate this to a certain someone who challenged me by saying i neglect soobin (i do tbh.) so. this ones for you ‼️🤣 i’ve seriously been wanting to get my hands on this request from the moment i got it, i love this song sm thank you for sending this anon !! ur mind is insane!!!

This is wrong. It’s wrong, horrible, a break of every code that comes with a friendship— but it’s also sweet, enticing, thrilling, feeling as though the breath has been stolen from your lungs as Soobin presses you further against the wall, hands wandering down the hem of your dress and his small, breathy groans enough to drown out the rest of the noise from the party downstairs. 

You didn’t want to be here in the first place; your friend had been the one to drag you here, begging for your company and asking you to be the designated driver as she spent the night drinking and partying her sorrows away— attempting to pretend that she’s fine, that she’s healed, that her heart still isn’t broken by the man whose fingers are trailing up your inner thighs— and you had agreed, telling her that she was better off alone only to slip into some random bedroom with the man you said was definitely not worth her time. 

But he’s worth yours. You wanted him from the very moment you saw him, pining from afar and letting three years pass by as you watched him transform from a shy freshman to what he is now; alluring, addicting, intoxicating, your lips parting with ease and your body left at his mercy as you allow him to kiss, suck, and explore wherever he wants.

It wasn’t your fault you had feelings for him. But it was your fault that you let yourself push those said feelings to the side for your friend, resigned to longing glances and tense interactions whenever you two were alone— of course, it wasn’t long before he picked up on those feelings as well. 

“How long will you be staying tonight?” Soobin whispers teasingly into your ear, pouty lips latching onto the spot just under it; your curl slightly into him at the sensation, hands holding onto his shoulders and your back feeling the slight vibrations that comes from the bass of the music against the wall. But it’s all muffled to you, your hearing only attuned to Soobin’s words and voice, the deep lullaby that teases you for your weakness, “you watching over her this time too?”

“Fuck— yeah,” you admit, feeling a twist of guilt in your stomach, “I’m the designated driver.”

That guilt is immediately wiped out by a harsh pleasure; Soobin’s fingers are slow and lithe as they run up and down your slit, feeling the way your panties become soaked with your arousal; pads of his fingers slowing to press on your clit, your legs spread open by one of his own as he corners you in with ease, continuing to litter kisses along the column of your throat leisurely. 

“Such a shame you’re stuck babysitting her all the time,” he coos softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing your panties to the side, feeling the way you shiver at his cold fingers running up and down your folds, collecting the arousal that gathers there before circling at your clit; rubbing in rhythmic circles at an agonizingly slow pace that he knows drives you crazy, holding back a coy smile at the way your brows twitch, hips stuttering toward him in need of more, “If not, I would’ve loved to take you back to my place and fuck you properly.”

His words are dangerous territory. You don’t go to his place, and he certainly doesn’t go to yours— it’s always been like this, secret hookups in convenient places you know you won’t get caught; a quickie in a random bedroom at a party, a sneaky handjob under the table of a library, a night where you let yourself destress in his car when you’re supposed to be on your way to hang out with a friend.

All of it has been quick, lustful, surface-level; nothing that would lead to cuddles under the safety of his sheets, or the smell of your shampoo after he decided to quickly shower at your place, or anything that could give you the slight semblance of domesticity— no possibility of seeing a future with him, of having anything that runs deeper than the touch of his skin on yours. 

Sometimes, you hate yourself for setting such boundaries. Sometimes, you wish you were self-destructive enough to push past the barrier that deemed you as friends with benefits (if you could even use the term “friends” with him) and go into something that was more than that, something that was more meaningful than the way you only allowed yourself to spent thirty minutes max with him alone, before you had to go check up on your best friend and make sure she hadn’t begun to drunkenly wish for Soobin to come back into her life. 

“You know, I only wanted you from the start,” he had told you once, the words dream-like and saccharine sweet as he confessed it quietly to you, your head too dazed from the feeling of him inside you to process it properly; burying the secret beneath harsh thrusts that left your mind blank, not expecting the confession to stick to you like glue regardless. And you had thought of every time Soobin would only leave parties at the same time you did, would be eager to tag along with your friend if you were there as well, all those moments your friend thought were for her the complete opposite.

And it shattered your heart. But it also made it soar, made your face heat up to know he’s had eyes on you all along, forced to back off once he thought you weren’t interested—- but you were, and you were simply holding back for the sake of your friend. 

“Not happening,” is all you can sigh into his mouth, allowing him to kiss you lazily, teeth sinking playfully into your lip before his tongue is darting out to soothe the pain; his fingers prod at your entrance teasingly, ring and middle finger entering slowly to feel you squeeze around him, only to pull out again. And he’s whining softly against your lips like wounded puppy, as though he wasn’t the one making you fall apart by letting his fingers sink slowly into you, curling slowly and pressing against your sweet spot as he kept a warm hand on your waist; dress bunched up under his palm, trying to keep you still as he begins to wind you up with ease. 

“Why not?” he asks, leaving your mouth and planting a soft kiss at the corner of your lip; on your jaw, trailing back until he’s gotten to the column of your neck, aiming for all the spots that make you as sensitive as the feeling of him slowly pumping his fingers into your cunt does, “I like you, you like me…”

His fingers are able to reach spots you could only dream of; spots that have you letting out choked whines and grabbing on his forearm desperately, hips attempting to buck and match his pace, only to be restrained by the bruising grip of his hand on you.

You’re trying to not pay attention to his ramblings— something you’ve found him doing a lot more often than you’d like, constantly being lured into temptations that should not be tasted— instead, you pay attention to the way his palm grinds against your clit and the growing sounds of your arousal as he thrusts his fingers into you, calculated and teasing as he slows down the moment you begin to get close.

“It works out, doesn’t it?” you’re tuning back into his words reluctantly, unable to whine for him to stop being such a tease as he continues, “Wouldn’t you just wanna… have one day where we’re not rushing?”

He’s quickening his pace again; your breath is stuttering at the feeling of his hard cock against you, letting out a pathetic whine at the way he begins to rut against you, slow and teasing as he rolls his hips into you, as though he were fucking you instead. 

“I’d take such good care of you,” he groans, listening to the way your breath is beginning to become ragged, lips continuing their descent from your neck to your collarbones, where he lets his teeth graze against the skin that’s being shown for a moment, “Really take my time with you…finally have you all to myself for once.”

“Soobin…” you say, an air of uncertainty to your tone— but Soobin is in complete disregard of it, needy hands pulling at the top of your dress to get access to your breasts— his free hand is slipping under the cup your bra while his mouth attaches to your nipple, pulling out a broken moan from you and threading your fingers through his hair subconsciously; his palm is pressing against your clit, making your walls clench around his fingers and causing him to laugh softly against your skin. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, beginning to rub quick circles on your clit with his thumb instead; listening to the way you keen and react to his touch immediately, your body buzzing with pent up pleasure that’s waiting to snap and release. “Don’t you like me?”

“I…” you’re trailing off without meaning to; it’s hard to concentrate with the way Soobin fucks you with his fingers so expertly, his breath fanning on your sensitive nipple with every soft moan he lets out; still rutting against you, his hand going back down to your hips to press you closer against him— you feel caged in by him, his fingers digging into your skin as he lets out a soft hmm? that urges you to answer his question and snaps you out of your reverie.

“Do you?” he asks again, slowing his pace to try and clear your mind, teasing you as he continues to rub soft circles on your clit— you nod frantically, breathing out a soft Soobin, please, that he doesn’t pay attention to— instead, he comes back up to capture your lips for a kiss, harsh and frantic as he bites your lip coyly; the whine you let out is enough for him to pull away with a soft sigh. 

“Tell me. I wanna hear it from you.”

He’s picking up his pace the moment you open your mouth to speak; a choked whine cutting off your words, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers begin to pump into you ruthlessly, the wet sounds making your face feel hot and mind blank as you let your mouth run, not paying attention to what you say. 

“I— I like you, I really like you,” you cry, the pleasure building to such an intensity that you feel tears pricking at your eyes, “you’re all I think about, Soobin— ugh, fuck— need you, want you to fuck me, wanna cum, please? Wanna feel you inside me, ‘m close— ah, Soobin please—”

Your words get cut off with a sharp cry; your body freezes up and is left for Soobin to control as he talks you through it all, cooing soft praise and reassurance in your ear as he presses soft kisses on your jaw— words soft and sweet, making your head spin and cunt clench around his fingers a little tighter— my good girl, so perfect for me, pretty thing, feel so good…

Soobin thinks he could cum just like this; your face is flushed and pretty as you look at him with glassy eyes, hips grinding into his hand as he continues to softly fuck you with his fingers, watching the way you jolt and whimper from the sensation— his cock is pathetically hard and leaking in his pants, practically throbbing as he continues to rut against you— but then he remembers your cute begging, unable to resist to such a request as he finally pulls away from you, fingers slowly pulling out of your cunt as he glances down to see the mess he’s made of you.

You can only watch and let out a weak sigh as you watch him slip his glistening fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits and cleaning them entirely as he groans at the taste— your face feels like it’s on fire, and his eyes never leaves yours as his pretty lips slowly wrap around them. 

He’s undoing his jeans quicker than you can process; bringing you in for another sweet kiss, your hand wandering to wrap around his cock as you feel him hiss into your mouth— hips bucking slowly to the pace you’ve set for him, tip sticky and leaking as you swipe a thumb over it and spread the precum along the rest of his length.

“Condom,” you say breathlessly, feeling the way Soobin’s hands have found purchase on your waist again; slotting himself between your legs and standing impossibly close, enough to feel his wet tip touching your inner thigh— and he moans softly, the sensitive feeling of your warm skin enough to leave him dazed and responding a bit late to your words. 

“Fuck— right, right,” he groans softly, biting at his lip as he pats around his pockets; and by the way his brows knit together and he hesitantly reaches into his front pockets, you can already guess what he’s thinking— because you find yourself thinking it as well. 

You want to feel him without that thin layer of protection; want to feel the raw friction, wishing for nothing more but for him to fill you and have you leaking around his cock— but as you roll on the condom for him with a deft hand, you know that this is for the best— a small reminder of what you two are, that you can never truly get comfortable around each other. 

“Shit, so wet for me,” he says softly, teasing you as he runs his cock up and down your entrance; grinding softly against your clit, listening to your every whimper and whine keenly before he begins to tease his tip at your entrance— you’re both hissing at the stretch, always eager to feel the way he stretches you open, cunt never truly used to it no matter how many times you do this.

You’re letting out a sigh of content the moment he slides inside you; feeling his hands guide your hips into meeting him halfway, his soft moans and breaths fanning across your neck as his lips begin to suck at your neck again; you have half the mind to thread your fingers through his hair and tug slightly, muttering a soft no marks, Soobin, that has him huffing in disappointment. 

“And why not?” he asks, beginning to move his hips slowly; cock touching all your sensitive places so sweetly, as though it was the only thing he knew how to do, “you can just say it was from a random hookup— nothing wrong with that.”

God, he’s insufferable; he follows your request as he pulls away from his spot in the crook of your neck, pace beginning to build as he watches the way you fall apart on his cock; thick and big, always leaving your legs shaking as he holds your hips in place, one hand sliding down to grab your thigh and bring it up around his waist, as though you were nothing but a cute toy for him to fuck— your hands hold onto his broad shoulders for stability, nails digging into his skin through his thin tee as you simply shake your head with the last bit of coherency you have. 

“Aren’t you tired of sneaking around so much? Of having all these odd things we just can’t do when we’re literally—” he punctuates his words with a harsh thrust that has you yelping pathetically, “fucking, while you’re supposed to be babysitting your friend?” 

Your face burns at his words— he’s struck a nerve and he knows it, especially with the way your nails bite at his skin a little more than they already were— but even though you try to get angry at him, though you try to say something, you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you so good that you can’t form a simple sentence. 

“We could be at my place right now— you wouldn't've had to go to this— fuck, this lame party in the first place, we could’ve just… hah, hung out at my place, let me take care of you.” 

His words send butterflies through your stomach— and it’s exactly why you let out a soft no, we can’t, at his words, the very idea of venturing into something more intimate making you weak in the knees— and he frowns, his grip becoming a bit bruising as his hips snap against yours, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room and rivaling the music that pours through from outside.

“So what, is this better for you?” he asks meanly, voice darkening at the way you can barely keep up with his pace, too fucked out to process his words fast enough, “do you enjoy having to face your friend after we’re done?” 

His words have you seething out a harsh fuck you in response; a hand leaves his shoulder to find itself tangled in his hair, pulling at it harshly before you’re bringing him closer to you— your waterline is lined with tears and your face is flushed as you give him a half-hearted glare. 

“Soobin, just shut up,” you grit out, watching the way his eyes narrow and harden in response— his hand has found its way back to your clit, circling it in a way that has you clenching around his cock and moaning pathetically.

“Pretty thing just wants to get fucked then? Wanna cum?” he coos, feeling the way your body has begun to tense at his ministrations, unable to answer him from how good you feel, “come on then, use me sweet thing, wanna— wanna feel it, know you can do it, filthy thing only knows how to come to me when you’re needy, isn’t that right?”

Your thighs are slick and your body is tensing from the feeling of Soobin towering over you, feeling as though he’s everywhere at once; his dark voice whispering endless filth into your ear, his breathy moans brushing against your skin and making you shiver with a small cry— his fingers dig a little into you, keeping your bucking hips still and forcing your body to cum again; pressing you firmly into the wall as you do, feeling the way your thighs tense and quiver under his hold as he lets you ride it out with slow and deep thrusts; pretty voice humming praise into your ear, settling your shaking body as he tells you thaaaat’s it, good girl, so pretty when you cum. 

You’re panting weakly into the air as your body finally comes down— but Soobin is still hard inside you, the feeling of your clenching and tight walls around him only encouraging to continue chasing his high— and you let him, leaning your head against the wall and watching with lidded eyes as he continues to fuck you, brows knitting at the sensitivity. 

He’s close, and your body is becoming more and more sensitive the longer he fucks you; crying softly with every thrust of his cock, letting out choked whimpers every time his tip bumps against your sweet spot— and you let him, let his hands wander and lips suck gently at your skin, not enough to leave marks but enough to have your back arching and legs shaking once more. 

His pace is picking up, becoming sloppy, and you think he’s about to cum— only for him to stutter to a stop at the sound of your ringtone, your eyes widening as you look over at the table next to you that you threw it on; your friend’s contact name lights up the screen. 

“Answer it,” Soobin says roughly, voice slightly strained from how good you feel around him— your eyes widen as you shake your head no frantically, only to watch in horror as Soobin reaches for the phone for you; you can feel your blood grow cold the moment he answers the call and presses your phone firmly against your ear— in a panic, you grab a hold of it yourself.

“He—hello?”

Your friend is asking you where you are— she wants to leave, she doesn’t feel well, asking if you can take her home— she’s drunk and you can barely focus on her slurred words, Soobin’s unpredictable pace returning as he goes back to fucking you; the wet sounds are enough to have your eyes widening in panic, biting your lip and reaching out to slap a hand on top of Soobin’s mouth. He lets you, staring at you with dark eyes as his thrusts become rougher, choosing to aim for the specific spots he knows drive you crazy; a stray tear falls from your eyes from the effort of having to hold in your sounds. 

“Where— are you— hmmm?” you’re lucky your friend is wasted. She doesn’t pick up on your struggle to articulate your words, telling you that she’s been sitting outside on the porch trying to contact you— you wince, partly at her words, and partly because Soobin is noticeable close, frantically rutting into you as muffled moans sound against the palm of your hand; clearly more dramatic than usual, wanting to be heard as you can feel his lips part against your hand, the messy drool building up on the corners of his lips as you wince. 

“Okay, I’ll—” Soobin cums with a particularly loud groan and a thrust that lets him bottom out; he’s entirely inside you as he lets his head rest on your shoulder, the feeling so sudden it has you cutting yourself off in order to bite your lip pathetically— still caged in and left at Soobin’s mercy as he plants soft kisses along your shoulders, cock still moving ever-so-slightly as you finally find the courage to speak.

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

You hang up after hearing her drunken okay.

It’s silent. It’s tense, and you’re unsure of what to say, and slightly afraid of what Soobin will say. Instead, he pulls away without a word; slides out of you with nothing but a soft wince, taking off the condom and tucking himself in quietly— you can only stand and watch as he turns to the private bathroom of the bedroom, tossing the used condom in the trash before you hear the sound of the sink running; you can’t help but cringe at the awkwardness of it all.

“You okay?” he asks once he finally emerges, raising a brow at the way you seem surprised at his comment— only for your eyes to fall at the towel in his hands, face heating up at the way he slowly approaches you, crowding your space once more. 

He’s cleaning you up without another word; even when you try to get the rag from him, try to do it yourself, he doesn’t let you— his touch is tender and has your heart racing, your mind trying to get yourself to calm down the moment your eyes meet; a cold reminder of where you are, of the reality of it all.

Soobin doesn’t let you stick to this reality for long; not with the way he’s fixing your clothes carefully and pulling you in for a soft kiss, hands running up and down your body as he mutters a soft so perfect— and you’re snapping out of it once more, pushing against his chest with a firm hand.

“Soobin, please,” you say quietly, unable to meet his eyes as you stare down at the floor instead. You hear him let out a tired sigh.

“We can’t keep this up forever,” is all he says, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “You’ll have to pick a side eventually.”

That much is obvious to you; and though it hurts to meet his gaze, hurts to see the way his eyes hold a sense of longing that you haven’t allowed yourself to reveal, you refuse to acknowledge his comment. 

“I have to go to my friend.”

His face is painted with disappointment. 

“Sure.”

You’re quick to go to push past him and go to the door— his voice stops you before you can even turn the knob.

“See you later?”

His voice has that soft rumble that always makes you shiver without fail— and despite your better judgment, you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

And the cycle continues.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin smut #soobin ff #soobin imagines #soobin oneshot #soobin x reader #[2k event!] #[song equations] #[nsfw]

[boydepartment]

so cute - anton lee x reader

a/n: DONT LOOK AT ME RN…. okay i’m having a moment shut up i can’t sleep. this is completely self indulgent and writing for fun so whooooooops

warnings- none just fluff and goofy. idol! anton. photography major! reader. (i am not a photography major so pls um bare w me) THIS IS ALSO REALLY CLICHE SO I AM SORRY i also have no idea what tags to use :( so if you are on riize tumblr PLS HELP ME IN MY INBOX WITH TAGS

wc- 250-300

MASTERLIST

when you sat down after you ordered you got all your stuff organized. you had a plan to meet your friend to study together at a small but sweet boba shop. a lot of college students would come and go and half the fun of studying was procrastinating and choosing to people watch instead.

your friend was late and so you were left to fend for yourself. which was okay, it didn’t bother you. you got a little lost in thought and didn’t even notice the gaggle of boys walk in.

you didn’t even notice when the second cashier called up your order and you skipped over to pick it up. it tasted sweet and made you smile.

the way you set up your table looked really nice so you took a couple steps away from your chair to take a photo, not for class. just for fun.

your notes and laptop looked like those aesthetic posts on pinterest and the view outside the window was not the worst for a parking lot. you looked down at your phone and frowned, maybe the flash would help?

you went to get in position again when a guy totally bumped into you. sending both of you crashing onto the floor!

when you sat up you saw all his friends almost sprint out of the shop laughing, you looked down, eyes widening.

“i’m so sorry! here let me help you up!” you stood up and put your hands out. he was quiet and took your hands. you bent over and picked up his thankful pre-poked boba, nothing spilled thank goodness!

“are you okay?” you asked, handing his drink to him. it was a little hard to tell or read him as he was wearing a mask, there was only so much you could read with his eyes.

your head turned to the side trying to get an answer out of him. eventually he snapped out of whatever daze he was in. did this boy hit his head too hard?

“it was my fault! i was walking backwards while talking and i didn’t see you i’m sorry…” the boy was very soft spoken and it took you by surprise. a lot of people you met in college were a little outspoken.

you smiled at him, hoping to lighten the mood, “it’s okay it was an accident!”

“you fell pretty hard on your knees, are you okay?” he asked, noticing that they looked pretty scuffed.

“oh! i’m okay. don’t worry about it.” you went to grab your bag which softened the blow of your fall.

“is your phone okay? if it’s broken i can help pay for the damages…”

that was sweet of him…

you looked at your phone and saw the crack in the screen protector, “it’s a little cracked but it’s just the screen protector! it’s fine! if anyone asks i can tell them about this.” you laughed a little and looked at him again, “my friend’s gonna wish she wasn’t late…!”

you heard the boy laugh a little, “i still feel bad for tripping over you and ruining your photo, can i do anything to make up for it?”

“there’s no need to feel bad!” you said quickly- waving you hands back and forth, “again it’s totally okay. you should probably get back to your friends though… they kinda ran off.”

you saw him look outside the window, scoffing a little, “i’m going to choose to ignore them.”

this made you laugh, it was a total 180 from his voice, it was cute.

“i’m y/n. i figure since we’re having a conversation it’s appropriate to introduce myself, since you’re not just falling over me and dipping.” you stuck your hand out again.

he looked at your hand and shook it, “anton.” his eyes curved which told you he was smiling. cute.

“um… your friend still isn’t here… can i sit with you?”

you nodded, might as well, it wasn’t like you were studying. he happily took a seat next to you.

“you’re in college right?”

you nodded, “mhm! photography major!” you opened a file and scooted your laptop to him. anton looked through your photos almost amazed.

“i’m trying to put together my portfolio right now actually. i’m hoping i’ll get a job soon.” you explained, leaning your head on your palm.

he practically perked up at this, “my friends and i need a photographer for our next show!”

“show?”

“ummmmmmmmmm.” anton scratched his neck, “yes. show. music. yaknow….”

you smiled, “honestly, if it pays well, i’d love to.”

he looked at you and nodded, really enthusiastically. you felt pride bubble in you for someone being so impressed by your work to offer you a job.

“can i get your number to get the details?” you asked, unlocking your phone, he was cute and even if the job didn’t work out, maybe a date would. you could hear his phone buzzing rapidly.

anton nodded again and put his information in, “text me your name n stuff and i’ll answer i promise.” he stood up, “i really need to get back to my friends they’re blowing up my phone… even though they ditched me…”

you laughed again, “no problem. i’ll text you!”

“yeah!” he was walking away from you smiling when he ran into the door awkwardly. almost like the scene of a movie. it was so cute.

he was so cute.

#kpop #riize #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize anton #riize fluff #riize comfort #anton lee #anton x reader #anton fluff #anton lee fluff #lee chanyoung #lee chanyoung imagines #lee chanyoung x reader #riize wonbin #riize sohee #riize seunghan

[warrioreowynofrohan]

After a reread of Persuasion, I’m thinking about how it relates to Austen’s character types discussed in this post. It stands out from S&S, P&P, and Mansfield Park in not haveing a ‘charming rake’ type as the main male antagonist, but instead a reserved, intelligent, courteous, cold-blooded and selfish man. There is no counterpart to Willoughby, Wickham, or Henry Crawford.

Instead, if Mr. Elliot is a counterpart to any of the characters in Austen’s other novels, he feels like a dark mirror of Darcy. They are both reserved; both (at least at the time of the main plot of the book) place a high value on social status, and look down on commonness and vulgarity. However, while Darcy’s arrogance makes him rude, Mr. Elliot has impeccable manners; and where Darcy in has strong principles and treats the people for whom he is responsible well, Mr. Elliot is a hypocrite and, though voicing good principles, is in fact cruel and uncaring to those who are dependent on him. Mr. Elliot is, really, the type of person that Wickham portrays Darcy as being. The other thing that brought this comparison to my mind is Mrs. Smith’s description of the friendship between her husband and Mr. Elliot, which very much recalls the one between Bingley and Darcy (as an additional note, both Mr. Smith and Bingley are named Charles):

From his wife’s account of him she could discern Mr. Smith to have been a man of warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and not strong understanding, much more amiable than his friend and very unlike him - led by him

I think this all goes with one of Austen’s common themes, and one that is especially important to Persuasion - the importance of not marrying in overmuch haste and without good knowledge of and, at a minimum, respect for your partner. Darcy is decidedly not like Mr. Elliot in character - but at the time if his first proposal, for all Elizabeth knew he might have been.

And on the flip side, Frederick Wentworth is not like Willoughby or Wickham - but given the short time Anne had known him when he first proposed, he might have been, and Lady Russell certainly sees that danger. He is, at that time, daring and charismatic, but not prudent, having saved none of the money that he won in his naval career. There’s also another reference to the ‘charming rake’ type in that, like Henry Crawford, he for a while courts two sisters, the elder of whom is attached (though, unlike Maria Bertram, not engaged) to another man. In Wentworth’s defence, he isn’t aware of the latter, and isn’t trying to make them both fall in love with him, just being his (naturally charming) self, and keeping his eyes open for who he might like to marry; and he very nearly gets himself badly entangled and, later, freely acknowledges that as his own fault. Really, Wentworth has elements of all three of Austen’s main male character types, and is the better for it. (Anne herself has, I think, the most in common with Elinor Dashwood in being the only sensible and intelligent person in her family, and in being very perceptive, and with Fanny Price is being rather quiet and imposed upon.)

On the whole, this combination of characters makes the book feel less on the side of intelligence and judgement, and more on the side of a warm and open heart, in making for happiness, whereas S&S and P&P focus more strongly on the need for ‘sense’ and intelligence. Intelligence may well be a necessary quality for a truly good marriage, but it is not a sufficient one, not when it is combined with a cold and selfish heart.

#jane austen #persuasion #pride and predujice #anne elliot #mr elliot #mr darcy #frederick wentworth

[liyawritesss]

ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ!ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

Characters: College!Spider-Verse!Miles Morales 

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What would our lovely boy Miles be like as a grown up college student? Does he change or does he still keep his dorky, boyish demeanor?

A/N: HAPPY JUNETEENTH TO MY FELLOW NEGROS!!! In honor of Juneteenth and the release of ATSV, I'm dumping some headanons on yall, and I'm so proud of how these turned out. I was talking with my friend how we heavily believed that we would see a grown up Miles but when we found out only a year passed in Miles’ timeline for him, the topic of college!Miles came up. So these headcanons are pretty much a product of how we thought miles would be as a college student around our age.

Note: the first pic is of Shameik Moore, I just used a cartoon filter over it to try and make it look like the art style in the spiderverse franchise. The third one is not Shameik Moore but I use the same cartoon filter over it for the same effect

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it. KEEP IT CUTE PG-16 CUZ THIS IS NEPHEW WE TALKIN' BOUT HERE!!!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @venusdraco @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22

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College!Miles isn’t a complete one-eighty of his mid-teen self, but rather, he builds on the defining attributes of his youth and matures them. He’s still pretty self-effacing, modest and humble, but he’s more confident in himself and the man he wants to become. He’s selfless and courageous and loving to a fault, and anyone who’s anyone who has been in his presence can say that Miles is a great person all around.

College!Miles ends up going to study in New Jersey, majoring in Physics Engineering, but also minoring in African Psychology on the track for social work. He knows that he can only do so much good behind his Spiderman mask, and believes that he should also be putting in the work when he isn’t wearing it. It’s an obligation for him to put his best food forward for his community and his people.

College!Miles who mixes his style with 90’s black streetwear and modern day. He’s a sneakerhead, so his dorm room gradually accumulates with boxes upon boxes of shoes damn near reaching the ceiling. His room back home is much worse though (Rio can’t even clean his room anymore because everywhere she looks, it’s a box of shoes chucked somewhere. Mama has given up lmao). And similar to the first outfit we see him in in ATSV, he loves the sports-jersey-over-solid-color-shirt combo, but has a decent amount of hoodies and tee’s both graphic and plain, that he likes to throw on with a pair of jeans and shoes. He knows how to dress, and he knows that he looks good in what he wears too.

College!Miles who never steps out the house without a chain on. He’s got two specific ones that he wears primarily - a silver cuban link his parents got him for his eighteenth birthday that he wears daily, and a gold snake chain that he bought for himself with his first check from his first big boy job. There are other necklaces that he has that he’ll throw on it he wants to switch things up. He’s not a big fan of things on his wrist (he’s gotten too used to the web shooters that everything else just feels funny or wrong), but he has a watch that he only wears to be fancy and a couple of rings that go on his middle or forefingers. He also has a few pairs of studded earrings he switches between every now and then to keep up a fresh look.

College!Miles who starts to take special care in his appearance as he reaches his late teen years. He can only go to his mom when he’s on breaks or vacation when he travels back to Brooklyn, but he’s learned enough from Rio to do his own line-ups and touch ups to make him look decent. It took him a minute to get used to doing it on his own, but he was adamant on learning because he was firm on not letting anyone else into his head besides his mother. He’d recently gotten into cutting slits into his eyebrows too, as they make him feel super cool

College!Miles who knows he’s got girls & guys coming left and right waiting for the opportunity to get with him, but as much as he’s a loverboy, he’s also very intentional with how he moves and is very perceptive of people (his Spidey senses enhance it a lot more than what he wishes sometimes) that he peeps that a lot of them are only attracted to his looks. He doesn’t date for the first few semesters of college, and when his parents ask if he’s gonna bring someone home soon, he tells them that he’s too busy making gateways to dimensions to open the gateways to dating

College!Miles whose love for hip hop never dies over the years. Instead it seems to grow. He adds a few new artists to her playlist - JID, Young M.A., Tobe Nwigwe, & Kendrick Lamar from the hip hop and rap scenes (Miles uses many of Tobe’s songs as hype music to gas himself up). Though he’s also found an appreciation for other genres, like R&B and Neo-Soul. Some of these artists include but are not limited to: H.E.R., UMI, Ari Lennox, and Bryson Tiller.

College!Miles who still holds on to his art as a hobby and destresser from his many classes and double-identity. His street art follows him wherever he goes, tagging new places that have people wondering who the hell made it all the way up there to tag that. There’s a secret pride that swells in him when he sees passersby admiring the artwork.

College!Miles who, when the world gets too much and he feels like everythings going wrong, he climbs the tallest building he can find and just watches the sunrise or sunset. He lets the breathtaking view ease his mind and the warm sun soothe his worries away. Being so high up and away from people allows him to actually think about the troubles that plague him, so when he comes back down, he can address them accordingly

College!Miles who’s still very much a momma’s boy. He calls Rio almost every day, either to just talk or to rant about something silly. She’ll put him on speaker for Jefferson to hear and just looks at her husband like “Listen to your son” when he’s being silly. But it’s so sweet that Miles always has his parents on his mind when he’s away at school. He also calls his dad to have ‘guy talk’, which ain’t nothing but Miles and Jefferson either talking about sports, his academics (which Jeff is really supportive of, even if he doesn’t understand the physics part, he loves to hear his sons ideas on the psychology minor he’s taken on) or random funny shit the guys that they hang around do every day.

College!Miles who grows more confident in his Spanish and uses it more and more in his day-to-day life. He’ll speak it when he’s talking to himself, when he’s angry or if he’s hurt himself (which happens the same amount of times as it did when he was a teen), or he’ll try and surprise his mom with a conversation in complete Spanish (which he does succeed in sometimes).

College!Miles who’s barely changed from the loveable boy who we all know and love as a teen. He just grew some more and became cooler, but he still radiates the same dorky, intelligent, and loving energy he’s always had.

#black reader #black tumblr #black marvel #black mcu #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #mcu x reader #mcu x black!reader #spiderman #spiderman miles morales #miles morales spider man #miles morales spiderverse #spiderman spiderverse #spiderman itsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman beyond the spiderverse #spiderman btsv #spiderman itsv x reader #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman btsv x reader #spiderman itsv x black!reader #spiderman atsv x black!reader #spiderman btsv x black!reader #spiderman x black!reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader

[seasonsbloom]

bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

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

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

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

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

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

Hangman doesn’t lose.

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

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

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

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

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

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

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

Captain Mitchell, having climbed out of his own plane, approaches with a frown. Just a few steps away, by the entrance to the hangar, where the Californian sun is flooding the asphalt with golden light, a throng of the other pilots has formed.

If Jake even sees Rooster, he might start throwing punches. He’s toeing a precarious line here - ascension or plummeting.

“What was that?” Maverick wants to know, fiddling with his helmet’s clasp. “You flew straight into my line of fire, Hangman.”

So, yeah, maybe Jake just got shot down in less than a minute. So, yeah, maybe he made a rookie mistake. So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really bad day.

“I still maintain that he got dumped last night,” Coyote says. There’s no malice to the words, but Jake wouldn’t be surprised if he and Payback had some money running on this.

“I did not get dumped,” Jake growls for what feels like the fiftieth time. Seriously, his tongue is starting to go numb.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, “you totally got dumped.”

Now that might be actual malice. Phoenix decided last night that whatever had happened between you and Jake was clearly his fault, and she was therefore firmly and squarely on your side.

In Jake’s opinion, there are several things wrong with that assessment.

First of all, there shouldn’t even be any sides. It’s not like your circle of friends has to pick teams in a divorce. Secondly, even though she constantly complains about him, he’s known Phoenix for years. She met you less than a month ago. Shouldn’t she be in his corner? And then lastly and most importantly… Jake has no idea what the hell he did wrong.

It’s all pretty unfair.

“I told you that I didn’t get dumped,” Jake repeats, forming the words slowly and carefully in the hopes that they will sound more convincing than he knows them to be. “We weren’t dating.”

And he can’t explain it, that clenching in his stomach, that lump in his throat. He can’t explain any of it, except that it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar, in a way that’s unwelcome.

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

That’s Rooster, definitely. Jake tilts his head back towards the high, high ceilings of the hangar to avoid catching the other pilots’ eyes. 

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

“Wow, you know Shakespeare?” Phoenix says immediately. “I didn’t know you could read, Bagman.”

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

“Hangman,” he says, and something about his voice is severe enough that Jake snaps to attention. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

He’s one hundred percent playing for time here. Sue him. He needs to come up with an excuse.

“Did you mess up because you were thinking about a girl?”

And the thing is, Jake wants to say no. He wants to say, No, Sir, I had a bad night. He wants to say No, Sir, the sun was in my eye. He wants to say, No, Sir, I was dodging a bird strike.

But every word turns to vapor on his tongue. He can’t get anything out.

And so he just stands there, blinking like an idiot at his instructor.

Because the truth is, Jake can’t for the life of him remember what he was thinking about as he went up on the plane. Considering you’ve been on his mind pretty much non-stop since you met, and it’s only gotten worse since you stormed up to him at the Hard Deck last night, it’s not unlikely that he really was knee-deep in a train of thought revolving around you.

You’ve been haunting him. A specter squeezing into the cockpit with him. A ghost sneaking into his bed. Riding shotgun in his car.

You’re everywhere, at the bottom of each glass, soaring in the skies, under his skin, in his bloodstream. He can’t shake you.

There’s real disappointment on Maverick’s face, and Jake’s stomach drops. The older man sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys…” he says softly. “This isn’t a joke. Up there, you can’t be distracted, not by girls or boys or anything juvenile like that. You can’t be distracted by anything. This is life or death. Death, do you get that? I won’t have it. And this goes for all of you.”

He makes sure to let his pointing finger wander over all of them before he storms off, the door slamming behind him.

An awkward silence spreads among them, punctured only by the shuffling of feet and somebody clearing their throat.

“Well,” Rooster says finally, slapping Jake on the back with enough force it almost buckles his knees as he makes for the door. “Thanks for that, Hangman.”

Jake should probably say something, but his mind is wandering again. He’s thinking of you, standing in a sea of broken glass, Mojito staining the front of your shirt, eyes shuttered and forlorn in a way he hadn’t seen before… 

He gets the feeling now.

“Jesus,” Coyote says, stepping up beside Jake. “The way Captain Mitchell is talking, you’d think he isn’t hooking up with Penny on the down-low.”

Something about Coyote’s voice tells Jake he feels bad for him. He doesn’t like the idea of that, not one bit, but he also can’t really find it within himself to do something about it right now.

“Mitchell and Penny are hooking up?” Jake asks, genuinely surprised.

Bob, passing by them, frowns. “Hangman, you really aren’t very perceptive, are you?”

It’s so out of character that for a moment, Jake considers if he’s somehow managed to go through a black hole and ended up smack dab in a parallel universe where Bob, of all people, goes around insulting others. Where Jake, eternal bachelor, famed ladies’ man, messes up flight maneuvers because he’s too busy thinking about a girl.

“Did… did Bob just shade you?” Coyote asks.

For a moment, Jake seriously considers hitting his head against a wall.

So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really, really, really horrible day. So much for never losing.

+

Something’s off.

First of all, Penny’s never invited you to dinner. Second of all, this is decidedly not the kind of establishment you were expecting.

Penny seems like a burger and fries in her car sort of girl. Maybe a few bottles of beer or a couple of milkshakes to wash it all down. The little restaurant twinkling golden on the beachfront is entirely out of character. 

Narrow round tables are covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, fairy lights are strung to the rafters, and behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, boats bob up and down on the waves. It’s a tiny place, cramped but charming. Upbeat Jazz plays from invisible speakers, and a smiling waitress leads you past what seems to be only couples on anniversary dates.

“Here you go,” she says as she seats you at your table, right at the glass front, and hands you each a menu. “I’ll come to take you guys’ order in a minute.”

You sit in the plush chair, frowning. Penny is perusing the menu like nothing’s wrong.

“Oooh, Lasagna al Forno… that sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Penny,” you interrupt, not even opening your own menu. “What’s going on?”

Penny barely glances up at you. “You needed to get out of the house, sweetie.”

And she’s not wrong. You spent the last week since your… altercation with Hangman curled up in your bed, letting the anxiety eat away at you. The walls of your room closing in on you, the weight on your chest pushing you down until it practically molded you to the mattress.

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound empty even to your ears.

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

“No, you’re not,” she says, voice firm. “You’re miserable.”

When you ended things with Hangman, you didn’t think much about whether you were making the right decision. You just wanted out. You wanted it to end, so scared of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if you dipped even deeper into that pool. So scared that it might start meaning more than what it already did, that you would put your heart on something that was bound to end anyways.

Because guys like Hangman… handsome guys, confident guys, guys that hang around bars with toothpicks in their mouths… guys like that break you apart without a second thought.

And you’re already broken enough.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate and finally open your menu, staring at the entrées without seeing a thing. “I’m glad things are over between Hangman and me. It’s better this way.”

Penny is quiet for a moment, then she says, “Sweetie, you need to talk to him.”

“No, I do not,” you answer immediately. This is not the first time you’ve had this conversation. “What could I possibly have to talk to him about?”

“Oh, just… maybe you could explain to him just why you decided to break both your hearts, I don’t know.”

You purse your lips. “Penny. Hangman doesn’t care. He said so himself. This didn’t mean anything to him.”

And it’s so stupid. But his words replay in your mind like a broken record, like an endless loop, again and again. This was nothing. The cold upward turn of his mouth as he said it. Calm, collected. Unfazed.

You’re an idiot. You spent a few weeks flirting with a guy who wanted to get into your pants, and you made it into something it never was - made it big, made it important, made it matter, when really, to him, it had only ever been a game from the very beginning.

And now he’s off, somewhere, flying his planes, living bigger than you ever will, dreaming better, and you’re left on the ground, scrambling to pick up the pieces of yourself.

It’s pathetic.

But Penny looks at you from across the edge of her menu and says, “Pete says he’s been fucking up majorly during training. He’s distracted.”

It gives you pause for a moment and your heart - that stupid, incorrigible thing that never learns, never lets go, that latches onto everything - stutters in your chest.

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

Penny jerks her head. “This wasn’t nothing to him.”

The smiling waitress returns with a notepad, and Penny orders lasagna and a bottle of wine. You settle for some kind of risotto, mainly because it’s the first thing your eyes land on.

After she’s left, you take a deep breath.

“It…” You hesitate. It’s so difficult to say it, to admit it, but you think if you don’t get the words out now, you never will. “It didn’t, Penny. I’m not… I’m not really someone people remember. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just me. This didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.”

And Penny’s face softens. All her irritation of the past few weeks, the constant nagging when you came over for the tutoring session, the stream of texts asking you to come over for drinks, when she knocked on your door earlier, uninvited, and forced you into the shower, into a dress, into her car, it all just melts away. There’s nothing there now, not even pity, nothing there but genuine, real compassion, and you think you’re going to cry right here, in the middle of this restaurant…

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, reaching across the table to cup both your hands in hers. “You’re worth so much more than you think. When will you finally realize that?”

And it’s like this: since your mother’s death, you’ve just been so horribly, achingly lonely. The sort of loneliness that goes bone deep, that burrows into your bloodstream. You’ve drifted through the world unmoored, untethered, not belonging anywhere. Sure, you met people, but they disappeared from your life as quickly as they entered it. You let yourself become invisible, see-through like cellophane.

But with Penny, it’s like she sees you. Really sees you. In a way you don’t think anybody except your mother ever did, right down to your insecurities and flaws.

And somehow, with Hangman, it was the same. He saw something there with you, saw what you needed and what you wanted before you even really knew it yourself. And you don’t know if that’s just something about him, something he can do with any girl, or if it’s something special, if he understood you, all you know is that it terrified you half to death.

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

It’s a good thing the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine and a bread basket because you’re pretty sure you would have started sobbing otherwise.

You think you’re going to thank Penny, eat your food, try and enjoy the evening, and then maybe crawl into bed at the end of the night and cry a little more. Just… make the best of it.

But Penny glances over your shoulder, and something mischievous passes over her features. Suddenly, you feel a little sick.

She rises from her seat, and by the time you’ve glanced over your shoulder, they’re already at your table.

“Hi, Pete,” Penny says, grinning. “Hi, Hangman.”

You’re doing your very, very best not to look at him. Your stomach is turning. Perspiration builds up lightning-quick on the inside of your palms.

“Hi, Penny,” the older pilot you’ve never talked to but have seen hanging around the bar several times echoes, giving her a soft smile. He greets you by name, and you’re so stunned, so excruciatingly uncomfortable, that you can’t even react.

Pete manhandles Hangman into Penny’s vacated chair with two hands on his shoulders, and then you don’t really have a choice but to stare at him. He’s right there, in your line of sight.

Hangman looks as shocked as you feel, but there’s something else, too. He’s still handsome, of course, still tanned and blond and perfect, but something seems to have shifted. His hair is just a little less tidy, the bags beneath his eyes a little more pronounced. For the first time ever, you see him in civilian clothes - a t-shirt and jeans, something softer around the edges that makes your insides clench.

All initial instincts of flight bleed right out of you. It’s half hope, half fear, that keeps you rooted to your chair.

“You said this was a lesson,” Hangman says to his superior, looking, for lack of a better word, desolate.

“It is,” Pete answers, patting his shoulder before withdrawing.

And Penny says, “Listen, I know the owner. If you guys leave before finishing your dinner, there’ll be hell to pay.”

She points at Hangman. “I know your boss.”

Then she points at you. “I am your boss.”

And that’s final. Penny has a way of getting what she wants.

Before she leaves, she leans down to hug you and whispers softly, “Sweetie, you don’t need to go out of this evening dating him. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. But I think he deserves an explanation, at the very least.”

She draws back, smiles at the two of you as if she’s just performed some great, benevolent act, and then disappears with Captain Mitchell.

You half expect Hangman to get up and leave the moment the two are out of earshot. You half expect yourself to do the same.

But you both stay where you are, at that table, actively avoiding the other’s eyes.

The waitress comes to drop off your food. Hangman pours both of you a glass of wine and then downs his in one go.

Finally, he sighs like he just lost some internal fight and says, “I can’t believe they totally just parent-trapped us.”

“Parent-trapped?” you repeat, a little dumbly.

“Yeah, like… tried to set us up. You know, like in the cinematic milestone with Lindsey Lohan?”

You nod.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The gears in your head are turning on overdrive. You feel near frantic with nerves.

“Personally,” you say, your mouth moving before you’re really aware that you’re speaking, “my favorite bad matchmaker is Emma Woodhouse.”

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him. 

“You don’t know Emma? By Jane Austen?”

“Jane Austen?” Hangman takes a sip of his water. “Is that the one with the Pride & Prepaid something? Where everybody goes to each other’s houses and just talks for hours?”

You’re going to have an aneurism. 

“Emma,” you say, now having trouble controlling your voice, “is one of the greatest pieces of literary fiction ever created. And you mean Pride & Prejudice.”

“Really?” He leans back and looks at you. “So what’s it about, then?”

“Well,” you launch into an explanation, jumping at the chance not just to fill this horrible silence but also to talk about one of your favorite books, and the words just seem to flow from you now, “Emma Woodhouse is this really pretty, really rich young Lady, yeah? And she decides that she’s not gonna get married, so instead, she tries to find a husband for her poor friend Harriet. So she wants to set her up with Mr. Elton, only it turns out Mr. Elton is actually into Emma, and at some point, they’re alone in a carriage, and he proposes marriage to her, and it’s super awkward, but then Emma thinks she’s in love with Frank Churchill who also turns out to not be for her and in the end, she realizes she’s really been in love with Mr. Knightley all along, who’s like a really close family friend, only now Harriet might be in love with Mr. Knightley, too, and they have a bit of a falling out and….”

Much too late, you stop yourself. The embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles all the stronger.

Hangman is looking at you with a somewhat dazed expression. You can’t believe you just said all that.

You drag your fork through the mess on your plate, cheeks hot, and round it off by saying, “Anyway, it’s really about Emma realizing the errors of her ways and becoming more considerate of others, and it’s a commentary on class and privilege and all. It’s pretty good.”

“Okay,” Hangman says, and you have never wanted the powers of teleportation more than you do at this moment.

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

After another moment, Hangman says, “That just sounds like the plot of Clueless.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“You… you know Clueless?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises nearly to touch his hairline. “Do I know Clueless?” he repeats. “Is Cher Horowitz one of the best cinematic characters ever created? Of course, I know Clueless, I’m not a barbarian.”

You stare at him until a big blop of risotto rice lands on the tablecloth.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, moving to mop the spilled food up with your napkin. “Clueless is like, one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Yeah?” He grins, seemingly relaxing just a little bit. “Mine too. So, did Jane Austen steal the plot?”

You can’t help it - it punches a laugh out of you.

“No, it… Clueless was based on Emma. The novel came out like… 180 years earlier, I think.”

“Right.” Hangman nods. “Well, if it inspired Clueless, it must be a pretty good book then.”

You’re almost sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had without Hangman trying to get into your pants. It also might be the longest conversation you’ve ever had about your interests without someone shutting you down.

You’re developing a headache.

“Listen,” Hangman says suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. Something in his face has gone serious. “I understand what happened. I was pushing for something you didn’t want, and I pushed too hard, and you put a stop to it. That’s fine. It’s good, really. I respect it.”

And that’s not it at all. But you don’t know how to tell him that he’s got it all wrong, that it’s not that you didn’t want it. It’s that you wanted it too much. Wanted him so much it felt dangerously close to falling for him. Wanted him so much you knew you were giving him the power not just to see you, but to leave you.

He takes a deep breath.

“That doesn’t mean we have to avoid each other. Let’s just… let’s just be friends, okay?”

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

“Friends,” Hangman confirms. He’s nodding his head.

Penny told you to explain it to him, made it seem like an imperative, but as you sit there, you realize she was wrong. You realize it doesn’t matter. Not to him, at least. Those words in the bar cross your mind again. It was nothing. His indifference to all that emotion you carry everywhere you go.

And you’re so angry with him, even if you know that you’re the one who brought this down on you, you’re the one who decided to end it. So angry you want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until that mask he carries finally slips off, until you get to see what lies beneath that.

Because the truth is, beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, you’ve spent the past week thinking of him. In bed, in the shower, at the gas station. And you missed him, even if that doesn’t make any sense.

And if you don’t tell him the truth, if you just let him believe his sexual advances were just a little too much for you instead of revealing the real depth of your feelings… well, then maybe you can at least preserve the last shreds of your dignity.

Besides… maybe, you think, it’s better to get any piece of him than nothing at all. Better to be friends than never to see him again. At least this way, you’d be safe.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice sounds far away. “Yeah, friends. Okay.”

Hangman smiles, and it’s a real, genuine smile as opposed to his usual smirks. His eyes go all crinkly, and you clutch your fork tighter.

And after that, it’s… nice. You find out, to your own horror, that you actually do like Hangman. He’s funny and witty, and when he isn’t trying to fuck you, you realize you actually have things in common.

Together, you empty the bottle of wine and have another glass each, finish your meals, and share a plate of tiramisu that seems to melt on your tongue.

You squabble about the bill, but finally, Jake concedes and lets you pay, even though he looks like he’s about to start muttering in anger.

You like it. It kind of feels like finally being on even ground after weeks of fighting an uphill battle.

When you step out of the restaurant, leaving the Jazz and the smell of pasta behind, you pause. It’s a bit of an unsettling realization to come to, but you don’t want the night to end.

Hangman stops a pace or two behind you, tipping his head back into the breeze.

He looks younger like this, out of his uniform, with a blush painted on his cheeks by the wine, with the wind tousling his hair. All his edges blurred into something almost gentle. Boyish.

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

Jake, you think, and something deep inside of you aches. Jake.

Smiling, he turns to you. “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t trust your own voice, so you just nod.

“Alright.” He starts towards his car, then immediately stops. “Actually… do you mind taking a walk on the beach? I think I should sober up a little more.”

No, you don’t mind one bit, and that’s the danger of it all.

“Fine,” you agree. You mean for it to be clipped, but instead, it comes out like a squeak.

Jake, who doesn’t seem to notice your tone, smiles and leads the way down a trodden path that takes you by the restaurant’s trash cans and then onto the sand of the beach.

It’s colder here, enough that you wrap your arms around your torso to leech off your own body warmth.

Jake is already halfway out of his jacket before you begin protesting.

“Come on,” he says. “I know you don’t believe it, but my mother actually did raise me to be a gentleman. I keep telling you.”

So you let him drape the jacket over your shoulders, and suddenly you’re enveloped in his scent, and your mouth is dry, and your stomach clenches.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

You walk along the beach for a while in perfect silence. The wind dances through your hair, the air smells crisp and fresh and salty, and the waves roll in from the sea, white foam that nearly licks at your feet.

It’s peaceful. Serene. It’s dangerous because it feels so much like a date, and you want to hold Jake’s hand so bad, and he’s almost devastatingly handsome in this light, but you ignore it. Look straight ahead and pretend you’re not feeling it.

Finally, Jake stops and sits down in the sand. Hesitantly, you follow his example, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” Jake asks, staring out at the waves.

You frown. “Seriously?”

“What? That’s a normal question people ask their friends.”

You don’t know about that, but you do answer, “I don’t know. I don’t really remember?”

“Not at all?”

You pause. It’s almost too easy to be truthful with him, and with a start, you realize that you trust him.

God, you must be an idiot.

“I used to…” You clear your throat. “Well, there was this house on my street back in Seattle. A house with a blue door. I used to dream about buying it one day and living there with my husband, and my kids, and our dog.”

You half expect him to laugh at you, call you childish or naive, or a romantic. But he doesn’t. He just listens, face utterly void of judgment, and your stomach swoops.

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “But it was the first real dream of my life. I don’t know if you ever really grow out of those.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, you probably don’t, right?” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he continues, “Mine was becoming spiderman. Honestly, I’d still give my right arm for it.”

And it actually makes you laugh. An honest, genuine sound that echoes across the beach.

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night. 

“I like that sound,” he says softly. “Do it again.”

To cover up the feeling rising up in you - something you’d describe as bashfulness, if that wasn’t so disgustingly ridiculous, something that warms you inside out - you feign nonchalance, say, “Well, tell me something funny, then.”

“Something funny, yeah?” He leans back in the sand with a sigh as you nod, balancing his weight on his elbows, and turns his head up at the night sky like he’ll find inspiration up there. “I thought Star Wars was real for like… an embarrassingly long time.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like, full on.” He nods, face almost solemn. “I looked Han Solo up in history books and shit, I got so confused when I couldn’t find him. I was just like, do people know about this, like, they have to know about this, like about little green Yoda guys and….”

You can’t help it. You start dissolving into laughter halfway through, and Jake looks up at you, grinning.

“Are you serious?” you ask through your laughter. The thought of little Jake thumbing through history books frantically as he searches for Han Solo - who you just know was his childhood idol - is almost too much.

He shrugs. “That’ll be my secret. Did make you laugh, though.”

“Yeah, you did,” you admit, and then you let yourself fall into the sand beside him. It’s cool, grains catching in your hair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll spend the rest of your week trying to get them out again, but it’s worth it for the view. 

The night sky stretches endless above you. You’re close enough to the sea and far enough from San Diego that the light pollution has bled out here, that you can see the stars twinkling up there. A million miles away, yet so close you think you could pluck one if you just stretched out your arm.

“Maybe I should be a teacher,” you say, and then freeze up. Because, what the fuck? Where did that come from?

You’ve never even thought about that, but it just burst out of you, like something you’ve been carrying in your chest your whole life.

Awash in the surprise, you can do nothing but blink for a while.

“A teacher?” Jake repeats. “What subject?”

“English,” you say immediately. Okay, well. Guess we’re having epiphanies about ourselves then. “It’s just that… well, I… I like tutoring Amelia. It’s my favorite time of the week, I think. And I… I love all those books other people are forced to read. I even like Catcher in the Rye, can you believe it?”

“Even Catcher in the Rye?” Jake says, mocking you by letting out a scandalized gasp and slapping a hand over his mouth. You laugh and shove at his shoulder. 

Grinning, he says, “I think you’d be a great teacher.”

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I think you’d be great at anything you put your mind to, really. But I saw you talk about that book earlier… it’s like you were glowing. You love that. People are always best when they do what they love.”

It’s unexpectedly wise. It knocks the wind right out of you.

You need to take a moment to collect yourself, avoid the intent gaze of his eyes that makes it feel almost like he knows you.

“Have you always wanted to be a pilot, then?” you ask.

Jake shrugs, a movement you feel more than see, his arm moving up where he’s pressed against yours, shoulder digging a deeper furrow into the sand.

“Maybe. I guess.” You think he won’t say anything else, but after another moment, he goes on, “My father is a general, you know? It’s sort of a family tradition.”

You didn’t know that, but it sort of makes sense. Another shade to color Jake Seresin in with.

“He must be really proud of you,” you say, thinking of your own father, who hasn’t called in months.

Jake is quiet for so long that you glance over to check that he hasn’t fallen asleep. His eyes are open, though, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

“Not really,” he says, finally. “My father always thought I was a disappointment. I remember one time in middle school, there was this boy… He was a real bully. He liked to slam me into lockers, and one time he broke my nose. My dad just said it was my own fault for not fighting back.”

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Nothing I do ever really… is enough for him.”

There’s something in his voice you never thought Jake capable of: defeat.

Your chest aches with it.

“Not even when you graduated Top Gun?” you ask carefully. “You were top of your class, right?”

Jake shrugs again. “He didn’t come to the ceremony. Mom said he was sick, but… I don’t think that’s true.��� He exhales, and it’s a shaky, fragile sound. “Sometimes… sometimes I think he’d only ever be proud of me if I got shot down. If I died in combat or something.”

Your reaction is visceral. Heart plummeting, stopping, arm jerking against him.

“Don’t…” you begin, then shake your head vehemently. “Don’t say that, please.”

He glances at you, looking almost surprised at your outburst.

“It’s not…” You hesitate. “It’s not worth it. Not if he doesn’t recognize it already.”

“Recognize what?” 

And Jake won’t take his eyes away from you. You feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“That you’re… that you’re a good pilot.”

You swallow, immediately embarrassed by your own words. You can’t even look him in the eyes.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never even seen me fly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and mean every word, “I know.”

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

It doesn’t say half of the things you want to tell him, at the same time as it reveals much more than you want it to.

And you remember: It was nothing. Shrugging off everything he made you feel. Laughing as if nothing had happened. Telling you without as many words that you were just another conquest, just another girl in a line of girls, nothing special about you, nothing important, nothing relevant.

You want to hate him, yet something about Jake makes it impossible. Something about him keeps drawing you back. Even after everything that’s happened, wanting him is like a bad habit you can’t shake.

You can’t explain that.

But Jake reaches out to you and slots his fingers into the spaces between your own. Squeezes once.

Your fear got in your way. Even now, it chokes all words from you.

But that’s fine. You think, somehow, Jake understands anyway.

He’s quiet for a while and then says, “Why are you here, then? In Fightertown, I mean.”

It’s a good question, one you don’t know how to answer. 

Finally, you say, “My mother died.” 

And then you freeze. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, and suddenly it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. 

Haltingly, almost shell-shocked by it, you continue, “And it… it made me realize that I’d built my whole life around her. And when she was gone… well, that life was gone, too. Like that dream about the house with the blue door… It didn’t seem to matter anymore. So I just left. I just… drove until I got to Fightertown, and then I decided to stay because… I don’t know. There was nowhere else to go, anyway.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and you concentrate hard to blink them away.

“And do you like it here?”

You’re so grateful. You’re so grateful he doesn’t tell you that he’s sorry about your mother, that he doesn’t judge you for not having had a life apart from her. That he doesn’t ask about your father or your friends. So grateful that somehow, again, he seems to understand what you need: Not the past, but the present.

“Yeah,” you say and are surprised to find you’re telling the truth. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

Then you glance at him. “Unless the most obnoxious naval aviator in the history of the world almost knocks you over in a bar, of course.”

Jake laughs, a carefree, bellowing sound that has you feeling a little bit like you’re soaring.

“Only because you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he says, winking at you.

And it’s toeing the line. Not really friendly, not really platonic, but so Hangman, so Jake, that you don’t even mind.

You smile back, and then you turn your eyes up to that sky, to those stars, and listen to the whisper of the waves, holding tight to Jake’s hand.

+

The thing about fear is that it’s not a one-time situation. Overcoming it once doesn’t get rid of it - it just goes stagnant for a while, lulls you into a false sense of security, and then it pounces again.

So walking into the Hard Deck is a little easier, but the rest of it is just as hard. Reassuring yourself that you’re wanted here, that you’re not intruding, that nobody will look at you weirdly.

Hangman and Phoenix invited you. Separately, you tell yourself. You know the owner. You’re gonna be okay.

You can’t spot any familiar faces when you finally get the courage to make it from the front porch into the actual bar. It’s all just strangers mingling.

Mostly looking for a little bit of liquid courage and something to occupy your time with until the others arrive, you make your way to the bar and flag down one of the unfamiliar bartenders to order a cocktail.

After, you turn to people watch. They’re everywhere, laughing and flirting, people lining up shots in neat rows on bar tops, people knocking back shots, people playing darts and pools and footsie, people laughing with their friends or at their friends. It’s almost shocking, all that display of life. It makes you think of yourself, alone in your room for days, weeks, years. How much did you miss?

“Can I buy you another?”

The guy is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice. Not Hangman-level handsome, but… that’s not the sort of thoughts you should be having anyway. Curls, kind eyes, a dimple on his cheek. Cute. The kind of guy you might have stared at in the supermarket a few months ago, would have lost your mind over if he had smiled at you in the frozen foods section.

“Oh,” you say as he slides up to you, folding and bracing his arms on the tabletop. “Uhm…”

“No strings attached,” he promises, holding up his hands like he wants you to check that he’s not carrying any weapons. “You just looked lonely.”

You laugh, feeling a little bit out of your depth. “Did I really?”

He nods, eyes twinkling, and says, “Yep. I could tell all the way from the other end of the bar.”

That’s probably not a good sign, you think. Gotta start working on my poker face.

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the guy introduces himself, offering you a hand.

This feels a lot like a precipice.

Part of you knows you should give in. Let this guy buy you a drink, let him flirt with you, let him take you home. Get an ego boost and have a nice time. This, you think, was what Penny meant all the time she talked about getting the sexual frustration out of your system. 

Not whatever the fuck that twisted thing you and Hangman had going on was. Definitely not that, because it didn’t get a single thing out of your system. In fact, it only ended up injecting more into your system. More worries, more insecurities, more pain.

And it’s over, you know it is. He listened when you asked him to stop, and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not interested in you, that you were less than a fling, that you were just a possibility that never came true. That you were nothing. And yet… you’re not ready to let it go. To let go of whatever sliver of hope you’ve held onto.

But then you think of Jake at the restaurant, how easily he’d brushed it all off, how he’d said friends. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not really. He’d just wanted to get it out of the way. And he’s so confident, so sure of what he wants, and if he wanted you… then he would have gone after you by now.

You know he would have.

So you smile and say, “Are you a naval aviator?”

Jason seems surprised by that, but he nods his head. “Yes, Ma’am. Just graduated Top Gun a few weeks ago.”

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

Jason laughs. “Not the reaction I usually get. Are you not a big fan of pilots, then?”

“Not particularly,” you say. “I don’t think they’re good for my mental health. Or the environment.” 

And then he laughs, and his dimple distracts you, and it’s light and not heavy, and it feels simple in a way you’ve been missing.

So you let him buy you a drink. And you let him flirt with you. And you try, try, try your best to forget about the anxiety gnawing at your bones, about the voice telling you it’s wrong, about everything that’s holding you back.

You just want to be normal. You just want to have fun. You just want to be free of the ghosts haunting you.

And in a way, it’s easy. Jason isn’t aggressive like Jake was, isn’t so handsome it seems like a miracle he’s even looking at you. He’s nice and funny and a little bit boring, and that’s good, boring is good because boring is normal, it’s trivial, it’s safe.

Hesitantly, you place a hand on Jason’s arm and bask in the way it feels when he smiles at you.

And then the intrusive thought comes, unbidden, unstoppable, bleak: If Jake were here…

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

+

Jake is having an aneurism.

That’s the only logical explanation for any of this. He feels like somebody is peeling his skin off like he’s an orange.

“Yo, Hangman!” 

A hand starts wiping up and down through the air right in front of him rapidly, and Jake blinks against the blur of colors it leaves on his vision.

“There you are, dude,” Payback says, laughing. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake mutters, turning back to his friends. “You’re just not that interesting, Payback.”

Way less interesting than that scene unfolding near the bar, at least. But also decidedly less prone to provoke Jake into committing arson, so probably the safer choice.

“What are you looking at anyway?” Payback inquires, getting on his tippy-toes to look across everybody else’s heads.

Jake just manages to catch him by a shoulder and force him in the opposite direction. The last thing he needs is to get shit for this, too. He’s already got enough to deal with by just trying to untangle the thicket of his own emotions.

“I’m looking for Bob. We shouldn’t leave minors unaccompanied,” he lies, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel into his voice.

From where she is leaning against the vintage Pacman machine, Phoenix gives him a look like she isn’t buying anything that he’s putting down. But she doesn’t point it out, and Jake sort of feels like weeping in gratitude.

He takes a seat at the table next to Coyote and starts playing with the label on his beer bottle, mainly so he doesn’t feel the urge to start looking for you in the mess of the crowd again. The paper is soaked through by the condensation, crumbling into tiny balls that stick between his fingers when he rubs too hard.

“So, day after tomorrow, huh?” Fanboy says. “Gonna know our fate. You nervous, Hangman?”

The worst part is, Hangman - Hangman, of all people, whose life for the past ten years has revolved around little more than the Navy, than his plane, than his performance up in the air - has pretty much forgotten that the day after tomorrow they’d announce who was about to go on the mission that could potentially become the most important of his career. It’s just that there are much more imminent, pressing things happening right here, right now. Like some dude chatting you up with what are probably the sleaziest lines you’ve ever heard just a few steps away.

He clears his throat. “Why would I be nervous?” he asks, but it lacks his usual edge. “I’m going anyways, no question about it.”

“I don’t know,” Rooster interjects. “You’ve been flying sort of shitty the past week.”

Jake’s fingers clench around the neck of the bottle.

“No shittier than you, Bradshaw. You fly like you’re trying to let senior citizens pass through traffic.”

Payback frowns. “You okay, Hang? That barely made any sense.”

Truthfully, Jake is so distracted he can’t even concentrate enough to come up with something that’ll really piss Rooster off. Not when you’re right there, and he’s not the one making you laugh. Not when he asked you to be friends while really all he can think about is you underneath him with that glazed look in your eyes he’s put there once before, you moaning his name, you in his shirt, you with your mouth wrapped around his…

“Hangman!” That’s Phoenix, now sitting next to Rooster, looking like she’s about an inch from slapping him over the head with her beer bottle. “I asked you a question.”

“Huh?”

Everybody’s staring at him. He’s still trying not to look at the bar.

“I said,” Phoenix repeats, speaking deliberately slow like she’s scared he won’t understand otherwise, “that I don’t want to see any physical fights. So we’re all going to accept the decision tomorrow. Get it, Bagman?”

He shrugs. Right now, he’s so decidedly uninterested in who goes on that mission he can’t imagine even getting upset about it.

“Fine by me,” he mutters and moves to take a sip of his beer. Only, when he tips his head back, it brings the bar right into his line of sight.

And there you are, sitting almost in the exact same spot you were the very first night he approached you. Back in one of those dresses, the ones that drive him insane, the ones playing much more prominent roles in his late-night fantasies than he’d ever like to admit. Legs crossed primly and tucked to the side, all that smooth, soft skin, and Jake can’t stop himself, can’t not imagine getting to run his mouth down the line of that leg, can’t not imagine taking that dress off you, can’t not imagine making you whimper for him, again and again and…

A pale hand lands on the small of your back, just half an inch from where the dress drops low to expose that skin he was just thinking about, and Jake feels like somebody sucker-punched him.

“Okay, somebody switch seats with me right now,” he says, and his voice has climbed to unprecedented heights. It just bursts out of him.

It startles Bob so much he almost drops his beer. Liquid goes sloshing all over Coyote’s lap, who yelps, jumps up, and dumps half his whiskey over Payback in the process. In the ensuing mayhem, everybody seems to forget about the culprit.

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

She looks at him with the sort of knowing, accusatory eyes that make him think he should be on his knees begging for forgiveness or something.

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

And then a hand ghosts over his shoulder, fingernails painted a delicate pink, and for a second, he hopes, thinks he’s going to turn around and find you there, smiling at him, eyes shining, but it’s a different face that greets him. His heart, soaring for a moment, plummets to the ground.

He’s seen the girl around the bar a few times before. She’s pretty. The type he’d go for usually, the kind of pretty thing he’d fuck and leave and never think about again.

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes the corners of her painted mouth curl up like the lower half of a heart. “I’ve seen you around. Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s the sort of straightforward behavior he prefers usually. Hangman has never been much for playing it coy, for insecurity. He likes someone who goes after what they want, who knows what they want. At least he’s always thought he did.

For a second, he can see it: a little bit of flirting, some coy touches, letting her take him home, getting his rocks off, then disappearing forever.

But his heart just isn’t in it. The whole thing feels empty. Useless. Wrong.

So he shrugs her hand off, gives her a polite smile, and says, “Maybe some other time.”

The girl is drunk enough that she doesn’t care much, just shrugs and saunters off to find someone more accepting of her advances.

When Jake turns to face his friends again, Coyote is gaping at him with his mouth hanging open.

“What?” Jake asks, for the first time in his life actually uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s receiving.

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

“Cause you just…” Payback looks seriously concerned. “You just turned down a pretty girl, man. Are you feeling okay?”

And that’s when Jake realizes what just happened. With a dawning sort of horror, he sets his bottle down on the table and stares at the condensation rings, the crumpled napkins, the half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His head is spinning.

So, like… what the fuck?

Since Jake finally got to move out of his parent’s house, since he got out from under the gaze of his father - always judging, always finding him lacking - since he joined the Navy and found out that he’s one of the most talented pilots they’ve ever had, he’s had a pretty good idea of who he is.

Arrogant, sure. Cocky, even. Abrasive, at times, calculated, cunning. But with enough skill to back all of it up a hundred times. He knows he’s handsome, knows he can get any girl he wants, and he enjoys that. Basks in it. Based half his personality on it.

So Hangman knows who he is. Knew it perfectly well, right up until the moment he met you.

And just like that, he’s going not just after an inexperienced girl but a girl who might not even like him, and he keeps telling himself it’s just about the chase, just because you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and there’s something exciting about getting someone who doesn’t make it easy, but it’s starting to sound like a bad excuse, because then why did he ask you to be friends just so he could stay close to you, why did he tell you things he’s never told a soul, why did he feel like the earth was shattering beneath him when you said he was a good pilot? Why can’t he stop thinking of you?

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?” 

Even Rooster sounds genuinely concerned, but Jake doesn’t hear him. Not really, at least.

Because up at the bar, the guy has leaned in even closer, leaned all the way into your space (and Jake just knows he stinks of beer and sweat, and his palms are probably damp where he’s groping your waist), and is whispering something into your ear and you’re giggling, and Jake sees full-on, deep, deep scarlet.

He’s out of his seat before he can register it, halfway through the bar before he remembers moving. Elbowing people out of the way and probably spilling more than one drink in his path. He doesn’t care. In fact, he doesn’t even notice.

All his attention is laser-focused on you and all the places that dirtbag is touching you.

“Alright,” he says much too forcefully when he finally reaches the bar and slaps his hands onto the countertop with a noise so loud it almost has you jumping out of your seat. “I think I told Penny all her drinks are on my tab. Like perpetually. Eternally. Whatever, pick one.”

The poor, unassuming bartender stares at him. “I… Who are you, Sir, like I…?”

Jake ignores him. He turns to face you and the douchebag, both of you staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Now he’s a little concerned his smile might look like a serial killer about to woo his newest victim.

“Uhm,” you say slowly, glancing at the guy behind you, “Hangman….”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupts before you can even get out a complete sentence, “I told you you can call me Jake.”

You pause. Then you start again, “Jake….”

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He leans around you, offering a hand. “I’m Hangman.”

The guy blinks. “Yeah, hi. Jason. Nice to meet you.”

Jake nods, shakes his hand, then turns to you. Bends down to press a kiss to your cheek, lingers for too long. Draws back and basks in the stunned look on your face, the wide eyes, just for a moment.

“You sleep well after last night?” he asks. “You must have been exhausted.”

And he’s laying it on thick, he knows he is. Leaves his hand resting on your shoulder for too long, lets his thumb stroke over your collarbone in a slow, drawn-out movement just for the hell of it.

He can’t explain it. It’s just… it’s just that he can’t forget the guy’s hands all over you. It’s just that he can’t forget your face last night, bathed in the moonlight, your laughter that made him think his chest was caving in. It’s just that he feels if somebody else makes you laugh like that, he may never be happy again.

“I don’t…” You blink up at him, face almost entirely blank. “What?”

One of his hands lands on your thigh, just above the knee, half on the fabric of your dress, half on the warm skin of your leg. And it’s pushing it, he knows that, but it’s not like he decided to touch you. It’s more of an instinct, a reassurance to himself. You’re there. You haven’t left.

Not yet, anyway.

He can see the way Jason looks at you. He knows that look, knows exactly what he wants to do, and it lights a fire inside of him, something pathetic and possessive and uncalled for.

And all he can think is: That guy won’t treat you right, I can do it better, I know what you like, I know it, I see it, I know you…

But apart from his own ego, apart from the cocky part of him that knows he’s got you pegged, knows he could set you off and have you coming on his tongue, his fingers, his cock quicker than you could make sense of, there’s something else there too. A strange, unfamiliar protectiveness. Something that makes him think: What if this guy hurts you?

Not because you’re fragile, not because you don’t know yourself, but because Jake knows you. Has seen you. 

Knows this runs deeper than anything else, even if he doesn’t know what that means. Even if it scares him shitless.

He can’t let some other guy take you home. He just can’t.

“Hangman,” Jason says, leaning across you and giving Jake a small, almost shy smile. “Man, you’re a legend.”

“I…” Jake was prepared to hit him with something else bordering on rude, but this throws him for a loop. “What?”

“At Top Gun. Everybody talks about you all the time. It’s an honor to meet you.” 

The guy’s eyes are positively glowing, his cheeks ruddy with alcohol and excitement. Jake, who was hellbent on hating him, suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

“I’m sorry, by the way.” The guy - boy, some spiteful part of Jake things - gestures in your general direction. For a second, Jake feels indignant on your behalf before he realizes he’s the one responsible for this. “I didn’t realize this was your girl. Backing up right away. Sorry.”

With raised hands, he disappears into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the sea of uniforms.

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

You’ve slid half out of your seat, gathering your bag from where you’ve draped it over the back of the chair by the strap.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to help you but withdrawing his hands immediately when you whirl to face him.

There’s something on your face, something he’s never seen before, and with his stomach dropping down to his knees, he wonders suddenly and belatedly if he may have miscalculated severely.

That night at the bar, when you’d walked up to him and told him to leave you alone, it had been a little like somebody had pulled the ground right from beneath his feet. Like that magic trick with the tablecloth, only this one had been bad and botched and bungled, all the china and the glasses and the cutlery falling and smashing.

And yet the way you’d looked at him… He could have sworn you weren’t telling the truth. 

Jake isn’t dumb, fuck what Phoenix says, and he’s been with enough girls to recognize desire when he sees it. So he was almost entirely sure you were lying when you told him to leave you alone.

But then… what if that had just been his own hope? Building nothing into something. Wanting you to want him the same way he wants you.

In the end, what he thought you wanted didn’t matter. All he had to go off were your words, and those were clear enough. The choice needed to be yours, or it meant nothing.

And Jake was a lot - bastard, asshole, fuckboy - but he wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want. Never.

So he’d let up. He’d listened to you. He’d tried to pull back. Even as it had hurt him in a way he could not explain. Even as it had broken him apart.

And then Maverick and Penny had to meddle, and he’d gotten to know you in a way he hadn’t planned for at all. Had learned that he didn’t just want you, he liked you. Wanted to keep listening to you as you rambled on and on in intelligible loops about books you liked. Wanted to read them, wanted to talk to you about them. Wanted to make those dreams come true: buy you that house with the blue door, give you that dog.

He can’t understand it. He can’t explain it. All he knows is he wants to be close to you.

But with the way you’re looking at him right now, pure, unadulterated anger on your face, he realizes you might not feel the same way at all.

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused. “What did I do?”

This is not his day at all. Or his week. In fact, he’s not sure it has been his month.

You frown at him for a moment, completely silent, and it unsettles Jake in a way he can’t explain. 

He’s always known who he is, has been so sure of it, but now, with you… It’s like you make him question everything.

“I’m going home,” you say, pushing past him and heading for the door.

He’s too dazed to move for a moment, and then he’s chasing after you, trying to recapture his earlier speed but failing. It’s gotten even more crowded in here, every available inch of space occupied with sweaty bodies. He calls your name, but you don’t turn.

By the time he catches up to you, you’re out in the parking lot.

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

You whirl on him with a murderous expression on your face. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Don’t call me that,” you say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Since you first met, the two of you have been exchanging sharp remarks. You have teased, you have taunted, you have circled around each other like wild cats around prey. Always toeing the line between flirting and fighting. Always toeing the line between foreplay and sparring. A tightrope act.

But this tips the scales decidedly. There’s nothing coquettish about it, nothing good-natured. The words have teeth, have fangs, have claws. They sink into his heart with perfect precision.

“I…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was…” He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. Tries to grin but thinks it might end up as more of a grimace. “I was saying hello.”

You shake your head before he’s finished his sentence. “No, you weren’t. You were ruining my night. You always… you always have to ruin my nights.”

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

“I just…” Jake realizes he might have to explain this to you. Or at least attempt to, since he doesn’t even know what his explanation would be. “That’s not a good guy.”

You glance back at the bar, and an incredulous expression spreads across your face. 

“That?” you repeat, voice rising. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

“So? I wasn’t… I wasn’t about to marry him.”

Jake’s chest feels tight. He’s breathless when he asks, “What were you going to do with him, then?”

“I was…” You shake your head suddenly, breaking off halfway through the sentence, changing course. “That’s none of your business!”

“Yeah, it is!” he protests, but he knows he’s in the wrong. Still, he can’t stop himself. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Oh my god!” You throw your hands into the air, and he’s never seen you so upset. Everything that came before now seems only like a crude imitation. This, though… this is true, genuine anger. “Stop it. He’s… he’s just a cocky pilot, you’re not that different….”

Somehow, the comparison has Jake clenching his teeth. He amends, “He’s not good for you, then.”

For a moment, your face goes slack, and he knows he’s just said the wrong thing.

“That is notyour decision,” you say, voice suddenly quiet and all the more dangerous for it. “That’s no one’s decision but my own.”

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that. 

You’ll always make your own choices. He hasn’t had a shred of an illusion to the opposite even for a moment, hasn’t even wanted it any other way. You will always go your own way.

You’re so much stronger than you realize. Going on after losing your mother. Giving up a whole life. Starting over a million miles away without family, without friends, without anything but yourself.

It’s what he admires. It’s what drives him insane.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says because it’s the truth. “You’re my friend.”

Something on your face shatters. 

“Friend,” you whisper dispassionately. “Sure.”

You rub your hand over your face, and suddenly you look so tired. All he wants is to wrap you in his arms, tug you closer, take you home. Make sure you’re okay.

“Hangman,” you say softly, almost gently. “I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can be your friend.”

And it’s fear coursing through him. Naked, unmistakable fear.

If he can’t see you again, what will he do? This new Jake, the one who’s unsure about everything unless he’s right next to you, that new Jake… what will he do?

How can he go back to how he used to be when it’s like slipping into a costume that doesn’t fit anymore?

“My name is Jake,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he needs to hear you say it. “I want you to call me Jake.”

“Stop it!” Your voice is louder again, an edge of desperation creeping into it. “Everybody else calls you Hangman, who cares if I….”

“You’re not everybody else!” It just… slips out. And then it’s out in the open, and he can’t believe he said it, doesn’t know where it came from, only knows that it’s the truth. “Not to me.”

You’re staring at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers tangled in the straps of your bag.

And you’re so beautiful, even in this empty parking lot, even in the unflattering light of the street lamps. Even with the sweat pooling at your hairline and the anger in your eyes.

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

But he’s shaking his head. He let you go once, but now… now he has to… he has to…

“You’re special,” he says, even as you’re shaking your head. “You are to me, sweetheart, you are, you….”

“You said it meant nothing,” you blurt out, then shut your mouth with an audible click of your teeth as if you wish you could clamp the words back in somehow.

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

You take a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and then you say, “That night when I told you to leave me alone. You told Coyote that this… thing between us. That it was nothing.”

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

“I… I did?” he asks, words slow, sluggish, like he’s thrusting them forward through the mud.

Your face falls. You say, voice almost a whisper, “You don’t even remember, do you?”

He wants to say no, I do, of course, I do. He wants to protest.

But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s lie to you.

Truth is, he doesn’t know at all what he said. The moments after your confrontation in the bar are shrouded in a fog of confusion for him. He was just trying to make sense of what you’d said, untangle the mess of his mind. He was just trying to save face.

It’s not nothing, he should tell you. It was never nothing.

But then, if it’s not nothing… what is it? This thing between us, you’d called it.

Jake doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t even understand why he can’t just let you go the way he usually does. He could just turn around, go back inside, find some other pretty girl, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

I think of you when I go to sleep and when I’m touching myself, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I carry you with me up into the plane, into the sky, into the clouds. I want to sit with you in bars and in restaurants and on beaches. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want, I want, I want…

There’s pain on your face, something raw, something real.

Jake can’t breathe.

“I’m leaving,” you say, and then you just stand there for a moment, looking at him almost like you expect him to say something.

He seems to have lost all ability to speak. You purse your lips, your eyes waterlogged, and then you turn on your heel and walk to the car.

Jake stands in the gravel of the parking lot until the headlights of your car have faded into the dark of the night. Then he trots back into the bar blindly, finds their now mostly deserted table at the back, and slumps into a chair.

He feels empty.

Phoenix’s face appears in his vision after what could have been five minutes or five hours, almost comically large.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Jake says, but his voice sounds like a stranger’s.

Immediately, Phoenix squats down to look at him better. “What?”

He points at his chest, where it feels like a tiger is on a rampage. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My chest.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Phoenix, I think I fucked up. Like… big time.”

Her face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. She asks, a tinge of panic edging into her voice, “Did you drink too much? Hangman?”

He shakes his head. “I think I hurt her. I don’t know, I… I think I fucked it up.”

She searches his face for a moment, and then she’s straightening up, taking Hangman by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. Her grip is like a vice around his wrist, and he yelps.

“Alright,” she says, “you’re coming with me. Now.”

Jake would have protested, but the look Phoenix gives him shuts him right up. If there’s anybody he’s ever met capable of coldblooded homicide, it’s Natasha Trace.

So he lets himself be tugged into the last corner not yet wholly occupied by people past the halfway point to intoxication.

Phoenix lets go of his wrist in favor of stemming her hands into her hips. He’s pretty sure he’ll find bruises on his skin come morning.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Jake asks, even though he has a pretty sure idea where this is going.

“Don’t… meddle, okay. You had your chance, you blew it. Let her move on.”

“It’s not…” He struggles. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Phoenix repeats. God, she really is capable of violence, he knows it, and she’s not far from resorting to it. “Are you stupid, Hangman?”

He opens his mouth, but she’s already plowing on.

“Friends don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip their clothes off and go at it in crowded bars, Jacob.”

Jacob. The last time somebody called him that was when his mom caught him trying to sneak out of the window at sixteen to go see a band with his first girlfriend. He got grounded for three weeks.

Somehow, he thinks Phoenix won’t be that merciful.

“Like… obviously you have some kind of feelings for her, but….”

He doesn’t even hear the rest of what she says. Her mouth keeps moving, but none of her words reach his ears. All he can hear is a high, whistling noise cutting clean through his eardrums.

“Hold on,” he interrupts, “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Phoenix pauses for a moment, staring at him like he’s trying to convince her the earth is flat.

“Jake,” she says - not Hangman, not Bagman, not even Jacob, and hoooh boy, he’s in for it now - slowly, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says.

Phoenix blinks. Takes a moment. Another. Then she says, almost carefully, “Jake, you can’t be that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

It’s not the first time she’s called him stupid, but it might be the first time she actually means it.

And Jake would protest, only he feels pretty stupid right about now, too.

“Please…” She touches her forehead like she has a headache and exhales loudly, slowly. “Please tell me you’re not honestly stupid enough not to know.”

“Know what?” Jake asks, and he’s never felt less like himself.

He’s in control of things. He takes risks gladly, but they’re always calculated. Things don’t just… fly under his radar.

But right now, he feels like he missed something profound.

Phoenix looks at him with what could be either pity or actual hatred.

“Jake,” she says, enunciating each word with perfect precision, “you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” he says, almost automatically, and he’s so dizzy.

Phoenix waves his words away with a quick jerk of her hand. 

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone, Jake,” she tells him. “When you’re with her, how do you feel?”

“I feel…” And he can’t believe he’s talking about this, but in a way, it makes sense. Maybe Phoenix is the only person he could ever tell this. Phoenix, who has always seen through him and all his bravado. “When I’m with her, it’s like… like I can just be myself, you know? And I want… I want to know her. Everything about her, even the bad things, but I want her to know me, too. Not just Hangman but… Jake. And I want to… I just want to be with her all the time. I want to tell her about, like, everything, even the little things that I’d never tell somebody else, and I…. When I’m with her, it doesn’t feel like I need to prove anything. It’s like I can just be. I’ve never… never felt that before.”

His voice trails off.

The irritation has bled out of Phoenix’s face, making way for something softer, smoother, something almost tender. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Bagman,” she says, voice halfway to affectionate, “you know what that means.”

For a few moments, he just breathes.

And yeah, he does. In a way, maybe he’s known for a while now, at least since the set-up, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. That it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. That it’s so much more than nothing. That it’s so much, it scares him.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t instantaneous. It crept up on him. You permeated his life in stages, and now you’re everywhere.

At first, he just thought you were pretty, thought he could get into your pants and out of your life in the span of a night. But you gave as good as you got, kept pushing back, and suddenly it was like a personal quest to get you to give in. You looked up at him on the beach behind the Hard Deck through eyes as scared as they were determined, and something shifted. Not profound yet, not significant, but the first domino to drop in a long, long, long line.

And somewhere, at some moment, he could no longer pinpoint, the game he’d played had ended, and he hadn’t even noticed. The last domino had toppled.

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

“I’m in love with her?” he says, almost a question with how his voice rises towards the tail-end of the sentence.

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him. 

“Oh God,” he says. “Then I… then I really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agrees through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I think you really did.”

+

It’s the hottest day of the year, and the aircon at the gas station breaks down.

The heat is unbearable. You stripped off your employee vest hours ago, but it barely helps. The single fan you found in the back oscillates stale air through the room.

You’re counting down the minutes until the end of your shift, until you can drive aimless circles through town just to bask in the cool of your car. Until you can drown in your own self-pity and another family-size serving of pasta and the dark thoughts swirling around you like storm clouds.

Your boss has disappeared into the back room, and it’s only five more minutes until you’re off, so you trek towards the cold drinks section and wonder if you should spend the few extra dollars on an iced tea. When the bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer, you’re still standing undecided in front of the opened fridge, letting cool air caress your face.

Phoenix is in civilian clothes, her hair released from its tight bun for the first time. It falls in glossy waves down to her shoulder blades as she smiles at you warmly.

“Hi.”

“Oh.” The sight of her makes something in your stomach clench uncomfortably. Couldn’t she have come in five minutes later? You’d have been gone by then. “Hi…”

“Penny said you’d be here.”

You blink. “You… were you looking for me?”

Phoenix nods and steps up to the register to look at the cheap sunglasses on display.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says casually.

The fear of it all creeps up on you, and then it envelopes you. You’ve been trying and failing to push it to the very back corners of your mind for the past day, keeping your hands busy in hopes it would keep your head idle. Pretending you weren’t constantly replaying last night in your head - the bar, the parking lot, the anger, and the ridiculousness of it all. Jake saying you’re special, and then not even remembering the moment he’d broken your heart. Looking helpless in a way you’d never seen before.

In the rearview mirror, growing rapidly smaller and further until he disappeared completely, Jake looked almost like a little child.

“You and Hangman had a fight,” Phoenix says, and it’s not even a question. Just a statement.

“Yeah,” you agree because it doesn’t feel like there’s much sense in arguing. And no reason to, either.

Phoenix nods and watches as you round the counter. For some reason, you feel it’s not a bad idea to get some distance between you and her for this conversation. The counter is like a barrier.

“Hangman is…” Phoenix hesitates. “Hangman is an idiot.”

“No, he isn’t.” The words are out before you can stop them, and then frustration almost makes you bite your tongue. “He… he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you hate him.”

You swallow, look away. Shrug your shoulders. “No, I… I don’t know.”

None of this matters. After last night, you’re never going to see him again.

For a long, long while, Phoenix is silent. And then she says, “He’s in love with you.”

And it should be earth-shattering, world-stops-spinning, music-stars-playing. But they’re just words.

Your heart is racing.

“He…” You shake your head. It’s a cliff, the plummet beneath you, your fingers gripping the edge for dear life. You want to believe her so very, very badly, but your common sense tells you it can’t be true. “He barely knows me.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, chuckling, then shakes her head. “I know, but… you have to understand… This is something special. I mean, this is Hangman we’re talking about… he doesn’t open up to people.”

You think about sitting side by side out on the beach. Sharing secrets before you let the waves carry them out to sea. Spilling your heart into his hands and trusting him with it. Realizing, suddenly, that he had done the same.

“I think…” Phoenix’s voice has gone very gentle. “I think you’re very similar. You and him.”

A week ago, you would have laughed at her. Just five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed her. And now…

You fall.

When you think about it, it’s not so far-fetched. Jake, up in those clouds. You, down on the ground. In the end, you’re both lonely. In the end, you’re both afraid.

“Anyway.” She smiles at you and pushes off the register. “I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Something inside you stumbles. 

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

“Yeah, we’re shipping out tomorrow morning.”

“Shipping…” Suddenly, it takes tremendous effort to breathe. “What?”

Phoenix pauses, furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t Jake tell you? About the mission?”

“What mission?”

Phoenix groans, shaking her head. “See, I told you. He really is an idiot.”

+

Jake looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. The dark bags beneath his eyes have bloomed into purplish bruising overnight, and he blinks at you almost owlishly.

 “Why weren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That’s the first thing you say to him, and it’s not at all what you were planning in the car on the way here. It slips out the moment you see him, and your voice isn’t firm or strong at all, it’s a small, fragile thing. A teacup teetering on the edge of a moving tray, about to shatter.

He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “How did you get here?”

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

Jake has rented a place on the second floor of a modern apartment complex off base. It’s so much nicer than the house you’re living in, with stairs that don’t creak, no mildew in the hallway, and locks that look like they actually work.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and you sound out of breath. It’s not even because of the stairs you just took two steps at a time. “Why weren’t you?”

Jake exhales audibly, nods once, and opens the door wider. “You wanna come inside?”

Only now do you notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung almost as low as his swim trunks were that day on the beach. Hastily, you snap your eyes away, head already spinning.

You push past him and into the apartment, careful not to touch any of his skin. Who knows what other unhinged things that might drive you to do?

His apartment is neat, tidy, clean, but that doesn’t surprise you much. It’s also obviously a rental, lacking any personal touches except for a few shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door and his Top Gun diploma and plaque displayed on a dresser. Of course Jake travels with those, you think, almost grinning. He’d never miss out on a chance to show off.

There’s an aircon blasting somewhere, and you almost crumble to your feet with gratitude.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, heading towards what you suppose to be the kitchen. “I have… water? I’d offer to make you a Mojito, but I don’t think I have any limes. Or any rum. Or any mint, so…”

“Can you…” You falter and watch as he pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the wood. “Can you just explain it to me?”

His shoulders lift and lower with his breaths. After a moment that feels endless, he turns to face you.

“Explain it to you?”

You nod. “Why you didn’t tell me. Why you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, unperturbed, but there’s something affective to the movement, something almost performative.

“After last night… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re shaking your head, jaw clenching. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? That you’re about to go on some, some… stupid top-secret mission, that you might die, that….”

He interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t matter. I’m not…”

“Of course it matters!” Your voice is shaking. “It matters! It changes… everything.”

He squints at you. “How could it change anything?”

“It… it changes things because….” You stumble, try to find the words that elude you. “Because I thought we’d have more time.”

“More time?” Something about his voice is almost hopeful. “I thought you… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He’s right. You didn’t. At least you thought you didn’t. You thought the best thing you could possibly ever do for yourself, for him, was to stay as far away from Jake Seresin as possible. In a change-your-name-and-leave-the-country kind of way.

And then Phoenix walked into that gas station, and losing him had suddenly seemed so real, had gone from a distant fever dream to reality, and you didn’t have much choice anymore. All you wanted was to see him again. All you wanted was for him to call you sweetheart, smile and flirt and tease. Even if it drove you crazy. Even if it was the last time.

“Hangman…” You shake your head, correct yourself, “Jake, I… Do you like me?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you knocked at his door, and something in his expression changes. Without hesitation, without a slither of doubt in his words, he says, “Of course. Of course, I like you.”

You have to sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from jumping several paces ahead. In your chest, your heart speeds up.

“And not just…” you pause, the word carnally already on your tongue. “It’s not that you just want to fuck me?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “No. Not at all. Yeah, sure, that’s what it was about in the beginning, but then… I just… It started changing, and I’d never felt that, and I… I think I got scared.”

“You got scared?” you ask, not unaware of the note of disbelief in your voice. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jake could ever be scared. Someone so confident, so brilliant.

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s a glimpse of the Jake you know, the one who drives you to the brink of insanity, “I’ll take that shock as a compliment.”

It’s a white-hot relief to find that he can still joke with you. That not all of the relationship you’ve built has washed away in the torrent of the last few weeks. 

“It’s just…” You look for a way to explain it. “I don’t know. You just always seemed like you had everything figured out.”

That makes him laugh, and you stare at his face scrunching up, his eyes shining. He says, “I’ve got nothing figured out. I haven’t even figured out what to eat for dinner tonight.”

You laugh. Even through all of it, he can still make you laugh. Even though nothing is resolved, even though you don’t understand any of it, he can always, always make you laugh. Even when you don’t want to. Even back when you still swore you hated him.

Jake settles down, and something darker crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is almost hesitant.

“I’ve never… I’ve just never done something like this?”

“Like this?” you ask softly. 

Neither of you has ever defined this thing between you. You’re scared now, scared he has a different idea about it. Maybe you don’t want to hear his answer, want to live just a moment longer in this fantasy where Phoenix is right, where he likes you, where he wants you the same way you want him.

Carnally, romantically, wholly. Just… all of him. The good, the bad, the worst. The parts that drive you insane with anger and the ones that drive you insane with lust. The way he can break you apart and put you back together.

If he calls you his friend again now, if he says it was nothing… You don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know that you won’t just break apart.

“Like this,” Jake repeats. “Something real.”

And your heart soars.

“Real?” you whisper, voice so quiet you think he can’t possibly have heard it.

Jake nods. “Real.”

“So it…” You trail off, shake your head, try again, “So it wasn’t nothing?”

He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And there’s none of his bravado, none of his cockiness. The armor is discarded, the mask is off, and there’s just Jake beneath it, not some hotshot pilot who’s got it all figured out, but a man, one who’s a dumbass at times and broken in so many ways and just as scared as you are.

You’ve never felt the way you feel about him before. Not once in your life.

“No,” he says, “it was never nothing to me. I’m sorry I said that. I know I hurt you, and it’s not an excuse, but I just… I just said it because I got scared. Because you dumped me, and honestly, I was hurt, and I liked you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had all of these doubts, and I didn’t understand it, but… It was never nothing, sweetheart. It was… everything.”

He shrugs, something on his face that tells you he’s embarrassed by his own earnestness, uncomfortable with it, but your ears are ringing with that word. You can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face - broad and genuine and a relief after all these days in that prison of your room. Like stepping into the light after all the darkness. Like setting foot into airconditioned climates after hours out in the Californian heat.

And Jake smiles back, like a reflex, like a magnet. If you move, I move.

He’s made a step, and now it’s your turn.

So gather all your courage, that slithery, dodgy thing that’s been eluding you for months, and you grab it by the neck and thrust it forward, say, “Jake, I think I’m in love with you.”

His face goes completely blank, and with a sudden, horrid lurch, you think that maybe you’ve miscalculated, maybe it’s too much, maybe…

You backpedal, “I know it’s way too early, and I don’t really know you, and maybe in a month I find out you don’t like peanut butter, and I can never speak to you again, but this has never happened to me before, Jake, and I’m terrified, I’m so scared, but I just know I wanna be with you, I wanna figure it out together, and I hope you feel the same way, because, because I… I think I…”

“I like peanut butter,” Jake interrupts you. When you blink at him through the haze your rambling has plunged you into, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The sort of grin you have never seen him give to anyone but you.

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

“In fact,” he says, moving closer to you, “I love peanut butter.”

“Yeah?” 

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, as you tip your face up, as your heart pounds, as your vision blurs, “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

And you don’t want to start crying, but you can’t help it. They just well up, like all those emotions you’ve been swallowing down for months now, longer than you’ve known him really, have finally ballooned into something too big for your body to hold, looking for any way out.

Jake frowns, wiping at a teardrop from your cheek like he’s trying to get an annoying stain off his laptop screen. Only like… a little gentler.

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

You laugh, a water, bubbling sound. “No, it’s… it’s not… it’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, looking down at you with his eyebrows raised way too high for it to be anything than exaggerated. “I confess my love, and you think it’s fine? Jesus, romance really is dead.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already, Bagman, or I’m gonna strangle you, I swear I will, I’m not….”

You don’t get to finish.

Kissing Jake isn’t at all like you imagined. He’s soft but firm, and yet you can tell, underneath it all, that he’s almost nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know at all how to proceed now that it’s actually real. That it means something.

All that cockiness melted away.

It’s so strange, but suddenly you realize that maybe, just for a moment, you’re going to have to take over. So you wrap your arms around his waist, draw him closer, draw him in, open your mouth beneath his and sigh into it all.

Jake comes willingly, follows your pace easily, smoothly, casually. The way he does everything. Ready to take anything you throw his way.

Finally, something inside of you seems to whisper. There’s an ache, a yearning, something that swells inside of you, grows bigger and stronger by the minute. You’ve never wanted someone this bad. It’s finally happening.

All that waiting, all that wishing and hoping and dreaming… It was worth it, you think. All of it.

His hands are warm on your cheeks, and they feel large, in a way that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are a little chapped, but he tastes sweet as if he’s been eating chocolate. He angles your face back a little more, his tongue running along the seam of your mouth, his fingers clenching into your hair, and your heart seizes as you think, suddenly, how close you came to losing this, to never having it at all, to missing out on it, and it’s so… it’s so…

You pull back when the intrusive thought inserts itself into the moment, when the anxiety makes your bones itch, look at him and say in a voice that seems to come from miles, worlds, universes away, “You’re not going to die, are you?”

It’s all you can think about - your mother fading away, flowers raining on an open grave, and being alone, alone, alone…

But Jake just smiles, rubs his thumb once along the line of your cheekbone, and says, “And miss out on getting to kiss you, sweetheart? Not a chance.”

And you haven’t belonged anywhere in so long. Have been so lonely, so broken, for so long you thought you’d never feel any different again. But here, right now, with him solid before you, with the knowledge that it’s real, it’s true, it’s not a game, and it’s not in your head, it doesn’t feel so horrible.

Because Jake knows you. Not just the pretty parts, but the ugly ones too.

How you push people away. How your fear paralyzes you sometimes, makes you mean and closed-off, and makes you lie. To him, to yourself, to everyone.

Jake has seen it, and he’s wanted you regardless.

And maybe that’s just it… how he can calm that anxiety with a word. Not banish it, not erase it, but silence that nagging, gnawing, horrible voice you’ve carried with you for so long. Make it bearable.

You’re going to die if you don’t have him. And yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but who cares? If the past few weeks have shown anything, it’s that you and Jake aren’t just good with the dramatics… you excel at them.

“I did it,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret the words, clamp your mouth shut and feel the blood rush up into your cheeks.

Jake draws back a little to get a better look at you. “Done what?”

And you could kiss him for taking it all in stride. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

Actually, you could kiss him just for… well, existing. But his ego is big enough already; he really doesn’t need to know all that.

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly. 

“Care to be a little more specific, sweetheart?” he says gently. “I think we’ve established I don’t have the best memory.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers going to trace a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, and there’s just so much of him, so much golden skin and so much muscle and so much confidence, and you’re going to fall apart, you know you are, you’re not going to survive this. “I touched myself. The way you asked.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, an exhale, but you know he heard you. Because the reaction is visceral - fingers tightening where they have slid from your face to your waist, chest undulating with the sharp intake of breath, shoulders stiffening.

Nerves make it impossible to look at him. What if he doesn’t like it, what if…

But, as always, somehow, Jake seems to know what you need. Seems to understand without ever having to say it that now, you want this to be something else. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, fingers hooking beneath your chin and turning it upwards, “look at me.”

And you do. It’s not like you have a choice, your body reacting before your mind even registers the words.

Right now, you think, Jake could tell you to jump off a bridge, and you’d go find the nearest one for a dive.

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, hodded, an intent shining in them that scares you as much as it excites you.

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

You nod, too scared your voice might fail you to try and use it.

“So, are you ready to answer my question, then?”

You know what he means right away, which is just a testament to your memory being decidedly better than his.

Instantly, the words ghost through your mind again, wrap around you like vapor. Have you been a good girl?

“I don’t…” You clear your throat as Jake steps even closer, walks you backward until your back hits the wall, until his hips are inches from yours, until he’s crowding against you like he wants to climb into your skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s so close now, and it’s different, the whole air is different. Charged now, darker. Hot even with the aircon running.

Maybe you’re going to faint. You feel like you’re going to faint.

“I think,” Jake says, voice lowered into a mumble, “you know exactly what I mean.”

He braces both hands on the wall by your head and cages you in. It’s so reminiscent of the night out behind the shack that you would have laughed if you hadn’t been scared to move even a muscle.

Not trusting your voice, you just shake your head. And it’s an act because by now, even you have understood that that’s half the fun in this game of power Jake and you have been playing from the very moment. But you also just want to hear him say it again, have been dreaming of those words on his lips for weeks now.

Jake hums, and his breath washes over your face. There’s barely an inch between the two of you now - you can’t even think anymore.

“I know you’re smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiles, just for a moment, and it’s sweet, a little dopey, and so decidedly out of place that you realize he knows just as well as you do that you’re pretending. That he appreciates it as much as you do.

“Alright,” he whispers finally, leans closer to run his mouth over the arch of your jaw, lips barely a whisper of a touch as you strain into it, breath catching in your throat. “Sweetheart… have you been a good girl for me?”

It’s the rasp in his voice and those words and the agonizing whisper of separation between your bodies. It’s the lack and the promise and that tight, hot coil of want that writhes in the pit of your stomach.

With a gasp, you clench your thighs together in search of relief.

“I don’t know,” you say because, truthfully, you don’t. You don’t even know your own name anymore.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

“Yes,” you say, immediately, voice almost a whine, head spinning, “yes, Jake, I’ve been a good girl for you.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, entirely unaffected, face blank as he moves to card a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you think about?”

He asks it almost casually like he’s asking about the weather or your shopping list and not just which sexual fantasies you got out of the spank bank the last time you got off.

“I…” And his hand begins tracing a long, long line from your cheekbone down to your mouth, dragging across your jaw and onto your jugular. And there, just once, he presses his thumb into your pulse point. It’s the barest hint of pressure, the illusion of the rest of his fingers wrapping around your throat, but your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. 

It draws the truth right out of you.

“You,” you gasp, “I thought about you.”

Jake acknowledges it with a nod, but there’s something to be said about his eyes flicking to your mouth, about the hand still braced against the wall by your head clenching.

“What part of me?”

You want to answer, but he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your throat where his hand had been just a moment ago, and for a second, you lose all ability to speak.

“I… Your mouth?”

“My mouth?” Jake repeats, words muffled against your skin.

Pressed flat against the wall, unable to move, with your heart pounding a patter against your ribcage, you can do nothing but nod. “Yeah.”

Jake hums, and the sound vibrates through your body. By now, you must be soaking through the front of your shorts, you think.

“And where did I put it?” he asks softly, drawing back to look at you.

And there’s such… hunger on his face, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slack, and it’s going to kill you, death on impact, you’re not going to make it.

But that’s fine. What a way to go, anyway.

“On… on me,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, and it’s so… mean. You like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls. “Be specific.”

“I don’t know.” 

It’s all you can say. Who cares what you thought about that night? He’s here right now, so can’t you just do it for real instead of talking about your fantasy like this?

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “You’re not that dumb.”

And it could be crossing a line - should cross a line, maybe. You never would have thought it possible that you could be into something like this, but you are. It sets you off in a way you wouldn’t have expected, makes you weak in the knees and dizzy, and you want him on you, want him everywhere, want him more than you’ve ever wanted him before.

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

When it came down to the wire, you know you’re the one with the finger on the lever anyway. The moment you say no, stop, he’ll listen. So you’ve always been the one with the final decision.

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

“I…” You have to close your eyes, swallow against the lump in your throat. “You put it between my legs.”

He squints.

“Here?” he asks, and his hand lands on the inside of your thigh, about two inches off from where you want him.

It startles you enough that you jump, a sound of surprise falling from your mouth. And then he applies pressure, squeezes the meat of your thigh once, and you’re moaning, eyes widening with the sensation of it all.

Jake grins.

Bastard, you think, but then that thought goes out the window too, disappears in the fog that has descended on you.

“You imagined my mouth here?”

You shake your head, whimper, tip your face back and open your mouth like you can compel him to kiss you just like that.

“Be a good girl and tell me, yeah?” he whispers, but there’s something strained to his voice, something glazed to his eyes.

“No, I…” But you can’t say it. Not like this. It’s still too much, and it frustrates you, makes your eyes burn, makes your breath hitch into a gasp like you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You whimper, “Jake.”

“Shh,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then finally, because in the end, he always does, Jake takes pity on you.

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

The sound that escapes you is pathetic, barely more than a whimper, and before you know it, you’re nodding as you slump against him.

“Tell me,” he says into your ear, hand still on your thigh, mouth still against your cheek, his breaths fast and loud, “I want her you say it.”

And if you weren’t sandwiched between him and the wall, if he weren’t holding you up, you know your legs would have given out.

“You…” You swallow and take a deep breath, stell yourself, say, “You put your mouth on my pussy.”

And he groans, a loud, sudden sound that seems to burst from him unbidden like he just couldn’t hold it back. 

You’re almost stunned by it, by the discovery that he’s just as affected by all this as you are, that he wants you, too, and it does your head in, makes the world spin, makes you clutch at him a little tighter.

“You like that?” he asks, something almost frantic to his words now. “Having your pussy eaten? Does that get you off, having a tongue in your tight little cunt?”

You can’t help it. You mewl, drop your head into the crook of his neck, and wish you could stay there. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, feel it soaking through the fabric. Every move has the seam of your denim shorts pressing against your cunt, sends shocks of lightning through you, but it’s not enough, not enough, never enough.

Your heart is beating in your throat, and the embarrassment takes a moment to set in amidst the chaos of your sensations, but it comes. Eventually, the way it always does.

“I…” You falter, squeeze your eyes shut, push your face further into his neck, so grateful he can’t see you, and then you whisper, as if speaking it out loud could somehow make it more real, “I’ve never… you know… no one’s ever….” 

Instantaneously, Jake’s fingers tighten against your thigh, and then they tangle in your hair, and he pulls your head back with enough force that you can feel it, that it travels in shock waves through your scalp, all the way down to your toes.

He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Honey,” he says, and there’s something serious to the word beneath all that desire.

And you have trouble concentrating because honey, he called me honey, and your chest is so full of that feeling you only get with him, the one that makes you feel that everything will be alright, that nothing will hurt you, that you’ll be just fine.

“Honey,” he repeats, “do you trust me?”

And you don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Not even for an instant.

“Yes,” you say, and mean it. Mean it like you’ve never meant anything.

And Jake smiles, smooths your hair back, rubs his nose against yours. And then he said, “Would you let me? Would you let me put my mouth on you, would you let me eat your pussy until your legs are shaking? Would you trust me with that, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl?”

You’re going to disintegrate. It can’t be possible for one person to want another so much. It just can’t be possible.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

He makes a choked sound, and then he steps back suddenly, tugging you with him by your wrists, and you stumble against his chest, let him guide you through the apartment blindly. It’s a wonder your knees don’t give in as you stumble against him like a fawn, as he pulls you like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” you ask, head spinning in rapid circles. Like you just got off a merry-go-round.

“I’m not going to eat you out against a wall for the first time,” Jake says.

And it would be almost romantic if it weren’t so filthy, such a quick turn-around that it could give you whiplash.

“Oh.” You blink as he pulls you into his bedroom. “I thought the wall was sort of hot.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

But then he turns, lets go of your wrists, leans down to press a quick, soft kiss to your mouth that leaves you chasing after him.

Affectionately, he brushes his fingers over your cheek and says, “I’ll do it right, honey, I promise I’ll make it so good, you’ll wonder how you ever went without it. I’ll have you coming for days.”

The thing is… you don’t even doubt it.

Jake has always been able to back up all that talk. It’s one of the things you hate about him. It’s one of the things you love about him.

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

It’s so much harder when he makes you do things because that’s when the anxiety gets behind the wheel, when the doubt creeps in. But in the end, that strange instinct to listen to him, to trust him, always wins out.

You pull your shirt over your head, and you can’t look at him.

“Shorts, too,” he orders and then, almost like an afterthought, adds, “and your bra.”

Your hands are shaking so hard that you struggle with the clasp of the bra, the button on the shorts, but finally, you free yourself of both, and then you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked except for a pair of panties so wet you think you’re probably gonna have to throw them out come morning, and you’re shaking even though you feel like you’re burning up, like a fever in your blood, like a yearning in your bones.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and you want to cover yourself, but you can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there as you feel his eyes on you like hot irons, as you stare at the cologne bottles on the dresser.

What if he doesn’t like me? you think, mouth dry. What if I’m ugly.

And then Jake says, “Sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re going to cry.

“Now get on the bed and spread your legs so I can get my mouth on that gorgeous cunt.”

You’re going to have a stroke, and then you’re going to cry.

You do as he says, scooting backward on the mattress until you’re far enough up the bed to put your head on one of the pillows. Jake’s sheets are a dark blue, soft cotton, and they smell like him, like his cologne. Cinnamon and spice. The scent wraps around you, envelopes you. You clench around nothing.

If this is what his smell alone does to you, how are you going to survive his mouth on you?

The mattress dips under his weight, but you can’t look at him, keep your head on the ceiling instead. It’s all too much. It’s not nearly enough.

And then his face appears above you, and his smile is almost goofy as he leans to kiss you once, twice, three times. They’re just soft pecks, but you open your mouth and pull him down to you until you’re chest to chest, until you can feel the weight of him.

He slides his tongue into your mouth with a groan, pulls you closer with a hand on your hip. And it’s skin to skin, his palm hot and heavy, and you want him all over you, want to cover yourself in him, every inch. It’s very wet, very warm, too much spit in both your mouths, but you don’t even care, not when his teeth nip at your lower lip, when he pants against you, when it makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart right here, right now.

Finally, you get your hands on him too, on all that skin, let them run across his chest because you’re so drunk on the feeling of it all you forget even to think if you’re allowed to do this. His heart is racing beneath your palm, just as quick as yours is, and that’s a reassuring thought, that he’s affected by it all too.

Jake does something with his tongue, something that has your insides twisting, clenching like a fist, and you moan into his mouth, wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up, desperate for some kind of friction, of relief, not above humping him if that’s what it takes.

You feel it immediately - Jake is rock hard against your center, against the quick but firm pressure of your cunt, and it makes you squeak the exact moment it makes him choke.

“Jesus,” he grunts, fingers wrapping around your wrists and pushing them back into the pillow, pulling you off him and forcing you down into the mattress with a force as gentle as it is firm. “Stop distracting me, sweetheart.”

He draws back until he kneels between your legs, looming above you. All the lamps are off, but the blinds aren’t drawn, and moonlight spills like liquid mercury across the bedroom floor, across his skin. Inevitably, you think of that night out on the beach behind the Hard Deck, the light tangled in his hair, a study in blue.

“I think I remember telling you to spread these,” he says casually, tapping a single finger against your kneecap.

You want to tease him, want to say something about how his memory seems to be working pretty well of a sudden, but your brain won’t cooperate.

Instead, you do as you’re told, even as you feel like it might kill you, and spread your legs further.

Immediately, Jake’s eyes go to what lies between them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice gone husky, “you’re so wet, honey.”

If you look at him, you think your heart is going to fail, so you just keep your eyes on the ceiling. Unlike your own, it’s completely free of water stains, and that’s just about the last coherent thought you have.

Jake leans forward, maneuvering around until his chest is pressed to the mattress, one hand on your thigh, the other spread on the sheets, and then his mouth is on you.

And okay. No more teasing then. Straight to business.

Over the fabric of your panties, his tongue moves against your center, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes, open your mouth even as no sound escapes. He just mouths at you for a moment, inhales deeply like he’s trying to smell you, and the thought sets you off, has you clenching your teeth, curling your toes. Then he presses a kiss to your clit through your cotton, and you’re seeing stars. 

“Oh,” you say, and he laughs, moves away to hook his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties, pulls them off unceremoniously, helps you lift your hips. They become another piece of fabric added to the pile of your clothes when he throws them over his shoulder without looking, eyes focused only on your center.

And then he leans forward, and you’re bracing yourself, steeling yourself, but nothing could ever have prepared you for the first stroke of his tongue through your folds. It has your hips rising, hed rearing back into the pillow, mouth shaping a word that never escapes it.

Jake’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and he moans once, and then he really goes for it. Burying his whole face in it, opening his mouth like he wants to devour you, tongue wet and wide and hot on your cunt, teeth just grazing your clit as he licks broad stripes from your hole up to the apex. He sets a leisured, moderate pace like he’s got all the time in the world, but you’re pretty sure yours is running out. Five more minutes of this, and you’re a goner, and it’s all too much but not enough, and you want to get away at the same time that you want him closer, and your head is spinning, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening in the sheets.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you all but keen, fingers flying to his hair, his shoulders, your stomach. You can’t settle, can’t stop jerking, have no control over your own body anymore. All over the place, all over him, mind a mess and heart a mess and body a mess, and you can’t believe nobody’s ever done this to you before, and how have you ever lived without the feeling of Jake’s mouth on your pussy and you’re going to rip your own heart out and…

And then he catches your wrists in one hand, forcing you to look at him where he’s barely lifted his head from between your thighs. And you freeze, all the world narrowing down to nothing but his face, his voice, just him, right there with you.

He says, “I got you. I’m taking care of you, pretty girl.”

Above the sheets, by your hips, he laces his fingers through yours.

When his mouth meets your cunt again, there’s no restraint left. He fucks his tongue inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling back, your legs straining to spread even further, to the point of pain when your muscles protest, but you need him closer, deeper, harder, and you’re so empty, aching with it. The only thing grounding you are his hands, the only point of you that seems connected to reality as the rest goes floating into space, reduced to nothing but a conduit for pleasure, for want, for yearning.

His tongue goes from your hole to your clit, one hand untangling from your death grip so he can slide a finger into you. He’s gentle about it, careful almost, but there’s no point, you’re so wet he goes without resistance, not an ounce of tension in any of your muscles. You couldn’t tense up if you tried, everything gone liquid and loose and lax. 

And it’s good, so good, so…

Jake pulls off you for a moment, breath panting and hot against you, just to check, “Did you do this too? When you thought about me, did you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

And it takes you a moment because you can’t remember if you have a mouth, can’t remember how to use it, and when you finally do, anyways, your voice is like a foreign sound, something from a different planet.

“I… tried, but it… I can’t… angle’s all wrong, it doesn’t….” He crooks his finger, and you sob, moment of dubious coherency gone, and then there’s only one word left in you. “Jake.”

And he grins, always so cocky, always so sure, adds a second finger, and buries his face into your cunt again. You keen.

It’s so wet, all of it. Your pussy and his tongue and his fingers fucking through it, fucking in with squelching sounds that should be embarrassing but make you burn hotter instead, your bodies slick with sweat, and you’re pretty sure there’s saliva dripping from your mouth, but you can’t stop it, can’t help it, can’t do anything but hold on and take it. Everything he’s giving you.

And you remember your ex trying to finger you in that bedroom covered in Twilight posters, eons ago, nothing but discomfort and awkwardness, and god, if this is what it should have been like that you want a refund, you think you’re owed compensation from the universe because that’s not fair, people were feeling this while you were telling yourself five minutes of rutting against your own finger on your clit was enough to satisfy you?

“You taste so good,” Jake groans into your cunt, “could eat this pretty pussy all day. Could stay right here forever, with my tongue in my gorgeous girl.”

And it’s almost scary, the way it builds, how high it goes, how tight it winds you. The precipice gapes below you.

“Jake,” you whimper, gasp, thrash, “Jake, wait, I’m gonna….”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, voice vibrating down into the darkest parts of you. “I’m here, honey, you can let go now, come on, sweetheart, I wanna see, I wanna taste….”

And you’re crying, cheeks and chin and neck wet with the tears, and you feel pathetic, but you can’t help it, free hand going to tangle in his hair, holding where you want him as he moves his fingers just so, grazing something inside you, tongue circling around your clit with just enough speed, just enough pressure.

“Please,” you sob, terrified he’s going to change up, and it’s going to get away from you, terrified he’ll stop. “Please. Please.”

It becomes a mantra, a litany, and then he squeezes your hand and plunges his fingers deep, curls them, and you’re toppling over that edge, hurtling, spinning, falling.

It’s bone-deep. It curls around you, it breaks you apart. A rope snapping. A coil unraveling.

You feel it everywhere, in your core and your toes and your fingers. A tightening and then the breathless, heart-stopping release of it all racing through you. It has you arching off the mattress, fingers tightening in his hair, legs trembling with tremors you can’t control, howling his name.

It seems to go on forever, his fingers fucking you through it, his tongue stroking you through it, and there’s nothing in your head, nothing but that blinding, strung-out pleasure.

Jake just keeps going until you push his head away with force, overstimulated to the point that pain shoots up like tiny pinpricks. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open.

“I don’t know who those guys who didn’t eat your pussy were, sweetheart,” he says from between your legs, mouth still slick with you, eyes still dark, voice still breathless, hands still on your thighs, “but they must have been the biggest idiots in the history of mankind to miss out on that.”

You can’t answer. You’re afraid you might never be able to speak ever again.

Jake crawls up the bed until he can stretch out beside you, and finally, you can close your legs, draw them up to almost to your stomach and angle them away. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, more exhausted than you’ve ever been.

“You okay, honey?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss you. You can’t even reciprocate, just stare at him.

“Uhm,” you say.

He laughs at you, and if you could move your arms, you’d hit him. As is, you just blink at him, dazed, confused, still caught up in the intensity of it.

“That good, huh?” He grins like the cat that got the cream and wraps an arm around you, pulls you against him. There’s something reassuring to the feel of him, the slight damp of his skin and the solid muscle against the mush of yourself.

And then, voice suddenly so much softer, he says, “You did so well, honey. My best girl.”

Maybe you shouldn’t like it so much, but you can’t help but beam, cling to him.

“Next time,” he says, voice back to the levity of his pride, “I think you should sit on my face.”

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

“Your… face?” you repeat, hesitantly, unsure if you’ve misheard.

Shameless, he nods. 

“Don’t worry about suffocating me or any of that shit, it’d be an honorable way to go down.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, and then you laugh, and he laughs with you, and it’s like somebody poured liquid sunlight into your chest.

But then you shift against him, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly you’re not just aware that you’re lying in a puddle of what is essentially your own slick and Jake’s spit, that you’re still completely naked, but even more pressingly that he’s still hard.

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Jake, who has stilled your movement with a hand on your hip, clears his throat. He has a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… go to the bathroom.”

And he means it, is about to get out of bed when you hold onto him, wrap yourself around him like an octopus, shove your face into his chest, so you don’t have to look at him as you say, “No, I… I want it.”

Jake freezes.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t have to….”

“I want to,” you interrupt. And it’s clumsy rather than sexy, but you reach for his sweatpants, palm at him through the fabric, breath catching when you notice the dark stain of pre-cum on the front. “I want you inside of me.”

It’s so much more forward than you’ve ever been, so out of character, but it feels good to be honest, to tell the truth, to articulate what you’ve been dreaming of for months.

Jake groans loudly as you begin to rub at his length, drops back against the mattress without any protest.

“You want it?” he asks, searching your face as if he’s looking for any trace of a lie, of hesitancy.

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

Jake clenches his eyes shut for a moment, exhales a shaky breath, and then he nods, leans over to open a drawer on his nightstand, and gets out a condom.

And he’s saying, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart, but you barely hear him.

Because there it is, right on his nightstand. Front cover up, a gas station receipt shoved as a bookmark between the pages about a quarter into it.

Emma by Jane Austen.

“You… you’re reading it?” you say, interrupting whatever other filth was pouring from it, and Jake blinks, follows your gaze, pauses.

And then he has the audacity to blush. 

“Well,” he says, “you said it was your favorite, and I wanted to… I don’t usually read much, so it’s… a lot, but I think I get it, why you like it I mean, and….”

You pull him into a kiss, and you pour all of yourself into it. All the gratitude and the longing and the love. Everything you feel for him, right there, condensed into the slide of your mouth over his.

When you pull away, his eyes have gone dark again.

“I like you,” he says, and it should be bumbling, awkward, but it’s beautiful instead. “So much.”

You giggle. 

“I like you too,” you say.

From the first moment, Jake and you were planets circling each other. And now, finally, you’ve locked into orbit.

Jake rolls over you, kisses you again, only it’s even filthier this time, reminiscent of what he did between your legs, and within moments it’s gathering in your stomach again, growing once more, and you’re wet and wanting and pliant beneath him.

He pulls back to finally get rid of his sweatpants - how weird that he was still wearing them this whole time, you think - moves to roll on the condom, and you look down at his cock, open your mouth and… falter.

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming. 

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off. 

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon. 

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

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

[mangekyuou]

Hello! ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ Can I request a headcanon of Sabi, Law and Ace? (separately please) and how they would react to a small sized reader?? With like the cute moments and the feisty ones?

I remember when I was little and still to this day I am always the "little" "cute" and "short" friend that when cusses everybody goes like oooh.. and I'm like Bruuuh.. please.. lmao I hope someone relates to this :')

Also could you please make it a fem!reader? 

Thank you so muchh in advance if you happen to accept the ask!

✸  headcanons  %  with a small-sized fem s/o.

✸    characters! . . .  ace, sabo & law.

✸    cw(s)! . . .  n/a. implied f!reader. no pronouns used. not proofread.

✸    notes! . . .  i sadly cannot relate. growing up i was always one of the tall ones even though i wasn’t really that tall...people were just being dramatic i swear LMAOOO. but thank you so much for requesting !! <333

ace absolutely LOVES you being smaller than him. you’re just so darn cute he could bite you

there is not a second that goes by where he isn’t smothering your face in kisses or doesn’t have his big hands all over you

his go-to pet name for you is fun-sized because he’s SO original and thinks it’s hilarious

you can’t even be intimidating in front of other people. you’ll tell some rude person off and ace is backing you up “you tell ‘em fun size!”

and now they’re laughing at you...

he teases you about your size A LOT. no matter how many times you tell him that you’re not small, it goes in one ear and out the other

he can’t go one day without teasing you

like the time whitebeard let you steer the ship. when you took your place behind the wheel, he was already cracking up

“woah there, ( y/n ). can you even see over the wheel?”

ace thinks everything you do is cute. you could slobber and snore in your sleep, and he’ll still look at you like “that’s my baby🥺🥺”

so even in your gutsy moments, he still views you as the cutest person ever

you could cuss him out to his face and the whole time he’s just love-dazed, thinking about how much he wants to squeeze your cheeks

he’s so in love with you it makes everyone SICK

sabo knows you’re small but he doesn’t really realize how small you actually are until he develops feelings for you

all that time he spends gazing lovingly at you, he starts to notice things about you that he hasn’t noticed before

like ace, sabo loves to tease you about your size. he knows that you can get a little defensive about it.

that’s the main reason he does it, to rile you up a little because teasing you is how he flirts. he thinks you’re cute when you’re trying to pummel his face in, despite barely being able to reach it

“come on, shortcake. you gotta be quicker than that”

he has absolutely no idea where he came up with the pet name shortcake and cupcake, but he hasn’t stopped since

and now everyone has the nerve to call you shortcake and cupcake and it’s all his fault. and he’s relishing every moment of your embarrassment

when you start cussing everyone out, he’s standing behind you like he did nothing wrong, trying to hold in his laughter

oh but you didn’t forget that he’s the one who started this. so when it’s his turn to be at the end of your wraith, he’s completely silent

now it’s everyone else’s turn to laugh

law knows you are small and doesn’t care. it’s not something he pays much attention to, even before the two of you started dating

you won’t have to worry about him teasing you and calling you any pet names with “short” in there

when the others are off teasing you about your size, calling you ankle biter and armrest, law will jump to your defense and tell them to knock it off before he gives you full permission to start whoopin ass

which they definitely do stop seeing the fire in your eyes

law is a petty smartass. all it takes for him to turn against you is one joke about him

“cool it, gremlin”

he admires your persistence, such as refusing to allow him to help you grab things from higher shelves 

but please just let him help you, it’ll only take a few seconds. he’d never forgive himself if you fell and sprained your ankle

if you still say no, he’ll just start moving stuff that he knows you often need and make them easier for you to grab

#one piece #portgas d ace #ace #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #sabo the revolutionary #sabo #sabo x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law #trafalgar law #law x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #one piece headcanons #☆ — MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE.

[caker-baker]

Placate

The hero wanted to believe it was one of their friends, an agency member, someone else, anyone else, they would have taken a burglar at this point.

But no. No friend, agency member, or burglar would leave the front door open so purposefully, so dauntingly.

They knew this day would come, they just didn’t imagine it would be so soon.

The light turned on.

“Where have you been?” The villain asked from the lounge chair, petting the hero’s cat.

It was very obviously a rhetorical question, the villain knew where the hero had been, because now the villain was here, too.

The hero’s eyes flicked down to their purring cat comfortable in the villain’s lap, back up to the villain’s expectant face.

“I was–am on an assignment.” They wondered how fast they would have to be to get their cat and then get to the panic button.

Not fast enough.

If they needed to be placating, they could be. It would what drew the villain to them, they knew that now.

“An assignment that takes six months?” The villain asked, lazily waving their free hand around. “An assignment that gives you this? It’s cutesy, comfortable. Too small for my taste, but you know that.”

It was a test hidden behind poisonously pleasant words.

Will you be telling me the truth? Are you foolish enough to lie?

A question the hero didn’t want to answer, but there were limited options.

Placate, placate, placate.

“It’s my final assignment.” The hero clenched their fists, nails digging into skin, forcing upon them clarity to think, a reminder not to stutter, not to feel. “Going civilian, for my safety.”

“Oh?” The villain’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “Do tell. What was so dangerous that your little agency felt the need to give you an identity change?

Another test.

“It was noted that the others–other–other villains,” The hero forced themselves to take a breath in, and clenched their fists even harder. “were targeting me, thinking it would hurt you.”

“Mm.” The villain cocked their head to the side, looking at the hero in an indecipherable way.

Disappointment? Amusement? Hunger?

The hero was never able to tell.

“Well. I can admit my faults, but this is an easy fix, my darling. I’ll handle the others. Now, the car’s been running just a bit too long, so if we could?”

The villain stood, still holding the hero’s cat.

“I can’t.” The hero’s fists unclenched, wondering if their cat could be swayed to jump from the villain’s arms. “I signed a contract. If I re-emerge, I could be considered an active threat, measures would be taken against me, um, I can’t.”

The villain smiled. “Now that is a bigger problem, but I could garner a few solutions. Come along, we can even bring…” They trailed off, looking at the cat’s name tag. “Chestnut.”

“I’ll become a public enemy. I don’t own the name Hero, I just use it, I–”

“And that’s the very problem, isn’t it?” The villain let Chestnut jump from their arms, watching the hero’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “This day and age of heroics and villainy, it’s all very theatrical. We used to do this because of values, morals, plans for world domination.”

They gave the hero a once over.

“The other heroes are good at the limelight, thrive, even, it’s the whole reason they sign the contracts and take the name, but they can’t beat you in character, and the numbers of casualties in their fights versus yours speaks volumes. You weren’t good at the attention, not until I got to you, at least.”

“And I thank you for the help, but I’m done with the cameras, interviews, the saving people.”

“What a shame. You used to talk about being a symbol, about helping people, a hero through and through, not any of that pretending you’re a movie star. It’s what makes you…”

“Malleable?”

“I was going to say unique. No need for the dramatics.”

When the hero didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t even look like they were breathing, the villain’s polite mask dropped.

The hero hated that, how easily the villain could switch around their personality. They also hated the villain’s unblinking eyes.

The villain could blink, the hero was sure, but whenever it was just the two of them, the villain always made sure to be constantly watching.

“As I said, I can think of a few solutions to your problems.” They held out an expectant hand. “Shall we?”

“You were using me.” The hero blurted out. “You weren’t trying to help me be better, you were–you were–”

“I was what?”

“Making me into a tool. You would have turned me into a monster.”

The villain scoffed. “A monster? Please. You would have been beloved by the world, no contract or agency could hold you, you would have been second to none.”

“Except you.” The hero noticed that Chestnut was curling around the villain’s legs, slowly realizing that their best option at this point might have been to turn heel. “I would have been second to none except you.”

The villain smiled again, though it looked more like an animal bearing their teeth in annoyance.

“Eventually not. Once we’ve finished with the others, all the theatrics and the celebrity treatment, we could begin the real work. We could be equals, my darling.”

“You were manipulating me so that you could have the perfect opponent?” The hero felt bile rise in their throat.

There was evidence of the villain using them, solid proof shown directly after that scolding from the agency for allowing a villain to mentor them, but to hear it from the villain themselves was something else entirely.

“Twist my words in whatever way you’ll have. We both win. You won’t have to worry about the performance of being a hero, you can simply go out and save the day how you like. Tell me it’s not tempting. Now, it has been a treat tracking you down, my darling, they hid you well, but I must insist we leave. There’s a long drive ahead of us.”

“No.”

Chestnut had wandered closer to the hero.

“Ah, would you prefer we fly? It’s not my favorite, but–”

“I’m not going with you.” They reached down slowly, picking up Chestnut, hoping to make it look as though they were holding her for comfort.

The villain watched, their jaw clenched, anger barely concealed.

“I made you.” They seethed through an unusually quiet voice. “And if I have to, I will break you, and build you up again.”

The hero took a step back. “Find another hero to manipulate.”

With a deep breath, the villain collected themselves, never breaking eye contact with the hero.

“You know, part of the plan was to make you fall in love with me.” They admitted, taking only a step forward to match the hero’s step back. “Or at least have you grow fond enough of me that you wouldn’t betray me so easily. But obviously, it didn’t work. Lucky for the both of us, I can work with fear. You have an abundance of that, don’t you?”

The hero turned heel.

There was no placating a villain.

#villain #hero x villain #hero #heroine #snippet #villain x hero #heroes and villains #villainess #writing #heroes #possessive villain #villains #writing snippet #hero writes #villain writes #there is a corner upon which I sit and sometimes there are others there #sometimes they are with me but sometimes I am with Them #it feels so short when they are on the corner with me #and I wonder if it feels so short when I am on the corner with them #I’ve looked back to their corners with no more spots for me #but there will always be a spot for them at mine corner #and that is my own fault #bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum #Mr sandman #that is a hint on what the next post will be about #I ate so much sushi so much sushi I need more though idk I think it’s a real issue at this point #sushi addiction is probably a thing but I’m scared to look at addiction stats of sushi consumption bc ik I’ll fall into the lower category #and remember kids drugs are bad #but so is too much sushi #pick your battles

[likeabulldigidigibombombombom]

hi friend pls complete my request huehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehuehue

so you're alpha bangchan's mate and u are happily married with 2 kids but he accidentally hurts u when he's out hunting :D

I wish I never showed you my account

Previous asks, I am working on your stuff in a Google doc and I'm trying to make it good. This is just a joke because I think 8coupsstar is gonna kill me if I don't try and do this.

For future reference, I don't do omegaverse stuff.

Paring: Husband!Bangchan x Afab!fem!reader

Warnings: Minors DNI as there is smut, this is meant to be shitty please don't bully me😭 Unprotected sex, breeding kink, No hate to people that enjoy the omegaverse! It's just not for me personally

Words: 544

Summary: Weird omegaverse shit with smut and fluff.

Your husband Bangchan, whom you've been married to for many years and with whom you've borne children, has been missing you recently. Unlike other alphas, he doesn't just date you for sex or to get you through your heats, he has self-control.

Since he's been wanting to spend more time with you, he asked if you wanted to go hunting with him. Leaving your kids under the guidance of your friend at their house, you went out with him to hunt for food (I'm going to hunt for you). As he was stalking around trying to find something to kill, you wandered off looking around the forest that he took you to.

Suddenly you felt something pounce on you, pinning you to the floor. You felt a twinge of pain as you fell back and saw something on top of you. You screamed and scrambled to your feet as you backed away slowly. You were cornered. Tears began to fall. Just as it was about to bite you, the strange creature stopped and stepped back. 

It was Bangchan. As you dried your eyes with your sleeve, he cupped your face. “Baby I’m so sorry. I thought you were an animal.” “I’m sorry” “No, you aren’t sorry, you did nothing wrong.” “I was scared that you were gonna kill me.” “I know honey, I’m so sorry. I genuinely didn’t know.” “I know Chan.”

You could feel yourself getting faint and you realised only one thing could be happening. You were in heat. ‘Perfect timing’ you thought. As Bang Chan sniffed the air and you could see a bulge forming in his pants, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to the car. “We’re going home,” he said. “It’s not safe.” “But I thought you wanted to go hunting?” “You’re more important.” 

When you got home, he ran you a bath and made you a snack. “Has your heat gone away?” You looked up at him while sweating, curled up on the couch. “Isn’t it obvious?” “Mhm.” He sat next to you and held your hand. “I’m so sorry baby, I just wanted to spend time with you and it went badly. I’m sorry for scaring you. I love you so much.” “I love you too.” You could see his boner reforming. “Can I make it up to you?” “How?” “I guess I can help you with your heat?” “Yes please.”

His dick was thrusting in and out of your aching cunt as you screamed his name. “Do you want me to fill you up baby?” “Yes Chan” You moaned in pleasure as his thrusts became sloppier and faster. “Cum for me.” You could feel your walls getting tighter as you reached your climax. “Are you going to cum in me Channie? Please?” “Of course baby girl.” He thrusted into you one final time and he shot his load deep inside of you. He groaned and carefully pulled out of you. 

“Was that good enough honey?” “It was perfect, I’m sorry about crying before and making you worry.” “It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.” “You shouldn’t feel bad, I really don’t care that much.” He hugged you tightly.

 “What did I do to deserve you?” “Everything.” “I love you.” “I love you too.”

Author note: I am so sorry that was the worst thing I have ever written I hate that so much It’s gonna haunt me for eternity. Like always, constructive criticism is wanted! If you liked this, please follow me for more fanfics that aren't like this one because I promise not all of my writing is like this. Also please send me some requests! <3 Thank you!

Masterlist

#skz imagines #skz headcanons #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #bangchan x reader #straykids fanfic #stray kids x female reader #bang chan smut #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x you #likeabulldigidigibombombombom #im sorry

[hiorintruther]

Dragging myself out of inactivity to grossly overanalyse/scream about the chapter 213 Kunigiri stuff coz I’m so mentally unwell and it’s their fault.

First of all, I love how in order to get into the other stratums, players first have to submit a request form. Presumably they’d have to state a reason for going and I doubt “I want to see my friends” would be allowed because some people would end up using it as an excuse to slack off, so I wonder what Chigiri said to get his request accepted? Obviously he was actually coming just to see Kunigami but he probably needed to make up an excuse (either that or Ego/Anri let him through because BLTV really is just football Love Island atp).

Anyway, I love the intro panel for Chigiri in this chapter coz it says SO MUCH about him.

It’s the hair.

Chigiri barely ever wears his hair up, not even while playing football (and I’ve made my thoughts on that clear in the past so I’ll refrain from any ranting). On the field he’ll have that weird half-braid thing going on, and off the field he usually just wears it loose. One of the only other times we see him with a ponytail is in chapters 150-151, during the 2-week break post U-20 match. I think this shows that Chigiri is putting active effort into his appearance for his visit with Kunigami. He puts his hair up when he wants to make a good impression — in the Shibuya chapters he’s also wearing a rather nice outfit, so he was focussing on his appearance then too. This time around, he’s specifically doing it for Kunigami because he’s unsure about what Kunigami thinks of him after “ghosting” him during the MC match. This is Chigiri going all-out to impress through subtle gestures and small changes that are consciously made and will subconsciously be picked up on.

(There’s also Kunigami’s canonical thing for the napes of necks (egoist Bible) to take into account which… listen we have no proof that Chigiri is aware of it but we also don’t have any proof that he’s not. Who’s to say he didn’t choose this hairstyle specifically because he knows it shows off his nape, which is usually kept hidden under his hair? He’s already a bit of a flirt after that “such an insensitive hero” comment back during the Second Selection. It isn’t impossible.)

Next, the iconic “keep an eye on me” line.

First off, Nomura really decided to make Chigiri look that pretty when he said this. Boy looks absolutely gorgeous. I’m aroace but I would’ve folded. Kunigami is stronger than me.

Second off, I like how this shows Chigiri being attentive towards Kunigami. When they first reunited, it did come across a bit like Chigiri was being dismissive of what Kunigami went through in the Wildcard, saying that he’d treat Kunigami as exactly the same person he was before (although it’s arguably understandable since they’d only just met again and Chigiri has no idea what happened in the Wildcard). Now though, it’s clear he’s observed the change Kunigami went through and a) wants to make amends for his previous comments, and b) still wants to be with Kunigami. While there’s never a direct apology given, it’s clear he doesn’t think of Kunigami the same way he did before the Mc match and wants to make amends. Honestly, idk if a direct apology would’ve been a nice addition or would’ve just made Kunigami feel worse — Chigiri is a proud person and Kunigami doesn’t want pity, so this less direct approach was probably the best way to go about things.

Thirdly, when Chigiri says “from now on, I’m gonna be keeping an eye on you”, it’s not just a promise to acknowledge Kunigami’s skills as a footballer. It’s also a subtle way of saying “you’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here”. Adding to that the “so, you better keep an eye on me too, got it?”, it’s both a declaration that Kunigami shouldn’t underestimate Chigiri and a “you’re gonna be seeing a lot of me so get used to it”. (Side note: Isagi’s face on this page is so fucking funny to me he’s just like “yeaaaaaah, these bitches gay. Good for them” lmao.)

Last thing I’ll scream about is this:

FIRST NAME BASIS!!!

Obviously Chigiri is specifically using “Rensuke” as a little jab at Kunigami to get him riled up. Chigiri is just like that when it comes to teasing. Still, it’s nice to know that he feels comfortable enough around Kunigami to say something like this without Kunigami getting angry or making things awkward between them. We’ve seen Bachira do this with Isagi too during the Barcha match, so that’s nice little bachisagi parallel. At the very least, Chigiri is showing that he wants their friendship to continue and is going to continue to treat Kunigami as a close friend, no matter how much Kunigami might try to push him away.

Conclusion to my ramblings: Chigiri is putting in the work and I respect him for it. Kunigami is in a bad place rn and what he needs is someone as stubborn as Chigiri to see him through. Chigiri knows what it feels like to feel depressed and push everyone else away because it happened to him too. He thought for a time that everything was over for him. No doubt he’s recognising those things in Kunigami and wants to help him out, especially since the two of them had grown pretty close before being separated.

Kunigiri has my whole heart!!!

#blue lock #bllk #kunigiri #kunigami x chigiri #kunigami rensuke #chigiri hyoma #blue lock manga #blue lock manga spoilers #blue lock chapter 213 #I’m so feral about these two #Kunigiri is one of my favourite bllk ships #never thought I’d see them again #fun fact I actually had a fanfic idea after chapter 208 where Chigiri appeared but thought it would never ever be canon #guess I was just wrong #it really does feel like kaneshiro was writing a fanfic with this one #kncg

[softxsuki]

Hi, this ia kind of an emergency request because i had been feeling really suicidal lately and i thought that maybe reading some angst/confort would help ❤️‍🩹

Soo, i wanted to ask for Izuku in which his bestfriend had been feeling like super suicidal and she has been selfharming.

Thankss 🫶

Midoriya Comforts Sui*idal Reader

| Pairing: Midoriya x Gn!Reader (PLATONIC) | Genre: Comfort/Angst | Post-Type: Headcanons | Word Count: 470 |

Warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, depression

Note: Hope this helps :) <3 and for everyone reading this, urgent requests are now closed for the rest of April, I'll have three more spots open in May :D

Our gentle boy, Midoriya, is great at reading people

So when you begin to isolate yourself and plaster that fake smile on your face whenever you’re with your friends together, he knows something is up

But he’s a little awkward and doesn’t know how to bring it up without accidentally hurting your feelings or making you feel uncomfortable–that’s the last thing he’d ever want

So despite the anguish that hits his heart when you show up at his door with tears in your eyes, he’s relieved that you’re finally opening up to him

He was your best friend, someone you knew you could always rely on, and your favorite hero despite also being a hero as well, you wanted to put your trust in him

So you tell him everything; how you’ve been feeling recently, the self-harm, the thoughts of suicide that terrified you, yet sometimes felt like your only option

And he listened to every word, holding one of your hands as he traced small circles into your skin, encouraging you to continue speaking, not an ounce of judgment in his eyes as you pour your heart out

“Y/N, you’re my best friends, I wouldn’t be where I am today without your support. I’m thankful everyday that you’re alive by my side, I’m just sorry that I haven’t been giving you the same support to where you feel this way now. I’m sorry”

You quickly tell him that it isn’t his fault, he was a great friend who always helped you out and was there for you when you needed him, your problems were rooted deeper and would take longer to heal from

But with Midoriya by your side, you’d be able to get through anything now that he was aware of your situation

He’d show you that life was worth living one day at a time while offering to get you professional help as well, even if it was just having a professional to talk to about your feelings once a week so they could help guide you in the right direction

In the meantime though, he’d do whatever he could for you, showing you beautiful things in the world, making sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself again, and helping you be happy again, no matter how long it takes

“I’ll show you the little things in this world that you won’t want to miss, so stick around so you can see them all,” he says with a smile

Nothing changes with your friendship, he treats you the same, but perhaps is a little more aware and direct with making sure you’re doing okay and reaches out first if he suspects you’re not doing too well

Very attentive and kind as usual, wants the best for you so you can feel like yourself again without the dark cloud hanging over your head

Posted: 4/22/2024

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x gn!reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x gn!reader #midoriya x y/n #midoriya x you #midoriya x gender neutral reader #midoriya izuku #mha headcanons #mha comfort #bnha headcannons #bnha comfort #midoriya headcanons #midoriya comfort

[0sincerelyella]

Protector - Colby Brock

Summary: Sam and Colby invite a fan on the channel and the fan begins to have a panic attack because some very unreal things are happening to her, and she begins to realize she’s on the spectrum of being a medium, all firsts for the sam and colby channel. and colby feels the need to protect the young fan, and the other fans eat it up

Notes: this isn’t romantically at all!!:) i think it’s a cool concept because he’s the sweetest, and gives protective older brother energy!

i also made up the whole story of the house

THIS IS REALLY REALLY LONG

WARNINGS: I mention miscarriages, domestic violence and suicide (for the story of the hauntings and one experience y/n had) panic attacks

“What’s up guys it’s sam and colby!” Colby calls, throwing his arms infront of it. “we’re here at the the banville manor with axe murderer seth” sam says as seth laughed. “And someone whose never ever experienced anything paranormal, our fan, y/n” colby said, holding his arms next to her as if to show case something, wiggling his fingers in awe. “hi guys!” she waved, her hands covered by her flannel sleeves as if she was cold.

y/n stood off to the side talking to seth as sam and colby gave the intro. “so you’r sceptic?” seth asked, starting conversation. “well maybe” she says. “when i was little i used to talk to this little girl” she said, “my mom had a miscarriage before me, they think that’s who i used to talk to but i think i was just a kid with imaginary friends.” she laughed, seth’s mouth opened wide. “your kidding? you could be a medium!”

y/n explained that sometimes she felt she could see and hear people around her that no one else could hear, but she tried to tune it out cause she felt crazy. “your kidding y/n that’s so cool, maybe we can change your mind today” seth said, placing his hand on her shoulder and smirking. “what happened?” colby asked, sam faced the camera toward seth and y/n

seth asked y/n if he could tell the camera and y/n nodded “y/n was telling me that she can see and hear people but tunes it out because she felt crazy” seth said. “so you might be a medium?” colby asked, just as seth did. y/n nodded, scared already.

“y/n, if you get to scared, we can take breaks or we can stop, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want too” colby said off camera, letting her know that they would keep her safe. she nodded with a smile, still really scared.

the story of the banville house is, in 1973 aliza banville, a seventeen year old girl, got pregnant with her boyfriends baby. Unfortunately, her boyfriend didn’t like the idea of having a child and thought it was aliza’s fault, inevitably taking it out in her violently. soon enough aliza lost the baby, aliza did not cope well with the loss of her baby and ended her own life by jumping off the top of the building.

“this story is so sad” y/n said, walking into the house, standing between seth and colby as sam recorded. seth agreed, admiring the beauty of the manor. “this house is big” seth said. “well aliza’s parents were famous for owning a brewery downtown” colby mentioned, walking further into the house.

around midnight, they had started the investigation. y/n had a pounding headache, not alerting anyone of the headache in fear of ruining their video. they handed y/n the emf meter as they entered the room of aliza. as the four of them walking into the room chit chatting and explaining, y/n looked at a chair in the corner.

in the corner, was a girl with long red hair, holding an empty wad of blankets like a baby. y/n froze as the girl looked up. the emf immediately went to red and stayed there.

the girl looked up at y/n, she had tears on her face. and she said “hes gonna hurt you” y/n stepped back and screamed

“hey hey? what happened?” sam pointed the camera at y/n but suddenly noticed the tears in her eyes and a frozen look on her face “y/n what happened?” colby walked to her. “is this okay?” he asked, getting ready to rest his hand on her back and hold her hand to help her sit down. she nodded as colby attempted to set her in a chair, but y/n could still see the girl. “can we please go outside?” she was shaking. colby nodded. “what happened y/n?” sam said, leading them down the stairs “can i tell you outside? please i don’t want to go in here right now” sam turned off the camera and helped y/n down the stairs

as she moved all she heard was screaming, and the further she moved through the house and away from the door the more screaming she heard and the bigger her headache became

as soon as they broke the thresh hold it all stopped.

colby sat y/n on the steps and sat next to her, seth on the other side and sam right in front. “are you okay to tell us?” sam asked, y/n nodded, taking a deep breath and wiping her tears. “you guys can film if you want, your viewers will want to hear this” she gave permission, and colby turned on the camera “did you see a girl in that chair in the corner?,” she asked, visibly shaking. colby took a sharp breath. sams mouth opened wide. “no, there wasn’t anyone there y/n” seth said, y/n shook more, putting her hands on her eyes as she began to cry more. “i- i saw a girl- long red hair and a dirty bloody dress, holding a blanket in the wad of a baby swaddle but there was no baby-“ she explained. “aliza…” colby whispered.

“she looked at me when the emf went red and she said “he’s gonna hurt you” and that’s when i screamed” she said, shaking her hands. “that’s crazy y/n! are you okay? do you want to stop?” colby asked, rubbing her back. “no no i’m okay i’m just crazy” she shook her head, standing up. “y/n would you like to call amanda?” colby offered, “you know her right?” y/n nodded, of course she said. she wasn’t a sam and colby fan if she didn’t know amanda. “she’s a medium, she could help” y/n nodded, taking a breath as sam handed seth the camera so he could call amanda.

“hi guys! what’s up!” amanda smiled. “hi amanda! we have a fan with us today and she just had a weird experience we want your opinion” y/n explained her experience, and her experiences as a child. amanda listened with intent. “y/n i think your like i am” she explained. “i understand how scary this can be but they can not hurt you” she promised, “you just have to assert dominance, and tell them they can’t hurt you. but sam, colby, if you see her get physically ill or if she mentions getting physically ill please take her out, be careful” they all nodded, hanging up and turning off the camera. “are you okay with going again?” y/n nodded, standing again. “can you guys stay by me? i’m sorry if i’m ruining the video” colby shook his head. “no this is the most we’ve ever caught, plus your safety is more important y/n” colby promised. “if your only wanting to go back to not ruin the video please don’t, we don’t want you to get hurt” colby said, sam agreed.

“one of us will be with you at all times, we promise” seth said, giving her a high five and a smile.

the group went back inside, and back to aliza’s room. “whatever is in here can not hurt me or my friends here!” aliza said with confidence. “i have God on our side” she spoke. and as she did aliza walked through the door and sat on the bed

“she’s in here” y/n said, holding her hands up to make the boys be quiet. “i won’t hurt you” aliza said. “will you answer my friends questions?” aliza nodded “she said yes guys”

seth asked the first question. “who is gonna hurt y/n?” aliza looked up, pointing to the doorway. it was a man, he stood in the door with an angry face. he stood with blood on his hands. “get out” he said

“you can’t hurt me” she spoke at him. “you can not hurt aliza anymore!” she snapped, as the spirit stepped backwards and a little girl ran passed his legs to hide behind aliza on the bed. “get out!” y/n yelled towards the spirit. he lunged forward, with a scream at her face and then was gone, y/n pressed her hand to her back.

“thank you” and the sad face aliza had, went into a smile as she held this little girl, her little girl. she was reunited. and y/n felt content. “what happened?” seth asked, the boys had gotten this whole thing on camera. “the man who hurt aliza stood in the door, and aliza’s miscarriaged baby ran to aliza and they are reunited” she said, happy tears in her eyes.

“yo y/n!” sam said, pointing to her back. “what?” colby gasped and seth yelled “yoooo!” they all went crazy.

three long bleeding scratches seeped through her shirt, she lifted it up to show the camera.

“your kidding me?” she said, “the one time i meet my hero’s and i find out i’m a medium and i get scratched” she began to breath heavily. “i can’t i can’t..” her breaths began to go quickly, and her heart sped up. “i can feel him he’s watching us” she said, freaking out. her head started hurting and then everything went black.

when she woke up she was on the steps of the manor. “what happened?” y/n asked. “you passed out” sam said, explaining it to her. “are you okay? do you need water?” colby asked, seth was filming after getting permission. “no i’m okay, i just.. i can’t go back in there” they had been investigating and touring for 6 hours now, it was dark and all this happened at 3am.

“thank you, y/n for allowing us to use this footage and get that” sam said, colby nodded. “well i don’t want anyone to be like i was, they need to know” she said, shaking. “do you want a hug?” colby asked, holding out his arms. “yes of course” she smiled, getting pulled into a hug. “thank you guys for letting me come with you” “you were a blast y/n, i’m glad your safe” colby said, pulling sam into the hug.

and the video ended

Video comments:

user35: WAIT I LOVE Y/N BRING HER BACK ON!!!

user07: THATS SO SPOOKY IM GLAD Y/n IS OKAY

user23: BRING Y/n AND AMANDA ON

user04: BRING Y/N BACK.

user32: SHES SO PRETTY

user65: that’s actually so scary!! i’m so glad your okay!

user76: BRING Y/N back😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

#sam and colby #xplr #xplr club #corey sherer #seth borden #lizzie borden #youtube #colby brock #sam golbach #jake webber #sam and colby fic

[writtenbymkl]

Synopsis: Isn’t it every fan’s dream to get hit by a car? Especially if it’s going to be caused by the driver of your favorite NCT member? Oh, and a few days before you have to attend the concert at that.

Pairing: Idol!Mark x Fan!Y/n

Genre: comedy, angst, idol life, romance

Started: N/A

Ended: N/A

Updates: Saturdays

Author's note: I literally was doing my astronomy homework for the first time and actually trying to study when I was thinking about the Dream concert and camping when my brain was like "imagine you got hit by a car and it was mark" 0.0 so here's a new series dedicated to that because I'm bored and I love mark. I know I keep posting a lot of mark content but he's my bias and I know him a little more than the others, at least to write longer content not only that but I need requests to write because I completely blank for other members ^.^

EXCLAIMER: i’ll only commit to the series if there’s interest in it ! i don’t really want to be writing thousands of words if no one’s going to read so i wrote a sneak peek just to see if it gathers any interest !!

SNEAK PEEK

And I wanna be the best thing, I   

The best you ever had 

It’s a shame they took this off the setlist right after their Japan tour, you thought. A great way to start off your morning on the way to work. The coffee shop to be exact. Now, you didn’t exactly hate the coffee shop or working but you enjoyed the customers that came with it. Something new was happening every day, whether that be someone getting dumped and having an iced coffee poured on them or your coworker getting into a fight with a customer for not getting their order right. You enjoyed every single minute of it. 

You walk along the sidewalk to the beat of the song when your favorite part in Best Friend Ever comes on. And of course, the line goes to the one and only Mark Lee of NCT. You don’t mean to be biased but it’s not your fault they give him all the good lines.  

Nobody tries to get between us   

Get between us 

The day is almost here, the day where you get to see Mark and NCT Dream in the flesh. You’ve seen Mark about three times, Haechan twice, and the Dreamies once but there’s only so much you can handle. You made it your mission to get those tickets the second they went on sale. Your phone is holding two tickets to general admission which amounts to your whole paycheck. 

You see the coffee shop right across the street once you get to the crosswalk. You take a look at the people standing all around you, it looks like they’re heading somewhere as well. You notice someone looking at you from your peripheral view, so you quickly turn your head to face them. But not before your right airpod flies out of your ear. 

“What the heck, man,” you said as you lean down to pick it up from the ground. Great, now you have to clean it when you get to work. As you're in the process of leaning down, the same people that were standing around you are now walking forwards kicking your headphone further onto the street.

You get pushed slightly by the people as you try to look for your lost airpod. “Wait, don’t push me, hold on, I’m trying to pick up my headphone.” You quickly look up from the ground to see the crosswalk sign is at fifteen seconds, that’s enough time to find it.  

Suddenly, you hear three loud honks coming from the right of you. You look to your right and see a black BMV coming towards you, not too fast but also not slow enough. You don’t even have time to react before it hits you and knocks you to the ground a few feet away from where you originally were. Groaning, you feel an immense amount of throbbing in your head and feel something wet in your hair. You can barely move your legs since the car had impacted them, but you don’t think they’re completely broken either.  

You hear doors slam shut and hear two pairs of feet running towards you. You think there would be more but it’s only five in the morning. Your eyes are closed, and your ears are ringing as you try to slightly open your eyes when you hear muffled voices talking. 

“Oh my god,” You hear a voice panic. “We’re going to jail. I’m going to jail. These tiktoks about us going to jail are about to come true.”  

“Mark, calm down, go back inside the car, I’ll try to handle this. I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind to talk.” You manage to open your eyes a bit when you notice an older man who looks around his forties and another boy walking away from you. 

“Oh great, you’re not dead,” the older man sighs out while holding a hand to his chest. You let out a groan as you try to push yourself up. The man notices and rushes towards you quickly and puts a hand on your back. 

“Don’t try to get up, you’re not in stable condition.”  

“Yeah, you think?” You ask as you side eye him. 

“Mark, come help carry her so we can get her in the car,” he says while waving over the boy who was standing near the BMV. He’s wearing a white mask so you can’t see his face very well. 

“Dude, I am like so sorry we hit you, if it were me driving, this would’ve never happened. Except I can’t drive yet, so this guy is doing it for me.” The older man and the boy are both at each side of your body when they carefully lift you off the ground.  

“Yeah, and your guy completely ran me over and ruined my chances of seeing NCT Dream since what do you know? My legs are injured,” You bitterly say as you look over to the boy. His eyes are wide as he pauses. 

“Mark, what are you standing around for? We have to get her to the hospital,” You freeze.  

“What did you say?” You whip your head to look at the man.

 

“Jesus Christ don’t do that, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he sighs holding his free hand to his chest once again. “I said we have to get you to the hospital.” You whip your head back to look at the boy just for his face to be facing the other way. 

“Mark? Like Mark Lee from NCT?” You ask.  

“Haha, whaaat? Who is that?” His voice gets higher as he fixes his mask. Your right hand reaches over to quickly yank down the mask from his face.  

“Yo, what the-” You knew it. You would know that voice from anywhere since you’ve heard over thousands of times online. 

Your eyes are wide. “No way...”  

“Why’d you yank down my mask, oh my god,” Mark quickly says he rushes to lift it back on his face.  

“Oh no, this isn’t good,” The older man sighs. Turning your head to the right, you take a good look at his face.  

“And why the hell not?” 

“Because you’re a fan.”  

“Well cut my legs and call me shorty because I’m a fan with nonfunctioning ones,” You state. 

You hear Mark burst into sudden laughter. “Um, what?”  

“You guys are paying for my hospital bill, right?” 

#mark lee #nct x y/n #mark lee x reader #mark lee angst #mark lee nct #mark lee x y/n #mark lee imagine #hit & run au #mark au #mark lee au #mark x reader #mark x y/n #nct au #nct #nct dream au #nct 127 au #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #mark lee series #nct dream #nct 127 #mark smau #nct smau

[toracsanji]

a - z; sfw alphabet - b. bradshaw.

Prompt: a-z sfw alphabet.

Requested? No

Word Count: 2.6k.

Warnings: N/A.

Crossposted? Not currently.

Notes: i tried my best to make it gender neutral <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Bradley isn’t too big on PDA, he thinks things like that should be left to the privacy of your house. If you two are out at the Hard Deck (or any other bar), however, he isn’t opposed to a little touching here or there - putting an arm around your shoulder or waist, a few kisses on the lips / cheek / forehead, whispering sweet nothings or pulling you onto his lap. If he’s feeling a little risqué, or had a few drinks? Expect some more PG-13 affections - his hand trailing down to rest in your back pocket, being generally a little more handsy and the kisses lasting just a little to long.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Bradley Bradshaw is the best friend. He is the type of friend who will bring you (or go with you) on errands with. You need to buy a new pair of sneakers, or something of the like? He’ll come with - and make sure to tell you if they look good or not. When you start your period? He will be over there as soon as he could with your favourite snacks and a heating pad (and yes, he will watch all the rom-coms or sad movies with you). He will also sit there and listen to you vent about some guy or girl you have a crush on, or about that one person at work that you can’t stand. Overall, 10/10 best friend.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Bradley loves cuddles, whether they happen while you’re both in bed or just lounging on the couch. He enjoys lazy days where you both can just lay around and cuddle all day. He usually prefers being the big spoon, but there are some days where he just wants to be held and feel just a little protected. Once you’re cuddling, however, don’t expect to be able to get up for a long time because he won’t let you (for the most part). There are times when the thought of being touched just isn’t what he wants or enjoys. On those days he will just be happy to exist in the same space as you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He is hesitant about settling down. He’s a military man, his job is dangerous. He doesn’t want you worrying about him, so he would put off settling down like that as long as he could. But he does love you with every part of him, so he would try his best to communicate this with you. He can cook. He isn’t some Gordon Ramsey level chef where he can make complex dishes, but he can make a pretty great carbonara. As for cleaning, he does a lot more of the outdoor tasks - mowing the lawn, gardening, fixing the cars when they need it (plus refurbishing an old project car he’s had for years). He does do chores though - he doesn’t hesitate to pick up the vacuum, fold the laundry or do the dishes when he has the time.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

To preface, he would never break up with you in a million years. But, in the past he has ghosted partners when it became too serious. In his younger years, Bradley had a fear of commitment. He didn’t want to lose someone like his mother lost his father, or like how he lost his mother. It would shatter him if he did. But, in the unlikely event that he broke up with you? He is the sort of guy that would still want to be in your life - as a friend, or however you both see fit. He would make sure that you knew it wasn’t your fault and it was entirely on him.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

For the longest time, he never saw the need to get married. After all, it was simply just a piece of paper to him - ‘if two people loved one another, why did they need a piece of paper to say that they loved one another’ was a frequent reasoning of his. When he met you, though? He knew that this relationship was something different. A relationship that he knew he wanted to settle down in. When he does decide to propose, he would ask your family for permission; not because he needs the permission, but because he wants them to know and include them (and your friends) in the proposal in some way. However, he would also be happy to be in a relationship and remain unmarried if that was what you also preferred.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically, Bradley is incredibly gentle. He doesn’t treat you as fragile or breakable, because he knows that’s simply not true. But he does not want to accidentally injure you. The worst he’s done is hug you too tight, or when he’s been drunk, pulled you down into bed just a little bit too rough - which he apologises for. Emotionally, he tries to be gentle. He has trouble with his anger sometimes. And like any human, there are times when he just snaps. These occasions are few and far between, however, and he will always make up for it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He does but he doesn’t. While he loves cuddling, there are says were he really doesn’t want to be hugged or touched. Bradley’s love language is quality time. He loves just being in your presence and spending time with you - no matter what it is. But there are some days were he particularly loves hugs and where he will hug you at any opportunity. You’re cooking? He’s coming up behind you and pulling you into a hug as you cook. You’re out at the store and he just feels like it? You’re getting a hug. His hugs are phenomenal too - they’re tight and comforting. He always makes it a habit to be the last to let go in a hug.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He doesn’t say it overly fast, because he wants to be absolutely sure he means it (he does, he just doesn’t want to risk scaring you off by saying it too quickly. It’s something he’d say for the first time at an unexpected time. You two would be laying in bed one morning, the early rays of sunlight dancing over both of your skins. He’d pull you in to cuddle, or closer if you already were and simply murmur it into your ear while he pressed a number of kisses to your face and neck.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets JEALOUS. It doesn’t take a lot to trigger his jealous side - quite literally just a look from some guy can set him off. He doesn’t do anything beyond making it obvious that you’re spoken for. Normally though, he lets you handle it because he knows you’re perfectly capable. But, if someone doesn’t get the hint? He’s gonna step in and deal with it himself. Will he throw hands? That depends. But he will have some words.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Bradley’s kisses are amazing. They’re always full of love and adoration - even the simple cheek kisses or chaste kisses that happen when he’s running late. They always seem to linger, as well. Even when it’s something quick, he is always reluctant to pull away from those kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

While Bradley is good around children, and loves spending time with his friends children and whatnot, he isn’t jumping the gun to have his own. He’s still harboring the loss of both his parents at young ages. He worries about leaving his kids like that, and it puts him off from wanting or having kids.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings, when time allows for it, are often lazy. Bradley always wakes up at 4am on the dot to take the dog for a walk or a run before it gets hot, even when he isn’t working. But when he comes back, he’ll usually have a quick shower and then go back to bed with you for an hour or two. Then he’ll make sure to wake you up with soft murmurings. If he’s working, he skips getting back into bed - but he makes sure to leave you a note each morning (as opposed to a text; he finds them less personal).

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are relaxed. He’ll pull you down into bed with him and put something on the tv - a tv show or movie you both like, or some music played through the speakers while you both unwind after a long day and dinner. Bradley likes spending those little moments with you - whether you’re talking about your day or something completely random, or just reading books or catching up on some work.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Bradley Bradshaw is very closed off to most people. It takes an incredible amount of trust for him to feel comfortable opening up to his partner. Even if he had known you when he was younger, the pilot always keeps his cards close to his chest; only revealing what he wants you to know when he wants you to know it. If he’s a bit drunk, he may open up more to you about things, even if he wasn’t entirely ready. And if he wasn’t ready? He doesn’t bring it up until he feels ready again.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

In general, Brad is quick to anger. He has a lot of trouble controlling his anger at times; if he messes up at something? He will get heated, maybe curse or yell a few choice words and phrases into existence - maybe throw the object to the ground in frustration. With you, though? He rarely ever gets angry. If you two are fighting, he will walk away to take a few minutes to calm himself down - because he doesn’t want to say anything he’ll regret or can’t take back. However there are sometimes where he slips up and raises his voice at you, or says some not so nice things. If this happens though? He will apologise profusely and do anything to make it up to you - make your favourite food, buy you your favourite flowers or treat, or do some chore that he knows you hate doing.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

That man is like a sponge - he remembers about 98% of everything about you. Even though he usually remembers it off the top of his head, he always has your favorites (and your second / third favorite) things - like fast food orders, flowers, snacks, songs - written in his notes app so that he can access it quickly (for the purpose of surprising you).

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment is the day he told you he loved you, your first date, your first kiss, the day you moved in together. His favorite moments are the ones he spends with you - whether they are milestone events or just the small every day things.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He is incredible protective of you. How he shows that varies on the situation. He knows you can handle yourself, so he doesn’t try to intervene where it isn’t necessary. But he will if he needs to. He doesn’t need a lot of protecting (have you seen this man?). He trusts that you would protect him the same way - be aware of what is happening, but not intervening unless necessary.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts a lot of effort into everything. Daily tasks, anniversaries, gifts, everything. He will treat everything as though it’s a big event - provided that’s what you like. If you like something more lowkey? He can do lowkey.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Bradley has suffered a lot of loss and loss-related trauma throughout his life, and his bad habits / traits relate a lot to that. He has a habit of unintentionally shutting himself off emotionally to you when he’s under a lot of stress or he’s caught up in his own head. If you point it out, however, he apologises and makes and tries his best to let you in.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He is somewhat concerned with his looks. He knows he looks good and he enjoy’s looking good - for himself, mostly. He isn’t vain in a negative sense of the word, however. He doesn’t prioritise his looks over everything, though.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He does to an extent. If you were in his life and then weren’t, he would feel incomplete. But he doesn’t feel all that incomplete when he’s away from you and he know’s he’s coming back to you (eg. on a mission or deployment).

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Bradley has trouble communicating his feelings to people. This is caused by the fact that, for a majority of his life, he has internalised his own feelings so as not to be a burden on the people around him.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He isn’t a fan of conceited people. He can understand being a little cocky - he’s a pilot, he’s pretty cocky himself. But, being over the top with it? That’s a big no. He also doesn’t like people who are unmotivated. He isn’t judgemental, he gets that everyone has their own pace for things. But that just isn’t his vibe. He wants to be around people who can match his will and motivation.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Bradley is a cuddler, that’s been established. But, in the middle of summer or on nights where he doesn’t want to? He is laying on his stomach and head buried in the pillow. He is a person who always needs a blanket on him - it creates a sense of security for him. He always sleeps shirtless, however. Bradley is also a very deep sleeper, so once he’s asleep… Good luck waking him up.

tags ;

@leoswolfe

#top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #sfw alphabet #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #top gun headcanon #top gun maverick headcanon #bradley bradshaw headcanon

[ohii-san]

UNKNOWN HOLY NIGHT AND NIGHTHEAD - PROLOGUE

( One day in November )

Tomoya: O~i, Hinata. I’m thinking of making some coffee, do you want some too? Look, there’s a note here that says you’re free to help yourself.

Hinata: Huh. Will you make mine too? Thanks, Tomo-kun!

Tomo-kun’s reeeally thoughtful, isn’t he~?

Usually I’m the older brother type and I never really thought anyone else would take care of me, but when I’m with Tomo-kun, I get really spoiled.

Tomoya: Ahaha, what’s that? You’re making a pretty big deal out of me making coffee.

When it comes to Ra*bits, Hajime usually makes the coffee for me, and it’s really good. So I wanted to try it for myself.

Well, I guess all you have to do is set up the cup of coffee and turn it on…

Okay, it’s brewed. Thanks for being patient; it’s hot though, so be careful! I can’t even joke about burning yourself before the performance…

Hinata: U~waaa ♪ Thank you!

Well, I’m still wondering when the actual performance is gonna be~

Tomoya: Yeah, for sure. This is the first time I’ve felt so pressured by work.

Hinata: Me too, me too. But it seems like it was some random trouble with the equipment, so it’s not like it was anyone’s fault.

Tomoya: But, waiting for so long is kinda exhausting… I don’t even really feel excited for work anymore.

Hinata: Nn~… I’ve been waiting for so long that I’m getting sleepy, but the sofa here’s too hard~

Tomoya: Hey, you're relaxing too much. If you lay down, your clothes will get all wrinkled, and your hair will come undone, won’t it~?

I went to the trouble of getting my hair and makeup done to look manly… Look, get up, get up!

Hinata: Ugh… Seems like Tomo-niichan’s actually kinda strict.

( Ping )

Tomoya: Nn? Was that your smartphone, Hinata?

Hinata: Mm~? Well well— Uu. Looks like it’s not me.

Tomoya: Ah, sorry, it was me. I’ve got a message on HoldHands.

Isn’t HoldHands for business? I wonder what it is.

Tomoya: Erm— “Contacting you regarding Shuffle Unit”…

Ahh. This is that inter-office P-Association project I’ve heard about.

Hinata: Woah! It’s finally Tomo-kun’s turn!

Tomoya: Yeah, yeah. Mitsuru and Nii-chan were already chosen for theirs, so I’ve been looking forward to mine~

It’s something where various idols form a temporary unit together and do a project that goes beyond the agency’s limits, right?

Hinata: Yeah, that’s what it looks like. C’mon, what is it this time? Show me!

Okay, now show me… Oh, looks good~ But it’s still not mine…

I’m really looking forward to forming a temporary unit with a bunch of different faces from the agencies.

Doesn’t it kinda remind you of back at Yumenosaki, with our seniors around? Back then, we also worked with lots of different people.

Tomoya: Now that you mention it… I’ve been taking on so much ES work lately that I forgot about that.

Hinata: We got to make lots of good friends through work… And it happened pretty often, too. So that’s why I’m looking forward to this, as well.

Tomoya: Personally, I prefer teams with members that get along… I'm no good at talking with people I don't know, it makes me really nervous. Especially if they’re my senior.

Hinata: Is that so? Well, communication can be carried out just with a smile, some gesturing, and those kinds of things!

Tomoya: You’re still as smart as ever. And you shine just as bright, too.

Tomoya: Ahh, that’s right. I forgot to check…! I need to look at it properly.

Hinata: Fufufu. I can’t help it when you look so gloomy, y’know.

Anyway, Tomo-kun. Who are the members of that Shuffle Unit after all? I’m pretty sure it’s written in that email.

Ehh, the members…

Tomoya: What?! Hajime?! And Himemiya, Harukawa, and Shiratori… Is this really real?!

It’s not a mistake or prank, right? Huh?!

Hinata: No way?! Really?!

Ahh, how per~fect! Look Tomo-kun, it’s a circle of friends! Actually, isn’t this kinda cheating?!

Tomoya: Yeah, yeah! I didn’t expect there to be so many friendly and easygoing faces!

Hehe… Actually, I was really a little worried~ I feel like if me and my seniors were put in the same room, I'd end up having to take care of them.

Tomoya: I doubt there’ll be any problems, I think we can work together to make this Shuffle project a success ♪

proofread by @misuzuh and @yume-fanfare for tomoya's dialogue !

#unknown holy night and nighthead #enstars translation #enstars translations #tomoya mashiro #hinata aoi #from the doctor's clipboard #enstars #ensemble stars #ensemble stars translation

[toastnpretzels]

Connection

masterlist

Relationships: Fives x female!reader

Warnings: smut 18+ (MINORS DNI), vaginal fingering, public fingering, medic reader, slightly angsty

Word count: 1898

Summary: A night out to 79s doesn’t end the way you think it will.

Authors note: This is my first time writing a smut. I’m sorry if this isn’t good, just know I am trying. I’ve also got a few other things in my drafts. I only proofread this once, so sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. Also, I will be making a masterlist after I post this. Thank you for all the good feed back on the Echo imagine. It really made me continue writing. I hope you all enjoy this :)

Being friends with Fives was always easy. The conversations came easy. Fives was so outgoing. He brought out the same thing in you. You both had been friends for so long. You met the first day he had become part of the 501st. He made an attempt at flirting with one of the other medics, which had failed very badly. She walked right away from him without saying a word. As female civilian medics, you were used to it. You were around men that see very few females that aren’t their commanding officers, of course you would be hit on. You’ve been hit on more times than you can count, although you never know if it’s from the drugs from whatever injury they are facing or if they are just being themselves.

The week had been long. The 501st had not been on Coruscant in a very long time. The first night was spent differently for everyone, some going to see secret significant others, others going to celebrate, and some just sleeping. For you and Fives, it was going to 79s with many of his other brothers. You loved going out with everyone, but it was becoming increasingly hard with Fives. Of course, you would start catching feelings for one of your closest friends. You tried so hard not to, but it was bound to happen. Between his flirty personality and his overall genuine care for you, there was no way you wouldn’t start feeling something. But every time, Fives would leave with someone else. You knew he wasn’t hurting you on purpose, but it still stung every time. The way he would dance with a new girl every night, the way he would kiss them in the corner where he thought no one would see, it all hurt you. But it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know how you felt.

Tonight was different. Fives hadn’t left the booth where you and the rest of the 501st were sitting. Jesse and Kix had already both left with someone, leaving you with Tup and Dogma still sitting with you and Fives, but eventually they left to find someone as well. You expected this night to go the same as always, with some girl grinding on Fives and you leaving before you had to witness anymore. But Fives stayed.

“Why aren’t you going out there?”

“Why aren’t you out there? I don’t think I’ve seen you go home with a single person anytime we’ve came here,” Fives says while taking a sip of his drink. How did he even notice that? You never thought he would notice when you leave, being too busy wrapped around whatever girl he wanted for the night.

“It’s not really my type of thing to hook up with people. I prefer having a connection. Makes the experience so much better,” you said, trying to hide that the real reason was because you wanted to leave with him.

“What makes it better?”

He looks right at you with this stupid smirk on his face. Maker, he looked good tonight. You swallowed the rest of your drink before answering.

“Have you ever had sex with a someone you had feelings for? I don’t know how to explain it but it just feels so much better than with someone that you just met. Even if its not someone you love, just having a connection makes it better. Like having feelings for someone and being able to show it in a physical way,” you say. It sounds stupid in your head, but it’s the only explanation you can give without letting your emotions come spilling out.

“And what if I said I had feelings for you?”

You look up at him. He’s staring at you with the same stupid smirk from before. He must be joking.

“Please don’t say something like that if you are just trying to get a quick release from me,” you say quietly while looking away. You feel like you are going to cry. Why would he do something like this?

“Mesh’la please look at me. I would never treat you that way. I’ve had feelings for you the entire time. I know I have a horrible way of showing it, but that’s why I’m telling you now. Ever since the first day when you laughed at my horrible attempted at getting someone else’s attention. I knew I had picked the wrong person to flirt with from the very start.”

Fives moves his hand to cup your face. He looks at you with so much love in his eyes. You can’t believe you ever even thought that he would use you. This is your Fives, the one that cares so much about the people he loves, the one that would never hurt someone intentionally.

“Why did you wait so long to say something?”

He looks down and laughs a little. Even now his laugh is still cute.

“I couldn’t ruin the friendship we had. I’ve never had a friend like you. You mean the world to me. I just couldn’t keep going on acting like I didn’t feel something for you, like I hadn’t been wishing that every girl I’ve been with was you,” he says while looking back at you. He wipes the single tear that had escaped your eye.

“I have feelings for you too. I didn’t realize until it was too late. If I would’ve known you felt the same way, I would’ve said something.”

Fives smiles and leans in, letting his lips feel yours for the first time. Heat starts to rise throughout your body. Fives starts trailing his hands along your sides, settling them on your hips for the time being. You let your fingers slide through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging a little. At this, he slips his tongue into your mouth. The feeling of his tongue gliding over yours is starting to become not enough. You can feel how your body aches for him. The kiss feels more heated, more hungry, every second.

Fives pulls away from your lips and starts to kiss down your neck. You let out a small gasp as he sucks a mark onto you. Your entire body is screaming for him to take you right here, not caring if anyone else sees. You aren’t sure if it is the feeling of the drink running through your body, or just the sensation of him touching you. It seems he is feeling the same way as you as he pulls away from your neck to look in the eyes. He looks just as a mess as you are, lips swollen from the kiss.

“Would you let me finger you in this booth?”

Fives glides his hands up your thigh. You couldn’t have made a better decision by wearing a dress tonight. The feeling of his hand slowly moving up is making your entire body pulse with need. You didn’t think tonight would end with a confession, let alone something so exhilarating happening in the back corner of 79s where anyone could walk over at any moment. His fingers ghost over your panties, now soaked through at the thought of him. You nod at him.

“Please, I need you,” you sigh as his finger presses slightly on your clit.

“Maker, your soaked. All of this just for me?”

Your head is spinning just from the feeling of him softly rubbing up and down your clothed clit. Your pussy is throbbing with need, enough that you are ready to cry with how badly you need him.

“Fives, please more.”

“Shh ill take care of you. You are going to cum on my fingers, then I’m going to take you back to the barracks where I can fuck you with no one else around,” he whispers in your ear, making you whine in anticipation.

As he finishes, he grabs at the waist band of your panties and pulls them down. You shift your hips up to help him take them off. Once they are around your ankles, Fives leans down to grab them and tucks them into his pocket. He brings his hand back up to your thigh. His touches are so soft making you ache for his fingers. As you’re ready to beg, he brings his finger to your clit. The smallest touch has you gasping again.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me. We wouldn’t want anyone interrupting us would we?”

Fives presses his lips to your neck as he circles your clit. Your whole body is screaming with need as he continues to tease you. The touches are too light, too slow. It’s slowly driving you insane.

He finally brings his finger down from your clit to your entrance. You can feel yourself dripping onto his fingers already. He slips the tip of his middle finger into your entrance, the feeling making you want to scream out with just how good it feels. Your body is screaming for more as he continues to push his finger in slowly. He finally pushes it all the way in and curls it up. You whine out loud on accident. Fives stops his assault on your neck and puts his mouth over your own instead. He pulls his finger almost all the way out, just to then push it back in harder. He continues doing this, his palm rubbing against your clit every time his hand bottoms out. He keeps doing this, making you whine into his mouth with each push of his hand. You can hear the wet sounds coming from below you. He pulls his finger out slowly this time, making you whine again in protest.

“Think you can take another? I think you can,” he says as he pulls away from your lips. You nod your head, just wanting to feel more of him.

You clench around his fingers as he adds in another. It feels so good, too good for only being his fingers. He pumps them in faster and harder than before. Your head drops against his shoulder. You quietly moan and whine into his ear as his thumb comes up to circle your clit. Thank the maker for the loud music or else someone would have for sure heard you, from the small whines or the wet squelch coming from under the table. He begins kissing your neck again, nipping and leaving marks. You can feel yourself hurdling toward one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

“Cum on my fingers baby. Be a good girl for me, you can do it,”

At the sound of his voice, you feel yourself hit your peak. He kisses you again to swallow your moans. It washes over you in waves. You can’t feel your legs, just the pleasure coursing through your veins from just his fingers. You’ve soaked his hand and surely the seat below you. He pulls away again and kisses your forehead. He pulls his fingers out slowly, being careful not to overstimulate you. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them in. You can already feel your body becoming hot with need again.

“How was that?”

He has that stupid smirk on his face again. You giggle at that. Was he really asking like he didn’t just give you the best orgasm you’ve ever had?

“Can we leave now? I would like you to keep your promises of fucking me tonight.”

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