#I wish I hadn’t noticed this for the FOURTH time this week

[ronearoundblindly]

Ok so people go around clicking like and then clicking again to unlike stuff back to back?!?!

On purpose???

I bet this was that problem I had with phantom notifs before, maybe, but also, nicest way possible, guys, I gotta say…

You know that makes me feel insanely sh*tty, right?

I saw that you liked something, and now I know that you unliked it. In context, that sounds as if you, in fact, hate it or you are ashamed to have read it or I should be ashamed to have written it because it doesn’t deserve to have your username in the notes.

That is such a miserable feeling, guys. Perhaps just don’t click like at all?

I know I should be grateful for any stats or whatever, but giving them and then immediately taking them away AND DOING THIS FOR POST AFTER POST AFTER POST absolutely makes it feel like a slap in the face.

This is not motivation. That will not get you more content.

[sinofwriting]

Wine - Charles Leclerc

Words: 1,122 Summary: Charles wakes up to an empty bed. Note(s): Slight NSFW, Angst, I was trying to write something else and then this popped into my brain. So everyone say thank you Sin’s brain, now please write what you actually were supposed to write.

Masterlist | Support Me! | Part of Sin's 5k & B-Day Celebration

He wakes to an empty bed and the good mood that the restful sleep had put him in is gone, replaced with confusion. Charles always woke up first. He could count on one hand in the three years they had been dating when she had woken up before him. This was the fourth time.

Getting up, he lets out a groan as he stretches. A yawn that nearly makes his jaw pop escapes him as he moves out of the bedroom, journeying to find where his girlfriend is.

“Baby,” he whines and she jumps at the sound of his voice. “You aren’t in bed.” She doesn’t say anything and he frowns, coming closer and his heart stops as his eyes adjust and focus on her, her face stained with tears, lip trembling. “Oh, baby. What happened?” He breathes, kneeling on the carpet in front of her. “I,” She starts, only for the tears to start falling again. His stomach twists. “It’s okay.” She shakes her head. “Cha,” she pauses, swallowing thickly. “I’m pregnant.”

He stares at her with wide eyes, the joy he is supposed to hear at those words unable to form at the sight of her tears and downtrodden expression. Instead, it’s pain, heartbreaking pain. It comes and hits him so fast that tears sprang to his eyes.

Those words were supposed to be said with happy disbelief. Maybe after he watched her pee on a stick or as they sat in a doctor's office, or him coming home to her and she’s unable to not stop herself from saying it before anything else. They aren’t supposed to be said like this.

And god, he wanted kids, she wanted kids, they wanted kids, didn’t they? When they got together, when they got serious, they talked about it. About wanting kids. About him wanting three, about her not wanting more than that because Monaco was just too small to raise more than that in. Had that changed for her? Had it changed her and she just never said? Had he not noticed? Had he mistaken the longing look in her eyes when they met Chiara? Had it actually been disgust? Had they not come home and she demanded him to try and fuck a baby into her, despite her birth control? Had they not in the afterglow talked about babies, the names they liked, the crib she saw and wanted?

“Are we,” He clears his throat, taking a deep breath. “Are you upset about it?” She nods quickly and a few tears slip from his eyes. “Charles.” Her voice breaks around his name. “We had wine last night, I drank wine last night. What if,” she’s sobbing now. “What if it hurt the baby?” Horrible relief fills him and he’s gathering her in his arms, tears spilling down his face as he presses kisses to her head. “No.” He breathes. “No, it will be okay, mon amour. I’ll get you an appointment with the doctor today, yeah? Make sure that they are okay?” She nods, sniffling. “Okay.”

He doesn’t know how long he holds her for before he can finally let her go a little bit.

“Hi, baby.” He whispers, wiping away the tear tracks on her face with his fingers. “Hi Cha.” He smiles at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Can you tell me again?” He asks, voice still a whisper. “Can you, please?” She looks at him, a smile on her face for the first time this morning. “Cha, I’m pregnant.” His eyes close at the words, lips forming a grin. The joy that he hadn’t been able to feel early, coursing through him.

“I’m so happy.” He breathes hours later when they are in bed, back from the doctors that had told them the baby was okay, nothing to worry about as she was only ten weeks along. She beams at him, fingers dancing over his pecs as she straddles his lower stomach. “It is good news.” “The best.”

He privately wishes she had his ring on her finger and his last name, but that could happen next week. He had the ring already anyway, his plans for next month somewhat ruined, but that was fine, this was better than that anyway.

“How did you know?” He asks. The doctor hadn’t asked, probably because of how panicked he had been on the phone when demanding an appointment and explaining why. Her fingers stop moving and she’s not looking him in the eye anymore. “Mon amour,” “My phone.” He looks at her confused and she must be able to feel it since she’s looking at his chest, not his face because she continues. “I woke up to go to the bathroom and when I came back, my phone, it had a notification asking me if I had gotten my period yet. I hadn’t even realized I was late. So, I went to the kitchen, drank two glasses of water and took a test.” His eyebrows furrow. “You left to go buy a test?” He couldn’t imagine sleeping through the sound of her leaving the apartment to get a test. Her fingers dig a little into his chest, but he doesn’t even flinch and she looks at him, nervous. “I already had one in the bathroom.” Charles’ jaw drops. “What?” She shifts back on him, “it’s just since Chiara, we’ve been so much more active! I wanted to be prepared in case.”

His hands that have been resting on the bed, occasionally before he asked how she knew, running up and down her calves, land on her hips, gripping them tight as he moves her until she’s properly straddling him. “We were trying to make a baby.” He reminds of her. “Practicing.” She corrects. “We were practicing making a baby.” One of his eyebrows raises and he tightens his grip on her hips, forcing her to grind on his hardening cock. “Really? Because I remember a lot of you begging me to cum inside of you, to give you a baby, my baby.” “Cha.” She whines. “What baby?” He murmurs, sitting up to press their lips together. “I did it, didn’t I? Give you my baby.” “You are impossible.” She whispers before returning his kiss with a kiss of her own. “But yes. You did give me a baby.” He groans, thrusting up as best as he can. “Promise me,” he begins as he presses kisses to her jaw. “That next time you’ll tell me. You’ll tell me that you bought a test. I,” he groans again. “I want to know.” She nods, frantic. “Yes, yes. I promise. I promise I’ll tell you.” “Good. Now take off your clothes. I want to start practicing for baby number two.”

@cixrosie @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @ironspdy @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @kimmiB13 @alessioayla @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @elliegrey2803 @tallrock35 @casperlikej

[ur-local-anti-hero]

Back to december

Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: Remus feels like he will regret that night the rest of his life, the marauders convince him to do something about it.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Second chance romance

CW: Remus being self-destructive and questioning his worth.

Word count: 1.8K

This is part of my Speak now (Marauders' Version) collection.

“So this is me swallowing my pride standing in front of you, Saying I'm sorry for that night. And I'd go back to December all the time

It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you. Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine”

Remus sighed, his eyes were fixed into someone across the great hall. He was sitting with the marauders at their usual place, his fork was playing with the food in front of him, he hadn’t been able to eat ever since that night. 

“Come on mate, tell us what’s wrong. You’ve been sighing the whole dinner.” Sirius’ voice made him turn to him, seeing his three friends looking at him with worry written in their faces. 

“Nothing is wrong, I’ve already told you” Remus replied with the same excuse he had been using for days.

“Yeah and that’s why you’ve been looking at Y/N like a kicked puppy for the last week” James retored. “Tell me again, why did you two break up?” 

“How many times are you going to ask me that?” Remus sighed, tired of repeating the same conversation over and over with his friends. 

“Until you tell us the truth” Peter urged. 

“I’ve been telling you the truth, we wanted different things, the relationship wasn’t working” 

“Remus” Sirius’ voice was stern, and the lack of a nickname while referring to his best friend was jarring. “You two were the epitome of love, I had never seen you smile as much as you did with her, like, never.” 

“It’s hard to believe you, not even a day before you broke it off you were looking at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Your words, not mine.” James insisted. 

And he was right, Remus had never been as happy as he had been while dating you. The choice of breaking things off had been all his. He loved you so much it was terrifying, at some point all he could think about was how long he had left before you realised what he really was and you left him for someone better. You deserved someone better. 

“I really hope this has nothing to do with your monthly problem.” Peter’s voice was low, only for the four of them to hear. 

Remus couldn’t help it, he stiffened. Peter had nailed it and he wasn’t ready to let his friends know about how deep his insecurities really run. But, they noticed his frame changing from exhausted to on guard, Remus didn’t even say anything before the rest of the marauders understood what had happened. 

“Is that true Remus, did you break up with her because of that? I thought she already knew?” Sirius asked quietly, his previous anger now replaced with symphaty.  

“She knows now, and it doesn’t matter, just drop it. I’m done with the interrogation” Remus snapped at them before getting up and leaving the great hall, leaving his friends with dumbfounded expressions behind. 

───✥───

Lily meant well and you knew it, but if she kept asking you if you were okay you might explode. 

“How are you, Y/N?” Lily asked you, for the fourth time in the last hour. 

Ever since Remus had broken up with you Lily had been sitting next to you through all the meals, leaving her boyfriend's side, and afterwards she would walk you to your dorm. You appreciated her company and her friendship, but she was also a constant reminder that things were not as they were before, and therefore she was a constant reminder of your heartbreak. 

“I’ll be fine” was the answer you settled for every time she asked.

“I talked to James.” Lily hesitated before speaking “Are you really okay? He told me why you and Remus broke up…” 

Your eyes widened at that, if James had really told Lily about your break up that meant Lily knew about Remus being a werewolf, and as far as you were concerned he had never pushed her out of his life as he had done when you had been the one to bring it up. 

“You knew about…that?” you decided to keep it as vague as possible in case James had made something up to stop Lily from asking more details. 

She nodded “Ever since fourth year” 

“Did he tell you?” You needed to know, your hands were now shaking and your heart was racing. 

“No, I figured it out. Just like you did '' Lily's words calmed you down a little, if he had been able to confide in Lily but had never felt safe enough to tell you it would’ve made you feel awful. 

“The moment I brought it up he cut me off, we didn’t even have the chance to discuss it. He just broke up with me.” It was the first time you were being honest about it, and it just made everything hurt like if Remus was breaking up with you all over again. 

Lily stepped closer to you before wrapping you in a tight hug, her arms stroking your back in an attemp to comfort you. 

“I think you should talk to him, try to make things right again.” she whispered. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, he probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.” 

“Somehow I doubt that.” 

Maybe Lily was right, but you would never be brave enough to even try to prove her right.

───✥───

After storming out of the great hall Remus had locked himself in his dorm, he didn’t want any of the marauders to give him a speech about how he couldn’t let his lycanthopy affect his relationships. Because it had already affected the most important one he had. 

But of course his friends wouldn’t grant his wishes. 

“Remus, let me in, I want to talk with you. Please” Sirius was nothing but persistent. “Come on Moony, you know I’m not leaving.” 

Remus sighed, he’d been doing that a tad lately, but decided to let Sirius in. He wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, and he preferred to talk with him alone and not wait for James and Peter to join Sirius. 

When he opened the door Sirius didn’t waste a second and barged in, going directly to sit on Remus’ bed. 

“Oh, yes of course, make yourself at home on my bed.” Remus scoffed at him. 

“Come sit, Moony” 

Remus didn’t have the strenght to fight him, so he walked towards his bed and sat next to Sirius.

“What happened when she found out?” He wasn’t going to waste any more time. 

“She confronted me about it, asked me why I hadn’t told her.” Remus said sadly 

“Was she judgemental, was she scared or disgusted?” Sirius inquired, he knew you well, and you weren’t anything but lovely and understanding, being disgusted by Remus’ lycanthropy was not something he pegged you to be. 

“I didn’t give her the chance to really express what she thought of it” Sirius gave him a look of encouragement for him to continue. “I broke up with her before she could say something.” 

“Why?” 

“I think that if she had rejected me at that moment I would have never recovered from it, I was terrified.” He said, his words showing a rare vulnerability. 

“Do you regret it? Not giving her a chance. Do you really think she would’ve hated you?” 

“I regretted it the moment she walked out of the door, but I couldn’t risk it” 

“I think you should give her the chance, talk with her.” Sirius patted his shoulder

“If she didn’t hate me then, she defintely does now. She deserves better.” 

“I believe it’s not your call to choose what she does or does not deserve, give her the chance.” 

Maybe Sirius was right. 

───✥───

The Gryffindor common room was not very crowded after curfew, usually only a few seventh year students were spotted working on their class work after being kicked out of the library. 

But these days you would only find comfort on the couch in front of the fireplace, even if it was not a substitute for Remus’ warmth during the cold nights of december, it was the best you found. 

The quiet crack of the wood being burned and the weight of your blankets lulled you to sleep, your eyes were closed and your breathing slow, you were finally falling asleep when the weight of another body made the couch shift. 

“Y/N '' your name was called very quietly, barely above a whisper, but you could recognise the voice anywhere. 

“Remus” your eyes opened and you sat up, straightening yourself

Remus was sitting right next to you, far enough for his thighs to not touch you, but close enough for you to be able to read his expression in the dark room .

“Can we please talk?” He was fidgeting with his hands, clearly nervous of how this conversation was going to go. 

You hugged yourself before nodding. Then a beat of silence 

“I’m sorry.” you both said at the same time. Another silence took over the room before you both chuckled awkwardly. 

“I’m really sorry Y/N, I shouldn’t have cut you off like that. I was scared and I was impulsive, I know I can’t excuse my behaviour, and you don’t have to forgive me but I needed you to know.” He took a deep breath before continuing 

“I have never felt what I feel for you before, and only the thought of you leaving because of my lycanthropy terrified me. And the moment you confronted me about it I thought it was better if I was the one leaving. But I regretted it the moment I saw the tears in your eyes, and when you walked out of the door all I wanted was to take my words back. And I regret it every time I see you across the great hall instead of next to me. Words can’t begin to show how sorry I am.” 

Remus was now crying, he wasn’t the only one, your eyes had started to water the moment he started talking. You took his hand on yours before speaking. 

“It’s okay Rem, I forgive you. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I would hate you for being you” you said sincerely. 

There was a brief moment of silence in which you looked each other in the eyes, they were filled with tears, but also love. You swore no one had ever looked at you like that before.

"Can we try again, please?" He asked 

You didn't even answer, throwing yourself at his arms, which embraced you with the familiar warmth you desperately craved. 

"I've missed you so much, please never leave again" you sobbed into his chest 

"I won't, I promise" he said, placing a kiss on your temple. 

Maybe Remus should listen to Sirius' advice more often if they were going to help him get the love of his life back. 

Author's note: I'm so proud of this one I think it's super duper cute. I'm also dying with uni work at the moment, wish me luck, love u all <33 Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed and very appreciated To be part of the taglist Dm me or send me an ask <3 Series' taglist: @feral-posts @izuoyarmin @aremuslupinsimp @yourfavgay @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo 

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium. 

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while. 

Frankie :)))))) 

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u 

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either 

R u ok?   

You

Yeah I’m ok. 

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER. 

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there. 

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it. 

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back. 

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Called off work weeks ago 

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz 

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol 

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams. 

Of course he came. 

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it. 

Frankie :)))))) 

R u at memorial or westwood hospital? 

??? 

You 

Memorial. Why? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Be there in 15 

You 

Frankie you don’t have to do that 

Frankie :)))))) 

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon! 

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you. 

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance. 

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying. 

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem. 

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date. 

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance. 

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter. 

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair. 

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do. 

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea. 

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t. 

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away. 

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.” 

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process. 

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight. 

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.” 

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow. 

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat. 

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay. 

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road. 

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?” 

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror. 

“I’m taking you to your game.” 

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions. 

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-” 

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.” 

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

“Frankie, I-” 

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.” 

God, maybe you do want to kiss him. 

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.” 

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.” 

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning. 

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without. 

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off. 

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you. 

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either. 

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” 

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand. 

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.” 

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it. 

“Drive was good?” 

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?” 

“Fine.” Lie. 

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst. 

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.” 

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you. 

“Of course I was gonna come.” 

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy. 

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.” 

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?” 

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.” 

That one shuts him up real fucking fast. 

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not. 

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.” 

That shuts you up even quicker. 

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat. 

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it. 

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.” 

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go. 

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!” 

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.  

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now. 

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in  instead. 

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital. 

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give. 

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get. 

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you. 

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.” 

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor. 

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about. 

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.” 

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.” 

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return. 

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down. 

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.  

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.” 

“Sorry about that, she’s um-” 

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off. 

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made. 

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?” 

“No, I just-” 

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him. 

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet. 

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

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@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

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@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

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@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[nottsbitch]

Now that we don't talk- Matteo Riddle

Based on the Taylor Swift Song

✩✩✩✩

You and Matteo had been broken up for a few weeks now, though those weeks felt more like months. At first, everyone walked on eggshells around you, trying to spare your feelings. But now, your friends seemed to have moved on, which brought you to this moment, sitting in the Great Hall with them.

"Did you hear Matteo went to the Hufflepuff party this weekend?" Pansy had said to you this morning.

Even though it was only 9 a.m., you’d heard the same tidbit from what felt like everyone. Matteo had a knack for drawing attention, so his first outing since the breakup was bound to turn heads.

"I did hear that, actually… multiple times." Your sarcasm was evident.

You tried not to let it affect you, but it was hard not to be upset that Matteo was slipping back into his old ways so soon.

"He's just jumping back out there way too quickly. Did he even take time to recover from the breakup?" Daphne, sitting across from you, echoed your thoughts.

"Guys, I really don’t want to talk about this right now." Their eyes turned to gauge your reaction, and the conversation dwindled into an uncomfortable silence.

In that silence, you let yourself dwell on whether Matteo regretted going to the party as he usually did on his way home. But with you two no longer talking, you’d never know.

✩✩✩✩

As you sat in your Potions seat, waiting for class to start, you replayed the girls' comments in your mind. You weren’t sure if they were genuinely concerned or just trying to make you feel better, but it wasn’t working. The more you thought about it, the more you felt the sting of Matteo’s apparent indifference to the breakup, deepening your frustration.

Suddenly, Matteo walked into the classroom. His hair was longer—a detail that struck you immediately, considering he usually hated his hair growing too long.

Before long, you realized you were staring and quickly looked away, missing the brief moment when his eyes met yours.

You wished things hadn’t changed, but you had no say in the matter.

✩✩✩✩

"It's just so much harder than I thought. Seeing him everywhere, hearing about all the girls trying to talk to him—it makes me sick," you told your mother over the phone.

"Honey, you know breaking up with him was the right choice. You can’t let these things affect you so much," she said soothingly.

"I know, and I’m trying, but I just miss him," you admitted, struggling to hold back tears.

"He had his moments, but the more you gave, the less he seemed to want. It shouldn't be like that, and you know it."

"I don’t know what to do," you said, tears now flowing freely.

"Maybe try being friends first. If he can change and treat you the way you deserve, you can consider a relationship again."

"I don’t think I can be his friend..."

And with that, you knew exactly how you felt.

✩✩✩✩

When you stormed into the Slytherin common room, the room fell silent. You scanned the space: Pansy and Daphne, a group of first and second-years studying, and on the couches, Matteo, Theo, Draco, Tom, Enzo, and Blaise. Perfect.

You climbed onto a table in the middle of the room. "Excuse me, can I have everyone’s attention?" All eyes snapped to you.

"I just want to say for everyone so worried about me—I’m over my ex." Jaws dropped. "And I want to make it clear that this breakup was a blessing because now I don’t have to pretend I enjoy sitting on the cold bleachers for hours watching Quidditch. Or that I like kissing someone who constantly tastes like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes."

"Are you drunk?" a random fourth-year asked, staring at you with wide eyes.

"Yes, I am. Anymore questions?"

Hands flew up from everywhere. You were too focused on the people around you to notice Matteo coming up behind you and pulling you off the table.

"Let’s get you to bed," he whispered, ignoring the crowd as he carried you to your room.

Once you were tucked in bed, he looked at you with a sigh. "I didn’t know you felt this way."

"Me neither… until I realized this is how it has to be now that we don’t talk."

✩✩✩✩

[coloursflyaway]

I And Love And You

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.200

Read on AO3

“Well, so, since I think you’re the best person in existence, the thought that you love me, that’s pretty special”, Charles tries to explain. “And that makes me feel pretty special. That you could love me.” Edwin stays silent for a while, but he doesn’t look away, seemingly figuring something out, making a decision, or a third thing somewhere in between. “That makes sense”, he eventually says, speaking slowly, almost like he is still thinking about it. “In that case, I shall endeavour to tell you more often.”

Edwin tells Charles he loves him again and again, until Charles can say it back.

The first time Edwin tells him he loves him is in 1993 when they are on a case and Charles has been stuck with reading one of the old texts they have at the office for so long that the unfamiliar letters are blurring before his eyes. He didn’t even realise that Edwin noticed he was struggling, but then there’s a soft voice next to his shoulder and a hand snatching the book from the desk in front of him.

“I’ll take care of this one, Charles”, he says, and when Charles turns around, Edwin already has his nose buried in the text, looking a lot less confused by it than Charles was feeling. “I love you”, Charles tells him without thinking, because it’s true every day, but he loves Edwin a little more just now.

And Edwin looks up from the book for a moment, eyebrows raised in surprise, but then his expression softens, almost starts to glow. “I love you, too”, Edwin says, and Charles basks in it for the rest of the night.

The sixty-third time Edwin tells him he loves him is on the steps to Hell, only that it’s different now, means more and means the same simultaneously, and Charles says it back and means it and gets Edwin out of Hell, and truly, that is the only thing that matters.

The sixty-fourth time is on the roof of their building, a few weeks later, when they are looking out over the city. Crystal is with her parents, trying to build some kind of relationship from scratch, so it’s just them, and Charles likes it that way, has missed it, even. As brilliant as Crystal is, in the end this is what his existence comes down to, Edwin and him.

“Do you wish I hadn’t told you?”, Edwin asks, apropos of nothing, into the almost-silence, the hum of cars and life beneath them. Maybe it should take Charles a few moments to figure out what Edwin means, but it really doesn’t; even if they haven’t talked about it yet, Edwin’s confession is never far from his mind. Neither is Hell, neither is how close he came to losing him.

“Nah”, Charles replies easily, looks over at the best friend he ever had, who is not looking back. “I’m glad you trusted me with it. And also, like. It’s quite flattering, to be honest.” He gives Edwin a grin, even if he cannot see it, but maybe Edwin can hear it in his voice, maybe he can sense it, maybe it can make this a little easier.

“Flattering?”, Edwin repeats, and while he says it to the city spread out in front of them, he turns to face Charles afterwards. There is something like hope in his face, and Charles wants to pull him against his chest and make sure Edwin knows he never has to hope to be loved again.

“Yeah, absolutely. You know I think the world of you, right?”

Edwin nods, and that at least is a relief; if he didn’t, Charles would have to reevaluate every choice he has made since meeting him. “Well, so, since I think you’re the best person in existence, the thought that you love me, that’s pretty special”, Charles tries to explain. “And that makes me feel pretty special. That you could love me.”

Edwin stays silent for a while, but he doesn’t look away, seemingly figuring something out, making a decision, or a third thing somewhere in between.

“That makes sense”, he eventually says, speaking slowly, almost like he is still thinking about it. “In that case, I shall endeavour to tell you more often. Because you are very special to me.”

He looks as serious as anything, and it warms something deep inside Charles’ chest, his mind. On impulse, he reaches out and curls his fingers around Edwin’s thin wrist and holds onto it.

“You’re pretty special to me too”, he tells Edwin just for good measure, shoots him a lopsided grin, and Edwin smiles back in that soft way of his that he keeps for Charles alone.

“I am glad to hear that”, he replies, and the muscles under Charles’ grip shift, but Edwin doesn’t pull his hand away. “And Charles?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They are on a case for the sixty-fifth time.

There is a painting that seems to suck ghosts into it if they get too close, trapping them into the canvas, and although they have been going through every and all books their library has to offer, nothing seems to help. So, instead of research they comb through the museum the painting has been hanging in, even if Crystal is the only one of them who can get near enough to actually inspect it.

She takes a picture of it with her tablet and takes it back to them, before she goes back to the painting, trying not to draw attention to herself as she figures out a way to touch the frame without tripping any alarms. At the same time, Charles and Edwin hunch over the tablet computer in a corner of the quiet museum, using clumsy, untrained fingers to go over the painting inch by inch.

It’s a feast of a sort, complete with lavish dishes and glass carafes full of dark red wine, the table set for another six people who have not yet arrived. The ghosts that have been consumed already are crowding the other seats, some looking delighted, some frightened, some just confused.

At the head of the table, a man is seated in a gilded chair, one that Charles does not know from the file they have of the victims, but who looks familiar anyway. He squints, zooms in on his face, and it takes a moment, but then something clicks.

“Mate, I think that’s the artist”, he tells Edwin, the rush of something that could solve the puzzle coming over him, “Do you think he painted himself into it and is somehow taking the others?”

It sounds slightly strange to his own ears when put like this, but Edwin’s eyes go wide, and Charles can see him connecting dots he has not yet noticed.

“He was dying when he painted this”, Edwin says, looking back at the screen, eyes flickering to take in all of it. “And scared of it by all accounts. If he found a spell… and he allowed his own soul to be sucked into it and then used it to trap others so he would not have to face his afterlife alone… oh, Charles, you are a genius!”

Without wasting a second, Edwin gets up, shouting for Crystal, but before he can run over to her, Edwin turns around once more. “I love you”, he tells Charles, and it’s sweet and it’s honest and Charles takes the words and tucks them deep down into the centre of his soul, and follows Edwin to solve the case.

The seventieth time Edwin tells him he loves him, Charles has just dropped a priceless artefact on the floor where it had splintered into a thousand pieces. It’s not important for their case, just something they picked up in Tromsö as payment for a quick missing person quest, and Charles hadn’t meant to drop it when pulling it out of his backpack; it had just happened.

Edwin looks at him, exasperated but too tired to argue, and says, “You should count yourself lucky that I love you.”

Maybe it’s not the cleverest response, but it’s the only one Charles can give. “I do. Every day.”

The seventy-first time is when they are back at the agency afterwards. Half an hour earlier Crystal had passed out on the sofa, mumbling something about not thinking she should be forced to walk back to her apartment when their sofa was just there, so Charles is sitting on the floor instead. He’s trying to figure out if he should move the jar of bees further up in the backpack where there is now an open spot when Edwin clears his throat behind the desk.

It’s nothing he does often, usually electing just to speak without preamble, so the sound makes Charles look up at him almost immediately.

“What’s up?”, he asks, and Edwin hesitates; another thing that isn’t like him at all.

“You do know that I don’t truly think you have to count yourself lucky that I love you, don’t you?” He asks the question in such a stilted, adorably Edwin way that Charles cannot help but smile at him, metaphorical heart overwhelmed with affection for this impossible, brilliant, beautiful boy.

“Of course I know that”, he replies and Edwin seems to relax immediately, like this truly was something weighing heavily on his mind. “I do, though. Every day.”

And he means it.

The seventy-third time Edwin tells him he loves him, Charles is on the floor, legs drawn up against his chest and his head resting against his knees. In death, there is no more exhaustion and yet Charles feels it, his limbs so heavy he cannot lift them, his eyes burning as if he had been crying for hours.

He hasn’t, he doesn’t think he deserves to.

If there is something Charles hates it is cases where they can’t do anything at all, where they try and they try and then, they try again, but the outcome has been fixed beforehand and in the end, the only thing they can do is watch someone being dragged to Hell. To a Hell that Charles knows now, one that haunts his thoughts in the hours in between, showing him Edwin covered in blood and so, so scared, a hundred of his bodies discarded and ripped to shreds in a corner.

Edwin, who sits down next to him, although Charles knows he doesn’t like sitting on the floor, who puts a hand on Charles’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Charles?”, he asks softly, and there is so much compassion, so much understanding in his voice that it almost makes the tears in Charles’ eyes spill over. “I love you.”

And it’s enough and it’s too much and there are tears running down his cheeks, but Edwin holds him when Charles flings himself into his arms, tucks him under his chin and keeps him safe, and he’ll be alright.

They’ll be alright in the end.

The seventy-fifth time is a few days later, when Charles is feeling almost like himself again. They are trying to decide on a new case, one that won’t leave Charles feeling like they have to carry the weight of the world on their backs, and Crystal decided to sit this one out no matter which case they picked, so it’s just them.

“To be honest, the only thing that matters to me is that it won’t have the potential to go horrifically wrong this time”, Charles explains as he sorts through their case files, and it feels a little like a confession. Edwin would never judge him for his response to their last case, he knows that, and yet it feels a little shameful, because he might have been in Hell for an afternoon, but not long enough to warrant any of this.

“I could not agree more”, Edwin concedes and puts away a few envelopes without opening them. “How about a simple shoe-leather case for now?”

“Yeah, that sounds good”, Charles says, and it feels like relief and it feels like shirking a duty he usually asks to fulfil. And maybe that feeling is audible in his voice, maybe Edwin just knows him so well, since his expression softens, and he picks out one of the case files at random, hands it to Charles.

“Let us try this one”, Edwin tells him, before putting a hand on his shoulder, like he put a hand on Charles’ knee back then on the floor. “And Charles? You did nothing wrong. I love you.”

And maybe it’s hard to believe in that moment, but Edwin looks at him with such certainty, and if there is anything Charles is good at, it’s trusting him. So he takes a deep breath, a luxury he sometimes indulges in, and nods.

“I love you, too”, he says, and that, as well, is something he can trust.

The seventy-eighth time Edwin tells him he loves him, is because of nothing in particular at all. It’s a Sunday morning, the sun shining through the windows and although Charles cannot feel its heat on his skin, he has still pulled the sofa over to luxuriate in the brightness.

“Charles?”, comes from the other side of the room, and Charles just hums to indicates that he has heard Edwin. “I love you.”

The words make him look up and over at Edwin, who is watching him from where he has been reorganising their library; he looks soft and happy in a mellow, relaxed kind of way. Charles wants to push back the strand of hair that has fallen into his face.

“Love you, too”, he says instead, chest aglow with the words, a spark hidden between that warmth, and settles back into the cushions. “You should come over and enjoy the sun with me.”

“We cannot feel the sun”, Edwin counters, but there is little actual objection in his voice.

“I know”, Charles says, and scoots over so Edwin would fit right next to him, if he wanted to do so. “But we can pretend.”

The seventy-ninth time they are on the very top of the London Eye for no reason at all, just that they haven’t had a case in a week and Charles had been itching to get outside and do something. Edwin had done his best to pretend to resist, but had lasted only a few minutes before letting Charles drag him through the walls.

A little part of Charles misses Crystal, because she would love the view, but Crystal is on a date. With a living man whose dead aunt they had as a client a month ago, and while Crystal had seemed nervous to tell him, Charles finds that he doesn’t care much about it.

Not because he doesn’t care about Crystal, not at all, but because their little fling had naturally fizzled out after he had brought Edwin back from Hell. They had never talked about it, but even that would have felt unnecessary; there was no way Charles would sneak off to kiss Crystal when Edwin was in love with him. Even if he still isn’t sure what that makes them, Charles knows he couldn’t continue anything with Crystal when he had promised Edwin that they would figure out the rest between them.

So, Crystal is on a date and Charles is here, looking out across the city next to Edwin, the murmur of the other passengers’ conversation easily drowned out by decades of practice.

“It looks so peaceful from up here, don’t you think?”, Charles asks, because before their little break, they had spent far too many days running from people with iron machetes and murderous intent.

Edwin nods his approval, and Charles reaches out and takes his hand, because he wants to feel that Edwin is beside him. Not in Hell, not in the grasp of a witch, not in any kind of danger. Just next to Charles, exactly where he belongs.

“I’m glad we’re getting a little break in between everything”, he continues and runs his thumb across Edwin’s knuckles. He might not be able to feel the soft skin there, the warmth of Edwin’s blood beneath it, but he still feels something, and that’s enough. “I feel like we deserve it.”

“That we do”, Edwin agrees, and for a moment, Charles can feel his fingers tightening. “Maybe, if it continues for a little longer, we could go out of town for a few days? We haven’t done that in a while. Perhaps to Florence, or Berlin. I remember you liking it there.”

“Great idea, that’d be aces”, Charles tells him and Edwin smiles out at the city; it’s good, and yet Charles wishes Edwin would smile at him instead. “We can start making plans once we’re back home.”

“Fantastic”, Edwin replies and then, “Also, Charles? I love you.”

And this time something flutters in Charles’ chest, delicate and lovely as a nightingale, and Charles intertwines their fingers, because he wants to feel Edwin a little closer, still. “I love you too.”

The eightieth time Edwin tells him he loves him is in Berlin, after Crystal has left to go to a rave. She had been delighted to go on a trip, and although it meant that Edwin and he would spend a few hours on a plane instead of just walking through a mirror, Charles is happy to have her there. And yet, when she had asked if he wanted to join her, he had turned her down without a second thought.

Chances is sure he would have enjoyed going dancing, even if he would be left without the booze and the drugs, but it’s not as compelling a thought as to spend a night wandering the city with Edwin at his side.

So here he is, walking from the Neptune fountain towards the Lustgarten, where Edwin wants to take a look at the Old Museum and their antiquities collection. They have been here before in the early 2000s and Charles remembers it better than expected, the broad streets and the relentless traffic and most of all the breeze in the air that feels like freedom and promise.

“I’m very glad we came here”, Edwin says softly; Charles can hear him even over the cars passing them every few moments. “We should do it more often, getting out of the city. Maybe we could go to Prague next, they have a fascinating cathedral. Or Vienna, I always wanted to visit the catacombs there.”

“Sure, sounds good”, Charles responds easily. He knows little about Vienna and even less about Prague, but if Edwin wants to go, he will gladly follow. “I’ll ask Crystal if she has a preference, then we could draw up a list of places to go. Maybe take the agency on a worldwide tour.”

He shoots Edwin a grin, who smiles back a little distractedly, before asking, “Speaking of Crystal, why didn’t you go with her tonight? Would the music not be to your tastes?”

“I don’t know much about the music, to be honest. It’s not like I’ve ever been to a rave before”, Charles replies, shrugging his shoulders. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

“We spend all our time together.”

“I know”, Charles replies and bumps his shoulder into Edwin’s, just to feel the resistance there, to know Edwin is next to him. It warms something within his chest, not just his heart, but everything around it, too, makes him think of springtime and bluebells and Edwin’s smile. “I like it that way.”

There is no response for some time, but that is fine, because they are crossing the bridge to the Museum Island, and Charles is happy to watch the city around them, listen to its energy, its life. At some point, he slips his hand into Edwin’s and lets their fingers weave together; it’s nothing they do often, but still so easy.

“Charles?”, Edwin eventually says when they are almost at their destination. His voice sounds different, almost fragile, like something Charles would give his life to protect. “I love you.”

And there it is again, that little flutter, that warmth spreading further through his chest, because Edwin loves him, and Charles isn’t certain if there could be anything more precious than that knowledge.

“I know. I love you, too.”

The eighty-fourth time Edwin tells him he loves him, they are running. Not for their lives but for their continued existence, and it’s terrifying because Charles can almost taste the blackdarknothingness at the back of his throat and the thought that he might never see Edwin again is the most terrifying thing he has ever faced, like it is every single time this happens.

They round a corner and Charles reaches out to grasp Edwin’s hand in his, even if he knows it will slow them down, because he has to feel Edwin next to him at least one more time.

Edwin looks over at him and he looks as terrified as Charles feels, a twin look of despair on their faces, and for a moment, he squeezes Charles’ hand before letting go again.

“I love you”, he shouts at Charles through the noise the creature chasing them makes, and within the terror and the defiance and the desperation, there is a bright spark, a hint of warmth, because Edwin loves him and even if they blink out of existence, Edwin will have loved him and that makes any fate worth it.

“I love you, too”, Charles yells back, and means it more than anything he has ever said before in his life.

The eighty-fifth time is only minutes later, when Crystal has hit the creature with the potion they prepared this morning, followed it up with whatever she does with her powers now when she goes silent and wild and unstoppable. They are safe, and they are together, and Charles isn’t sure if one of them hugs the other first or if they just meet somewhere in the middle, a flurry of limbs grasping at each other and relieved laughter.

Charles’ head fits into the curve between Edwin’s shoulder and neck easily, Edwin’s chin digging into the flesh of his shoulder, and it’s bliss, being here. It’s bliss, being with Edwin.

“I love you”, Edwin mumbles into the crook of Charles’ neck, and Charles pulls him closer, wants to forget entirely where he ends and Edwin begins.

“I love you, too”, he replies and there are tears in his eyes, in his voice; his heart and chest are so full of it, it feels like they are spilling over, pumping sunshine and warmth and bluebells and Edwin’s smile through his limbs. “I love you so much. I love you the most.”

The hundred-seventeenth time Charles tells Edwin he loves him, they are back at the agency and it’s just a Thursday, the sky grey with clouds and a few non-urgent cases waiting for them on Edwin’s desk.

There is nothing special about it, not about the day, not about the time, not about them sitting together on the sofa in companionable silence. It’s a day that has happened a hundred times before and will happen a thousand more, but on this one, Charles looks over at Edwin on a whim, and it’s like he sees him for the first time, the thousandth time, the last time.

He is beautiful, like he has always been, ever since Charles had seen him back at the school for that very first time, bathed in the golden glow of a lamp that wouldn’t be enough to save him, and Charles loves him, has loved him, will love him for as long as he exists.

“Hey, Edwin”, he says softly, and watches Edwin look up, carefully put his finger down between the pages of his book before closing it. A hundred times he has seen it before, and yet it makes Charles smile now. “I love you.”

It takes a moment, but then Edwin smiles back at him, soft and sweet and like he is truly happy, and Charles moves before he can have a single thought.

Edwin’s lips are as soft, as plush as they look, and Charles cannot feel them, but he can feel them still, just like he can feel them parting in surprise, can feel the curve of Edwin’s jaw as he reaches out to grasp it. He kisses Edwin like he might have wanted to for years, kisses his love for him onto Edwin’s skin, licks and nips until Edwin’s lips part beneath his ministrations, and Charles can lick into his mouth and pretend to taste him.

The kiss lasts a moment and forever at the same time, and when Charles eventually pulls away, Edwin’s hair is slightly mussed from his fingers, his lips shining wet and his eyes still closed, only fluttering open slowly. He’s beautiful and he loves Charles and Charles loves him.

His hand is still cradling Edwin’s cheek, and for a second, Edwin nuzzles into it; Charles’ heart is a supernova, is collapsing into itself, is being born once more.

“You love me like this?”, Edwin asks, quiet and hopeful and lovely, and Charles nods before he can even finish the sentence.

“I love you in every way there is.”

Edwin’s eyes light up like stars, like sunlight, like the grey, clouded over sky on days that are special simply because they are together, and Charles wants to fall to his knees and pray to him, kiss his devotion onto Edwin’s palms and wrists and soles of his feet.

“I love you, too”, Edwin says, and Charles leans in and kisses his devotion onto his lips instead.

[hugheswritetr]

D-Day

MASTERLIST

Heartbeat | Jack Hughes

Author’s note: the longest chapters so far, hope you enjoy it;)

Song: Daylight- Taylor Swift

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The bathroom counter in my room is overflowing with make-up. As always, I decided to lay a little bit longer than necessary in bed as I should, and this is the result of it. I cannot even navigate through the stuff, making my frustration rise more.

My palms are sweaty, my arms are aching and the goddamn eyeliner is getting crooked more and more each time I try to fix it. This is not my day. I am hoping that it at least looks presentable, the last thing I want is to look horrendous on national television.

Don’t even get me started on my outfit, the new bought heels I put on to stretch already digging into my feet. Sure, the heels are Jimmy Choo’s ( I would never buy anything else ), but even the price tag can’t fix the already forming blister.

,,Thalia! Stop hogging the bathroom!” my brother screams from outside, banging on the door for the millionth time.

Did I mention it was the day of the draft?

The day Mattheo had been working towards his entire life, the past week of his life incredibly stressful, the combine and interviews going with being the fourth projected pick.

We had flown to Dallas two days later than him, residing in the Mariott hotel in downtown Dallas. The whole family is here for this once in a lifetime event. Whole family but one person.

I can see that it’s troubling him, dad was one of his biggest supporters, paying for various trainers and private ice time with them. Despite all that, he is not here. I am sad for him, remembering the special father and son bond between them.

,,Give me a second” I shout back at him, even though knowing that the second would be a lot longer. How much more can my arms ache?

,,Thalia!” my brothers annoyed tone making me screw up more ,,Come on!”

,,Oh my god Theo stop! You’re making me nervous!” I report back in annoyed sneer. “You?!Nervous ?!” I don’t know how he manages to be louder each time. “Are you forgetting it’s my draft day?!”

,,Oh my god! Fine!” I reply, trying to swiftly gather my things into my make-up bag. Luke’s bathroom will have to do. I open the door, revealing my annoyed brother standing there.

,,Finally” he says as he enters the bathroom. “Asshat,, I retort my last comment before leaving the room.

The trip down the hallway is short, five steps and I am already knocking on his door.

But the boy opening the door is not the brother I am expecting . ,,Thalia?” Jack is raising his eyebrow at me making me squirm under his gaze. ,,Um, Could I finish getting ready in your room? Mattheo needs to get ready and he can’t when I’m in the bathroom” the blush to my cheeks rising as I ask the question.

,,Sure, but Luke is not here” the newfound information making me almost wish I hadn’t come here. I enter the room and swiftly aim for the bathroom, hoping to get away from the awkward silence that fell between me and the boy who stole my heart and doesn’t even know it.

What I didn’t expect is him following me and sitting on the bathtub beside me. “So, what are we doing?” he asks, catching me off guard. “We?,, I nervously laugh. “Sure, Lils, I’m not going to sit there when I can keep you company,, he nonchalantly replies.

I pray he doesn’t see the effect he has on me and that the foundation tint is covering my red cheeks. If it hadn’t been for my mind replaying the sentence over and over again, I wouldn’t even notice the name he said.

“You know my name is Thalia, right?” I ask and he laughs like it is the greatest joke he heard for a while. “You think I’m dumb? Lils is my new nickname for you, you have lillies on your dress” he voices the detail of my dress.

,,Oh” it was as I forgotten all of the english vocabulary and the only response I can muster is this.

,,Let me help you, sit” he says, noticing me still not drawing the eyeliner right. “Jack, please, like you know how to do it” I reply, rolling my eyes. “And you do?,, he jokingly answers.

He puts his hand around my biceps and sits me down on the bathtub, standing up and taking the make-up tool from my hand.

I gaze up to him, admiring the focused look in his eyes, but most importantly admiring him. The small freckles covering the bridge of his nose, the pink hue on his cheeks from spending time in the sun. The lines of focus between his eyebrows reminding me that he is human, and not some carefully carved sculpture. Jack Hughes is perfection.

,,Here, done” he finishes drawing the eyeliner. I stand up, expecting the disaster on my eyes, but when I gaze into the mirror, the eyeliner is drew on, good? It honestly makes me surprised.

I voice my thoughts with surprised laugh ,,Where did you learn this?”. Jack looks at me “I often watch my girlfriend do make-up, I’m kind of a pro right now” the world girlfriend silencing my next words. I just stand there gaping at him, the awkward silence sweeping over the room. The sentence is a dig to my heart, reminding me that I can admire him all I want, but I can never have him.

I think that my guardian angels decided to help me, and thank god they did, because Luke enters the room.

,,Come on Jack, we have to go - Thalia?” he asks surprised. “Oh Hi Luke, I was just here to finish my make-up, Mattheo occupied the bathroom” I answer his confusion.

Quickly cleaning up the stuff, I gather it to my hands leaving the room ,,I should go see if mom and Theo are ready, see you” I leave without waiting for the answer.

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I am in a state of awe for the last 5 minutes, and the cause for a first time in a while is not Jack. As I am sitting in my seat, the NHL level stadium makes the situation feel ten times more real than back in the hotel, signalling the significance of the event.

Our seats are in the higher part of the arena, right before the Hughes family. Luke is shaking his leg notoriously, he seems even more nervous than Quinn and Theo, the actual people being drafted.

There is a limit on the amount my nerves can handle, and before I know , I am complaining to him ,,Luke! I swear to god, if you’re going to shake that leg one more time, I’m going to slice it” I say to him, making him widen his eyes. “Geez Thalia, never took you as the psycho type” Jack inserts himself into the conversation. Once again, reminding me of his unforgettable presence in my life.

My mother knowingly smiles at me, knowing the real reason for my snapping. I feel sad for Mattheo, one of the most important events of his life is here, and dad is missing. I can see it’s troubling him, so I put my hand around his leg.

,, He is looking, you know it right?” I say to him, trying to calm him. He offers me a bittersweet smile in response ,,I know”.

The ceremony soon begins, anticipation filling my entire body. The reports saying Mattheo is going to be one of the first first rounders - making it known that the fate of his draft is going to be revealed soon.

First pick belonged to Buffalo Sabres, and the smile on the lucky hockey protégé picked for them making me excited for Theo’s moment.

I am thinking, not even noticing that the next team is picking. Selfishly, I hope that he would be going to the Detroit Red Wings to be close, but I know he is going to be picked sooner.

Then the Montreál Canadiens appear on stage. Making the usual speech.

The second Mattheo's name is called by the Montreal Canadiens, we jump from our seats and scream in joy. First mom hugs him, her eyes are shining with tears making my own spill in reponse. I hug him too, being the proudest sister there is on planet earth in this moment, my heart soaring with happiness. He made it, and I couldn’t be more proud. He leaps a few steps up to the Hughes family to hug Quinn, his now former teammate. And then the journey to his new team begins.

My heart skips a beat as I watch him make his way to the stage, a mix of emotions swirling within me. Pride, excitement, and pure happiness radiating off him and in return, off me.

After the moment ends, we sit back down. I can basically feel the anxiety radiating from Quinn by not being picked yet. All I can do is plead with god and my dad to bring the moment sooner.

It is as they hear my prayers, because as soon as the Vancouver Canucks call the name of their next new player, my ears reach the sound of a name of the boy I had grown to care about so much over the span of past three and a half years. I jump from my seat for a second time, expierencing the happiness once again.

The proud feeling coursing through my body from both of the boys successful drafts is beautiful. Me and Luke hug, feeling proud of our eldest brothers and wanting to share the moment together. The two bestfriends made it onto the international stage, an accomplishment we will be celebrating for a long time.

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The draft had been a rollercoaster of emotions, but seeing Quinn and Mattheo's dreams come true was an incredible moment.

We meet with them after the draft, the smile is permanently etched on their faces for the rest of the evening, making the whole group feel good.

The only thing that doesn’t feel good are my feet. Who suggested these painful heels? I know the answer, making me frustrated at myself. My ,,silent” huffing is unnoticed, until I see the middle Hughes boy stopping and waiting for me.

,,Come on, jump” He says, catching me off guard. “What?,, I reply, the confusing train of thoughts surging through me until he crouches . ,,Jump” he says, waiting for me to jump on him.

My proud mind is screaming at me not to, wanting to prove my mother I can wear heels for the whole evening even if she insisted I couldn’t.

But as I try to take another step, the pain spreading through my feet is too much for me to bear, making me jump on him.

Despite being dark, I can see daylight. Personified in the presence of him.

I don’t even notice the knowing look on the elder women faces as they watch us. As if secretly knowing what the future holds for us. We will soon find out.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Birthday

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: It's your birthday and you and Wanda have big plans

A/N: Wanda, Wanda, WANDA. Sometimes you don't think things through...part 2/3 of Wanda getting in trouble with her SO

Warnings: Angst, conflict, sketchy behavior

You turned 25 today and besides being old enough to rent a car, you hadn’t ever expected this birthday to be special. You hadn’t given a lot of thought to it honestly, but at this point in life, you hadn’t expected to really be dating anyone, especially not a criminal. You are still trying to come to terms with that despite it being more than a year since you met Wanda. You wonder sometimes how different your life would have been if you hadn’t noticed her that day. Would you even be dating anyone? Would you have met at any point? You'll never know the answer to either of these questions and you didn’t really care.

All you cared about was that tonight Wanda had promised to take you to dinner and then spend the rest of the night with you doing whatever you wanted. You had considered what this could be because you had a lot of options. You’d concluded that whatever you did was going to involve food, cuddling, dogs, horror movies or sex. You’d like them all, but you knew what happened when you got greedy.

The only thing you really wanted was to spend time with your girlfriend who you didn’t see nearly enough. Sex would be nice too since it had been over a week, and it was your birthday, but sometimes you just took what you could get.

You frown again as you look to your phone for the fourth time in ten minutes. Wanda had been very communicative this morning when she’d wished you a happy birthday and told you that she’d pick you up tonight at 6. You’d talked to her a little more before she’d gone to work, and now that classes were over and it was 5pm, she wasn’t answering your texts or calls.

You tried not to worry because you knew that she couldn’t have her phone in front of her all the time. You just hoped that she wasn’t going to be late.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?”

You hope you sound as annoyed as you really are because it’s 6:10 and Wanda is just now calling you to cancel. Not just dinner either. She’s cancelling your entire night with her and you are very close to blowing up at her and crying right after. You listen to her excuse; her normal work excuse and you suddenly feel as insignificant as they come. You frown deeply and try not to cut off Wanda’s rambling apology. You've heard it all before, and despite hoping that tonight would be different, you're reminded once again that you're not a priority for her.

“I’m so sorry, detka, but this is something that can’t wait. If it doesn’t happen tonight I won’t have another chance for months and I’ve been working on it for almost a year. I promise we’ll do something tomorrow, okay?”

You don’t respond immediately because you don’t know what to say. Rather you don’t know how to say it without sounding as deeply disappointed as you are. You’d been looking forward to this day for weeks because you were certain that if any day you’d convince your girlfriend to ditch work, it would be today. Still, you suppose there’s nothing you can do about it now but pout, and you sit back down at your dining room table with a sigh. You’re wearing a nice dress that you know Wanda likes, and you’d actually done more than just run a brush through your hair. Still, it didn’t matter, you were sure that you’d just spend the night on the couch now that it was just you.

“Okay. Good luck, Wands.”

You don’t say anything else before you hang up on her. Sure it’s a little childish, but you mostly don’t want her to hear you cry. You sit in the kitchen for a few minutes feeling sorry for yourself before you go to the fridge and get one of the cupcakes your friend had brought to class for you. You smile slightly at the reminder that you do have people who love you and would spend your birthday with you. You practically inhale your cupcake before opening your phone and going to the group message you have for your friends.

Hey. Someone had to work tonight, so now I’m all alone :(

It only took 2 minutes for two of them to text and then the third to call you to make plans. They weren’t going to let you sit home alone and depressed on your birthday. They were taking you out and you were going to celebrate whether you liked it or not.

Wanda was still feeling guilty when she met with her client a little while later. She knew it was futile to hope that this would go quickly and that she would be able to see you before an obscenely early hour. She couldn’t help it though, and she clung to this thought just to get her through the nearly two hours-worth of drinks and smelly cigars. She was actually thinking she could go home around midnight when negotiations were finished, but afterwards she’d been promised a celebration and was escorted to a club.

Wanda decided that she’d drink more at this one because she had a bad feeling that she wouldn’t be seeing you tonight.

“Come on Y/n! You only turn 25 once!”

You are still cringing when you and your friends arrive to your third, and hopefully last, stop of the night. You’d been taken to dinner at the place that you’d reserved with Wanda and despite it being ridiculously expensive, your friends covered it all. Then you’d gone to a bar and had a few drinks and spent a couple of hours laughing and forgetting that you’d been ditched tonight. You were so grateful that your friends had your back and you had been ready to call it a night after that when you were told that you had one more stop.

“We’re getting you a lap dance for your birthday!”

You’d been stunned and sightly horrified by the prospect of this once you’d realized they weren’t joking. Something like this didn’t interest you, and even as you walked into the club and saw a lot of beautiful women, you still weren’t comfortable with the idea. You figured you could buy yourself some time by dragging everyone to the bar for drinks. You might be able to make them forget why you were here altogether if you got them drunk enough.

“You’re not serious.”

Wanda looks to her left to where Steve is standing next to her looking as uncomfortable as she is incredulous. She did not guess this is what ‘celebrating’ would entail, and she’s already planning a hasty exit when she and Steve follow the group of men into the gentlemen’s club. She’s never been here before and she’s eternally grateful when she’s immediately hit with the too strong smell of perfume and faint cigarette smoke that hits her as she walks through the doors. She sighs inaudibly as she looks to the large booth that the group is starting to fill. She barely spares the vast room a glance as she tries to decide how much she’ll be able to drink.

“Sit, please. We’ll close the deal with a little celebration.”

Wanda doesn’t have time to ask what that means when three women, three dancers walk over to them. She has to keep her mouth from dropping at the fact that they are basically naked. They have tiny triangles and strings that comprise their tops, and thongs that leave nothing to the imagination. Wanda watches in muted horror as 2 of the men are led away from the table and the third woman holds a hand out to her. She’s already trying to come up with an excuse when the client she had to impress spoke up.

“I-.”

 “Ms. Maximoff. Please, enjoy yourself. On me.”

Wanda flounders and looks to Steve for help but he can’t really do anything. He can’t speak up just like she can’t refuse without seeming rude. This deal is too important for it to fall apart now, and Wanda takes a deep breath as she stands up slowly and takes the blonde’s hand. She hopes hers isn’t sweaty but she’s so nervous she feels like she’s sweating bullets. This is not what she planned on doing tonight, and she tries not to think about how you'd react to this.

Wanda looks back to Steve who understands and stands up to follow her. Polite or not, Steve was Wanda’s security detail so he went where she did.

“I’ll just stand outside.”

Wanda tries not to panic at the thought of being alone with a dancer who’s been paid who knows how much to do who knows what. She knows that this place is higher-end than the normal strip club, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t about to get an eyeful. She tries not to think about how she should be at home with you right now watching a terrifying movie. Instead she’s here trying not to watch as she’s given a lap dance that she’s only accepting for the sake of being polite.

“Relax, dear. You’re so tense. Let me help with that.”

You’re laughing at your friend’s joke when you notice him. You’d glanced around the club just out of curiosity, and you stop cold at the sight of a familiar face. You frown and try to figure out if you can sneak away to talk to him. You finish the rest of your drink before excusing yourself and insisting that you’ll be right back.

You hurry across the room and look around for the bathroom before trying to get the man’s attention.

“Hey! Steve, what are you doing here?”

When Steve hears your voice, he begins to panic. He turns to see you shooting him a confused look, and he takes a moment to wonder what he’d done wrong to be put into this situation. You’re dressed up, probably out with some friends since Wanda had to change her plans, but why you ended up here of all places, he’ll never know. Steve tries to offer a small smile, but you speak up before he can ask what’s on his mind. He has to swallow the lump in his throat at your suspicious look.

“Wait, who are you here with?”

Steve doesn’t really need to answer. Not when his eyes widen before his gaze goes to the boring black carpet beneath his feet. He avoids your eye contact successfully for only 3 seconds before he has to look back up at you.

“Is-is Wanda here?!”

You look around for your girlfriend, but you don’t see her anywhere. You don’t see anyone you recognize and you’re about to start looking in every room for her when a door opens nearby. Wanda spots Steve and nearly runs to him, but the sight of someone in between the two of them makes her stop short. When she realizes who it is she nearly vomits.

“Steve, let’s--.”

You turn around slowly at the sound of your girlfriend’s voice, and you see someone barely clothed leave the room that she just left over Wanda’s shoulder. You just stare at Wanda and she stares at you for a minute before you feel the urge to cry overwhelm you. You spin around on your heels and head back to the bar to tell your friends that you’re going home.

“Y/n, wait!”

You realize that Wanda’s following you and you spin around again to shoot her a glare so vicious it stops her in her tracks.

“Don’t fucking talk to me. I’m leaving and you better not fucking follow me.”

You get a minute alone to thank your friends for taking you out before claiming to feel sick. You stay with them long enough to book a ride home, and show them that you’re not going to get murdered before you head outside. Despite being able to relax briefly to hug the trio, you feel yourself tense immediately when you realize that someone’s followed you out here.

“Did I not make myself clear?”

It was hard to misinterpret what you’d said, but Wanda was desperate for you to understand what happened tonight. She hadn’t skipped out on celebrating your birthday with you to come to this glorified strip club. Well, she had, but she really hadn’t wanted to. She would have much rather spent the night with you.

“Y/n please. Let me explain. I’m here with those stuffy looking men for work. I didn’t want to come here tonight, I promise.”

You’re not looking at her. You’re staring out into the night and looking between your phone and the stagnant parking lot waiting for your ride to get here. Still, you can’t ignore her completely and you take a few seconds to process what she’s said. You’re not sure what to believe. You’re angry because Wanda left you alone on your birthday, and in an attempt to salvage the night you’d run into her at a freaking strip club of all places. You honestly knew way too little about her work because this is not something you would have ever expected your girlfriend to do.

You’d imagined her in shootouts and torturing lowly criminals. Maybe she’d sit around and drink with a bunch of old white guys and discuss their business of murdering people as casually as if they were talking about the weather. You hadn’t expected them to frequent places like this, but putting a little more thought into it, you realize it’s not completely unreasonable. You hate it, but you could see why a group of ‘stuffy men’ might want to end up here.

That said, there was no circumstance where Wanda could justify what she’d just done to you. She could tell you it was a for work, or that she had to just keep up appearances but you didn’t care. It was betrayal any way you looked at it, and for this you didn’t even want to look at her.

“Did you also not want a lap dance because it looks like you got one?”

Wanda falters for a second time as she tries to come up with an explanation. She knows that you might not believe her, but it’s the truth and she can’t tell you anything else.

“I didn’t. Detka, please. I swear I didn’t. I just--.”

You realize that your ride is pulling into the lot and you thank whoever is listening that you’ll get to escape this conversation. You already feel tears starting to fall as you consider what Wanda did, or swears she didn’t. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head before you take a deep breath and step toward the lot.

“Why should I believe you, Wanda? You never told me what your work involved but I can’t imagine that cheating is part of it. I don’t care what you have to say. We’re through.”

You don’t look back as you get in the car that pulls up to you and asks for your name. You ignore Wanda’s pleas as you slam the door behind you and turn away from the window. Wanda watches as you drive away and she curses under her breath before turning around to run back inside to find Steve. She doesn’t care what happens with her deal anymore. It should be closed and if not, well she’ll figure it out later. Right now, she needs to do whatever she can to make this right with you.

You don’t make it easy for her. The next day, you go to class like usual, but otherwise you’re locked in your apartment with the deadbolt in place so Wanda can’t get in. You listen to music to both block out her voice and your intrusive thoughts whenever you’re at home, so you barely notice as Wanda comes and goes. Rather how she doesn’t leave at all. She spends hours sitting outside your door calling and texting you, but it all goes unanswered. She spends nearly 24 hours trying to get you to talk to her before you even look at her.

“What is it, Wanda?”

You barely pay her any mind as you walk down the flight of stairs to the parking lot to your car. You have class soon and you’re probably going to be late, but you’d known she was out here so you didn’t want to leave. You’d delayed it as long as possible and you hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Wanda outside your door. Despite knowing she was there; you hadn’t expected her to look so haggard. She was still wearing what you’d seen her in at the club, and she looked exhausted. You were pretty sure that if you tried you could knock her off balance with just a touch.

“Y/n, please, can I just tell you what happened?”

You continue down the stairs and start rifling through your purse for your keys with a shrug. You don’t even want to go to this class, and the closer you get to your car the less motivated you are to even bother.

“You can talk all you want, Wanda. I’m just not really interested.”

You open the car on just your side, watching as Wanda stops behind you and considers her options. You get in your car and watch as Wanda steps closer, nearly falling as she loses her footing. She’s barely hanging on and despite being angry at her, you don’t want to see her hurt herself.

“Well, um-like I told you it was for work. We’d closed the deal but Mitch had wanted to celebrate which I hoped meant drugs or something. I didn’t expect a fucking lap dance and I didn’t get one. It was horrible. I just sat there and talked about you for a few minutes before she took pity on me and said she’d tell them I cooperated.”

You start the car but stop short when she says this. You can tell that she’s telling the truth. She’s crying and you’d listened to enough of her rambling voicemails to match what she’s telling you now. You sigh in defeat as you roll up your window as Wanda continues to cry. You’re not going to class anymore. You don’t care enough and you’re too worried about Wanda to leave her alone right now.

Wanda barely notices you roll up the window or turn off the car as she wipes her eyes. She’s so tired and crying now is making her already existing headache excruciating. She needs to lie down and probably eat something, but she can’t leave. She can’t leave until you know how sorry she is and that she won’t give up on you. She needs you to know that she loves you.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I love you. P-please don’t leave me.”

Wanda is startled by the sound of your car door slamming again and she jumps at the sight of you. You’re standing in front of her as you sigh in defeat, and reach out for her with a frown.

“I’m not leaving. I hate this class anyway.”

Wanda doesn’t know how to respond, but she just follows as you lead her back upstairs to your apartment. You wrap your arm around hers to hold her steady as you open your door. She’s started to sway dangerously and she just watches wide-eyed as you lead her into your place.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You sit Wanda down on your bed as you search for a change of clothes for her while the tub fills. You figure sitting down will be better than trying to get Wanda to shower now, and you know she’ll feel better if she gets clean before falling into bed. You find her clean clothes and set them and a towel in the bathroom before waving her in there. You make sure she has everything she needs before leaving her alone. She’s a little confused by your change of heart, so she only manages a stunned ‘thank you’ as you head to the kitchen.

You’re making food for you and Wanda when you hear her come out of the bathroom. You’d figured she’d stay in there longer, but the sound of her footsteps coming down the hall tell you that you thought wrong. You look up from the pan in front of you to see Wanda’s clean and changed into more comfortable looking clothes. She still looks tired, so you hurry to finish up her food as you gesture to the counter.

“There’s some water for you. I’m sure you’re thirsty.”

Wanda nods as she goes to sit at the counter with a sigh. She leans on it heavily as she tries not to fall asleep before she gets to eat. She’s starving, but she’s also very aware of the fact that you’ve barely responded to her pleas and explanations of what happened. She can tell you’re still upset, but she doesn’t know what you’re thinking right now and it’s stressing her out.

“Stop stressing. I’m not just getting you back on your feet before I kick you out.”

Wanda looks up in surprise and you can’t help but smile slightly at how stunned she looks. You hate that she’s so worried, but you’re not going to lie to her. You finish up plating her food before you walk over to the counter to hand it to her with a smile. You grab her a fork before sitting down beside her with a sigh.

“I’m still angry and despite how much I want to just make it about my birthday, I really just hate that I had to see you at a fucking strip club.”

Wanda cringes slightly at this but she just waits for you to finish. She’d spent a couple of hours lying against your door last night wondering how she’d feel if she’d been in your place. She would have been furious and she probably would have dumped you on the spot too. That said…she knew you’d never do something like this to her. She didn’t care about the circumstances; you’d never entertain anything so suggestive if you were in a relationship. It was a little complicated and difficult to really rationalize because of it. You sigh again as you run a hand through your hair. You’d been doing this nearly all day and you’re sure you’ve pulled out a fair amount at this point.

“I don’t want to know about the details of your work, Wanda. For both of our sakes, but I want to be able to trust that you won’t do something like this again.”

Wanda’s already nodding but you don’t give her a chance to speak up. She’s still holding her fork and not eating as she waits for your verdict. She wouldn’t blame you for not wanting anything to do with her after this, but she prays that you’re more forgiving than she’d be. She knows you are. You’re also not as prideful as she is, so again, it’s not fair to try to judge you based off her own standards.

“So don’t do something like this again, or we’ll be over, okay?”

Wanda reaches out for your hand and you only hesitate for a second before you take hers. She squeezes it and you take a deep breath as she promises to not fuck up like this again.

“I won’t. I promise. I won’t step foot in there again, or any place like it.”

You nod and offer Wanda a smile as you push her glass towards her. She gets the hint and she starts to drink and then eventually eats what you cooked for her. She’s not sure what she did to deserve you, but she’ll be damned if she does anything to lose you for good.

“Good, well eat up. I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours and would like to go to bed.”

You can’t help but laugh as Wanda near shovels the food into her mouth, and you reach out to stop her as you shake your head. She looks to you nervously with a mouth full of food and you can’t help but sigh in defeat. You love this idiot and you hope she doesn’t give you a reason to leave her.

Masterlist

[geekywritings]

Drunken revelations

And another anonymous request finished because I was inspired :D If you have promts, quotes or something for Cal x reader shorts, send them over :D

Request: “Cal Kestis x drunk reader??? Fluffy and comfort maybe he finds out about something from her past cause she’s drunk and doesn’t register she’s saying it?”

I think I might have gone a little dramatic here, but fluff is always included ;)

________You didn’t often consume alcohol. And it showed.

You were sitting in Pyloon‘s Saloon with Bode, waiting for Cal to return from a little security round he liked to make around the place before the end of the day. The last thing you needed was the Empire finding your safe haven. Or more Bedlam Raiders causing trouble. Sometimes, you would accompany the Jedi on his patrols, but this evening you had helped out Greeze in the kitchen before being invited to join your other companion.

Bode was nice and always had exciting stories to tell. This evening, however, he was pensive and in clear need of someone to lend him an ear. He had spoken a lot about Kata, his daughter, revealing how much he missed her and how he regretted not being able to spend more time with her. This fatherly side was what warmed you to the man, as not many were as engaged as him.

During his little monologue, he had kept ordering drinks for the two of you, and out of solidarity, you had downed one glass after another with him. At first, you hadn’t felt anything, but after the third round, your head started to grow fuzzy.

Cal returned after the fourth, his face betraying a mixture of surprise, amusement and a little worry. He had never seen you in such a state.

“Cal… You’re back.”, you spoke, noticing that the control over your voice was slipping. “Was it fun?”

“Fun?”, he asked with a chuckle. “No. But at least it’s quiet.” He took a seat next to you, ordering something for himself as he joined your conversation for a while. Eventually, Bode said his goodbyes, wanting to record another story for Kata.

“He is such a good dad.”, you said, as the two of you watched the dark-haired man disappear through the door. Cal was about to agree when you tacked on a remark that had him raise his brows instead. “I am jealous of Kata.”

You were staring into your half-empty glass now, a longing expression on your face.

Cal cocked his head toward you, trying to get you to look at him and explain. Although the two of you had been dating for a few weeks now, after a rather surprising confession on the battlefield when you thought you were about to die, he knew nothing about your past. For good reason.

But you couldn’t keep it hidden forever either… and the alcohol was clearly loosening your tongue.

“I wish my dad had cared that much.”, you spoke, your eyes finally meeting Cal’s. A hand on your shoulder invited you to continue.

“He was too busy with his career. He had big plans… My mother and I… we just had to wait. Day after day after day. For a visit. For a message even. Sometimes we heard nothing for weeks until suddenly we were called to attend some event with him. He paraded us around and then forgot we existed again for weeks.” You were bitter and it showed.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”, Cal spoke softly, trying to be encouraging without knowing what to say. He couldn’t relate. He didn’t even know his parents.

“He did get his wish… he got that promotion… that position he had lusted after. And it made me hate him even more.”, you took another sip, even though you clearly had more than enough already. Cal knew that too and subtly pulled the glass away from you once you had placed it back down.

“You should hate me…”

The sudden change of topic startled the Jedi and he found himself blinking in surprise before scooting closer. A finger under your chin brought your face back in line with his after you had turned away. “Do you know what you are saying, Y/N?”

“I do… You should hate me. For who I am. For who my father is.”

“You are drunk. I’m taking you to bed.”, Cal decided, sliding from the bar stool, ready to pick you up, but your following words had him stalling for a moment.

“Tarkin… My real name is Y/N Tarkin.”

Cal’s hands stopped inches from you, as he just stared. He knew that name. The man was part of the top command chain of the Empire after all. Responsible for endless suffering across the Galaxy. And you were supposed to be his daughter? How?

He had met you as part of the rebellion. You were fighting the Empire with as much ferocity as he was.

“That’s not who you are as a person, though.”, he started slowly, allowing his initial feelings to settle.

“How do you know?”

“Because I see you, Y/N. I see what you do to fight him. I see how much you care about the people. I see how much you love me, even though we should be enemies if you truly were his daughter through and through.”

How could he say these things so easily? How could he trust you so much?

Because he loved you, your muddied brain slurred.

“You know what Merrin taught me? Where you come from doesn’t have to define you. You choose your own path in life… and you have clearly chosen yours.”

Tears were brimming in your eyes and you tried to move in for an embrace… just to almost lose your balance on the bar stool and hug the floor instead. Cal’s arms caught you just in time.

“I think I’m drunk…”, you whispered and despite the heavy topic a few seconds ago, Cal couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“You very much are.”, he agreed. “Come, I’ll bring you to bed.”

“Your bed?”

“Ours.”And with that he hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your shoulders, picking you up with ease.

“I like that…”, you mumbled, head resting against his chest as he carried you downstairs to the room Greeze had prepared for him. The room he now shared with you.

“What do you mean?”

“This… All of this… You.”

He gave you a gentle smile, before leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Any other dark secrets you want to get off your chest?”, he asked, finally placing you down on the bed.

“Just one…”

Your eyes were feeling so heavy all of a sudden, the softness of the bed beckoning you to sleep.

“If I ever have kids… I want you to be their dad…” And with that revelation you drifted off, leaving Cal dumbfounded yet absolutely happy.

[lumierexfics]

I’m not quite sure if this is the right way to do this, this is my first time requesting anything, but I was wondering if I could request a fic for kinktober? Maybe a Papa Copia x Reader that’s like an enemies to lovers where one or both of them just snap and they end up hate-fucking, but it turns fluffy towards the end? You totally don’t have to if you don’t want to or if it goes against any of your rules, ‘‘twas just a thought. 😊

● LIVESTREAM NAME : Your name is a sin I breathe!

description chat log : Papa Emeritus IV comes home late to see a date and You in the kitchen. Papa Emeritus IV needs to make this up to you in the only way he can.

⭑ USERS : Papa Emeritus IV (Copia), Reader

!! CONTENT WARNINGS : 18+ MDNI! Second Person POV, Copia being extremely OOC!, Implied Established Relationship, Miscommunication, Comfort sex !!

A/N : Let me know if this isn’t what you wanted so I can rewrite this to your likings!

< ao3 link Event >

It was the first week since he was anointed by the Clergy to become Papa Emeritus the fourth. The fruits he planted finally and unexpectedly came to fruition with the sudden anointing. As he no longer spent any time behind the desk, checking the amount of money spent from the funds of the clergy from the previous Papa Emeritus and the eye bags that never seemed to go away. Yet, there was one person that remained the same which was you.

Copia couldn’t wait to hold you in his arms as he once did but the actual day of becoming Papa was an unexpected workload that seemed to engulf him whole. Till, he began to see you less and less as more days were spent in his study room; scattered papers and reviewing old scriptures to mix into lyrics.

Copia came to his room, seeing your back turned and burnt out candles on a small dinner table. Yellow hue of the lightbulb surrounded the kitchen as a bottle of uncorked wine next to your hand.

“You missed our date, Copia,” you sniffled, wiping away tears. “Do you actually care?”

Copia stopped absolutely in his shoes, he misremembered the date thinking that it was tomorrow rather than today. His hair was disheveled, smoothing it back with his hand as you had worn your good clothes for the intimate date.

He walked closer to you and you had turned around to face him but he had gotten on his knees. His eyes staring up at you with such devotion and unbridled love, his hands held your trembling hands; softly kissing your inner palms then outer palms.

“Please, I didn’t mean to miss the date,” he begged. “Is there anything special that I can do to make you feel better, amore?”

You looked at him and helped him up from kneeling. His gloved hand held your face and he looked at your lips then to your eyes; redden from your tears.

“Can I kiss you, amore?” He asked.

“Yes, Copia,” you answered.

Copia softly kissed you and his hands held you close to his chest. As your hands interwoven within the strands of Copia’s hair and his soft kisses remained with an edge of flames that he always kept hidden from you. His lips remained on your lips as scattered black kisses from his papal face paint smeared on your face and upper lip and always teetered on the edge of your face, wanting to ravage your neck but you hadn’t given him permission to allow him.

He helped you onto the countertop, his gloved hands caressed each crevice of your body, his papal face paint smeared more on your thighs.

“It seems that I have neglected you, amore?” He asked.

You could only seem to muster a nod as you hadn’t been exposed to this new version of Copia. He wasn’t the meek man that once was a Cardinal— a new identity was bestowed on him when he became Papa. He was always such an intimate lover yet you wished that he made it to the somewhat small bed or even the couch rather than having intimate relations on the countertop.

Copia seemed to have noticed your unease on the countertop and he showered you with more kisses, leading you to the couch. Yet, he somehow still held the familiar nervousness during his Cardinal days. Copia removed his gloves; hands utterly warm. He beckoned you closer to sit on his lap and eyes that were filled with desire and unbridled passion.

“Can I kiss you, Copia?” You asked.

“Amore, you can.” He smiled, pressing his forehead against yours. “I will not deny you anything that you desire.”

You kissed him, softly while his hands pulled you closer to him till it felt like you two were going to melt together from the amount of flames that spread across your body and his.

His and your lower garments were long discarded and sprawled on the floor while your hands gripped his shoulders as you loosened your grip on him. His fingers traced your spine and he held you close while thrusting, he murmured soft praises in your ears.

“So good to me,” he murmured.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Rewind, Remix, & Replay Jay & Kim 6x9

You can read the rest of the series here!

Kim is exhausted when she walks in the door—the week had been an epic clusterfuck. Eva gets kidnapped, Antonio has been hiding an Oxy addiction, and Adam could be in serious trouble with internal affairs after a suspect died after falling off a building. Then just when she thought she might be able to catch her breath she gets that damn phone call. It was just after she saw Nicole too. Her sister was still struggling and had been trying numerous different medications in the hope of feeling better. The one they'd put her on had completely flatlined her emotions. When she saw his name light up her screen, she should have known better than to answer.

But she had always been stupid when it came to him.

Kim could hear the TV and could just barely make out Jay and Zoey sitting on the couch together. Kim swore loudly when she half-tripped over one of the various boxes that littered the two-bedroom apartment, barely having time for her hand to find the wall and gain her balance. She heard Jay call her name. “All good,” She tried to keep her voice light but knew she had missed her mark. Kim beelined for the bedroom and practically collapsed on the bed.

She put her head in her hands rubbing at her temples and her eyes. She hears the door open and she drops her hand sitting up straight. Kim does not want to talk about it. For once, she wishes Jay was the typical oblivious guy and not a detective. And not a man who could read her a little too well.

Kim looks up at Jay and watches as he gently closes the door behind him. Her hands rake her hair back. “I’m okay,” She states flatly.

“Baby,” The tone is usually soothing but at the moment it scratches abrasively against her. Her lips press together trying to keep the emotions swirling in her stomach locked down. “Is it Nicole?”

“She is getting there.” She recited as she had for everyone else who asked about her sister- friends and family alike. It was just a reflex now. An automatic response.

“But she isn’t doing well now-”

“It’s more of the same. They said this process could take a while.” Kim cut him off brushing off the weight of all of that too. “Jay, please.”

“It’s okay for you to be upset about it.” Again, he was trying to be soothing. Logically Kim knew that but the more he pushed the more the emotions churned angrily in her stomach wanting to be released.

“I’m not upset about it. Nicole is getting the help she needs.” Maybe if she said the words enough, she would believe it herself. Maybe she could talk herself out of the intense consistent worry.

“Then what is it?” There was something about the simplicity of the sentence that drove Kim to breaking point. Like he didn’t know. Like he could see. Like he hadn’t been there experiencing the last year with her. And God had it really been a year of just downright emotional and life fuckery?

“What is it?” She echoed, “What is it? Better question what isn’t it?” Kim propels herself to her feet and stalks across the room with no destination in mind just the need to move pulsing through her body. Her exhaustion was washed away by her anger. “What is it? I don’t know Jay,” Her words spew like venom as she raked her hand through her hair. “Maybe it’s the fact that Antonio has an opioid addiction that I never noticed. It was bad enough to get Eva kidnapped and- God only knows what else. I’m his partner and I didn’t notice! Or maybe it’s the fact that Zoey is still struggling and has issues in school. But then again- why wouldn’t she be? She has been bouncing around for the last year and a half with no stability. Her parents got divorced. Her dad is distant at best. Her mom is a mess and locked up in the psych ward and isn’t well enough to even talk to her on the phone let alone see her in person. Not that there has been much better. This is her fourth school in two years, we are so busy with work that she is still practically raising herself. We’ve been in this apartment for almost two months and we are still living out of boxes! What kind of life is that for her?”

Somewhere in her brain, she registers Jay’s stiff posture. The tension in his shoulders, the defensive cross of his arms, and the clenching of his jaw. But her brain can’t process it as she barrels on. “Or maybe it is my sister. I’m a cop- a cop- and my sister got raped. I know the states after something like that happens. I’ve taken the training- I know she was pink-clouding. Then I knew she wasn’t as okay as she pretended to be. I tried- I swear I tried to help. But nothing was ever good enough.”

Kim sucks in a sharp ragged breath. She feels like her world is tilting under her feet without her even moving. “That seems to always be the problem. Nothing I ever do is good enough. Not to help Nicole with dealing with her rape. Not to give Zoey a stable place to live. Not to help or hell even notice Antonio’s drug problem. Not to save Eva before they hurt her. Or Al, fuck even Adam is looking at losing his job and spending time in prison. Then there was the arson and your dad's passing. The grief and the strain of your relationship with Will-Us. The struggle to just keep our heads above water since day one. It- it all is just too much.”

The weight on Kim’s chest felt like it finally lessened enough for her to be able to breathe. That is when her brain reminded her of Jay’s stance. His had remained blank until she brought Pat and their relationship up. His face was washed with hurt. Hurt that she had caused in her downward spiral. It took a minute for her to process what words had done it. With tears in her brown eyes and a dark, ugly void in her belly she ran a shaky hand down her face. “Fuck Jay. I,” The words clung in her throat, her voice thick with them, “I didn’t mean it like that.” She pressed her chapped lips together again arms winding around herself trying to keep herself together. She knew there was no fixing it right now. The urge to flee pulsed like adrenaline through her. “I ’m-I’m so sorry.” Jay stared blankly at her and she could take it. She felt herself spin around a make a dash for the bathroom.

The door closed quietly but the flicking of the lock sliding into place echoed loudly through the room.

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

well. some days go good and others go. not so good

it started off with finding out at group meeting that not only was my one labmate moving to another state with my training still incomplete, but that she was going to do it in the next week. which got me so fucking rattled that it irreversibly touched every action i took in the next few hours and spat me out the other end wishing i could do it all over. but, better

i always try to hide my emotions because i know any departure from my usual cheery self is extremely noticeable but it was very obvious that i was in some form of distress which i hated.

we started off with the britten, which is a relatively new piece for us (and yet, if my intel is correct, tita conductor is intent on programming much of it for the fall concert in less than a month)

this was the rehearsal of tita conductor pulling many faces, which would have been wildly entertaining if i hadn’t been on the verge of hysterics the whole time

but we made really good progress on the second movement before i was supposed to leave

my stand partner whispered “don’t leave” as i got up, but i packed and walked out the door

i got as far as the next building before i was swept by the Weariness, sat down on a bench, and decided to just skip my lecture and go back to rehearsal

i sat back down as we worked on the third movement which is a fucking MESS and even i am not fully on board with it yet (blame my headache this weekend and the general horrors) and it was real rough to the point where tita conductor was asking the seconds to opt down an octave to match the violas 🫥 like i’ll try it tomorrow in the practice room but for the rehearsal i was happy to opt down.

fourth movement of the britten saw the return of tita conductor’s eternal love affair with the hurdy-gurdy. for what reason, i’m not a hundred percent sure, since this is the furthest from folksy

tita conductor: imagine your little music box ballerina jumping out and whacking you on the head! everyone: ????

“this piece is funny because it ends like, [sings the last two bars], then WHAP!!!”

me and my rattled nerves were glad to go to orchestra dinner at the nearby college student dive but it could’ve gone a whole lot better

i was outside the restaurant (thought i was walking behind everyone when it turned out i was in the first group to get there) when i noticed my stand partner from last year coming up the walkway. so i excitedly waved my hands in the air and called to them

when quite literally OUT OF NOWHERE materialized tita conductor.

i froze with my hands above my head mid-“YAAAAY”.

quoth tita conductor as she passed by “i knew that wasn’t for me” 😭😭😭😭

i was like nooooooo and my ex-stand partner was busy dying of laughter

i ended up splitting a veggie pizza with my ex-stand partner, tita conductor (who sat next to me), and a viola

the world series was on and tita conductor was so engrossed in it. there was a slo-mo of some guy hitting the ball and she said ‘beautiful’ in exactly the same tone she used to describe me playing the second movement of the bach a minor concerto for her in my audition last year

but the worse social blunder of the night came when we were all sitting down to eat. only like eight people actually came so we were going around the table giving our name major and instrument

i said ‘i’m em, i’m a matsci major, and i play violin’ and tita conductor added ‘em is a graduate student’

FOR SOME REASON, i don’t know WHY, i decided it would be a great idea to make a joke, and said to her ‘no, i’m a first year actually’

this was in reference to the fact that to a certain point last year tita conductor refused to acknowledge i was a senior until explicitly corrected.

unfortunately she took it in full earnest which meant that the whole fucking table saw her look me straight in the eyes asking me if i couldn’t actually call myself a graduate student yet while i struggled to salvage the situation

i was going for ‘hey tita conductor you got your wish i’m a first year now!’ but at best it was awkward and at worst the new people must think i’m a suck-up

tita conductor still gave me the last piece of pizza though

the shock of my labmate’s announcement genuinely fucked up my afternoon/evening and i’m just ruminating on this because i’m way less kinder to myself than people are to me but. if there were any do-overs offered for this afternoon i would gladly take them. oh well. next time again.

[kamryn1963]

Fourth of July- Al, Jay, Mouse fanfic

A few days before Jay Halstead joined the Intelligence unit, Hank invited Al out for dinner. Al had a feeling Hank had something to tell him or ask him and he had been right. 

Hank had explained some long story about Antonio and deals and promises and other things Al half listened to until Hank finally got to the point. They had a new detective joining their unit in a week. Jay Halstead. A former Army Ranger. 

“So you want me to bond with this kid because we were both in the army?” Al asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Hey you said it not me”. Hank replied with a smirk as he took a sip of his drink. 

“It’s been thirty years since I was in the army Hank. I’ve forgotten most of my experience”. Al responded but they both knew it was a lie. 

Hank hadn’t said anything, just looked at him and finally dropped the subject when Al agreed to try. 

That was three years ago. The first year Al had mentioned he served. To test the waters or something. So Jay knew in case he ever wanted to talk. Nothing had ever really come of it which was fine to Al. Especially when Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz joined the unit, Al thought that if Jay needed to talk to anyone it was probably better if it was somebody he actually served with. 

Now it was the Fourth of July. A day Al hated because he hated fireworks. He hated the sounds, hated the lights, hated the way they ended up with him having flashbacks to times he wished he would forget. He should be over it but Al wasn’t and he was forced to relive it today. Like every other fucking year. 

Al’s plan was to lock himself in his apartment and hopefully get so drunk and maybe high, that he’d pass out before the fireworks started. 

Al was getting ready to go home when Jay came up to him looking almost nervous. He saw Mouse spare them a glance, make eye contact with Jay before speed walking out of the bullpen. 

“Do you have plans tonight, O?” Jay asked casually but Al knew there was more to what he was asking. 

“I don’t do fireworks”. Al replied almost on instinct. 

“Neither do I, man. Don’t worry. Me and Mouse were going to go to my place to drink if you want to join us?” Jay asked. 

Al had a feeling they had those plans for the same reason Al was going to get trashed alone. At least if he agreed Hank and Trudy might stop worrying that he’s shutting down again. 

“Sure”. Al agreed. 

“Good. The fireworks remind me too much about gunfire and war and I know it’s harder for Mouse. If he’s with me at least I know he’s okay. And I had a feeling you understood”. Jay’s voice was quiet and Al nodded. 

“I do understand”. Al left it at that for now as Adam and Kevin were still hanging around the bullpen and this isn’t something he really wanted aired out. 

Al headed right over to Jay’s from th  district and soon the three of them were in the living room with their first beers. Mouse had closed all the blinds and windows and Jay was finding a movie. 

“Jay mentioned you served too”. Mouse said softly. The first word he’d said to Al since they sat down. 

“I did. The 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team part of a special response team stationed in Italy”. Al replied honestly. 

“Do- do you think about it a lot?” Mouse asked almost hesitantly like he wasn’t sure what was okay to ask. 

“Sometimes. Especially on days like today”. Al replied. After everything he had seen and done as a cop the trauma from the army kind of got pushed to the back but it was still present. 

It still followed Alvin like a shadow. 

“That’s why you have us”. Jay said as he settled on a movie. 

“To traumatized army vets”. Mouse proposed as he stuck his beer out. Jay rolled his eyes but stuck his own beer out and with a barely noticeable smirk, Al followed. 

“To traumatized army vets”. Jay and Al repeated. The air felt lighter as they sunk into the couch as the movie began playing. 

When the first firework went off and Mouse tensed up, Jay placed a reassuring hand on his arm as Al grabbed a nearby blanket for him. 

When Al started hearing gunfire instead of fireworks, Mouse moved the blanket so it was covering all of them. As they sat there and watched the movie, Al hoped that Hank would be happy. They were bonding like Hank had wanted. 

Al could imagine the “I told you so” he would get when Hank ultimately found out about this night. Right now Al just enjoyed the company. Maybe this day wasn’t that bad anymore and maybe just maybe they could all start healing.

[lilahaze]

"finding alice"

alice was five years old the last time i saw her.

november twenty-fourth, 1961: my daughter and i visit the local supermarket. with reluctance, i allow her to walk alongside me without her hand in mine. i turn to grab a box of cereal, expecting a sea of brunette waves awaiting my return. i find a lack thereof.

i triple check every aisle, the dusty parking lot, and speak to several employees before i can bring myself to call my wife on the grocery’s rotary telephone.

the loss of my child is not my fault. how could I have known that if i turned away for a moment, she’d be gone when i looked back?

norma’s pitiful sobs echo through the tinny speakers. my words of remorse do nothing to soothe her. when i can no longer stand the crackle of her choked breaths, i quickly draw the conversation to a close and return the telephone to its place. an employee empathetically claps his hand on my shoulder as i dial the number of our small town’s police department.

a manager and several employees litter the crew room as i stand, quiet and composed, awaiting the police.

soon after arrival, the sheriff opened an official investigation. for months, the community did all it could to find alice. unfortunately, as with similar cases, her disappearance was mercilessly shoved to the back burner with time.

my wife and i visited the police station nearly a year after her disappearance, desperate for the officers to continue their once-devoted search. the head sheriff, feet propped up on an oak desk with a cigar to his lips, told us that there was no further assistance that the force was willing to provide save for their condolences. he admitted that our daughter was likely dead. we were informed that, of course, we were permitted to continue with private searches if we wished.

of course, we did.

one week after our visit to the sheriff, i received an envelope addressed to mr. and mrs. william minor: my wife and i. there was no return address; i assumed the envelope contained private information regarding alice and brought it inside.

i settled into my recliner and opened it.

there was a picture of alice inside. her face was tear-stained and bruised. tattered clothes adorned her frame and fear etched her gaze. she held a wrinkled paper reading, “FIND ME.” the image was stamped, “11/24/1961:” the date she was taken.

i mourned privately with my head in my hands waiting for norma to return. she’d gone bowling with her girlfriends as i’d been pushing her to get out of the house more as time had passed. i was glad she had not been home to witness my feminine reaction. however much it pained us, we needed to return to a state of normalcy.

i heard the front door open around 3:30. i turned to see my wife, bowling shoes in hand and with a socialized smile, waving to two women on the front porch. she pulled the heavy door closed, greeting me as she moved to place her shoes by the door. norma paused as she noticed my grim expression.

by showing her the picture, i sealed my fate of a long night spent consoling norma whilst speaking with a hurried young cop in our parlor. he took the image as if to absolve us, promising that the police department would further pursue alice’s case.

we dared to hope for a miracle: that alice would be returned to us. the police uncovered no further evidence relating to the image, forcing us to accept that alice was likely dead.

a year later, i found another unmarked envelope in the mail.

alike the last image, this image showed a battered alice appearing a year older. nausea caused my stomach to churn. she clutched a piece of scrap paper in her hands, a broken pinky hanging off the left edge. it read, “WHY HAVEN’T YOU FOUND ME?”

i couldn’t answer the question the torn paper bore, because why hadn’t i? i was her father: the man of the house. how could i raise a strong son to bear my name if i couldn’t protect a fragile five-year-old girl?

as you have likely come to expect, the police were useless.

i began to spend more time out of the house with my aging mother. it pained me greatly to watch her fade further with each visit. i poured my funds into cars that would pull into her driveway late at night much to my wife’s protest.

norma was too meek, too weak-willed to ever truly make a difference in neither my opinion nor actions and she knew it. i bore no responsibility to reveal to whom i paid my dues. she gathered her suggestions off the dusty dining room chair that remained unsat in for two years and quietly faded into the tawny couch, therapy pamphlets and muddled grief in her sickened arms.

my wife resorted to silence, casting her disapproving gaze to the maple wood flooring with every envelope i passed to greedy hands. i laid awake at night often, my eyes pinned open in guilt as i yearned for another image. with low funds, we had been sustaining ourselves with tough meat from deep in the freezer. i had fallen victim to a childless marriage and penny pinching; news of alice was my greatest desire.

it was a cruel joke that i became motherless two days prior to the third anniversary of alice’s kidnapping.

grieving her death, i made the trip to my mailbox through the snow in the early morning of november twenty-fourth. an unmarked envelope awaited me.

the image resembled the others. alice appeared a year older, beaten and bruised. she held a piece of paper that read, “ARE YOU STILL LOOKING FOR ME?”

i had indeed ceased searching for my daughter for my sanity. police had located no leads nor evidence. chances for my dining room table to become full again were slim to none.

norma and i chose not to bother the police with another dead end image. we mourned privately in our suburban home.

the entries littering the floral journal i’d purchased my wife to cope grew more concerning. i'd initially begun to flip through the cursive pages to monitor her progress. the last thing i needed was to have to admit her to an asylum. it’s a shame that i could not afford a lobotomy as i would have gladly taken the town doctor up on his offer after reading about her religious qualms about alice, herself and i.

i tore up the house in an explosive argument that arose from my plundering of norma’s journal. she cried as i rummaged through the drawers for her catholic paraphernalia.

i had never bothered to explore norma’s religious tendencies as they seemed harmless, and on occasion, productive, especially during her initial struggle to conceive. the outlet i had provided her with kept her hopeful until she fell pregnant with alice during a late night spent on my leather truck seats. it was unfortunate that i had to bury her rosaries beneath a half gallon of expired milk and dark coffee grounds but i am a faithful husband. i am a faithful husband that did what had to be done.

the arrival of the annual letter only served to worsen norma’s state.

i am a faithful husband. i bought a dog to occupy her: male, with a spotted coat and meek eyes alike her own. that fucking dog barked through the hours, whined at the door whenever i'd bring my wife to bed, and dug holes in the backyard i’d been meaning to work on for years but hardly ever gotten around to making progress with.

i hated that dog: an english springer spaniel. my options were to purchase one of the neighbor’s puppies for ten dollars or adopt a cat from the local shelter. the cat would have been free to a good home, but i couldn’t have possibly tolerated such a feminine animal in my kempt home.

she named him gunner after presenting me with a list of names. begrudgingly, i thought of alice.

i am a faithful husband; i allowed her to name him whatever she wanted. i gave that dog a home away from rusty chains, dusty kibble, and fight rings. i gave that dog a life fit for a man, filled with table scraps and head scratches.

in return, the dog dug up bones in my backyard and left them for norma to gather whilst she gardened.

the first bone she presented me with was a femur: a deer bone. i laughed, explaining that it must have come from the tough deer we had eaten two winters ago. norma thought nothing of it.

november twenty-fourth, 1965: the fourth anniversary. alice would have been nine. i knew what to expect. i took the letter from the mailman myself this time, cup of dark coffee in hand. i did not bother to ask him where the letters came from. i knew well that he was merely the messenger. it is discourteous to shoot the messenger. that’s why i kept my .22 caliber tucked under the bed, away from the messenger.

this image read, “YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME.”

i knew that this was the last image i would receive.

i crammed it into my bedside drawer. norma had never dared to rummage through my belongings, therefore i had thought that it was a safe bet to keep the envelope alongside the others.

i found myself wishing that i had scraped together the money for a lobotomy when she came to me that evening, crumpled envelope in hand.

“how could you keep my daughter from me, william?” she cried.

“i will never forgive you for what you have done!”

i kept norma inside. yes, our appearance was of drastic importance to me, especially after our loss of alice. however, damage control became my priority. i drew our curtains and begrudgingly toted her to twice weekly social events to save face after she publicly entertained the idea of plundering police files for information about our daughter.

i have no idea why norma thought that her girlfriends’ loyalties laid with her rather than their husbands. i beat her until violets bloomed across her abdomen and spine.

it had long been clear that wherever our daughter was, she was unfindable. norma had been nothing short of assured so. how, so many years later, could my wife not even begin to move on?

i bellowed that my goal was to protect her. there was no need to torture the woman with another dead end image. she threw my calloused hand from her shoulder in disgust as i brought my lips to hers after generously allowing her a night of space. it was all i could do not to litter her cheekbones with the saliva pooling in my jaw, reeling from my wife’s rejection. i had slept on the couch; i had become a man who is cast from his bed. how could the wife of such a man reject his touch as well?

i begrudgingly watched her figure shrink as she moved towards the master bedroom, leaving me in the parlor. my wife stopped to the wood, gathered the dog in her arms, kicked off her pink flats and left me idle.

gunner was relentless in his pursuit of spring; he dug through the snow until the pads of his paws were shredded raw and flakes froze into his fur. he brought every bone he found to norma, his tail alive and eyes as bright as a child’s. my wife grew suspicious of the amount of bones that lay beneath the dirt.

she asked if I had buried the deer carcass in the garden, the dog at her heels with a rib in his jaws. i ashed my cigarette and stood.

“well, what was i supposed to do with it?” i asked, exasperated.

“go back outside and enjoy the weather, norma.”

norma stared at me from the doorway for a moment before exiting. i settled back into my recliner and scowled at the dog.

in the years following alice’s disappearance, norma had grown increasingly resistant to my touch: an effect i had not expected. she cried and clawed at loose sheets as i forced myself upon her whenever desire struck me. i left her with violets littering her breasts in the shape of the son she refused to bear me.

today, november twenty-fourth, 1966, i awoke to my wife slinking out of bed. her bare feet came into contact with the wood, red toenails clashing against the mahogany as she hurriedly bunched the frayed ends of her robe in white fists. i would not have noticed her absence if she had not stumbled over the spaniel at our door; gunner yelped loudly as her foot came into contact with his spotted back.

my eyelids blearily rose as my pupils focused on my wife, her hand on the worn doorknob. she drew her hand over gunner soothingly before our eyes locked.

it was the anniversary of alice’s kidnapping.

i threw the comforter from myself. the dog cowered between norma’s legs yet mustered enough courage to emit a feeble growl as i stood.

my wife turned and fled, leaving gunner between us. i knew that she was headed for the mailbox. i stooped to the floor, closing my fist around the gun under the bed.

i never understood her obsession with alice, for what was the point of a daughter?

i closed the distance between gunner and i. he lifted those meek eyes to meet mine as i wrapped my calloused digits around his red collar and dragged him through the house. as i pushed the front door open, i saw norma at the mailbox, envelope in hand.

she greedily ripped it open as i watched. alice’s teeth fell to the dirt. brunette curls alike our daughter’s billowed around norma’s sunken face as she turned to face me. her expression revealed what i had long suspected.

i put my caliber to gunner’s head and pulled the trigger.

norma fell to her knees in defeat. her adverse reaction opened the opportunity for me to run to her collapsed figure, leaving the dog’s corpse on the porch. weak sobs wracked her thin frame as i snaked my arms underneath her own in order to pull her to her feet.

i towed my wife to the garden as she cried. i laid her in the soil, in between the tulips and petunias, and pressed the tip of my caliber in between her eyes. with an echoing blast, her body fell to the dirt, brain matter staining the petals surrounding us.

i buried what remained of her next to the dog and our daughter. norma may have not borne me a son, but i had enough meat to fill the freezer this winter.

[locum-studios]

Locum Studios: The Rocky Road

Summary: Sebastian has started college, but is still in dire need of money. He reluctantly agrees to make a second porno for Locum Studios, thinking that it can't be worse than the last one.

However, it turns out that his new partner for this film is a completely different experience, and might leave Sebastian wishing he had made different choices.

_________________________________________________

Chapter 1: Meeting Rocky Load

Sebastian left the classroom feeling like his head was leaking all the information he had just been injected with. Marine biology was going to be much harder than he thought… But this was only his first week in college, so he had plenty of time to get used to it.

He checked his phone and noticed immediately that he had received an email from Locum Studios. Sebastian quickly looked around to make sure that no one was paying attention to him, before realizing that the chance of anyone having a peek at his screen in a busy corridor was slim to none. He opened the email and took a look.

It was a new script. Sebastian immediately started reading it, but his excitement began to dwindle pretty fast. They wanted him to bottom. Again.

He sighed and typed a short but polite reply where he declined. This was the fourth offer he had gotten this week, and all of them had been bottom jobs. Luckily, he had an excellent excuse, now that he had classes to attend. And if he kept declining the jobs he didn’t want, he was bound to get to top eventually. Right?

Sebastian sent the reply but then hesitated. Should he talk to the director about this? He still needed money… The last film had earned him enough to buy all the textbooks he needed for this semester, but he barely had enough to cover the costs of commuting to school from Zack’s apartment. He needed another film, and preferably one where he didn’t have to take a stranger’s dick in his ass…

He left the building and took a seat in a nearby park, where he felt like he could speak freely without anyone listening in. He then called Jacob.

“What. Is.This?!” Jacob yelled over the phone, making Sebastian flinch. “Honey, your finger better not have just slipped trying to call some Jack or Janice, cuz I’ve been waiting for you, man! What’s up with the ghosting? Almost thought you had lost my number. Or burned it, it happens.”

“Sorry, I’m…” Sebastian apologized, but didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t been expecting to have to explain himself. “You told me to call you if I needed advice, so– “

“ Oh goodness, heavens, don’t apologize, sweetie. I’m just messing with you, ” Jacob explained, suddenly serious. “ Though, I think this only proves that we should talk more often. You need to get to know me and my exceptionally trying sense of humor. So. What’s up, gorgeous? ”

“Well… I’ve gotten four more offers from the studio,” Sebastian explained.

“ My talented sweet baby boy, really?! That is incredible! Who are you partnered with? ”

“I didn’t check,” Sebastian answered. “I’ve declined all of them.”

There was a moment of silence.

“ ...My stupid sweet baby boy, WHY? ”

“They were all bottom roles!” Sebastian said defensively. “And I’ve already done one of those. I figured they’d let me top for my second film, but they keep sending me scripts where I’m the… Well.”

“ The turkey and not the chef? ”

“...Sure,” Sebastian sighed and scratched his head. “I’m calling you to ask if I should talk to the director about this? Is it normal that they have only asked me to be the bottom so far?”

“ I wouldn’t call it weird that the studio is yearning to see you take another cock after your last performance, ” Jacob laughed. “ Sincerely, babe. Have you not seen the numbers your and Nicholas’s video is making? ” 

“I don’t really watch gay porn,” Sebastian answered with a grimace. “And I’m especially not into watching my own.”

“ Oh, you’ve gotta! It’s like masturbating with a mirror, but in stereo, ” Jacob told him. “ And you should always look up some videos about the guy you’re about to film with. Trust me, baby, it’s just like reading your textbooks before a big test. Things are so much easier if you’re prepared. ”

“I’ll… Consider it,” Sebastian answered uncomfortably. 

But he was not going to consider it. It was one thing having to have sex with guys for money as part of his job, but during his free time he had no reason to keep up the illusion of being anything but a straight college student.

“ You little puritan. Fine, I won’t coerce you into indulging in sin ,” Jacob sighed. “ But here’s some advice if you wanna keep working for Locum; stop declining their offers. ”

Sebastian blinked in confusion. “Why? I’m allowed to say no to movies I don’t want to make, right?”

“ Yes, yes, of course. But you’ve gotta remember that they are not your cash cow. You are theirs ,” Jacob explained. “ And if the cow stops making milk, then you get rid of it. Do you understand? How long is your contract for? ”

“I think… Two or three months, maybe?” Sebastian said. “Wait, I have it on my phone, let me check.”

“ Whether it’s two months or three… Do you think they’re gonna bother renewing it if you’ve barely made them any money during that time? ”

Sebastian went quiet. 

“ Sweetheart, I’m not saying that you should say yes to every single script they send you, ” Jacob continued. “ But the more you tell them no, the less they’re gonna bother asking. ”

“I… Didn’t think of that,” Sebastian admitted and felt a worrying weight growing in his chest as he scrolled through the contract on his phone. “Thanks for telling me.”

“ Honey, that’s what I’m here for! ” Jacob told him encouragingly. “ And don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get to put your cute little dick in someone any day now– “

“FUCK!”

“ Yes, you heathen, that’s what I meant. ”

“No, no, I mean…” Sebastian groaned and tapped his forehead with his phone. “I just saw something in my contract, and I… I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“How big of a mistake? Are we talking root to tip?”

“It says here that I’ve agreed to be ‘ penetrated anally and orally ’ and that I will ‘provide submissive roles during the duration of this contract’ ,” Sebastian said as he read the part out loud. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“ It means you’re fucked, baby. In the most literal sense of the word ,” Jacob answered sympathetically. “ You won’t be topping any time soon with that in there. ”

“But… How do I fix it?” Sebastian asked insistently. “Who do I talk to about changing the contract?”

“ Hey, hey, don’t panic, okay? ” Jacob told him. “ I’ve got you, girl. Listen. I’ll do some digging for you. Just don’t tell anyone that you wanna change your contract just yet. It might not read so well with the bosses since you’ve given them the cold shoulder four times in a row now... Just sit tight and I’ll call you back, okay? Good boy. Kisses! ”

Sebastian felt absolutely drained and sat down heavily on a park bench. He picked up his inbox again and gloomily looked at the emails from the studio. Then he noticed something. His reply that he had just written was still in his drafts, unsent. 

He hadn’t declined it yet.

Sebastian hesitated for only a moment before quickly erasing his written words and started typing another message.

“Hello! Thanks for the script. I accept your offer. Looking forward to working with you again.”

He looked at the new text, feeling a familiar uneasy sense in his stomach. The same one he had been feeling when he realized that he was going to have sex with Nicholas for the first time. The same feeling he had felt when he had seen Nicholas’s naked erection in front of him, leaking with anticipation. The same feeling he had felt when Nicholas had pushed the smooth, wet tip of his large cock into Seb’s tight, virgin ass… 

He swallowed sickly before pressing send. 

Just one final bottom role. If he could make it through the last one, he could do it again. He needed the money, and if Jacob was right, he couldn’t afford the risk of declining too many jobs. Just one more bottom role, then Jacob would help him change the contract so that he didn’t have to take another cock in his ass again.

This was the last time.

This story (including full list of tags and warnings) can be read in full on AO3:

[write4tomorrow]

Chapter 5: The Best Lies 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x CIA Agent!Reader

Summary: During the training with Maverick for the mission, the pilots must also complete “hostile condition” training with a CIA interrogator (reader). Hangman thinks this type of training is a waste of time until the reader exposes him. Enemies to Lovers. 

Genre: Adventure / Fluff

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Epilogue (Complete)

 You swirled your drink and leaned back in your seat. It had been a difficult few weeks. 

The pilots that took your training seriously were doing well, but you knew that Maverick’s training was what mattered. The flying had taken it’s toll on several of the pilots and everyone was stressed about leaving for the aircraft carrier tomorrow. Tonight, you decided to leave the base early and went to The Hard Deck by yourself. Your beer tasted bitter in your mouth and you wondered if it would be easier or harder if you spent the night in the company of the Top Gun pilots. 

Despite your best efforts and your admittedly cold demeanor, you had become too close to all of the pilots. Rooster and Phoenix were probably your closest friends in the world, but you knew that they were the best pilots. You wouldn’t be surprised if Maverick chose them as part of the assault team. But even the other pilots had become your friends. Bob was the best karaoke partner; Fanboy always knew the punchline to the joke before you told it; Coyote never said no to a game of cards; Harvard and Yale taught you how to actually play Dogfight Football; and Hangman…

You two didn’t speak for almost a week. Almost. 

A week ago today you beat him in the interrogation game at The Hard Deck. Some of the pilots were still poking fun at his loss. You were glad to win the interrogation game, but you hadn’t heard his taunting voice in days. He was avoiding you like oil on water. At first you didn’t mind, but as you continued to listen to the Dogfights over the radio, you kept an ear out for his voice specifically. And as you did, you began to notice little things. 

The first time you noticed something was during a dogfight with Harvard, Yale, and Hangman. Predictably, Hangman left to chase down Maverick. But as he talked over the headset, you heard him almost methodically whispering lyrics. You had to really listen, but they were the lyrics to your favorite song. Thankfully you were alone, listening to the dogfight over a personal radio from the comfort of your room, but you hummed along to the melody. Rooster had played it the night before at The Hard Deck and you practically screamed the lyrics in the middle of the bar. Did Hangman hear that? If he was there, you didn’t notice him. 

The fourth time you noticed something strange was when Hangman, in the middle of a dogfight with Maverick, asked, “Hey Mav, why’d you never get married?”

“Sometimes I wish I did,” Maverick answered, “is this a new tactic? Try to distract me over the headset?”

“Was there ever a girl you could see yourself with?” Hangman pushed. 

“Hangman, why are you asking?” Maverick asked after a moment. 

“I’ve just been thinking about it…” was all Hangman said. 

The most recent time you noticed something was going on with Hangman happened when he tried to fly through the simulated valley for the first time. You were in the rec room with most of the other pilots, trying not to be impressed by Hangman’s flying. He was staying below the 100 foot hardeck and swerved left and right to avoid being targeted by the surface to air missiles. This was the fourth time he had flown this track. He was even beating his personal record while avoiding the SAM’s.

Coyote and Fanboy were having trouble keeping up. 

“Damn, Hangman, what’s got you flying so fast?” Fanboy’s strained voice came over the radio. 

“I’ve got a lot to lose,” Hangman answered. You rolled your eyes and heard Coyote give a small chuckle. 

“The ego,” you mouthed to Rooster. 

“Nothing can compare to a man in love,” Coyote said over the headset. Hangman just scoffed but you froze where you were standing. Rooster turned to you then and he looked as confused as you felt. Rooster raised his hands and shrugged, he didn’t know what it was about either. But you were eerily aware of the other pilots in the rec room with you. All of you had been listening to the radio but now a few people’s attention shifted towards you. 

But none of that compared to the fight you had with Hangman just hours ago. You were playing a game of cards with Coyote in the rec room. There were some other pilots around, but it was a game of poker and only you and Coyote were left in the game. Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob were looking over your shoulder while Payback was hovering next to Coyote. 

“Hey, Coyote,” you said slowly, “What was up with Hangman the other day?”

“What do you mean?” Coyote said. He was looking at you over the top of his cards. You knew you shouldn’t pry, but the pilots were leaving for the mission tomorrow. This may be your last chance to find out. Luckily, Phoenix knew where this conversation was going. 

“You said Hangman was in love,” Phoenix answered. You watched Coyote’s eyes dart back towards his playing cards. Payback turned a nervous expression toward Coyote. 

“It’s someone we know,” you whispered. After watching these pilots for weeks, you knew their ticks and tells. Coyote was trying to hide something from you and Payback knew what it was. 

“Look, it’s probably not even that serious,” Payback said, trying to cover for Coyote. 

“What do you know?” Rooster asked. You leaned forward in your chair, watching the two pilots in front of you. Neither of them spoke. Knowing the power of silence, you let the quietness become louder. 

“Hey, y/n,” Bob muttered from behind you. Remaining silent, you chose to ignore him. You heard Phoenix shush him until… 

“y/n,” Phoenix said. You heard something hesitant in her voice. You let out a breath and turned around to face Bob and Phoenix. But they weren’t looking at you. They turned toward the doorway of the rec room and you were surprised to see that even Rooster was looking that way. And when you realized why, you understood Phoenix's tone. 

“Let’s talk in my office,” Cyclone said. He was standing in the doorway, awkwardly nodding at the other top gun pilots in the room. You nodded and tossed your cards down on the table and Coyote groaned. 

“I should have called your bluff, Ice Queen,” he said with a smile. “I would have won.” You laughed with him and gave Bob, Phoenix, and Rooster a comforting look. 

“See if you can find out anything else about Hangman,” you instructed. They all nodded and you followed your father out of the rec room. 

The meeting with your dad was short. He asked how you were doing, how the pilots were, what you thought of the mission tomorrow, and if there was anyone you would recommend to sit out of the mission. 

“Halo might be a weak link,” you confessed, “but everyone else - at least everyone that has been attending my classes - seems to be eligible for the mission.” Your dad nodded at your words. 

“You’re still planning on going with us to the aircraft carrier tomorrow?” Your father leveled you with a look. You only nodded. There was something else going on and you could tell that your father wasn’t telling you something. 

“It may not be a good idea,” Cyclone finally said. You felt your eyebrows pull together but patiently waited for an explanation. Cyclone ran a hand over his hair and continued: “I’ve noticed that you… distract some of the pilots. You’re attached to them. You wear your heart on your sleeve.” 

“Are you kidding,” you laughed, “they call me Ice Queen. I don’t think I’m wearing anything on my sleeve.”

“You care about them,” Cyclone said. He let a small smile creep over his face as he looked at you. “You get it from your mother, you know.” 

“I’m going to the aircraft carrier tomorrow and I plan on being in that control room during the mission,” you said but then added, “sir.” Your father locked eyes with you for a moment and he eventually nodded. He looked out the window and sighed. The sun was still above the horizon but it was quickly setting. 

“I think you distract the pilots but you also motivate them. Mav agrees. It’s no secret the effect you have on them. Sometimes Mav can’t get through to them but you can. The way you talk to Pheonix and Bob, your relationship with Rooster, Coyote, Hangman-”

“Hangman?” You interrupted. Your father only raised one eyebrow in your direction. There was something about the look coming from your father that made your neck feel warm. Were you blushing?

“We’re leaving the base at 0600 tomorrow. Be ready.” Cyclone said, dismissing you. Gladly, you left his office and made your way to the rec room. But something was wrong. There were shouts coming from the rec room and you knew those voices. 

You began running down the hall and could tell that Rooster was arguing with someone. It took a lot to get Rooster to that level of rage and you knew that it couldn’t be good. Where were Pheonix? Bob? What happened? 

“It’s none of your business what I think of y/n or who I talk to about her.” 

You stopped in your tracks. You were only a few steps from the doorway and you knew that voice too well. Hangman. Something about hearing him speak in person for the first time in a week startled you. It made you take a step toward the door but quickly stopped as Hangman spoke again. 

“This is none of your business,” he continued. Before you could do anything, he walked out of the room and into the hall. He froze as he looked up to find you. Rooster, Coyote, Bob, and Phoenix hurried out but Hangman didn’t look away from your face. Instead, he let his cocky facade slide into place. 

“We’ll if it isn’t the Ice Queen herself.” Hangman slid his hands into his pockets as you walked toward him. Your steps were quick, decisive. No one spoke as you planted yourself less than a foot away from Hangman, glaring up at him. 

“Are you going to break your vow of silence, sweetheart?” Hangman taunted. You mentally kicked yourself, wondering how you could ever miss his voice. 

“Lieutenant, what is your problem?” You set your jaw and stared at him. A shadow fell over his face as he leaned in. His breath danced across your face. 

“You,” he answered. He pushed past you and his footsteps echoed in the long hallway. You were left looking at your friends’ faces. Coyote gave you an apologetic look before he left to catch up with Hangman. 

“He requested that you stay here at Top Gun tomorrow rather than join Cyclone, Warlock and Holdo in the command room.” Phoenix said. You blinked a few times. So that was why your father had wanted to talk to you. But if Hangman didn’t want you there…

“Where are you going?” Rooster asked as you began walking away. You weren’t sure where you were going but your body pushed you to move in the opposite direction of Hangman. Tears pricked your eyes and your breath was coming in small bursts. Rooster and Bob made an attempt to follow you, but Phoenix held them back. 

You were so distraught that you walked most of the way to The Hard Deck before you even knew what you were doing. By a stroke of luck, Penny had found you walking in that direction. She was driving into work and knew something was wrong by the look on your face. Without asking any questions, Penny chauffeured you the rest of the way and poured a drink for you when you arrived. You sat in a small corner, watching the other patrons in the bar slowly trickle in as the night continued. The beer in your hand had become room temperature, but you didn’t care as it swirled around in the glass. 

After an hour or so of swirling your drink, a couple of bodies appeared at your table. Wordlessly, a few of the Top Gun pilots took a seat, giving you warm smiles. Rooster, Phoenix, Bob, even Payback and Fanboy pulled up chairs. You didn’t have to fake your joy when you looked at each of them. 

“If every single one of you doesn’t make it back from the mission tomorrow,” your voice broke as you spoke, “I’ll kill all of you.” 

The pilots around you laughed and began doing their best to cheer you up. Unknown to you, Hangman watched from across the room.

Hangman and Coyote looked on as their friends slowly cheered you up at the opposite end of the bar. Hangman could tell you had been crying and something in his chest ached when he saw your face. He understood why Coyote had forced him to come. 

“Don’t do this to her,” Coyote said in a low voice, “don’t do this to yourself, man.” Hangman’s eyes were glued to you but he nodded at Coyote’s words. 

Hangman’s mouth went dry as Rooster took your hand and pulled you up from the table. The pilots cheered as your face split into a genuine grin. You and Rooster began dancing to whatever the jukebox was playing. Arms flailing, head shaking, and lips grinning, you looked like the cunning girl he had beat at pool so many weeks ago. 

“Just look at yourself, Hangman,” Coyote chided. Hangman turned his attention to his friend and was surprised to find himself smiling. Hangman gave his friend a good natured shove and walked toward you. 

“Ice Queen!” Hangman bellowed. Almost every head in the bar turned his way, including yours. The smile on your face slipped and Rooster took a small step in front of you. That didn’t stop Hangman from giving you an award winning smile. 

“I have a bone to pick with you.” Hangman stopped just a few feet in front of you. Being this close meant that he could see how your eyes were still a little puffy from earlier tears. Hangman cursed himself but carried on. 

“Please,” he held out his hand toward you. It took great effort, but he let his face soften. He tried to lay himself bare in front of you with just a look. And as he watched your face, he knew you saw something on his own. Of course, that didn’t mean you weren’t skeptical. You placed your hand in his, but didn’t budge. Instead, your eyes narrowed, waiting for him to make the next move. 

“Convince me to listen,” was all you said. Hangman rolled his eyes.

“Why can’t you just make this easy, y/n?” Hangman closed his hand around yours and pulled hard enough to make you stumble forward. Using your momentum, Hangman threw you over his shoulder and turned to leave. He saw Rooster, as well as a handful of other pilots, move to defend you, but Coyote stepped in their path. Hangman didn’t know what his friend said to the others, but they didn’t follow him as he carried you out of the bar. Rooster didn’t even make an attempt to follow you outside. 

“Hangman! Hey, Lieutenant! Lieutenant Seresin. Stop!” You were hitting Hangman’s back which only made him tighten his grip around your legs. He didn’t stop until he stood on the dark beach, a few meters away from The Hard Deck. 

“Lieutenant, put me down-” you huffed, still struggling. 

“Say my name,” Hangman said in a low voice. He felt you still in his arms. He couldn’t see your face but he knew you understood what he wanted. After a moment of silence from you, Hangman gave your ass a hard flick. You began to swear.

“C’mon,” Hangman said, “just let me hear you say my name and I’ll put you down.” 

“Jake Seresin, put me down now,” you said through gritted teeth. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Gently, he allowed you to slide off of his shoulder. He kept a grip on you until he was sure you had found your footing in the sand. He watched you then, your face lit by the distant lights from the bar. You looked furious. 

“Look, I know-” Hangman didn’t get a chance to finish. With all your might, you punched Hangman’s gut. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Still, he was a little satisfied to see you shake out your fist. 

“Are you kidding,” you wheezed, clutching your hand, “Why is your stomach so… so hard?” 

“No one has ever complained about how hard I am,” Hangman said with a pained laugh. You moved to punch him again, but Hangman had learned his lesson. He caught your fist as it sailed through open air. You pulled back but Hangman didn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, your breath caught as Hangman pulled your hand to his chest and he began to gently massage your palm and knuckles. 

“Did you hurt your hand?” Hangman asked with a fake pout. 

“What do you want, Lieutenant?” You glared up at the pilot. 

“I want to talk to you. Can I do that? Will you just listen, for once?” Hangman’s voice sounded frustrated but void of it’s usual bravado. You watched his face for a moment, wondering where this was going. You wanted to release your frustration. You wanted to punch him again. It would hurt, but it felt good to let your feelings out like that. 

The way Hangman was holding your hand  also felt good. 

“As long as you don’t stop doing that,” you finally answered.

“Yes ma’am,” Hangman grinned. 

“And if this is going to be a long conversation, I’d rather sit.” You quickly added. Hangman nodded and pulled you down into the chilly sand. You sat across from him and you had to lean forward for Hangman to keep massaging your palm. Your legs were crossed and so were his. Your knees were resting against his crossed legs. 

It wasn’t a comfortable way to sit and he noticed. Wordlessly, Hangman moved closer. He lifted his legs and placed them on either side of you so that they rested over your folded legs and his feet stuck out behind you. He silently raised an eyebrow asking if it was okay. You gave him a little nod. 

“You distract me-” Hangman began.

“So you had to go tell my dad?” You interrupted. 

“You said you’d listen.” Hangman glared. You apologized and motioned with your free hand for him to continue. 

“I think I hate you,” Hangman said, but he continued to speak before you could interrupt again, “You - and I cannot stress this enough - make my head hurt. Like the worst headache I've ever had. You’re just always… Something about you and that smart mouth of yours brings out the worst in me and it makes me want to be better. I don’t know what it is, Ice Queen, but you make me grind my teeth and for the first time in my life, when I’m up there, all I can think about is coming back down. I want to come find you in the rec room playing cards with Coyote and I want to go to The Hard Deck and see you singing with Rooster and Phoenix. I want to be the one dancing with you and I want to show you that I can spin you around better than anyone else in the whole bar. And even when I’m up in the air, I just… I know you’re listening and want to talk to you. And I hate it, y/n.” 

You didn’t know when it happened, but at some point Hangman stopped massaging your hand. You sat, facing the arrogant pilot, one of your hands was held in both of his while your other hand lazily rested on his thigh. 

“Oh, now you’re silent?” Hangman let out a nervous laugh. “I think you’re clever and I also think that makes you dangerous. And sometimes I want to take you down a notch because I know you can take me down.” Hangman seemed to be looking everywhere but your face. He kept your hand close to his chest and you tried to find something to say.  

“But all I really want is your attention,” Hangman glanced up at you, meeting your gaze. “and I hate you for ignoring me. I hate you for making me watch Rooster sing with you. I hate you because you like hanging out with Phoenix and Coyote and even Bob more than you like seeing me. And I hate watching you smile at everyone but me. And I just hate myself because…” Hangman’s voice broke then. He looked down at his hands, still clutching your own. 

“I hate you.” Your voice sounded so distant. The crashing waves behind you were loud but all you could hear was your heart beating in your chest. 

You and Hangman looked at one another. Neither of you spoke and you used your free hand to touch his cheek. You felt little grains of sand on his skin. His eyes never left your face as you wiped away some of the sand. 

“Say it again,” Hangman demanded. His voice was different now and you liked the way his face moved under your touch. 

“I hate you, Jake,” you said. Hangman inhaled and something in you felt unbelievably fragile like a glass box teetering on the edge of a high shelf. 

“I hate you and I hate the idea that you...” You had to take a deep breath to fight the lump in your throat, “I hate that I don’t know if you’re going to make it back from the mission, tomorrow. And if you don’t, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this… hate.” 

“Well if that’s your concern, worry no more, Ice Queen,” Hangman said, bringing some of his bravado back, “rest assured, I’m the best. And I’m coming back tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes and laughed. Pulling your hands away from Hangman, you moved to swat his chest. He caught your wrist for the second time that night and, very slowly, brought your open palm to his lips. 

You told yourself to pull away. You told yourself this was a bad idea. But feeling Hangman’s lips against your palm pushed all thoughts out of your head. 

“Tell me you hate me again,” Hangman said, “you tell the best lies.” 

“Tomorrow, when you come back from the mission.” You promised. There was a challenge in your voice and you felt your familiar grin return to your face.  

“C’mon, Ice Queen,” Hangman said in a plaintive voice, “hate me tonight. Hate me now.” 

“Tomorrow,” you insisted. “when you’re back - safe and sound - I’ll hate you then.” Hangman raised an eyebrow, a little gleam beginning to show in his eyes. He took both of your hands in his.

“Tomorrow,” he began, “when I come back as the hero of the day, you and I are going to play your interrogation game by my rules. You’re going to answer all of my questions - no lies.”

“And you’ll answer my questions, too?” You asked. Hangman nodded and pulled you to your feet. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hangman said, looping your arm around his. The two of you began walking toward The Hard Deck. You could see Rooster and Phoenix dancing with one another. Bob laughed with the other pilots around the pool table. And then you turned to glance up at Hangman. His eyes were already on you, an unreadable expression on his face. Thinking about what might happen tomorrow made your chest feel empty. So, if you held Hangman’s arm a little tighter or pressed yourself a little more against his side, you told yourself that it was better to enjoy it now than to regret it later. 

“Where are we going, Lieutenant?” You asked, turning away and hoping your blush wasn’t evident. He was leading you around The Hard Deck rather than back towards the entrance. 

“I’m driving you home,” He said with a shrug, “On the ride back, you can tell me more about our date tomorrow.”

A/N: Phew, chapter 5 is done and THE COMMENTS kill me. The support on this is so sweet. Literally the best motivation ever and @turningtoclown that hashtag is the best thing I've ever read. I am laughing so hard. @bluebunny780 and @teacactusworld your messages were so stinking kind.

Please let me know what you think of Ch. 5!

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