#Eventually I got numb to most of it but idk. I was good at it sure but I didn't like feelin like I was losin my emotional depth for tragedy

[creepyscritches]

I'm going to be interviewing for a position move I've been dying to get into since I started my career and I'm 🥺 my superiors almost tailored the position to me before ever talking to me abt if I was interested and I've had two different employees (one mine and one on our sister team) independently reach out to ask if I was going for the position--one of them even told her supervisor that she and the other hiring manager should pick me for the role 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love my job.....

[thealbatrovss]

take my hand // logan howlett x reader

summary: it’s probably a good thing logan doesn’t involve himself in school projects, you learn

basically: logan destroys school property but gets a date

oneshot-fluff, this is just fluff. suggestive material. flirting, a bunch of that. cringe but I am free! Not proofread I apologize

-probably ooc idk but i haven’t written anything in YEARS so this is a practice one for me. Enjoy!!! More fics to come.

word count: 1k+

masterlist

Persistent knocking on your bedroom door woke you out of an afternoon slumber gone on way too long.

“Shit!” The alarm on the stand read 7:15pm. You fell to the floor, tangled up in your own sheets. The wooden boards beneath connected to your forehead. You winced, peeling your face from the floor. “Fuck!”

You could hear Logan’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Are we going or not?”

“Of course!” You shout, shaking numb legs out from the covers. Trying to stand up took a few tries but you eventually got there.

Logan stood with one hand against the wall and one on his hip as the door opened. A stream of smoke trailed from the cigar nestled between his teeth. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him senseless, letting the smoke permeate your clothing, lips, everything. But you were just friends. Well, friends that also found a way to flirt in most situations.

“What the hell was that?” He cocked an eyebrow, leaning to look over your shoulder into your room, noticing the disheveled bed. “Got someone in there or something?”

“Yep” You went along with it. You turned towards your open window, dramatically sighing. “Looks like you just missed them.”

“I'm sure that’s exactly what happened here.” His lips turned upwards. It was hard not to get lost in his gaze.

“Lost inside that head of yours again?” His thumb slid over a small cut on your forehead that quickly healed itself over due to your mutant abilities. He smiled, his hand lingering on your cheek for a little bit longer. Like he was holding on to a moment. “There you are.”

You tried to hide the way he made you feel by straightening out your clothing. “I completely spaced out. Fell asleep going through Hank’s notes. By the way, did you know he wrote poetry?”

“Hank?”

“Yeah. He must have mixed it in with the papers he gave me earlier. It’s very good.”

“Great. Now you'll be serenading me with poems about science and shit all night.” No sarcasm oozed off him, he was dead serious. “As soon as we get to that party, I’m heading straight for the booze.”

Your eyes widened. You were still running late. “Orono is going to kill me.” You both started down the hallway, your pace out matching his for once.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m late too.”

You grinned at the nickname, walking backwards to face him. “You wouldn’t be, I don’t know, avoiding this night because you were supposed to help and didn’t?”

He shook his head. “Look, I didn’t agree to work here just to end up becoming a gardener.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have destroyed the old one in the first place.”

“Hey,” he pointed his cigar at you, “it’s not my fault those government bastards decided to sneak in through the greenhouse. I can’t always choose my battle grounds.”

You looked at where his claws came out. “Those plants never stood a chance against you.”

“Nope.”

The way he said it so casually made you laugh out loud. “They were only asking for an hour of our time. Once a week.”

The greenhouse blossomed with life upon entering the new scenery. He took another drag of the cigar, embers floating through the air. “Well, would you look at that. Seems like they did just fine without me.”

You could feel the smoke on your face. “Wow, such a team player.” Logan laughed at that.

Ororo’s end of the year project with the entire student body was finally finished. A brand new, beautiful garden for mutants to study, take care of, and admire lay before them. Hopefully Logan could keep himself from destroying this one.

“It’s so pretty.” Your fingers lingered on a rosebush nearly blossomed. “Ororo really outdid herself.”

“She always does.” Logan put out his cigar, making sure to avoid the plant life.

Strings of light zigzagged overhead, a soft glow of white and yellow hues going nicely with the greenery. A large water fountain stood in the middle of the encasing plants creating a fork in the road. The pillar in the middle of the fountain had multiple hands reaching out from the center, as if they were beckoning for those below them to take their hand.

Voices came from the very far side of the greenhouse. You could hear your friends' and fellow X Mens laughter all the way from here. It would just be the teachers and staff tonight. The students will get to see the final results tomorrow.

“Fancy stuff.” Logan stopped in front of the large structure. “But doesn’t this seem a bit over the top?”

“I’m pretty sure this was the Professor's idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“I kinda like it. Feels very symbolic.”

He tapped on one of the white marbled hands with the back of his knuckle. “Sounds hollow. How about that symbolism?” But apparently that was a little too hard. One of the fountains arms gave away from the crack Logan made, and splashed into the water below. He stumbled trying to cover up the place where he chipped off the art piece. His feet ended up in the pool of water.

“Do you have some sort of grudge against this place?” You held in your laughter as best as you could.

He groaned, rolling up his sleeves. “Stupid thing.”

You tried to think of anything but him at that moment. But of course that always fell through. Wet skin shimmered against the last fading rays of sunlight. Strains of dark hair stuck to his furrowed forehead as he searched the water below.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that hard to find.” You shook yourself out of those thoughts.

His hazel eyes landed firmly on you. “It’s stuck.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know, but if I pull it out, I’ll definitely break more than just the arm.”

You sat down at the fountain's edge and dipped your arm in all the way up to the elbow, curious as to how this could of happened. “It’s fucking freezing. Did Bobby have anything to do with this?” Before you could even begin to look a hand dunked your head into the water with a surprising gentleness. You gasped as you came up for air.

Logan held the broken arm up towards you, smirking at his actions. “Got it.” He wiggled it in front of your face for extra effect. “You didn’t need to do all that but I admire the desperation.”

You didn’t let him relish in the moment and splashed waves of water into his face. Beads of liquid clung to his mutton chops, the sweetest smirk clinging to his lips. He licked them, spitting out water. “Deserved.”

He offered the broken statues hand towards you, and you gladly took it. Stumbling a little too close, your chests nearly touching, the only thing separating you both was the broken piece of marble. The quiet laughter quickly faded as you stared back at each other. Your breathing quickened, the marble arm cool against your skin dripping with water. His white tank top was soaked, accentuating his upper body.

“We should try and reattach the arm.” Your voice was just barely above a whisper. “Do you think they’ll notice. Oh god, they’ll noice, won’t they?”

And then Logan gave you the softest smile you’d ever seen. Like there was a secret just between the two of you. He delicately moved pieces of wet hair from your face, as gently as wind blew leaves off the pavement. “And how do you think we do that?” A breeze ruffled your cold frames, but you could only feel a blazing warmth coil within.

The intense yet intimate moment was broken by the sound of Ororo sighing from behind you. “Well, you can start by getting out of the water and giving me that.”

Logan and you shrank from each other, hopping out of the cold water. He held his head high, putting the broken object into her hand. “Sorry about that.”

She put her hands on her hips.

“Again.” He finished. As he stepped back, his shoulders brushed yours. He never once bothered to move. You were more than happy to stand in that awkward yet sweet moment.

Ororo brought the marble hand up to her forehead, shaking her head. “Will you two just date already, this is getting exhausting.” She walked away, murmuring to herself about Logan’s “great” hospitality skills.

The two of you stood there, letting the water drip to the stone beneath. Logan shook his wet hair, trying to light his cigar. “You can ask me out tomorrow.” Is all he said, walking away, leaving a smoke trail towards the mini bar.

All you did was smile so hard you could feel your teeth hurt.

[mushyposts]

WOAH! THE CREW???? THE CREW FROM HIT FANFICTION NO THING DEFINES A MAN LIKE LOVE??? WOAH WOAH WOAH??? Anyway yes omg its them!!! This took me so long and im so tired but look at my ANGELS!

UM! Friendly reminder that I myself am not Inuit/Indigenous! I did research + had an Indigenous person helping me w the tattoos, but if theres anything wrong/disrespectful pls do let me know and I will fix it. All the tattoos r on a seperate layer so it'll be an easy fix and one i am more then happy to do. A few of the designs changed between this and my written description, so... Oops?? Especially Morqa. I got carried away ok.... ANYWAY I have some little notes abt their designs here and there so! Kaiqa: He used to have shorter bangs around his face but they annoyed him so he tried to let them grow out but that annoyed him so he would cut them again and then try to let them grow out and now he just has perpetual baby hairs that wont get any longer. Mikla: UM. Not much to say here. Isnt he pretty tho?? Buteq: SOMEHOW ENDED UP THE MOST MAJESTIC MAN EVER. HELLO?? The two beads on the right are for his nieces and the one on the left is for his sister! Neter: One time he got super cocky abt being 7 years older then Nitya which meant he was a better fighter and so Nitya was like "yeah?? ok bet." and then punched him and broke his nose and was like "hm where are those warrior reflexes?" so now Neter has a permanently bent nose. Sorqai: He got the scar thats through his beard in the same raid that cause Nitya and Konait (Kaiqas older brother) to die. Nitya died trying to get Konait and some other kids out of the mess, and Sorqai got injured trying to get to them to help. He's mostly numb on that side of his face due to nerve damage ! Causes him to lisp a bit, especially w the chipped tooth (which he got from tripping) Natai: He wears both his own and Nitya's necklaces their parents made them, and intends to only take of Nitya's and let it go into the ocean where he was buried when the war is over. His own way of keeping Nitya involved in the war effort, something that was really important to him. Kutai: Again, no real notes here but isnt he pretttyyy..... Kovak: Honestly, very likely one of my favourite character designs I've ever made. Im kind of obsessed with him. He doesnt wear his necklace from his parents because he wasnt on good terms with them at all while they were alive. He took it off before they died, and hasnt been able to bring himself to put it back on. he intends to give it to his kid when he gets back. Mori: UM! I dont have a lot of notes here. Mori has two kids ! Hence the three tattoos under their chin, I saw an inuit creator/source say that sometimes people will add lines as they have kids and I thought that was really lovely so yes!! Again im just. I think hes so pretty. Luqait: Im so sorry king I did u dirty posting this after that one chapter. Each one of the beads he wears is dedicated to someone he knew in the tribe who died, theres more not visible on the other side of the braids. I can say for 100% certainty theres one for Kya and Nitya. Saila: Saila was actually a design i struggled a lot with, but I think I got them to a point im happy with!!! They're a good amount intense, androgynous and also have that amber flash in their eyes. The amber comes from having Fire Nation somewhere in their ancestry, something I dont think will really come up in the fic, but a detail I think is good to know! Morqa: I changed Morqa's design the most, especially his hair! But I think he's ended up being a design I am most proud of. The piercings especially!! Eventually u will run out of space (that we can see ig??) king but today is not that day godbless.

OKAY! THERE WE GO... I HOPE EVERYONE LIKES THEM UM PLS BE NICE AND DONT REPOST AND IDK JUST.... I HOPE U LIKE THEM AS MUCH AS I DO i know oc's in fics arent always peoples favourites but the reception of these guys has been like. Beyond mindblowing. Im so fucking excvited and happy everytime people in my comments talk about how much they love the characters i've created. Like.... The fact that people enjoy the OC's and not just for what the give to Zuko, but for what they give to each other and their own individual stories is so incredible to me. I hope u guys like this and I hope it helps u visualise them better!! : D

[jellyfishoreo1206]

You can ignore this if you want but!! I have an idea for a request: Gavril and mc trying to make homemade cheese together. Whether Mc already knows how to make cheese or not can be up to you!

Making Cheese with Gavril

Notes: I'M BACK, I SWEAR GUYS I AM NOT DEAD. Seriously I'm so sorry for leaving y'all w/o anything, my motivation to write anything had disappeared and finals bombarding me SUCKKKED. BUT I'M FINALLY FREE, RAHHHHHHH!!!! Anyway I was reminded of this one ask Part got last year with a cheese maker reader/food taster (I couldn't find it but it's somewhere on their dash, so credit to the person who asked the ask!) and I thought why not use that? Enjoy reading! (He may be OOC guys, it's been a while since I last wrote T~T)

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol in here (idk if Gavril drinks alcohol but considering the crap he goes through, that boy needs a DRINK)

----

Working as a cheese maker is a lot of work, as simple as it may seem to others outside of the profession. Physically demanding your attention each and every day. But that was part of the job either way. Doesn't mean it can't be fun, especially if you're a fanatic of cheese.

Tomorrow was your day off, your muscles finally being able to relax from the constant lifting, stirring, and pressing that they had to endure. You had a pretty good idea of what to do when you came back from work, and that was to relax until the early hours of the morning.

It was getting dark; the sun setting as it casted its long shadows onto the ground below. You felt yourself sinking into the couch cushion, the nerves of your limbs becoming fuzzy as your mind went numb watching the screen of the TV, some random show you couldn't bother to pay attention too for the last couple of hours.

A ping from your phone pulls your attention away from the show you were mindlessly watching, slowly pushing yourself up from the couch— wincing a bit as your limbs were finally moving again after so long—as you reached for it. You had a pretty good guess of who it was, as he was the only one who texted you on a daily basis.

Open your window please <3

"Didn't know my day could get any better." Smiling, you sent him a message back, standing up from the couch as you stretched your arms high above your head; a few of your joints popping in the process, letting out a sigh of satisfaction.

Which one?

Bedroom window

Omw

It scared the crap out of you when he first appeared at your window with little to no warning, but with how things usually played out in your life, you got used to it eventually.

A smile graced your face when you saw him perched by your window with an eager look on his face, his goopy tail seemingly wagging at the sight of you once you approached closer to the window.

Thank god he actually came when it was dark this time, you don't need another situation happening with your neighbor freaking out to the police.

"Hey." You offered quietly in greeting, wrapping your arms around his neck as you nuzzled into his skin—enjoying the warmth he seemed to radiate. He copied your actions, wrapping his arms around your waist—his grip gentle yet tight as he pulled you to himself.

"Hello, darling." He mumbles into your hair, placing a kiss atop your head.

"Didn't know you were coming back so soon?"

"Wanted to surprise you."

"Well, color me surprised."

~~~

"So," Your back was turned to Gavril as you poured the two of you drinks, "-anything new happened on your crazy adventure?"

At this point it was routine for the both of you. Gavril comes back, you make sure he isn't injured, catch up with each other's lives. Most of the time Gavril's stories seem to be a tad bit more interesting than yours, and concerning at the same time.

Very concerning.

"Not much," He starts, "-but I did get chased by some agents a few weeks back.." A awkward smile appears on his face as he shrugged his shoulders. His coat was currently laid across his lap, his fingers fiddling with the frayed edges while he looks around the room. Walking over to him, you offered him the glass as you sat down in the chair next to him, he gladly took it—taking a small sip of it before placing it down onto the table. You took a sip of your own drink, the liquid giving your throat a slight burn that soon settled into a slight tingle.

It's been a while since you last had a drink, not crazy long ago though, watching as the liquid swirls in the glass before bringing it back up to your lips again—embracing the burning yet warming feeling of the liquid.

"Did that same redhead appear again?" Gavril mentioned him once or twice before to you, you're not sure what the name of the guy is, all you know is that he constantly reappears and how cowardly he can be.

"No, only his buddy showed up this time. Wasn't like anything changed though." The corners of his lips hint at a smile, bringing a hand up to the one prominent curl of his hair as he plays with it for a bit, twirling it around his finger. "I wonder how he even got that far in without quitting." You murmured out. From what you've heard, FBI training is no joke, and very intense. Both physically and mentally. Those who can't handle the challenge usually quit early on; and if they do pass, then there's the insane amount of cases that would affect nearly anyone. So for the redhead to get that far still puzzles you.

"I wonder the same too."

You continued to talk for what seemed like hours, pouring yourselves a few more drinks as the day slowly faded away into the early hours of the morning. Your muscles felt relaxed, more at ease; a comforting haze overtaking your brain as you let today's worries slip away. It doesn't seem Gavril is feeling the effects of the drink other than the nearly invisble tint of red on his cheeks and his relaxed posture instead of the regular stiffness.

Drinking the last bit of the liquid left in your cup, you stand up from your chair as you head towards the fridge, looking back towards Gavril to offer him something to eat, "You hungry?"

He hums out in confirmation, head now resting on top of his folded arms, eyes closed. Peering into the fridge, you clicked your tongue; no cheese. Searching every corner of the fridge, nope, nada. What a pickle you were in.

You could just go to the convince store that's not far from here, 10 minutes by foot. But is it opened? Checking the time on your phone, no, they closed just a few minutes ago. Are you sure your eyes didn't just missed the cheese?

Second time looking, again, nothing.

While searching the fridge for a third time, a thought pops up.

'Well...there's milk, and a few lemons...' Looking in the cabinet next to the fridge, yup, salt and some leftover animal rennet.

Ah, a quick and easy solution to your small problem.

Quickly getting to work, you grabbed two small bowls, pouring water into both of them. Rinsing and cutting the lemon, you squeezed some of the juice into one of the bowls, mixing it and setting it aside. For the second bowl, you added some animal rennet into the water, mixed it and set it aside with the other. Once placing the pot on top the stove, you felt the embrace of two arms wrapping around your midsection with the added weight of something on your shoulder. Peeking behind you to see Gavril, with a curious look in his eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"What..exactly are you doing?"

"Ran out of cheese, so I'm making some." You respond cheerily, a tired smile spreading on your face. Turning back to the task at hand, you missed the way that red tint on his face seemed to have become darker, hugging you closer to himself as he watches your hands at work.

Despite you guys dating for several months, he still gets shy about acts of affection. Kisses, praises, gifts, being pampered; It just gives him that fluttery feeling that cascades through him. It's not that he hates it, no far from that, it's just that he doesn't know what to do. Being isolated from everyone—for who knows how long—and his only company as rats made him rather awkward. You don't mind it though—it's adorable to you whenever he hides his face in the shadow of his hood when you give him a kiss on the cheek—you want him to be comfortable around you, so usually give him ways out or just let him control the pace.

"Can I help?"

"Of course! Just, wash your hands first."

---

"So I just, pour it in?" There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, looking back and forth at the bowl with the animal rennet mixture and the pot of milk that was just taken off the heat. You had your phone playing some music— since you felt that the atmosphere was a bit too quiet—with one of Gavril's favorite rock bands playing as you guided him through the steps of making cheese.

"Yup, then just stir it in gently."

You watched as Gavril does as he was told, although a bit hesitantly once he began stirring. Walking over to him, you laid your hands atop his hands on the spoon, showing him the proper way to stir the cheese-to-be mixture. The contact brought a blush to his cheeks, a small smile forming on his face.

"Now that's done," Putting a lid on the pot, "-we wait for 10 minutes."

---

"You're gonna want to cut it in a grid-like pattern, like this!" Using a long knife, you cut two lines into the semi-solid mixture before handing the knife over to Gav.

"Oh, seems easy enough." He muttered to himself, changing the way he held the knife before holding it properly in his grip.

"Make sure to reach the bottom when cutting, cause right after this step is done, we're straining the liquid from the solids."

---

"I'll handle this part. I'll need to dunk the cheese in some hot water in order to stretch it properly." After straining out the cheese from the whey, you now needed to stretch it until it reached the right firmness. Gavril nods, as he lingers, a excited smile appearing on his face, his fangs peaking out.

Dunking the cheese into the water, you begin stretching. This part you somewhat don't like, it's not that the water is boiling hot, it just makes your skin irritated if it's submerged for long periods of time. Though it is a good way to release stress, it's like slime in a way. Edible slime, huh.

---

After adding the salt, you finally finished, good old Mozzarella cheese. Rolling it into small balls and storing it in some of the whey, you sit down as Gavril pops a ball of cheese into his mouth, a big smile appearing on his face.

A smile comes across your face as well, glad he's enjoying it. It's nice spending time with him, in moments like these. You kinda forget the fact that several month ago that he broke into your house and scared the living shit out of you when you realized you almost got killed.

...Does that count as Stockholm Syndrome??

Before you could think any further, a light poke to your arm brings you out of it. Looking towards Gavril, you see that he's offering you some cheese, a bashful smile on his face as a tint of red makes itself known. Aw, that's sweet of him.

"You can have some.."

"Thanks Gav." Popping the piece of cheese into your mouth, you savor the moment. Cheese tastes so much better when you're making it with those you care about.

What a great way to spend your day-off.

[crackl0verboy]

Marble hornets hurt comfort headcanons ft. Ships (theres some that aren’t specific so put In whoever you want)

(Im sorry- not feeling great rn and this is my way of coping 😔- IM SORRY IF THERES MORE HURT THAN COMFORT)

•Brian is like a walking ball of energy, he’s always up for meeting new people, doing things and genuinely being an outgoing guy but some days he just cant. Its not something he likes about himself very much considering he wants and likes to be there for and with people. His energy completely sucked away and he knows truthfully thats okay, it happens but it doesn’t stop him from feeling shitty about it. A way he’s gets comfort is from his partners (the boys)

A way i picture this going down is he roommates with Tim so he’s obviously the first to notice, he wakes up and Brian hasn’t even got out of bed yet when usually by the time Tim wakes up he’s gone on a morning run and made breakfast. He asks about it since well- maybe his boyfriend just wanted a lie in. But no. Tim gets short answers, tired and dull, it makes him frown knowing Brian is struggling, he texts Alex or Jay about whats happening and asks if they can come over.

They arrive to comfort Brian and as expected they’re kinda shouldered off since their bf doesn’t wanna be a bother, obviously they’re happy to reassure him then just be around him, they dont have to anything major, even just holding him in silence is enough.

•Alex is very quick to let his emotions take hold, especially anger so he starts fight a lot sometimes unintentionally and oh the guilt sets in hard afterwards. However he stays a good while being stubborn and doesn’t want to apologise because “why should i!?”, the memory of what transpired eats at him though and he knows deep down he’s gotta say something. When he does come around it’s usually with some form of gift (not that he thinks it’ll win him acceptance) then he apologises and acknowledges it was stupid of him to get so worked up about something small. He’ll do anything possible to keep things right.

•Tims frequent nightmares usually waken people up, he’ll be screaming and jolting in his sleep while he dreams of when he was a kid again in the hospital hallucinating that ugly tall faceless creature. Whoevers in bed with him that night wakes up groggy though they snap awake upon realising whats happening, they know this routine, know how to soothe Tim without waking and startling him. Rubs on his back as he’s completely encased in their arms, soft whispers saying its not real, fingers carding through his hair, even when it works i dont think the other person lets him go for the whole night.

•Jay gets stressed a lot to the point where he does actually cry at times and it really makes him feel so pathetic, it hurts and aches so badly, he just wants to be able to function properly without getting so overwhelmed. Its rare but, he reaches for the help he knows is there, opens the door with a red and puffy face while he’s on the verge of tears again and as he’s hugged everything just pours out once more. For a while thats all he does, cry, it fees good after he’s let it out even if it leaves him sleepy, he goes for a nap being cuddled if thats what he needs to do.

Waking up later he’s able to talk about what happened and go through how to prevent it from reoccurring, it can be embarrassing but its fine, he knows he wont be judged by someone who loves him.

•Tbh sometimes, certain duos work best for certain scenarios of hurt

•Tim and Alex are the ones that get into the most arguments because one demands an apology while the other just cant give one in that moment

•Jay got that abandonment and trust issues

•Brian being Hoodie must’ve been a miserable experience, completely consumed by hurt and anger and sadness that eventually went numb. He became a walking shell.

Idk what else to put yall- i still hope these were enjoyable to read

[tartrat]

Tried out the two 2025 songs, and i guess i review songs now. That’s all this blog is now, Just Dance fanart and weird reviews of the songs that get added. I need to do fanart for other series

Calabria 2007: Sore on the arms and the song is longer than it needs to be. I like long songs but this just felt like it went on forever, and since the song is repetitive, it affects the dance. It’s fun but not one I’d do often. I’ve seen people who wanted this song in the game, and i just don’t see what they see in this song. At least it’s not Say my name (i need to stop slandering that map). Idk it’s the type of song that’s obviously meant to be played in the club or at a party.I wonder if this UnicornLover was also form our world. If not then i headcanon that Pandafan and Deerstan are her dads. Am i still a bit salty about the showdown season winner, maybe, but surprisingly Estrella wasn’t the first to return and I visited for Give that wolf a banana on accident so who’s laughing now.

Basket Case: Really fun, i like how it all seems to take place in Lumen’s imagination, with the way he draws the other two dancers into existence. Fast as well. The late 90’s early 00’s rock songs, and by extension rock bands from that era and songs inspired by them, have been really fun to do, like Bring me to life, Numb, I am my Own Muse, tainted love, and now Basket case, all so good and i don’t listen to rock bands or most bands for that matter (you seem to have to know all the lore about them). I wonder if Lumen is friends with Scotty, they seem like they’d get on well. Like Lumen seems to have this crazy imagination and Scotty has surrealist nightmares. Lumen would love one of those 64 packs of crayola crayons with the sharpener on them. The demon does look like a combination of Deadpool and the British spider man. The names for this song weren’t added at the time I’m writing this so all we have is the twitter post that tells us Lumen’s name so I’m just gonna call the diver and demon purple and red until they tell us their names.

On a weird side note, i have an oc that i made for a story i was making and their original name was Lumen, but then I realised that that’s the name for part of a blood vessel, because i was doing my biology gcse at the time, and eventually just changed their name to Elle. Weird how I’m seeing that name again.

I’m fully expecting My Chemical Romance to be in Just Dance 2026 at this point, even though i don’t care for their music. Now how do we get them to do a duet between Blake and Liv to My Immortal by Evanescence (that’s the only other evanescence song i know)

TLDR: I love Basket Case and Calabria 2007 is definitely a song that was produced in the 2000s

Here are my scores with the camera scoring, there seems to be a bit of a server issue that won’t save them but will probably be fixed within the next hour. I’ve gotten way too used to using the joycon so the camera feels weird now even though that’s all i used up until 2022. Fuck you Microsoft this is somehow your fault, should’ve just kept Kinect support but nooo, people thought they were seeing ghosts and you got scared that you’d confirm evidence of the supernatural when it was just the technology of 2007.

[xoxotrailerparkprincess]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Smoking We3d HCs with the Jeff, toby and Nina ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

(Headcanons)

╔══════════════════╗

JEFF THE KILLER ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `

-IDK why but you cant convince me this man is not CONSTANTLY getting high...

-I could see him abusing substances "just because he can" and not using them because of actual stress and pain in his life.

-Maybe its just because his whole vibe is a careless emo metalhead, and by "careless" that literally means that he doesn't care about hygiene, people around him, what people think of him, his reputation etc...

-And that exact carelessness and attitude is why i think he would just shamelessly be smoking around the mansion until someone yells at him for it

-Then he saw you, seeming to be intrigued by you, weather its because you reciprocated the same carelessness or not, either way this man wanted you, so he was gonna get you.

-He finds you in your room in the mansion, listening to music on your bed when he just outright hands you one of his blunts

(And no hes not gonna inform you that he rolled an extra one just for youᐢᗜᐢ)

-He then asks if u wanted to go out onto the balcony, into the forest, or just in the house somewhere quiet because he wanted some peace with you (which wasn't normal for him since he's always yapping or always angry and creating chaos)

-Even though it may not seem like it because its jeff were talking about, you'll soon realize that he just genuinely wants to figure out more about you. Hes intrigued by you and found you interesting.

╔══════════════════╗

TICCI TOBY ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

-Now this boy is a little bit more...well...awkward and timid than jeff is. Hes not completely outright careless like jeff, but he definitely has grown used to the often-biased opinions of the fellow pastas and has taught himself not to care.

-I can totally see him smoking on the couch watching the news, or most of the time i can just see him smoking in his room. He gets to be alone, AND he gets to smoke so its pretty much a double bonus!

-But then when he started noticing you more, weather its because you just arrived at the mansion or not, he knew something was up with you and he was determined to find out.

-I can literally see this man promising himself to figure you out completely.

-He soon realizes that he shouldn't be so uptight because you seem like a pretty chill person, so toby trying to psychoanalyze you maybe wasn't his best route is he wanted to talk to you

-He eventually worked up enough courage to walk up to you straight up, because he concluded that the only way a guy like him (Socially awkward and sometimes looking meaner than he is) would be able to approach someone like you was to literally just approach them, and not staring intensely at them from afar

-He came up to you, finally approaching you, and you were welcoming to him, something he didn't fully know if he was expecting. He got immediate good vibes from you.

-He asked you to go out into the forest with him for some peace and quiet, and then offered you a smoke to just brighten both of your days in that god forsaken mansion and the hell-hole lives you both live.

-In that way, he's very much different than jeff. He abuses substances either to feel something, or to numb the pain that's inside of him. He genuinely feels like he needs them to live, like he aches whenever he goes without them, without the stress relief. And he didn't bring you into it "just because you guys could", he genuinely noticed your anxiety and stress and wanted to help out.

╔══════════════════╗

NINA THE KILLER⋆♱✮♱⋆

-Nina is actually just such a girl boss that she looks good and aesthetic doing anything, so obviously our fashion icon is gonna look hot while forming addictions...!

-No but on a more serious note, i feel like this isn't something she does routinely like Jeff and toby, but a once in a while thing, an event that proposes itself on occasion every now and then.

-I feel like she would be the type to say smth like "Addiction is so not hot" or something along the lines of that (SHES SO COOL STOP)

-I feel like if Shes having a party, if its a holiday, or sometimes when she's hanging with you shell bring out the stash and shell make sure that you both enjoy yourselves

-I definitely feel like she was the first one to approach you when you first arrived at the mansion, due to her bubbly personality and love for friends

-Be expecting sleepovers where you binge eat yummy snacks and ice cream, watch horror movies, get high and give each other scene/emo makeovers.

-Weather Shes your best friend, or your girlfriend, Shes the best person to hang around in my opinion (Maybe I'm being biased idc Shes such a scenemo girlboss i can't help it)

[sillylilho3]

Idk what I wrote but I kept going and now I got this......Idk what to do with it so enjoy!

Why does it physically hurt this much? Like a bruise or a pulling feeling. When I read of other peoples love. I want to be angery, I want to be mean and say how they won't last.....but I cant, because I'm envious. Green with envy, I crave it, I want it, I NEED it. I'm crying and down on my knees begging for what I know won't come yet, what I know the universe won't give me yet, waiting arms open for whoever needs me. Not wants me. Needs me.

ive let so many people in, i tried being everything they wanted and needed me to be......and they still left. I gave them what they needed in the moment. So i was useful to them at least, but never once did i want it to end till i saw that they didnt love me anymore.... I knew they didnt want to be with me, i felt it, i saw it, a few flat out said it. One cheated with someone of a completley different body type.........lets just say i knew they didnt even LIKE me anymore at that point. I felt like I was giving pieces of myself away each time. I dont care about the many of eyes that see or hear me in my pain, good. See it. Know Im hurt and know pain...... I don't care for the people that don't see me. Or worse only see me for what THEY themselves want. It scares me. Watching and seeing everyone and how they interact. Everyday I'm convinced love doesn't exist. Divorce is at the least 50% how marriages end. The amount of times I've seen and witnessed people cheat, or how one falls out of love. Or has a "hall-pass". I cant, it hurts. Everyone I know is divorced or unhappily married. It hurts to think of it, how ill never have love. I don't care for temporary love I want eternal love. I don't want a fling, I don't want anything temporary. Like I said I want to grow up and know each other and grow old together in love... I don't want to cherish something for a small amount of time, only for it to be thrown out later. I want to grow up and old together...... And it hurts so bad. Everywhere I look I just see hookup culture.....and it makes me nauseous. how most people don't even care to love......don't want to, To think all ill ever be to someone is some jerk off material....... It hurts, I want to share my mind and soul.

I want to grow my mind and soul..I want someone smarter than me. I want someone who's just as needy and possessive and OBSESSIVE as me. I need someone matching my crazy! Someone who matches my " freak". Someone to go play human bowling with! Someone to set fires with! Someone id run away from security guards with………

I want someone who needs me to be theirs so bad saying it isn't enough, a ring isn't enough, a baby isn't enough. I need their name on and in me, tattoos with little small hidden signatures of their name, tattoos with secret areas where if you look too hard, you notice sentences claiming me. Claiming me as theirs, numbing my skin so I "don't freak out too much" when they do it themselves cuz "why would i want or need anyone seeing whats mine?" And maybe giving me something so i don't move. Cleaning off the skin so effortlessly due to my unconscious frame. Numbing it, so I don't wake up. But when I do, ill have pretty little tattoos on me that I've always wanted, with little secret writing hidden in the tattoo claiming me as yours, showing me later when I'm gushing to my friends about it. Making sure I keep it moisturized and taken care of.

No arguments to be had. God forbid if I can't take the stupid argument anymore, I try to walk out. They wouldn't let me, trapping me with their body or simply just picking me up and not letting me go. When I start thrashing and yelling they warn me how they "only want what's best and how its in my best interest to behave." When I dont, eventually drugging me and "chaining me up" not with actual chains tho. That's be overkill for someone who's barely 90 pounds. Rationalizing with me. "What do you need sweet thing, cuz you're not leaving me..I've already made that decision." Caressing my tear stained face, "Nono hun, this isn't forever. Just till you understand your mine, your life belongs here. With me. I promise you, you can go outside, sniff flowers, do whatever you want. You just need to understand your mine. And ill do anything to show you" Caressing my body, even when I reject them, too angry to be in the mood. They'd sigh and take a step back, "I just want a family hon, is that too much to ask? I know your scared but your body was made for it! You'd look so pretty, tits huge with milk, belly full of my baby, or even after coming home with them on your hip, please! Hun I'm begging you. I know you'll be fine! Ill be here, do whatever you and mini want and need! Just, trust me...."

The type to "just remember" my period is on its way because of "how much time we spend together"..........even tho I myself have a hard time keeping track. Telling me/remind I need to take my pills, rather it'll be for my anemia, my period, depression or lactose intolerance. I'd know in my mind what each one would look like. Until he handed me a new pill. Different, when giving him a curious look they might just say, " they ran out of the brand I usually get you for ____" I'd chuck it up to that and take the pill without a second thought. He's my bf, my husband, my other half, my soul mate. They only want what's best for me. I'd trust them soooooo much. Little do I know they've been swapping my bc pills for hormone pills, everytime 1 hour after I take the pills. I slowly get more hot and tingly. I think it's just me and take off some layers, then the tingling starts getting worse, its like I'm on fire. Eventually giving up on whatever I was doing and heading to the bedroom, hiding myself under the covers embarrassed and grinding my cunt against the pillows in a fetal position. Whimpering, moaning softly and even crying. But they've been watching. My husband, my partner. Been planning and watching. Opens the door a crack and peers in. Looks in upon his little desperate puppy. Rubbing and humping on anything she can find. He'd step in, dropping his pants to the floor and getting under the covers with me. Shocked I'd stop and try to control myself. They wouldn't let me, setting me in front of them, looking down at the mess between my thighs, "awww baby, your so wet~ is puppys pussy crying? Huh? Does it need daddy to take care of it?" All I would be able to do is whimper while they lick up and taste my juices, prepping me for them, tongue fucking me. Flipping me over and completely mounting me, like I'm an animal. Arms around me holding me in place as he lines up and shoves himself inside me inch by inch. I'd be moaning, whimpering, screaming depending on how deep they went. His legs and hips keeping mine open and following my hips trying to stay connected everytime a thrust sent me running. Keeping me in place and breeding me over and over. This happening for weeks till he was sure his potent seed was planted inside me. Signaled by the increased size of my breasts and continuous grow of my tummy, our baby...

[kathxsoupp]

In Love With a Fever: Chapter 5

William Afton x law enforcement ! reader (fem)

HELLO HI I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD!!!!

Summary: Reader is a detective who was put on the missing children incident case, her person of interest is William and is currently investigating him.

WARNINGS: very graphic violence throughout the whole fic, eventual smut, slow burn, age-gap between reader and Will, manipulation, mutilation, broken bones, use of pet names, Will is obsessive, mentions of death, death and murder, there will be smut, a lot probably, I think, dub-con at some point maybe, fluff and angst, idk if I missed something just read with caution

Notes: NOT ENTIRELY LORE ACCURATE!!! This fic is also posted on my AO3, linked in my pinned post, I'm updating this fic every Monday and it's the first thing I have ever posted, so I hope you like it!

--MINORS DNI--

Chapter 5

He stood before his office window, thoughts racing through his mind. The satisfaction of his perfect plan slowly but surely working out made him feel like he was on top of the world. The clueless girl like an angel sent from heavens above right there for him to use. He promised himself he wasn’t actually going to fall in love with her or anything. He didn’t perceive her as that special. She was just there to cover for him. She was there for him to manipulate and shape into what he needed her to be, ‘so don’t fall too hard sweetheart. I’ll get rid of you in the end anyway.’

The clock finally struck 2:30 pm. You looked into the mirror once more, fixing your appearance and taking a deep breath. You were a little bit too nervous for a work-related meeting. If you could always be so professional about your job, why couldn’t you do the same right now? Working in law enforcement was always your dream job. True crime, mystery and even horror and paranormal stuff always intrigued you so much. That’s why you were so excited about being on this case.

You’ve known about Freddy’s for a while and about the diner that came before it. To be honest, you were still hoping you could maybe somehow get Afton to show you the robots, since you didn’t get the chance earlier. You wanted to know more about them. How they work, how they were built if there’s any stories behind them, etc. The animatronics were interesting to you, but you also found them a little bit creepy. That didn’t discourage you from wanting to find out more though, quite the opposite. Now you needed to focus on the task at hand.

You grabbed your bag and left your office. You walked out of the building and headed to the appointed place. The café wasn’t too far from where you worked. It was about fifteen minutes away, so you decided to just walk instead of driving. You got there a little earlier than you meant to. At least you had the time to find some place to sit and collect your thoughts.

Ten minutes later, he arrived. You looked up from your notebook and your heart skipped a beat when you saw him.

Why were you this nervous?

Breathe, (y/n). Breathe.

You stood up from your chair with a small polite smile and held your hand out to him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Afton. Thank you again for taking the time to speak with me.” You greeted him. He took your hand in a handshake. “The pleasure is all mine, agent.” He said, returning your smile.

You couldn’t believe how quickly he got so comfortable around you; however, you didn’t exactly mind that. It was your intention to get him to trust you as much as possible. They tend to be the most talkative then. You both sat back down, and you opened your notebook to write down anything he says.

“So, how have you been since we last spoke?” you asked him. “I’ve been alright, but I have to say I’m still very concerned about the recent events.” he replied with a serious look on his face. “It feels so surreal to me, and it has left me feeling quite numb I have to admit.”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew he was also a grieving father and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to go through the pain all over again.

“Again, I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what that must be like.” “What was it you needed to talk to me about?” he said to change the subject.

You were now a little nervous to ask about his family. You didn’t want to make the situation worse than it already was, but you didn’t have a choice, really.

“I just needed to ask you a few more personal questions. I promise you it’s just routine work, we need any lead we can get so we can finally put a stop to this madness. Would you be comfortable with that?”

He smiled to himself. He didn’t think his act would be so good you’d believe every single word he said.

“Of course, miss (l/n). Go ahead.” He said with that same smile, leaning forward, hands on the table fingers intertwined.

You asked him some questions you had written down in your notebook. Everything went well, until you mentioned the co-owner of the pizzeria, Henry.

“Henry, huh?” he said. “I have to say Henry Emily is the nicest man I know. Cheerful all the time, always happy to help, but he’s been acting strange lately. You know, I don’t want to point fingers at anyone, and I genuinely don’t believe he could be a suspect here I just figured you should know.”  “What about his behavior do you consider as strange?” you asked with a furrowed brow. “Well… he’s secretive and startled easily, I guess. Every time I speak to him, he seems nervous Fidgeting with his hands, not his usual calm and friendly self, but that might just be this whole situation getting to him.”

Interesting. You made sure to note down what he told you and then closed your notebook.

“Alright, well that would be all from me today. Thank you again for meeting up with me today, Mr. Afton. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?” He leaned forward in his chair closer to you. “I saw you looking for the animatronics the last time you visited my restaurant. Tell me, do those fascinate you?” he said with a small smirk. Your face went red. “Oh you did? I didn’t mean to stare, but yeah, I have to say those are very interesting. It’s a shame I didn’t get to get a look at them.” “You know, if you want, I will gladly take you to see them sometime. I can show you around too. Show you how they work, I can even let you see the blueprints, if you’d like.”

His offer shocked you. You didn’t expect him to be so eager to show you his work. Especially when you were literally a cop, a possible threat to him. The fact that he would voluntarily like to spend time with you showing you his restaurant gave you the slight feeling he really had nothing to hide, but you couldn’t jump to conclusions yet. And as much as you hated to admit, you really wanted to accept. You wanted to see the animatronics and spending time with him would be the cherry on top. You knew it would be so unprofessional. You knew it wasn’t right, but there was no way you could say no.

“Really?” you exclaimed a little louder than you meant to. “You know, I’d love to, but I don’t think it’s right you know. And besides, I wouldn’t want to be a bother to you.” You answered with an apologetic smile, but you prayed he would insist on his offer. “It wouldn’t be a bother at all, love. I was the one with the idea, wasn’t I? And as for the professionality of it,” he lowered his voice, “if you can keep a secret so can I.”

The nickname gave you butterflies. His attractiveness was a little too much for you. You hated it, but you were melting on the inside. You did your best to not make a huge deal out of it. He was a brit after all, and it most likely didn’t mean anything. You pushed your thoughts to the back of your head and leaned forward to get closer to him.

“My lips are sealed, sir.” You replied with your voice lowered, mimicking his, and with a smug little smile. He grinned. “It’s a deal then, agent. Tomorrow, after work, at 9:00?” You kept your smile. “Sounds perfect.”

[kisstheashes]

Hey, hope it’s ok to send this. I ran across your blog and I’m exmo. First off I wanna say I’m so sorry you experienced the bullshit as well. It fucking sucks. The reason I’m reaching out is that I see so many similarities in what you post and the way I felt after leaving Mormonism.

I’m 36 now but I left when I was 25 and I struggled particularly hard for the first five years or so. During that time I found myself indulging in various hard kinks and eventually developed a sex addiction (at my worst, I was nearly fired due to being late every day for 2 weeks; I was late because I was masturbating and couldn’t stop).

Back then I thought the kinks were helping me, that I was escaping the ways the church repressed and stifled me. Especially the misogyny; I thought I was “reclaiming” and “subverting” its expectations. But I started noticing patterns as I reflected on childhood trauma in and out of therapy. How most of my kinks mirrored things that seriously fucked me up in childhood. How it didn’t even have to be reversed power dynamics, despite me desperately telling myself I was challenging the system. How that BYU grad my sister was dating way back whenever forced himself on me and said words to me I’d never heard and wouldn’t hear again until I got into BDSM and kink, words that Mormon boys “don’t” know, words that I later learned had originated in commercial fetish porn. How I had to feel sexually overstimulated as much as possible in order to forget some of the things that happened to me. Numb, sometimes. Degrading sex was pretty much the only thing I thought I wanted back then.

Eventually the contradictions became too much for me to ignore and as I started prioritizing inner child work and healing myself, I found that these things turned me on just as much, but I had sudden moments of disgust during masturbation or (rare) sex.

These moments increased in frequency until eventually I couldn’t get off to any of it. Vanilla sex became appealing again. I started being able to have a conversation without thinking about sex in my head in the background. And I’m not gonna lie, that kinda saved my life.

I’m saying all this not to shame you or be harsh, but to say that I see you, I know how much being exmo hurts, and I just want the best for you and every other person that left the church. I want us to love ourselves. I want us to heal from the violent patriarchal programming, from the false dichotomy of innocent virgin/“indecent” “slut”. We are so, so, so much more than anything they imagined for us. We can imagine so much more. ❤️

So my first instinct upon getting this is to be incredibly, irrevocably offended. You do not know me. You ran across my blog and scrolled...idk how far. This feels weirdly parasocial for a rando because you are pushing your life experiences onto me.

So let me describe my life experience here, in not so many words.

I got a Tumblr when I was 14, and I had already masturbated for the first time a year prior. Upon being on my own on Tumblr, I stumbled across kink content that very same year, because Tumblr had no good filtering system. And I really, really liked it. I fantasized. I lurked. I read and watched and would be fascinated and yes, horny, but honestly I usually wouldn't touch.

So as I grow older I become more fascinated, I learn more, I actually learn what kink is about, ect, and as I grow into an adult, I'm finally exploring that in role plays, with friends, ect. (Do not sext your friends when their parents look at their phone. Oops.) And there's things that happened that I'm not going to get into, not because it was traumatizing but because it wasn't, and I'm not about to have people argue my own trauma with me.

And since you've seen my blog, undoubtedly seen my pinned, so let me also tell you that my owner, my Daddy? I've known him for 5 years before we got together. I asked him. We're both exploring 24/7 dynamics for the first time together, and the only unhealthy part that was in all of this was what I believe to be natural growing pains of a relationship: communication issues and breakdowns, normal stuff like that.

And my fetishes, my kinks, are who I am. It's part of my personality, it's part of how I see and interact with the world. It plays parts in what I wear, what I like, what I dislike, how I talk...all of it. Because I want for that to happen. I am a happier person drowning in kink than I ever was before. And now that my sex drive has actually unlocked itself? ohohoh, we're having fun.

But I'm never late to work. I make appointments on time. I don't obsessively masturbate unless i know i have the time to go dumb and just bask in the pleasure.

And finally: kink is not about me trying to get away from the church's teachings. Kink is me exploring my life and enjoying it for the first time. I've always known about kink, it has absolutely nothing to do with the church except for helping me realize very young that there was a massive rift between the life I wanted and the life the church wanted.

[bisluthq]

I don’t think it’s as simple as he stopped loving her, like he also got depressed and miserable about his own career and life, grew to resent her and clearly had a truck luck of self doubt that seeped into their relationship to the point when taylor knew and was dimming herself to try and save their relationship, also it sounds like she was being incredibly em apathetic about all of this and he knew that because he talks to Paul mescal about it a bit in that interview, idk if you’re familiar but he seems like an avoidant and she’s obviously anxiously attachment, as some like her who dated someone like him, i just know that it must have the most painful thing humanely possible for her because even if he loved her, he was pulling away to protect himself and regain control and shut down his emotions and go cold and numb to it all (apathetic and all)

It’s my experience with this that always has me low key angry when you say you like that he’s a kind got staying unbothered about everything 😭Like it’s not a good thing!

Sorry the rant of a hurt person (moved on but that relationship drained the ducking life out of me and it took me a year to feel normal again)

we all project our personal shit onto celebs (and characters in shows we like and books we like). You’re valid for feeling hurt and you might be right on some of Joever but like ultimately idc about any of that and just hope you’re okay. Celebs and music and fiction can make us feel a lot better about the crap that’s going on in our lives. I’m sorry your ex made you feel crappy my queen and I’m glad you’re feeling better. My point is never to make anyone feel hurt, so I’m sorry if saying “Joe dgaf” hurt you. I still think it’s largely true but like I also see why it’d bother you and fwiw why it’d bother Taylor.

as I say, we all project so like in Joever I relate to Joe because I was miserable for literal years in the relationship but couldn’t figure out how to leave and she kept saying she couldn’t imagine life without me and I was like “well ok then” and I got diagnosed with clinical depression after I got laid off in the pandemic and like my main outlet became Tumblr and like then eventually she left at last and I was like thank fuck (again we’re fine again she’s a dope person) and I got in an online relationship (don’t do that queens lol like even if you’re v sad) and then I had to navigate my way out of all that and like idk lol. When I hear YLM I relate to what she’s saying because I felt that way with B but I also relate to like the other character because I did say like “I love you” a lot and I probably didn’t but life is hard??? I’ve felt both sides of that song idk.

[frecht]

ok to set the scene with background information. my dad donates blood ALL. THE TIME. he's o negative and his blood is missing this thing that most people's blood does have that is horrible for babies so he's specifically extra good for babies that need blood. and i've felt kinda guilty for years that i've never gone but i didn't really know where to begin. especially because i have these awful AWFUL veins (when i've gotten blood work they've had to use a baby needle in my wrist before. and the back of my hand.)

but so a couple weeks ago i saw a sign at my school talking abt a blood drive. so i was like ok this is it! i will sign up ! and i did. crucially for a too-late time, though i didn't know that: i thought 10:45 would give me plenty of time to eat lunch and then get to my 12:20 class. i was WRONG. i also didn't have as big of a breakfast as i should have. i got there at 10:45 and did all the prep stuff fine, filled out their form, talked to the lady abt it, checked blood pressure and heart rate, etc. everything is going fine. i give them my left arm and they hand to use the blood pressure cuff to find my vein bc the tourniquet isn't enough. whatever i kinda expected that. i cannot overstate how bad my veins are. and then after they try to put the needle in something went wrong and it didn't work. but since no blood got into the bag, they can try with my other arm. so i said ok though i was a bit peeved bc i didn't want them to have to draw from my dominant arm but whatever. at this point it was clear that i was not going to have time to eat lunch to i texted my friend begging her to bring me dining hall pizza to class.

the right arm worked fine. it was just around 10 minutes which was honestly way shorter than i'd expected: i thought it would be on the longer side. especially seeing as in all that prep another guy had come up done his interview given his blood and left. so they had my blood and they took a couple samples though my hand did start to go numb so they had to take off the tourniquet and i asked them "hey, i biked here this morning because i always bike to my thursday classes and didn't think it through. will i be ok to bike to class or should i leave it here and walk?" and the nurse said "oh just take extra juice boxes and if you're careful it should be ok i guess..." so i waited around for 10 minutes and had a juice box and cookie and felt fine. and i took 2 extra juice boxes and an extra cookie. and got on my bike and biked idk a half mile? to class.

at the building i had the choice of biking up a longer hill or carrying my bike up 10 stairs. pushing it didn't occur to me. so i carried it up the stairs and i locked it and i was starting to feel a little woozy but i was like ohh it's fine. they did take a pint of my blood. my class was upstairs so i went up and in the stairs thought i felt maybe a headache coming on and i got to class and my friend was NOT there with my food yet and i sat down and then my head started spinning and my ears started ringing and it got louder and louder and i was really REALLY out of it all of the sudden like i do think i was about to pass out and it was all i could do to find my 2 extra juice boxes and CHUG them desperately and open one of my snacks and have a little and at that point i felt not fine but ok. and i thought ok i should go to the vending machine to get gatorade because electrolytes will fix me. but there ISNT a vending machine in that building AT ALL so i had to walk to the next building over (longest 3 minutes of my life) where i then couldn't FIND the vending machine and had to desperately ask my professor who i saw in the halls and THEN there wasn't even gatorade. it was like 6 different kinds of coke, sprite, or water. so i got sprite and went back to class and it turned out the professor WASNT EVEN THERE (he'd forgotten to email us) and the TAs were teaching a VERY skippable class. my friend did end up showing up with food eventually but ohh my god.

afrer I wasb my dishes I will get out my computer and tell you all the tale of my harrowing blood donation experience this morning

[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.

[literaila]

this vast empty space

spencer reid x reader

request: I’ve had this idea floating in my head after watching some One Tree Hill and Criminal Minds one day👀 what if the reader and Spencer have a child together but things are getting a little rocky with reader and Spence and they’re arguing so Spencer spends a lot of time at JJ’s with his child and JJ’s kids and one day the reader doesn’t let her child do something so they get mad and say they wish JJ was their mom🥺 but somehow a fluffy ending? Idk🗿 

warnings: angsty. panic attacks. me. its super duper long...um...depression symptoms...fighting....thats all.............enjoy!

“You’re taking her over to JJ’s?” 

There was this distance. 

There was an impenetrable wall. It was standing between the two of them, blocking their eyes, blocking their bodies from ever touching, from ever looking at one another. 

There was this wall. 

It was stuck between them, stuck standing there keeping them from each other, stuck living next to them, living with them, breathing in their space. 

This distance, this wall, this irritable thing standing between the two of them forcing them apart, forcing an uncomfortable feeling over their house, over their relationship, over their family. 

It was unavoidable. 

It was impossible to remove. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, not making eye contact, not even saying the words in her direction, just tying their daughter's shoes, too focused on her to even spare a glance at Y/N. “I thought a playdate with Henry would be fun.” 

She watched small hands wrap around his neck, watched him gently pick up their daughter, still avoiding looking at her. She watched her daughter whisper in his ear, watched him smile at her. She watched her daughter's eyes light up at him. 

She watched and she felt like she was far far away from them. 

“When will you guys be back?” Y/N asked quietly, standing, vulnerable, in their doorway, standing just watching the two people she loved the most get ready to leave, getting ready to leave without her. 

Playing with her sweater, moving it over her hands as to hide herself, as to feel smaller, she stared at the floor waiting for them to walk out. 

There was this feeling, a feeling that rested around her body like a blanket, a feeling that made her feel like she wasn't supposed to be there, made her feel like she was just a spare piece, that they didn't need her. 

She didn't want them to walk out the door. 

“We’ll probably stay the night,” Spencer said, still not looking at her, he hadn't been looking at her recently, his voice was a void of numbness, his tone nonchalant, never caring. “I don't want her to stay up too late.” 

Y/N looked up and stared at his back, she stared at her daughter who was smiling at him, she felt a small grin on her face. She felt her mood lift just a little bit, felt the blanket fall just a couple of inches off her shoulder. She was lucky that her daughter couldn't feel the space between them, she was lucky her daughter hadn't caught on yet. 

She was lucky she had a happy little girl. 

Y/N made a small grunt of acknowledgement, made a quiet noise that she hoped wasn't showing her displeasure in the situation, she kept her mouth shut so they wouldn't yell at each other again. She sighed gently, already exhausted, and walked over to the pair. She walked over and got closer to Spencer than she had been in days, she could feel his body heat reflecting off of hers. 

She felt so uncomfortable. She felt so out of place in her own home.

She smiled at her daughter, smiled at the crinkles around her eyes, and the dream-like gaze she had in her eyes, and ran a gentle hand over her face, moving the curly brown hair out of Fayre’s eyes. She poked her cheek, searching for the dimples she knew would show up. 

“I’ll miss you, Fay. Be back tomorrow?” She asked, repeating the words her daughter had said to her multiple times, repeating the words that always seemed to comfort Fayre. Y/N hoped they would comfort her. 

“Be back tomorrow, Momma.” 

Y/n gave her another smile, hoping the sadness she felt wasn't showing in her eyes. She kissed Fayre’s head gently.

“Okay.” She said moving away from the two of them, trying to not let her chest fall at the thought of them leaving for the night. She looked over at Spencer, who was staring at the floor still avoiding her eyes, and she felt her smile fade from her face. “Bye Spence. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” 

Spencer nodded. He walked over to the door and grabbed his bag. With Fayre on his shoulder he opened the door, Y/N watched Fayre wave happily at her, calling “Bye Momma!” as Spencer walked away. 

She watched Spencer not even glance back at her.

Y/N watched them leave. 

***

Weeks was a brief way to put it. 

The distance between Y/N and Spencer. 

Y/N wasn't sure when she had decided to start picking fights, to start bickering with him every moment they were together, to bicker with him until they were openly fighting with each other. 

She wasn't sure when that had started. 

She can remember the fight that it had all begun with. 

She can remember telling Spencer she was thinking about resigning from the BAU.

She can remember how surprised she was when he got mad. 

She couldn't remember anything after that. 

But there was a tension, a distinct tension between the two, that had put them both into defensive mode. The tension had made them disagree with anything the other said, and the few times they had been able to talk out their problems, those couple of times, the tension was always there the next day. 

The tension eventually turned into distance. 

And then Spencer was leaving the house for longer, he was spending more time in his office, he was sleeping at JJ’s.

He had started sleeping at JJ’s. He couldn't stand to stay with her, to sleep in the same room with her, so he went to his best friend. So he left.

Y/N usually stayed home with Fayre, usually spent their time off taking care of her daughter. 

It seemed like they couldn't even be in the same room for ten minutes without fighting. They couldn't even have a conversation about the doctor's appointment Fayre had next week without arguing about something completely useless. 

Y/N hated it.

She hated it so much. She hated that she never got the opportunity to talk to her husband. She hated that they hadn't spent time as a family, all together, in the past couple of months the fighting had been going on. She hated that when they were working when they were helping each other on a cause, she hated the distance that rested between them. 

She hated not talking to him.

She hated not seeing him smile. 

She missed cuddling with him. 

She missed absolutely everything about him. 

But she didn't know what to do. 

Should she talk to him? Apologize? Explain to him how she felt? Would that do any good, or would it just cause another fight between the two of them, another layer in the wall they were constructing? 

She didn't know what to do. 

She wasn't sure if there was anything left for the two of them. Wasn't sure if there was anything she could say without it ending in a fight. 

Spencer was sleeping at JJ’s.

So she spent time with her daughter. She basked in the love that her daughter offered her free of charge. She spent her days coloring with her, making cupcakes, and taking her to the park. She spent her days playing with old toys, watching Disney movies, and talking to Fayre about anything that was going on in her 3-year-old mind. She loved every second she got to spend happily with her little girl. 

But when Spencer wanted to see her, when Spencer wanted to be the good Dad that he always had been, when Spencer wanted to spend him with their daughter and still had to actively avoid Y/N while doing it… Those days Y/N spent alone. 

She spent those days alone cleaning their house, cleaning her daughter's room and Spencer’s office, doing laundry, and reorganizing anything she could, she spent those days going to buy more groceries and catching up on things that she had meant to do months ago. She spent those days in her house, surrounded by things that just reminded her of how much she loved her family, surrounded by things that just filled her with doubt and hopelessness. 

She spent those days alone. 

She pretended that everything was the same as it was months ago, that she and Spencer still felt desperately in love every waking moment, that their small family was as content as could be, she pretended that she didn't feel the numbness in her chest when she wasn't doing something, she pretended that it was all the same. 

And she was happy. 

She pretended for her daughter, she didn't want her daughter to grow up in a home where everyone was sad, she didn't want her daughter to learn that being happy isn't normal for most people. She pretended for Spencer too, because she knew, she had always known, that even when they were fighting, even with the distance between them keeping them so so far away, she knew that if she said a word, if she voiced her doubts, Spencer would be there in a flash. 

He would hold her and reassure her that everything was okay, he would tell her that he loved her. 

And she wasn't so sure that was true. 

She wasn't sure if Spencer still felt tied to her. If he still felt his heartburn with the adoration he had for her. She wasn't even sure if Spencer still wanted to try and change. 

But he was a good person, and he was an amazing husband, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for his family. Including lie. 

So she didn't say a word. 

She just pretended. Just pretended everything was fine. 

Everything was just fine. 

***

It had been days. 

Days since she’d seen Spencer, days since they’d both been in the same room, days since she had yelled at him, had yelled harsher and angrier than she ever thought she could be. Days since she’d talked to him. 

JJ was their saving grace. 

JJ texted Y/N, and came to pick up Fayre so Spencer could see her, JJ spent time with her husband and her daughter, JJ spent every day with Spencer and didn't tell Y/N anything about him, only gave her a small pitiful smile every time she saw her, JJ who had Spencer sleeping over at her house. 

Y/N didn't know how to feel. 

Sometimes she worried she didn't feel anything. 

She could only hear the yelling in her head, could only remember how sore her throat had been the next day, could only remember the fury in Spencer's eyes, could only remember the way he slammed the door, could only remember the words she’d said to him. 

“She’s my daughter!” 

Spencer sighed and moved past her to their dresser, he was packing more clothes, more clothes so he could leave again, so he could leave and go back to JJ’s. He still wouldn't look at her. 

“Spencer. She's my daughter and I don't want her gone every other night!” 

Y/N wasn't sure when she had started yelling, wasn't sure when she had gotten so angry. She only knew that there was a knife digging into her chest, a knife that was digging under her skin, a knife that was begging her to fight back, a knife that was fueling her rage, she was angry, she was so so angry. 

And Spencer didn't seem to care. He didn't seem to say anything to her, he only let her yell at him while he walked around the room getting all the things he thought he would need. He wouldn't look at her, and he wouldn't pay her words any mind, and it was infuriating. 

The knife only dug deeper with every ignored statement Y/N made. 

“Spencer, are you even going to look at me? Do you even care?”

And with that Spencer turned around, he turned around quickly, his entire body tense and stiff. 

Y/N felt her breath catch at the look on his face. 

He was angry. She could see that clearly in his eyes, his face looked about to break, looked ready to throw everything he had at her, the anger that looked infused into his eyes scared her, the tension in his jaw made her back away from him. 

She’d never seen him angry like that. 

“Of course I care Y/N! I can't look at you because I can't bear to see the person that thought we weren't good enough- you thought I wasn't good enough! I don't want to look at you!” 

The knife retracted at his words, pulled out of her, scared by the reaction, a reaction she had never expected. The knife- the anger -wasn't prepared for him to be mad at her, it wasn't prepared for him to get angry, to actually react to the words she’d been saying. 

Y/N was counting on the fact that he had been ignoring her. 

She took a minute to think, to take in his words, to think about everything he had said, everything that he hadn't said in the weeks they’d been distant, the knife retracted, and she thought. 

She thought she thought

And then the knife plunged back into her. 

Deeper. 

“She's my fucking daughter Spencer! I’m sorry that I’m her mom and you don't want to deal with me but nothing can change that now! You should at least have the decency to talk to me about her!” She spat the words at him, flung them like weapons, like acid that was going to burn his skin, to burn him to nothing. 

She didn't care, she didn't care about his reaction, she didn't care if he was mad at her, she didn't care what he thought, she didn't care that they were fighting, all she cared about was making him see, making him feel the way she’d felt for months. 

Like everything was her fault. 

“You can leave me all you want Spencer!” she screamed at him, her face red, her hands shaking, her entire body rocking with the force of her emotions, the knife digging, she screamed at him angrily, desperately “You can leave if you don't want to be here! But Fayre will not leave, this is her home. She wants to be here!” 

And Spencer stared at her shocked, stared at her as he had never seen her before, had never ever met her, he just looked at her like she was someone he couldn't recognize. 

Y/N didn't know what he was thinking, didn't know if his shocked face was because of her words, or because of the yelling she had always tried to keep in. She stared at him, she stared at him and suddenly felt like she was crazy like she shouldn't have even been there, she stared at him and she could feel herself shrink in size. She could feel the knife disappear, and be replaced with an empty hole that filled her. 

Spencer suddenly walked out of the room. 

Y/N took a moment, took a moment to process what had happened, took a moment to recognize the hole that was now in her body, she moved her hands to her chest as to feel for it, as to make sure it wasn't actually there. 

She couldn't feel anything. 

After that moment she stormed for the door, stormed to go find Spencer, stormed because she wasn't ready for him to give up, to just leave once again. 

She stormed out of their room and she was met with a door about to close, a tiny hand she could see through the crack. 

She stared as the door slammed, more harsh and more final than any words she had screamed. 

She stared and watched her daughter leave with her husband. 

She felt her heart rush, and her head filled with air and, 

There was a hole in her chest and she was trying to grab it, trying to find it trying to trying to, 

There was nothing there but the empty house she was stuck in. 

JJ had brought her back the next day. Had given her that sad smile, and then left. 

Y/N wondered why her husband wasn't back. 

She wondered why he wasn't coming back. 

She wondered if he would ever come back. 

So did Fayre. Every day it was the same question “Where's Daddy?” which was answered with a blank “I don't know little love. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.” and then “Be back tomorrow Momma?” which was asked after a couple of days. And the same answer was always “I don't know Fayre.”

Because Y/N had no clue. She had no idea what her husband was doing, no idea when he was coming back, no idea when he wanted to see their daughter, no idea what to do. 

She caught glances of him at work. The team had been under strict orders for only in state cases, enforced by Strauss, and so there was nowhere else she could see him. But there were moments. There were moments when he was there, but Hotch had told her he had requested to finish his work at him, had requested to stay out of the office for a while, and Hotch had agreed. He’d even looked shocked when Y/N asked if he knew where Spencer was. 

Because she was supposed to know. 

But she didn't. 

There were moments where she saw him come into the office, small moments where she only got glimpses of his hair, of one of his vests. Little moments that reassured her that he was still there, that he hadn't left completely.

She prepared herself for the news that he had resigned, news that there was somewhere else Spencer was going, prepared herself so much. She had told him to go, told him to leave her, why wouldn't he? 

She prepared herself for the inevitable news she had set herself up for. 

But it hasn't come yet. 

Instead, she had gotten news of a party, one that Rossi was throwing, a celebration for whatever reason he had proclaimed. She’d gotten the news, and she’d been told that she had to go, that there was no backing out. 

And she’d agreed. 

Besides, it would be good for her to get out of the house, to go somewhere with her friends where she wasn't constantly looking up from her desk for something. 

She’d been told to take Fayre, told that Jack and Henry and Micheal would all be there, that her little girl should go have fun with them. 

She’d agreed.

But she knew that taking Fayre would mean passing her off, would mean giving her to Spencer so that they could spend more time together. 

She’d been in a mood all morning because of it. 

It had started with breakfast, which she had burned while helping Fayre get dressed, and then it was the loud TV playing while she wasn't trying to finish up some paperwork, and then it was the headache that was burning her eyes, and then it was packing up Fayre’s things. 

She felt so overwhelmed, felt so nervous to see Spencer for the first time, felt so sad that she was going to have to go home without her daughter. 

She felt like she was doing everything wrong, felt like she couldn't even keep her family together, couldn't even keep her daughter happy for one day without Spencer. 

She felt like she shouldn’t have to do any of it without Spencer, felt so angry that he was forcing her to pass their daughter off like she was a present. 

She felt so so overwhelmed. 

But she had to keep a smile on her face, she had to let her husband be a good Dad, she had to let her daughter spend time with her favorite person in the world, and she had to be happy while she did it. Her daughter deserved a happy Mother. She deserved everything. 

She didn't deserve what was happening to her parents. 

When it was finally time to leave Y/N could feel the nerves bunch up from her feet to the tip of her head, she felt them collect together like a bunch of bugs crawling up her skin, and she felt like she was going to puke. 

She could see Spencer. She could. It was the first time in days, the first time she would ever have to directly talk to him. But she could do it. She could she could. 

She wasn't sure. 

She helped Fayre pack the last of her clothes, grabbed the couple of things she hadn't put in her bag earlier when she heard crying come from the other room. 

Immediately she prepared herself for the worst, she felt desperate to get it to stop. 

She walked into their living room and saw her daughter sitting on the floor trying to put her shoes on. Tears were running down Fayre’s face as she messed with the laces, as she tried to remember what her Dad had done for her so many times. She looked up at her Mom and whined. 

Y/N went over to her, sad to see her crying on the floor, sad to see her crying over something that she could’ve just asked for help for. 

“Daddy always do it. I don't how to.” Fayre said angry, her words coming out rushed, skipping over the words she had not yet learned how to say. She was pulling at the strings harder, and Y/N tried to move her hands away from the laces so she couldn't hurt herself. 

That was when she started yelling. 

“No! No!” she said as she hit Y/N’s hands away, as she pushed her away. 

“Fayre. It's okay, just help me, help sweetheart.” 

“No! Daddy always do it! Daddy do it! Not Momma!” she was opening yelling, the tears streaming down her red face as she threw her hands up, not sure how to express her emotions. 

“Let Momma do it once, it's okay sweetie we can do it.” 

Y/N could feel herself getting more frustrated, could feel the nerves still collecting in her body, she didn't know what to do, and she didn't feel like she could deal with a breakdown from her daughter right now. 

Not when she was inches away from having one herself. 

She tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm herself down, and remind herself that Fayre was only three, that she was confused, and she missed her dad, and that she needed to be calm with her. 

“Fayre, I’m sorry sweetie, Daddy’s not here. Let me help and we can go see him.” Y/N said calmly, kneeling in front of her daughter who was looking at her angrily. 

“No! Daddy! Not you! Don't want you!” Fayre said as she got up, her shoes still untied, as she tried to run for the door. 

Y/N could feel her anger go up. 

“Fayre Diana. Don't run away.” Y/N said sternly.

Her daughter was crying and screaming, and banging on the door desperately like she was trying to get out, she was yelling so loud, and Y/N’s head was pounding. And her daughter was upset, and she was upset and she didn't know what to do. 

What should she do what should she do? 

She felt the anger rush up into her head, flashing her eyes red, she felt herself hit her breaking point, felt everything coming to her at once, felt so done, so tired and she just wanted it to stop. 

“Fayre! Daddy isn't here! I need you to listen to me!” she yelled, moving over to her daughter who was too small to resist Y/N picking her up. Fayre kicked and tried to push her away as Y/N walked over to their couch. 

“We won't go if you don't let me help you.” She said, no longer yelling, but her voice with much more power. 

And Fayre stared at her, her eyes wide and almost sad, she stared at her and she started to cry even more. 

Y/N watched as her daughter's eyes welled up in tears, as her daughter was hyperventilating, so sad, and so little, she felt herself breaking at the sight. 

And she tried to grab her arm, trying to do anything to calm her down. 

“No! I don't want you!” Fayre screamed pushing Y/N away, pushing her away and looking at her angrily. “I want JJ! You not nice! JJ!” 

And everything stopped. 

Everything just stopped. 

Y/N could feel everything drain from her body, all her emotions all her thought all her organs, she felt it all fall away from her, felt her heart crack into so many pieces it was practically dust because 

She wasn't good enough

She wasn't enough

She wasn't 

She wasn't

I want JJ!

I want JJ!

I want 

I want

JJ

Her daughter didn't want her, and her husband didn't want her, and she didn't want her, and there was nothing there was nothing

There was so much

She felt everything collapse from within and she couldn't find the words, didn't know how to breathe, didn't know how to remove the air that was filling her body, didn't know how to breathe 

How do you breathe how do you-

She wasn't good enough. 

She wasn't good. 

She wasn't. 

She. she she. 

There was nothing left of her. 

Nothing but the ashes that were barely enough to fill her feet, let alone the hole that was left within her body, the hole that had been building up for weeks. 

There was nothing. 

Everything stopped. 

Everything just stopped. 

And she stared at her daughter, her daughter who wasn't saying anything, barely even looked like she was breathing, and she stared at her and. 

Everything started again. 

Fayre was looking at her, tears running down her cheeks, and Y/N watched as she came over and hugged her legs, she watched as Fayre listed out apologizes, watched as she looked up at her, sad by the tears running down her Moms cheeks. 

She didn't know what to do. 

She didn't she didn't. 

She ignored it. 

She ignored it. 

Nothing had happened nothing was happening, she was whole she was completely there, there was nothing wrong. 

Nothing had happened. 

They were going to be late. 

***

She stood there numb. 

Numb as she watched her daughter laugh with Spencer and JJ. 

She stood there and she felt nothing at all. 

She watched her friends dance and laugh and play games, she watched the kids run around Rossi’s yard, giggly and happy as could be. 

She watched everyone else enjoy themselves, and she couldn't feel anything. 

She didn't know what she was supposed to feel. 

Was she supposed to be sad? Sad that her daughter considered JJ a better mom than she did Y/N?

Was she supposed to be angry? Angry that Fayre had adapted to JJ’s house so much that she thought she was better?

Was she supposed to be annoyed? Or heartbroken? Was she supposed to frustratingly yell at JJ, to yell at Spencer?

Was there something she was supposed to feel? Something she was supposed to do. 

She didn't know.

All she knew was the numbness she’d been submerged in, the numbness that had taken over her body when it had fallen to pieces, fallen apart on her living room floor, the numbness that put clouds in her brain, clouds that forced her to think but not to feel.

Was there something she was supposed to be feeling?

She didn't feel anything. 

She just watched, she watched Hotch laugh with the boys, and Derek talk with Emily and Penelope pull funny faces to make Fayre laugh. She watched as JJ stood with her arms wrapped around Will, watched as Rossi grilled something and yelled out things. 

She watched all of them feel. 

She didn't dare look at Spencer. 

When she had arrived with Fayre, immediately she’d let her run to her Father, let her go hug him desperately, and had not let herself spare a glance at him. She didn't want to see him and she didn't want to think about how he had left, about how he had taken her advice, about how their daughter would be so much better off with a mom who knew what she was doing. 

She didn't want to think about all the ways she had disappointed her family. 

She didn't want to think at all. 

So she didn't look at him, didn't watch him the way she always did, didn't say a single word to him. She wouldn't allow herself that. 

She was looking down at the pavement when Derek came over to her. 

“Hey Pretty Girl,” he said, as he stood next to her, holding out a drink for her, which she took nonchalant as she looked back at the ground. 

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice void of emotion, her body void of everything. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asked, moving his head down so he could get a look at her face. 

She looked up at his words, her neck snapping at the question. 

“Nothing,” she said, looking in his eyes, which were glazed with concern.

“What's going on Pretty girl? You’ve been standing here alone all night?” Derek said, putting a reassuring arm on her shoulder. 

She didn't feel a thing. 

“Nothings going on. I’m just tired,” she said, again, looking back at the ground. She was tired of thinking. 

‘Y/N.” Derek said, moving her chin so she was looking in his eyes again. “Seriously, what's wrong?” 

Y/N stayed silent, willed her body to feel nothing, to think nothing, because there was nothing wrong, there was nothing wrong. 

She looked back down. 

“Alright.” Derek sighed, taking the drink he had given her from her hand and setting it down on a nearby table. He grabbed her hand and led her away from the party, away from everything else. She wondered where they were going. 

When they finally stopped at a small garden farther into Rossi’s backyard Derek halted and turned to stare at her again. 

“What's going on with you and Spencer?” 

Y/N felt herself crack at that. Felt the numbness drain only a smidge, from her body, felt her staring at Derek urgently, felt her mind trying to run again. 

“Nothing. There's nothing.” She said quickly, her words jumbled, her heart racing. 

“You think I haven't noticed the way you two have been acting recently? He's been staring at you all night, and you haven't said a word to anyone. Something is going on. What is it?” 

She looked down, surprised by his words, emotion was filling her body but she was begging herself to just keep it out, to just not feel anything. 

She didn't want to feel anything. 

“Derek I-” and she broke. Her body was flooded with memories and thoughts and emotions, and she could feel the dam breaking in her eyes and she felt everything all at once and she just wanted it to stop. She didn't want to feel any of it. Why wouldn't it just stop?

Derek pulled her into his chest. He pulled her in tight and rubbed her back and she tried to calm herself down, as she tried to keep in all the emotions her body was begging her to let out. 

“Shh, Pretty Girl... It’ll be alright. Just breathe.” He said as she rested her cheek on her chest, as she felt her body start to panic, her mind started to buzz with the overwhelming feeling. 

What would she do? Her daughter didn't want her. Her daughter didn't want her. Her daughter had said she didn't want her and she didn't know what to do what would she do her daughter didn't didn't want her- 

“Fayre said she wanted JJ.” she cried out desperately, the words tumbling out of her like an avalanche, she could feel herself still panicking, she could feel the buzzing of her brain flow to the rest of her body. What would she do-

“What do you mean.” 

“Fayre,” she breathed, “she said that I- I was mean.” she gasped and more tears rolled down her cheeks like rocks falling “and that- she wanted JJ- not-” her body was buzzing in the panic that had contained her “not me,” she said and she cried. She cried against her friend as her family was only a short distance away, as her family had no idea how worthless, how broken she was. 

Derek just let her cry. He let her sob out different words, he looked down at her concerned, wondering when she had fallen apart. Wondered why he was the one comforting her instead of her husband, her husband who was only 100 feet away. 

The panic was still there, still shaking her heart back and forth, still buzzing loud in her brain, but she was breathing, she had gotten the words out, the terrifying words that she so desperately wanted to pretend didn't exist. 

She was starting to breathe. 

Why did she have to feel anything? 

Derek held her, held her close, held her because that was what she needed, she needed her husband but she needed something she needed someone. 

He listened as she gasped out her last sob, as her crying started to slow down. 

He moved back. He kept his hands on her shoulder as she looked up at him. 

She looked so small, her eyes bloodshot, her face pale, she looked like a little kid who had no idea what to do, she looked so small standing there with him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he searched her face. 

She took a shaky breath as she said “Thank you. Better now.” 

She didn't think she had the energy to say anything else. 

***

It was time to go. It was time to go back to her house, her empty house, it was time to go back to her numbness, which was empty, just like her house. 

They were quite the pair. 

It was time to say goodbye to Fayre, time to send her off with her Dad, and with JJ who didn't disappoint the two of them. 

In a way, Y/N was thankful to JJ, because she knew that JJ would take care of her family, she knew that JJ would be there for them if they needed anything. She knew that if she couldn't make them happy, at least JJ could. 

She tried to ignore the envy she felt towards JJ. She tried to ignore the anger she wanted to feel. She knew it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault that she didn't disappoint. 

It was Y/N’s.

At least she thought at least they have someone. 

She just wanted them to be happy. 

It was time to say goodbye, as everyone started heading towards their cars, tired and ready to go home, Fayre walked over to her mom, her smile shining bright as she led Spencer towards Y/N. 

They were walking over to Y/N together, Fayre pulling her dad along, pulling him over to her. He was coming over, he was coming over. Y/N didn't let her heart feel anything, she didn't let her eyes drift toward him. 

“Momma!” Fayre yelled excitedly, throwing herself into Y/N’s arms. 

“Hi, baby.” Y/N said quietly, looking at her beautiful daughter, staring at the one relief she had from it all. “Did you have fun?” She said softly. 

“Yeah, Momma! We did games, and Daddy did trick!” She was much too loud and excited for the late hour, but Y/N was happy to see her so full of energy, so alive. 

“Did he?” 

“Yeah! And he said do more!” she was smiling over at her dad, but Y/N didn't take her eyes off of Fayre. 

“More later?” she said quietly, her mood only slightly deflated at the thought of them leaving. 

“Yeah!” Y/N kept a smile on her face, kept her smile, but couldn't change the disappointment stuck in her eyes, she smiled at Fayre and kissed her on the cheek. 

“You go with Daddy alright? Be back tomorrow?” Y/N said, laughing a little at the words. She had given up, given up on trying to stop the tears stinging at her eyes. She was smiling at her daughter, but she felt like sobbing against her. 

Just another way to disappoint the two of them. 

“Why sad Momma?” Fayre asked, her little hand rubbing Y/N’s cheek as she wiped away the one tear she had let go. Y/N wished she wasn't as smart as she was. 

“I’m not sad little love,” She said, feeling her voice crack at the lie, at the words she’d been trying to believe were true. She sighed softly and smiled sadly at her daughter. “Just tired.” 

Fayre was still looking at her with a furrow in her brows, still staring at her confused. “Don't sad Momma.” 

Y/N laughed bitterly at the words, committing them to memory for later. 

“Alright, Fay. I won't. Be back tomorrow?” she asked once again. 

Fayre wrapped her little arms around Y/N’s neck, squeezing tight like she was trying to make everything better. “Be back tomorrow Momma.” She said as Y/N put her down and pushed her gently towards Spencer. 

Spencer, who'd she’d almost forgotten, was there. She gave herself one opportunity, one look, one look to just see him. And she looked in his eyes, she looked at his face that looked so sad, his eyes that were staring right at hers concerned. She looked at his face that looked almost regretful. 

She looked away. 

She felt her heart beat faster, reminding her of the love she was trying to keep away from him. 

She waved at Fayre one more time, blew her a kiss. 

This time she walked away first. 

She couldn't bear to see them leave again. 

***

She was up late at night when there was a knock. 

Quiet, quick, almost as if whoever was there knew she would still be up. 

She hadn't been sleeping well. She felt words swirling around her head, memories of the things she didn't want to think about popping up at random points. 

She couldn't stop her brain. 

She couldn't get numb again. 

But there was a knock. 

She looked at the safe in her closet, wondering if she should grab her gun, just in case. 

In the end, she’d decided against it. If it was someone bad would they have broken in?

She walked towards the door, turning on the lights, and unlocking it. 

She hadn't expected to see her husband standing on the other side. 

She hadn't expected to see Spencer looking at her. 

She hadn't expected to see relief in his eyes. 

She hadn't expected him to talk to her.

“You’re awake,” he said, almost in awe, almost like he wasn't sure, quiet. 

Y/N just stared at him. 

It was the first time she had looked him in the eyes without any hesitation for weeks. It was the first time she had looked into his eyes without nerves running up and down her spine, without feeling like she had to be ashamed for looking at him. 

She felt her heart beat faster. 

“Spence.” she breathed out. 

He gently grabbed her hand, gently moved her out of the way so he could get through the door, he gently let her hand go and moved to take off his shoes. 

He was taking off his shoes. 

Y/N just watched him, wondering if she was dreaming, if she was dreaming about him coming back home, wondering if this was all fake. 

She hoped she wouldn't wake up for a little bit longer. 

“Y/N.” Spencer said, turning back to her, “Can we talk?” 

It was the first time she had heard him speak to her in days, the first time she had heard her name slip from his lips. 

She left like she was floating.

She wondered why she couldn't feel anything but bliss. 

She wondered when the nerves would catch up. 

She only nodded at him, only gestured to the couch. There was too much going on for her brain to comprehend, she was surviving on only coffee and a couple of caffeine pills, she was up far too late and she didn't know what was going on. 

They both sat down on the couch, and Y/N’s heart got faster at the close proximity of the two. What was going on? 

“We have to talk about everything.” 

And then the nerves caught up. 

And then the nerves invaded her body, filling her to the core with irrational thoughts, with messages from her brain that only made her heart beat faster. 

Divorce. 

Custody.

Leaving. 

The nerves were too much too much, and her eyes were wide and all she could do was nod, just nod at him. Unconsciously she moved farther away from him, preparing herself for the distance he was going to ask for.

He was leaving he was leaving he was going to leave he was-

“I think that we should’ve talked a long time ago.” He said quietly looking down at the floor, staring intensely at something Y/N couldn't see. 

“Yeah.” Y/N said, her voice breaking from the pressure, her body ready to collapse. 

“I’m sorry I left,” Spencer said. 

And it stopped. 

Everything stopped.

He was sorry. He was sorry he left, he was sorry for doing the thing that Y/N had told him to do, doing the thing that she had asked of him, he was sorry he was sorry. 

“Why,” she asked. 

“Because I never should have left. And I never should have left for so long. It was childish and only 58% of long-distance relationships work, and I didn't even leave the city I was just gone and I- I’m not sure what I was thinking-”

“I told you to go.” 

“What?” Y/N was staring at him, staring intently. She missed the sound of his voice but she hated the words coming out of his mouth. This was all of her fault, she had told him to leave, she hadn't done anything about it. This was her fault and he shouldn't have been saying any of this. 

“I told you to leave. I said, “Go ahead and leave Spencer.” She paused and looked down at his feet. “You were only doing what I asked.” 

Silence consumed the room. Y/N still didn't know what else Spencer wanted to talk about, she still didn't know if this meant he wanted to try if he wanted to try and be with her, she didn't know if this meant they were going to get better. 

She couldn't help but think of the empty space that filled her body, she couldn't help but think about the hole in her body that was scarring, that was stuck there, almost numb, unbelievably painful. She couldn't help but think about the words she’d endured to get that hole. 

“I shouldn't have listened to you. You were right.” Spencer said, pulling out of her thoughts, pulling her out of the pain that threatened to take over her body once again. “You didn't deserve me leaving, and neither did Fayre. I should’ve stayed.” 

“Spencer you don't-” 

“And then today. Today I was looking at you, I was watching you. And you just-” he paused and shook his hands in front of his face as if he was trying to reach for the words “you looked so empty. You just- you weren't looking at anything and you were just staring- and I don't think I’ve ever seen you look like that and I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know what was going on but you looked so empty-” 

Y/N paused. Derek had said Spencer was looking at her, he had told her that right to her face, but there was a block keeping her from thinking about it. She was trying not to think about it. But Derek had been right, and Spencer had noticed he had noticed. 

He’d noticed her. 

“Y/N.,” he said, grabbing her face as he pulled her closer to him. “I’ve never seen you look so emotionless. You looked at me after Fayre said goodbye, and it was like there was nothing. There was nothing- and- It scared me. I had no idea what to do, but I could feel that I started it, I could tell it had something to do with us and-”

“Fayre caused it.” Y/N blurted out. 

“What?” Spencer looked at her shocked, his face unmoving. 

“She,” Y/N took a deep breath, not wanting to relive the memory, but wanting to keep the closeness of Spencer so bad she wouldn't stop. “She was having trouble with her shoes, and she was asking for you, and I got mad- god.” Y/N shook her head angrily, mad at her past self for getting mad at Fayre. “I never should’ve gotten mad. I was mad and she was upset and she said-” 

Something was choking her from the inside. Maybe it was the anxiety holding her throat down, maybe it was the nerves that seemed to be everywhere, maybe it was the desperation to forget everything, to pretend to be okay, maybe it was the exhaustion that rested on her eyes weighing them down, maybe it was the buzzing in her heart. 

It didn't matter what it was, it was choking her, stopping the words from escaping her mouth, stopping the words from reaching the air, stopping her from telling Spencer. 

But she fought, she fought against her instinct, fought against all her self defense mechanisms, and something finally let go. 

“She said, I was mean, and that she wanted JJ.” and she gasped. 

The words were out, out into the world, out where her husband- who she hadn't been speaking to, who she hadn't gotten any affection from in months -could finally hear them.

It felt like a shock to say them. 

It felt like a shock to have to say them again, this time to the man she loved most. 

She felt ashamed in herself, for the decisions she had made earlier, for the disappointment she was to her family, for the void that lived in her body. 

“Y/N,” Spencer said, wiping away tears she hadn't noticed escaped her eyes. “She didn't mean that.” 

And the words might have been reassuring, they might have been helpful, might have rested her self hatred, if she wasn't familiar with the person Spencer was. 

He would like just to make her happy. 

‘I think she did,” she said more tears crawling up her throat. “I think she did. Because I understand, because I’m not an amazing mother, and I’m definitely not an amazing wife, and I’ve been unfair to her, and I wish she didn't have to deal with me all the time, I think she meant it-” 

Spencer put a hand over her mouth stopping her words. He was looking at her angry, his brows furrowed in something that looked like disgust, his mouth turned down. 

���Don't ever say that.” He said harshly. 

“What?” Y/N said as she moved back, her words muffled by his hand, surprised at his sudden change in mood. 

“I don't want to ever hear, I don't want you to ever think that you aren't a perfect Mother.” He said, looking her directly in her eyes, his voice wasn't wavering and neither was his mind. “You are an amazing Mother to Fayre. She loves you.” 

When Y/N tried to interrupt Spencer just spoke over her. 

“And you are an amazing wife. You are more than I could’ve ever asked for. So, I do not want to hear another word about you not being enough. It's a lie, and I hate it.”

He stopped and Y/N was still looking at him shocked at the sudden outburst. She had thought that was why she left. She wasn't enough, because Spencer was disappointed in her. After all, she just wasn't good enough. She thought that's why he left. 

That was why he left. 

Wasn't it? 

Tears ran down her face as she stared at him frustrated. 

“Oh, Y/N.,” he said, moving his hand from her mouth and gently wiping another tear away. “I didn't mean to scare you. I just want you to believe me, baby.” 

He was so gentle, so caring, so everything she had been missing for the months they had been constantly fighting with each other. 

She sobbed against his hand. 

“Baby,” he said desperately, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her closer to him. She breathed him in, shocked by the smell she loved so much, shocked that he was so close to her, shocked at how cold she had been without him. 

She had been so cold for so long. 

She sobbed even more, shaking against his chest, gasping for breath. 

She had no idea she could miss a person that was so close to her. 

“I’m so sorry baby. I’m so sorry any of this happened,” he said, rubbing her hair and pulling her close to him. Spencer felt close to tears himself, watching his wife shake in his arms, he knew that she had been deteriorating for months, for months he knew and he hadn't done a thing. He knew that she was barely there, that another week would have burned her away, he felt ashamed that he hadn't been there sooner. 

“Spence.” she cried, tugging on his shirt and nudging her head into his chest. 

He just sat there, helping her get him closer, helping her remove the last couple of centimeters between them. 

She sobbed and she sobbed into his chest, relieved that he was here, still hoping that this wasn't a dream, that this wasn't some cruel joke the world was playing on her. 

She couldn't just let this go again. 

“Y/N,” Spencer said when she had finally caught her breath when she had stopped shaking.

She looked up at him, her eyes puffy, and pleading, at that moment she looked so vulnerable it made Spencer want to protect her from everything. He didn't want to lose the only thing holding him together. “I love you. I’m so sorry that we’ve been so far apart.” 

She moved her hands from his chest, moving them to his neck and jumping into his lap, straddling him on the couch as he hugged her back just as tight. It was a breath of fresh air to be so close together, they were each other's light in a dark room. 

They had been so far apart. 

“I’m sorry too Spencer. I’m sorry.” 

Spencer just ‘shh’’d her, just held her close to him. They were both exhausted, and it was so late, it was too late. 

It was almost too much to be close to him again. 

They stayed like that, silent and together, silent and right next to each other for a while. They let each other's body heat warm them up, let their hearts get used to the close proximity again, let everything that had happened fade between them. 

It was a while later, a while later when Y/N had felt almost repaired when she could no longer feel the burning of the hole in her body, the hole that had so desperately needed to be filled, the hole that was now barely there. It was then that she finally spoke. 

“Where's Fayre?” she asked quietly against his ear, running her hands through the hair on his neck, enjoying the grip he had on her waist, and the kisses he was leaving on her neck. 

“She’s still at JJ’s. I didn't want to wake her up, but I had to see you.” 

There was a pause and then,

“Spencer,” she whispered softly, in awe that he was there, that they were together again. 

He just kissed her some more. 

They stayed like that, connected, for just a moment longer, just another moment together, before Spencer spoke up again. 

“Y/N?” he asked, moving back only a little bit so he could look into her eyes. 

“Yes?” she asked, staring at the brown eyes she had fallen in love with, the brown eyes that always seemed to fill her with a feeling she would never know how to describe. 

“I love you,” he said softly, pecking her lips. 

When he pulled back she smiled with her eyes closed, smiled at him, smiled at the feeling in her chest, smiled at the happiness she hadn't felt in so long, she smiled and she opened her eyes just so she could look at him because he was right there, he was right in front of her. 

“I haven't seen you smile in so long,” Spencer whispered in awe, running his hand over her cheek as he stared at her. 

She only smiled wider. 

“Spencer?” she said softly, the smile stuck to her face. 

“Yes?” he asked, moving to look back up to her eyes instead of her mouth, her eyes which were shining just for him. 

“I love you,” she said. Quietly. Gently. For what felt like another first time. 

He kissed her. Harder this time.

my masterlist here

[justwonder113]

I saw that you're gonna start writing haikyuu fanfic and !!! I have a request if you don't mind. Daichi with a girlfriend (or partner if you prefer writing gn) who is usually very tough (not necessarily stoic or mean) they're pretty physically strong and generally have spent their lives looking out for themselves and everyone else(v self sacrificial... probably to an unhealthy degree) and daichi and them have a fight and they just sorta break down about how they always have to look after themselves and everyone else and how no one's ever been the one to protect them and they just want a moment where they don't feel like they have to fight all the time, perhaps ends in fluff? Idk if you like the idea I would love to read your take on it but if not that's totally cool!:)

Hi there, thank you so much for an amazing request like this it was an amazing challenge for me and I really hope you like it, I'm really sorry I haven't been able to update it earlier, it's just it turned out harder than I imagined, but I'm really glad I finished it, I really enjoyed writing it maybe it's because I know the feeling but i don't know, I hope this is what you had in mind and I hope you will like it too.

Daichi x ( f)Reader (but nothing's really implied so basically I think it's gn, have to proof read it again.)

WARNINGS:Angst to fluff, mental breakdown and anxiety attack, also a reader who isn't somfortable showing their emotional side and is more of a lone wolfs who can take care of everything by themselves.

Word cound; around 3k

You didn't even know when you started shielding yourself from everyone and everything or when was the first time you thought that you had to be the one in control of everything all strong and all, but it was part of you now definitely. You didn't think of it as something bad and you certainly didn't expect that your timidness could lead you to having an argument with your boyfriend.

For as long as you knew you were the one taking care of everything, you dealt with your own stuff and sometimes even helped others with theirs. It was always like that and at this point you just got used to it.

You liked the fact that you were this reliable, strong and independent person in the other's eyes. It made you feel better about yourself. Just knowing that people felt like they could trust you and come up to you was kind of ego boosting. It was also good knowing that there were people who looked up to you and admired you.

You were fine with keeping up this image if you knew that you made others feel at least somewhat better with your words of advice.

You knew how important it was sometimes to just let everything out but you were not like so many of your acquaintances, you couldn't just go to someone and vent out everything you had in you no matter howuch you trusted them or how approachable they were. Firstly, if you were to open up to someone you would need to have really deep trust to the said person, and secondly you just couldn't vent out because you knew how it felt like to be on the receiving end.

You loved your friends and you would move mountains for them, you really appreciated that they felt safe with you and trusted you, but sometimes being on the receiving end all the time and taking all this negativity away from them was really emotionally draining. Like some people would come up to you whining about all the drama in their lives and how miserable they were, they would let out everything and then would just leave without even asking how you were doing. You just couldn't do the same to the others no matter how much you were going through, you wouldn't burden them with your problems and all your drama. Even if it meant storing everything inside for all eternity.

Well it wasn't like you didn't want to let your emotions out and vent out everything to everyone, to let someone else help you bear this burden at least once, especially at times when you felt most vulnerable, then dealing with all this seemed impossible, whenever you were so stressed that it was affecting your lifestyle, you couldn't eat drink or sleep normally. Or whenever everything seemed to pile to the point that you felt this horrible tightness in your chest area, when your stomach was swirling nonstop and you felt claustrophobic, when your breathing was shaggy and your mind was foggy yet wouldn't stop working and kept coming up with all those unnecessary thoughts. Those were the times when you truly felt that no matter how strong and capable you were you didn't want to be alone. You didn't want to be this strong person for just this moment, you didn't want to be the one in control you wanted to be the one taking cared of and being pampered. You wanted to just let go knowing that someone was there to listen to you, to hold you when you finally fell apart.

You thought that maybe you were shielding everyone from this side of you, you didn't want to burden them, you didn't want to come as overbearing and maybe you were shielding yourself from them too, because what if others found you annoying, too weak, fragile and unable to take care of everything. Maybe they would find out that, in the end, you were nothing special, you were too pain and just not worth it, so it was a perfect defence mechanism.

You weren't doing anything wrong right? So then why was it the reason you got in the fight with your boyfriend? Why was something that was meant to protect you this much pain? And why couldn't you say anything even after this? Why were you still terrified of speaking up? You were talking about Daichi whom you trusted with your whole life. A man who was willing to be with you trhough thick and thin. You didn't know anyone else who was more reliable and kind or sweet like him. You felt thankful everyday that you had him by yourside, he made almost everyday better for you.

Maybe that's why you were so afraid to speak up? That he was so perfect? Maybe after seeing this side of yours he would realize how much more he deserved. He would realize how flawed you actually were and that you were not worth all this trouble and that terrified you. You were most definitely not ready to end things with him, not that you were thinking that you would ever be. Daichi was the one thing you wanted constantly in your life, you were hundred percent sure of it. He was really precious and dear to you even though he didn't really believe you now.

You felt that you were slowly losing control over yourself and gripped yourself tighter, to make you feel more safe. It felt like the walls were closing down on you and you felt claustrophobic even though you were on the balcony and the chilly wind was hitting you in the face. Your whole body was trembling but not from the cold weather or your chilly out of place attire. You felt numb like there was nothing inside you, only this heavy thing on your chest and all this thoughts that were only making things worse.

What was the time even? You lost track of it trying to regain yourself, it had to be really late, as you watched horizon you noticed that sun would soon start to rise, you stayed up all night huh? Daichi would wake up soon too to go to work too, how could you avoid him then? You didn't know what to tell him, what to do. You coudln't even go to bed, to lay next to him, you felt guilty because you knew that as much as you had your reasons to act this way he had them too and he also was in pain because of you, because he thought that you didn't trust him and didn't love him enough. You felt terribly guilty because you couldn't even manage to say anythin after he opened up to you, after he showed you his vulnerable side. Daichi wasn't the one to openly talk about his emotions so you knew what it cost him too. You hated yourself so much for it.

You couldn't really stop the tears at this point, any second now you would fall apart and you didn't even know if you would be able to pick yourself up before he woke up.

"Y/N?" You heard a deep grumble making you jump. You looked back to see your boyfriend looking at you with wide eyes. In seconds he was next to you wiping your tears away, scanning your face carefully. "You're freezing! What are you doing here? Didn't you go to sleep? What about your clothes? Where is your robe? You will catch a cold!" He kept mumbling to himself while rubbing your cheeks gently, he looked completely awake now. How did he care about you so much after you hurt him this bad, how did he not leave? Why was he so worried about you? Were you really worth it? Why did he really love you? So many whys were piling up in your head.

You felt this tightness against your heart and you doubled over holding your chest tightly. The sobs kept breaking our from your mouth and your whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Daichi immediately took you in his arms and took you inside sitting you both on the bed and wrapping a blanket around you to at least somehow warm your freezing body. His large hands immediately found their place around you as he helped you sit on his lap, rubbing soothing circles there and there to help you calm down whilest murmuring against your neck to just keep breathing.

"I'm here love, you're safe, you can let it all out." He mumbled and placed a kiss on your shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere... You're safe, I'm here with you." You continued sobbing you couldn't really stop now, it was as if the dam was finally broken, you couldn't really hold anything in even if your life was on the line Daichi was the only one grounding you. Thankfully Daichi didn't even think of letting go, he held you in his arms and let you let everything out. It felt like you've been crying for hours, eventually fatigue must have taken over because the next thing you saw was total darkness.

When you opened up your eyes the first thing you noticed was the brightness, it must have been at least noon now. The next thing was two arms still being tight around your frame.  Your head was still on Daichi's  shoulder. He must have moved you both because both of you were under a blanket now, still in yesterday's attire. You felt a bit sore, but that must have been from sitting for hours on the balcony. Your head hurt like crazy, it felt like you had one of the worst hangovers, you could swear you could hear slight ringing.

"Are you awake love?" Daichi asked quietly to check if you were really awake, he shifted slightly groaning quietly, it made you jolt up which was a bad decision because your head hurt even more now.

"Were you like this all night? God I'm sorry it must have been so uncomfortable!" You felt guilty seeing that he spent all night sitting against bed frame having you in his lap. It must have been really uncomfortable.

"It's fine, I didn't really want to let you go. How could I, I think it was the first time I have ever seen you cry. It scared the hell out of me when I saw that you were not in the bed and then it scared me even more when I saw that you were on the verge of breaking down on the balcony at 4am. How are you feeling now?" He took your hand in his and looked at you expectantly.  You froze, it was what you were afraid of, you made him worry so much and he saw how pathetic you could get, on top of it you made him spend whole night like that just because he felt responsible of you. "Okay I can hear gears in your head shifting and based on your look right now I'm pretty sure you're thinking unnecessary stuff. Just don't hold back talk to me, please?" He looked at you with pleading eyes, squeezing your hand tighter.

"I made you worry, and you spent the whole night holding me in that uncomfortable position all because I couldn't hold it in and was weak." You mumbled in shame.

"Who said that I thought you were weak?" Daichi asked and he honestly looked dumbfounded.

You took a deep breath and looked away. "I'm saying it, I hate it when I can't control my emotions and act like a whiny crybaby. I hate whenever it happens, and everything seems out of my control, and I especially hate it there's another one to witness it. I don't want people to see how weak I am." You finally said it and looked down in shame wrapping your hands tighter around your frame. You looked up when Daichi pinched both of your cheeks and inspected your face again. "Ow Dai what are you doing?" You whined.

"Had to make sure you were human and not a robot." He smiled at you and kissed your hand. " I will tell you a secret, I have never thought that you were at least somewhat close to being weak, in fact you're probably one of the strongest people I have ever met. I admire you, I really do.  You're so strong, confident, this powerful person whom everyone loves and admires including me." He placed another kiss on your temple, "you don't know how proud I am to be called your boyfriend! And I don't see this habit of yours as something bad, I was out of line yesterday and I really hurt you saying that you don't trust me or love me, it was never my intention to make you worry this much and seeing you in that shape because of me really broke my heart. I know you trust me and I know you love me, you never fail to make me realize it. You're always there for me whenever I need it, through thick and thin, you always know what goes in my mind and always help me with whatever you can, I can't really count how many times you have helped me. You make every day brighter for me and I can't help but feel thankful that I have you. You don't have to worry about it okay? It's just that I got insecure and it really got to me that's why I was on edge yesterday and provoked an argument." He rubbed his neck  sheepishly when he noticed that you were dumbfounded, he took a deep breath to continue. " It's just that seeing you being all reliable and approachable made me question if I was doing at least remotely good job being there for you too, you're always doing everything on your own like you don't need anyone else to do what's needed and I was worried that you would realize that you didn't really need me. I guess it was my own way of saying that I needed some sort of confirmation." He rubbed his neck looking away from you, "I know you're capable of taking care of yourself and that you don't like showing your vulnerable side, that's completely understandable but you're a human too. You shouldn't just hold everything in, you have to let it out at some point and I want to be there for you when that happens. I like that you're always there for others, for me but I don't want you to forget about yourself, I want you to think about yourself more. You're amazing, the most amazing human being and I thank the stars everyday that I met you. But when I see you struggling hut still trying to shrug it off to play it off because you don't want to burden anyone or just because you're not used to asking for help really breaks my heart. I can't bear to imagine that something like yesterday can happen again. I've known you for years and no matter how much you try to hold it in I notice when you're struggling. I know you have been stressed a lot these days, you don't eat nor sleep like you used too and there's also some other signs. I wanted to give you time, you would approach me when you felt like it but when you never did I started questioning whether or not was I a reliable partner for you. Now I realize I was just feeling pretty and how much my words actually hurt you." He leaned his forehead on yours, "I'm sorry love." Listening to all this you could feel your your eyes start to water up but somehow you didn't really feel the urge to bring yourself together asap, you felt oddly comfortable.

"Have I ever told you that even tears look best on you? God how am I so lucky?" Daichi teased you and started littering your face with kisses making a smile break from you. You smiled fondly as you started to play with his hair, Daichi only hummed in appreciation. "Man, how am I so lucky?"

"Shut up, you're being sappy." You tested, Daichi grinned.

"I'm not the one in love with a sappy person," his eyes tingled with mischief.

"Well, I can't deny that, it's very much true." You purred and gave him a kiss, "I'm helplessly in love with a sap, who is the most amazing boyfriend, he's the most loyal, kind, dependable and amazing person, who makes me happy every day. I trust you the most and I know that I can count on you any time of any day. I didn't approach you because I didn't want to affect the mood, your life has been going on great and I didn't want ro ruin your good mood. I also knew that part of my problems were caused by me so I wasn't really in the mood to talk about it and I knew I had to be one to take care of everything, well I thought I could. Mostly I didn't want you to think I'm weak, I'm not that confident and powerful and I have many flaws I was kind of afraid you would see it and realize that you deserve better" you sniffed and rubbed You nose, you felt vulnerable, it felt as if you were naked and were showing yourself to Daichi, every word was stained and forced and it made you really uncomfortable but you wanted him to know everything, he deserved it. Daichi gripped your hand tighter to encourage you. "It's just I've been dealing with everything on my own since I remember, it was always me, at first it was really lonely but when people started noticing my independence and resourcefulness I kinda grew into it, it was like a confidence booster, but after that when I really needed help, when I was unable to come up with solutions I found it impossible to ask for help. I'm supposed to be strong I'm supposed to be smart so why am I asking for help to others? Can't I deal with this? I just can't find the power to go up to others even when I know that it's most reasonable thing. I know I can rely on you and you don't realize how much of a breather it's for me, and you help me in so many ways and I think you don't even realize that. I'm trying to say that I will try better and I will make sure to get over this problem but I will need time, but please remember that I really love you and I trust you with my life and I will do my best to make sure you know it okay?" You were amazed, it felt like something lifted of your chest and Daichis smiling face only made the feeling stronger. Tears were still streaming down your face but you didn't really care, this was who you were and you wanted to show it to him.

"You're not perfect love and you will never be" your heart skipped a beat at Daichi's serious tone, you felt terrified because it felt like the moment you dreaded the most, you knew he loved you but you also knew he was one of the reasonable guys, "the word is already flawed because nothing in this world is perfect, not you, not me and not everyone and not everything. Everything has it's flaws I have them as much as you do. You don't need to be perfect and you don't need to work yourself to fix your flaws. You are who you are and that's why I love you, I love everything about you including this so called weak side of yours. I love that you strive to be the best but I don't like that you're bringing yourself down to achieve it. You're amazing, you're capable, you're kind and you're smart and god you're so beautiful both on the inside and outside. I think I'm lucky I'm even breathing the same air as you, " he smiled cheekily at you making you giggle. "I want to say that you don't need to fix anything this is who you are and I love and support you, but if you want to improve I'm here and I will help you every step of the way. I will be always there for you, you don't even have to tell me anything just somehow point to me that you need me and I will do my best, we can talk about it for hours or we can just sit in silence for the whole night but you will know that I'm with you, just please don't be afraid to approach me, I will never judge you and I will never turn my back on you. In fact" Daichi got up and went to one of the drawers only to take out small box and return to you. You looked up at him with wide eyes. " I didn't plan on giving you this het because I wanted to plan this romantic evening but I think it's a good idea to give it to you now. Y/n you're the love of my life, and as cheesy as it sounds you're my sun, my moon and my stars, you make me feel more alive than I ever was and you just make everything better. I can't promise you a wedding or something in the near future but I want to give you this to let you know how serious I am about you and this relationship. I want to give you this as a sign that I will be there for you and I will love you till the rest of my days. I love every part of you and I want to help to teach you how to love them too." He put the box on your palm after he finished speaking, you were speechless, and torn between wanting to jump on him and drown him with kisses and proclamations of your love and curiosity of the box. You opened the box to find that beautiful ring you were eyeing few weeks ago when you went out with Daichi.

"I think I fell for you harder." You mumbled still in shock, you stared ar your new ring with lovesick eyes, which by the way sat perfectly on your fingers.

"well look who's being a sap now," Daichi grinned and kissed the hand you put your ring on. "But either way it's good because since I didn't go to work today I demand my cuddles now and I expect to be given them now, few kisses would be nice too." You giggles and got closer to him.

"Aww is my babyboy feeling needy?"You teased but still started kissing his face, Daichi smiled and nodded his head, holding you by the waist tightly. You smiled and got closer to him, everything felt just perfect. He really was your safe heaven.

[kaebedom-me]

Kaeya and childe with a hurt s/o v soff omg- like imagine they’re really hurt or smth and they’re like landhrjsntjjajfnt idk they’re soff ok 😭✋

Ok but I'm big sucker of the getting hurt trope 🥺🥺 hurt/comfort

i like to think you were beaten up p badly from trying to fight a stonehide or frostarm lawachurls because those things kill me every time (but it plays out the same regardless of the enemies)

the moment Childe see’s you bloodied up or flung across the field from one of its attack he goes ape shit

Kaeya sprints to your side, drops everything to see how badly injured you are

feeds you healing potions as sort of an instant relief? at least to stop your bleeding and keep you awake

but if you’re passed out by the time you hit the ground then he’ll just stay by your side and makes sure you don’t take any more damage/ you keep breathing 

devastated, they’re so worried about you 

immediately teleports to the nearest healers they know 

For the most part, you're fine after the healing but you don't wake up immediately

The healers tell them it's normal cuz you lost a lot of blood and your body just needs to rest for a week or a little more

They're so worried, they barely leave your bedside the entire time you're there

Blames themselves for not being able to protect you and they're just very sad the entire time

Kaeya's usually pretty level headed but if someone he cares about is hurt he starts neglecting himself a little bit trying to nurse them back to health

He'll stay beside you all the time and Childe often has to remind him to eat

Childe he's worried too and he think he'd be like Kaeya too, but since Kaeya's barely eating and taking care of himself he has to step up umu

They probably get into tiny arguments a lot? It's not like they need you to peacekeep or anything, Kaeya's just on edge so he ticks a little bit easier

Childe too but he wants to care for Kaeya and you and the least he could do right now is make sure Kaeya doesn't fall sick so he backs down from a lot of the arguments

Apart from their arguments they don't talk, again it's not like they need you to be there for them to talk its just they have a lot on their minds

Childe doesn't take his emotions out onto his loved ones and he picks a lot of his battles so to release stress he goes off on rampages whenever Kaeya's fed and bathed

I don't see him taking it out on his subordinates? Like he's more snappy and agitated but he won't outright yell at them

The only time Kaeya isn't around you is when his thoughts are eating him alive, where he's anxious you won't wake again or that he's useless he couldn't even do something as easy as protecting you

So he drowns himself in his work until he either finishes them or his thoughts get so bad he has to leave for fresh air

He doesn't drink now because he still wants to be able to take care of you? Like he can't do that if he's drunk

I think they'll eventually find themselves again? After one of Childe's many rampages he comes home to find Kaeya outside staring blankly at the pavements

I just think when their eyes meet they a lil bit to realise they're a hot mess

And Childe hesitates right because Kaeya's been out of it for awhile now and he doesn't want to do anything to make him more shaken up but he knows Kaeya knows he was out trying to cope to

And i just- Kaeya opens his arms to ask for a hug, and he looks so sad and broken but also so glad that he has Childe

So Childe ungracefully stumbles into Kaeya's arms

Shut up I'm in my feels I'M IN MY FEELS

They get it together from there umu takes care of themselves a little more

And when you wake up after they're so fucking happy

You're a lil groggy and everything's kinda numb but you're so happy to see them too

They scold you sm HAHAHA no mercy yeah you just woke up from a coma but holy shit dude you need to be more careful next time

You're just glad you're awake with them by your side and you bring them in for a hug

They promise to look after you more so something like this doesn't happen again and they make you promise to run or dodge next time tf be careful

Nursing you back to health would be the easier part uwu

They'll probably take turns take care of you though? They've got work and stuff too and they've already p much neglected a lot of their work while you were out

Lots of snuggles while you're in bed because they're scared you'll leave them like that again

A lot of kisses too and lots of i love yous too just to make sure you know that they love you a whole lot

Makes you say it back too HAHAH because they haven't heard you haven't said it to them in a while uwu

You'll have to reassure them a lot too it honestly feel a little bit like you're taking care of them at some point

Like sometimes Childe would just lie next to you for hours on end just holding you

Or Kaeya just sitting next to you and looking at you and absent-mindedly playing with your fingers?

And you have to tell the them you want to eat cuz you're hungry before they're like oh right

They're a bit reluctant to leave for awhile tho HAHA they're just scared when they come back you'll be asleep again? So you have to reassure them you're ok

Or threaten them that you'll sit in the kitchen w them

But lots of cute indoor dates to keep you entertained!

Maybe making a cute lil fort where you three can just vibe? Or them making you dinner and you sitting around to watch or help with easy preparations

Them slow dancing with you in their arms just a soft good time ya know

When you gain your strength back they're more protective of you when you guys go adventuring again

It can be a little over bearing so you have to tell them to back off and you'll be more careful stuff like that

But oml they're so happy to take you out for dates again! Scouts the place for monsters first tho before bringing you to like a picnic

Cuz they know you've neen cooped up for awhile so they want you to be able to soak up the outdoors