#also the friend i was talking to said she likes hearing history from me because i always tells her whats provably true and whats conjecture

[birdthatisbored]

I had a wonderful night and I learnt to play pool AND I got 25/195 years into my drunk infodump about local history which is pretty good compared to previous attempts

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

pt 2

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[rosie-read-that]

one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint

word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)

author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.

“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.

“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”

“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”

“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”

“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.

She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”

It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”

Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”

“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”

Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.

“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”

“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”

You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.

“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”

-

It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).

Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”

“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”

“She called me a buttface!”

“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”

“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”

No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.

Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.

“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.” There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”

Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!

Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.

And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?

“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”

“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”

“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”

“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”

You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.

Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.

You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”

When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.

Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.

It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.

-

Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”

You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.

By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.

Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.

Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.

“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.

“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.

“No, I’m not.”

“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.

His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.

Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.

He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”

“Nice one,” you threw back.

He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.

He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”

“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.

Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”

Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”

“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”

“That cow,” Julie put in.

“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”

Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”

“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.

“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”

“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”

“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”

“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”

“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.

“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”

“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”

“Hey!” you warned.

“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”

“Seresin, what the hell!”

“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”

“Oh, didn't you?”

“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.

“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.

-

When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.

Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.

Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.

He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.

You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?

Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.

Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.

He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”

You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)

“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”

“About my personal life? You never used to care.”

“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”

“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.

“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.

Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.

If only that wasn't another reason to love him.

“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.

He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”

“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.

“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.

“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”

“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”

“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”

“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”

“Stop it!” you complained.

The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?

“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”

“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.

From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”

You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”

“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”

“There she is!” he cackled.

You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”

He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.

“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”

“What was wrong with him?”

By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz

“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”

“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”

Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”

“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”

“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.

That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”

“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”

“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”

“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”

“Really, what's that?”

Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.

You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”

“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”

Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.

-

Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.

After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”

You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.

Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.

So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.

By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.

Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.

The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.

You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.

Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.

You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.

Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.

“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.

You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.

He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”

His face went still. “What, no.”

“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”

“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.

Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”

Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.

“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”

Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.

Just messing with you, you would say.

It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.

He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”

“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”

You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.

He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”

Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”

You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.

He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.

“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”

He stopped.

“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.

“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”

“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”

“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”

“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”

“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.

She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.

As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”

It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.

“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”

“I’m making what weird?”

“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”

“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”

You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.

“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”

“Dork.”

“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.

Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.

Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”

“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.

Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”

Are you serious?  “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”

“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”

“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.

“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.

“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.

You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”

“And how would you know a thing like that?”

“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”

Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.

“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”

“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.

For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?

Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.

“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”

“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.

Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.

“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”

“Okay, well…”

“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”

“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.

Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.

You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.

That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.

“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.

The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.

“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”

With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

-

Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.

Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.

As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.

But boy were you dreading it.

“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”

“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.

“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”

All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.

You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.

You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.

It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.

Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him. 

He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”

“About last night…”

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.

From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.

“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.

“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”

It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.

Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?

“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.

Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.

The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.

Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.

The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.

Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.

(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”

Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)

At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.

“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.

This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.

You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.

-

The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.

The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.

Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.

“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”

“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”

“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.

His very muscled arm…

Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.

With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.

“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.

“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”

“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”

“What, I am nice!”

“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.

The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.

You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”

“Both true.”

“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”

He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”

“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”

“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”

Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.

Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.

“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”

“Not even the groom.”

“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?

The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.

Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.

So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!

You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.

The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.

You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.

“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.

You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”

“No.”

Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”

“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”

With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.

“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.

To be bold. To follow through.

“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.

“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”

“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…

The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”

“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.

You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.

In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my friend that I did not care it made her upset about some of the things I did with my OCs?

I (18F) made OCs with my friends: Kayla (18F), Bell (18F), and Kia (18F). Kayla said that she had a system that had fictives in it. I didn't really understand what she meant by that, but I wasn't going to judge. At least for a little while. We added a discord bot that would help Kayla be able to talk through her different identities in the server. But it got weird.

One day I saw her talking as if she was one of my ocs (I'll dub Chi for this post) and I felt weirded out by that. Kayla then announced that Chi was part of her system. She goes on about how Chi had suddenly appeared in her system and it took 2 days before her other identities accepted her as part of them.

I said that it was weird that Kayla put one of my ocs in her system, but she insisted she wasn't doing it on purpose. Bell and Kia asked me to just knock it off and respect Kayla because "people with systems can't control it when their system changes." I said that I don't like that she has Chi in her system and that Chi was my OC. This felt like someone was stealing my OC from me. Kayla got upset about that and said "you're upsetting everyone in my system by saying Chi doesn't belong there. We have all accepted her and hearing you reject her makes us all upset. Please apologize."

I refused to. Then I remembered that I had shared all of Chi's info in my own personal channel. The others can view it, but they can't type in it. So I deleted everything about Chi in there and left a note that Chi was being revised. That sent Kayla into a panic. "Stop! You can't!" She kept saying and "What did you do?" over and over again. I simply said that I was making changes to Chi. Kayla freaked out more over that and said that it was making her system distressed and that I needed to stop. I told her that I already set my mind to it.

Later I reposted Chi's info with some changes. Changed her from being a kind and caring person to cruel and dismissive. I also made it so that she had a criminal history and had murdered people before. She has trouble making friends and thinks everyone is constantly out to get her. To be honest, I like this version of her more than her previous incarnation.

Kayla did not like this and had a meltdown. She started screaming "what did you do?! What did you do?! What did you do to Chi?!" In the voice call we were having with Bell and Kia. She started begging me to change her back because Chi stopped responding in her system and has vanished. And the rest of her identities were in a panic now. She said "Murderer. You killed her. You killed Chi. For us, this feels like someone just died. A part of us is missing. We feel incomplete now. Please fix this. BRING HER BACK! CHANGE HER BACK! MURDERER! MURDERER! YOU'RE A MURDERER!"

I told her that I refused to change her back and this was the new Chi. This would be how Chi will be from now on no matter what people said because "My OC, my rules."

Kayla logged off of discord after calling me an asshole. Even Bell and Kia are siding with her saying that I took it too far. They also said I was an asshole for murdering a part of Kayla's like that. I said that Chi was not Kayla's to control, and that only I should get a say in what is done with Chi. They called me an asshole for not considering Kayla and her system's feelings right now because they were all mourning.

I don't think I did anything wrong, but maybe I should apologize. I would still refuse to change Chi back to what she was before though. So it would just be a half apology just to make her happy.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[thereadinggremlin]

Guarded Hearts

Alright friends, this is my first fic and it is an Azriel x Reader, this is my first one and maybe there will be a second part but that’s up to you guys.

POV: you find out Azriel’s you mate but you start getting the could shoulder from him after he returns from a mission.

A/N: Like I said part one of probably 2, y’all let me know.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you just needed to get away. You found out that Azriel was your mate about 2 months ago, it didn’t shock you at all because you’ve loved this man your whole life. What you couldn’t stand was how much he had been ignoring you and giving you the cold shoulder.

You were in an official meeting with the inner circle when the bond snapped for you. Rhys had been talking about the uprising in some of the camps and how they would need to go and sort it out, they as in Cassian and Azriel. When Rhys had said one of the uprising camps was the one you grew up in both you and Azriel tensed although you didn’t note his reaction at first because in the tense emotions of thinking of back home, that’s when the bond snapped for you.

You thought maybe Azriel felt it too but you couldn’t be sure. You thought the bond would be this warm feeling in your chest but it just felt cold and distant. You would have to check with Rhys to see if that’s how he felt after he found out Fayre was his mate.

After the meeting Cassian and Azriel left immediately for their respective camps, Azriel going to the one you grew up in where your father and mother still lived. Luckily your mom was friends with Rhys mother from a young age so you were able to keep your wings and not get clipped but that didn’t save you from the full extent of your fathers wrath. That was a reason you were so scared for Azriel to go, he knew the whole history of how your father had treated you, the beatings and public humiliation being the smaller transgressions. Azriel had walked out of Rhys’ office so quickly after they were dismissed that you weren’t able to get a word in, you said your goodbyes and be safe to Cassian and when you went to find Azriel you found Mor instead.

“He already left lovey.” Mor said with a sad smile. You knew that her using that pet name for you wasn’t a good sign and that she could probably tell what was going through your mind. You ran away before she could get a word in otherwise because the tears would fall.

Everyone left you alone for the month Azriel was gone sensing that there was something going on and that if you wanted to talk about you would find them. Fayre tried talking to you but you shut her out immediately.

When Azriel and Cassian got back you were in the dinning room enjoying some breakfast, as they passed by you Azriel didn’t even look at you and Cassian gave you a weak smile. You tried to feel down the bond but there was absolutely nothing, just cold and dark, it made your heart break.

Over the next few weeks you were thinking that giving Azriel space would be the answer and that he’d be coming to join you in either training or in the library for a night cap like he used to do so often before the bond snapped for you. There was nothing, you never ran into him even though you could hear his foot steps throughout the house as if the house wanted you to know where he was. There were also times when you’d see some of his shadows lurking about, some would come right up to you as if you were their master and swirl under your hair and around your neck. Maybe they were here on his behalf and maybe they’d report back to him, you didn’t know and tried not to care.

Once a month hit from his return of your home camp you needed to get out, get away, it was all too much. You found yourself outside of Rhys’s office at the river house once your mind was made up.

“Are you sure you want to go away for that long?” He had asked you.

“I want the same thing that was given to Fayre, time up in the cabin alone and sheilded so that no one knows I’m there. I need a break” Your eyes had a pleading look in them with a tinge of heartbreak too.

“When do you want to leave” Rhys said sighing in disbelief. The house of Wind has been your home for many years, and he didn’t think that any of the jobs he’s given you were so strenuous that you needed to be away from your family.

“I’m ready to go now, I packed my bags before I came to see you. And I want Mor to take me, if you take me there will be too many questions.”

Surprised at you readiness to leave he agreed and got in touch with Mor, she appeared almost instantaneously making you think she was just outside listening in. “Ready to go lovey?” She had asked, you nodded your head too afraid of speaking just in case your voice broke. “Then off we go.”

You arrived at the cabin up in the wilderness within a moment and when you walked in and saw all the artwork, you wanted to cry. Having your family all around you while being so far away brought you some comfort but not much. You looked to where the eyes were and found Azriel’s right away.

“Do you need anything, want me to stay for a bit?” Mor asked breaking you out of your trance.

“No I think I’m good, just need to be away from everything, everyone.” You said trying to add a laugh in at the end but the sound was strained and laced with pain.

“Who’s ass do I have to beat, because I don’t care who it is, I’ll beat them up for you. Just give me a name.” Mor tried to get you to laugh but a look in your eyes showed that it was a love problem and although she didn’t know about the bond you have to Azriel, she does know that you’ve had a crush on him for centuries. “Maybe, he’ll realize what was missing since it’s not in front of him anymore.” She said with a weak smile.

You returned the smile and with sad eyes responded “Yeah, maybe.” And without saying goodbye she left knowing that if you spoke anymore that might be your downfall and it would all come out.

Two weeks you had been up at the cabin in pure silence and peace. You brought some books with you in order to pass the time, not like you’d get bored but you were lonely. Rhys and more stayed true to their word so far and haven’t tried to visit or try and get through your mental shield, you also went as far to build a wall up to the bond, feeling nothing was better than feeling the coldness that it brought with it.

It was when you were picking out your next book that you saw it from the corner of your eye, a shadow, and the second it realized you had noticed it, it vanished. Your heart rate picked up because now you didn’t know what was going to happen but your rapid thoughts caused you to drop your shields and you felt worried beyond any understanding and then Rhys speaking into your mind “I’m so sorry”

[nyuuronfly]

On Rain World lore and it's implementation within the game.

This is kindof a random ramble I went on in a Discord chat and just feel like sharing elsewhere. (also note this is all primarily in reference to the original game, Survivor's story.)

I honestly think too many miss the forest for the trees a bit with RW, in terms of how important the lore is, if that makes sense. I talked with somebody about first-time experiences with the game and they said they'd watched a number of lore explanation videos on YT before starting, because of some reason along the lines of "I didn't trust the game to deliver its own story properly." To me this is almost saddening to hear because I really feel that misses the point of why the game has it's lore to begin with.

To me, while playing, any tidbits i learned about history or other information contributed to a feeling like the world I was navigating had a very real history that saturated it, yet one that I would be unable to grasp fully. It is an illusory feeling of realness, given how it is experienced. The game is mechanically not designed to incentivize collecting many information pearls, especially when in the original game you can literally just drop them off a cliff and lose them forever. You get the feeling often like you are bound to never be able to get everything, nor would you even probably want to put in the effort, so the illusion actually stays stronger because of that. Your mind wanders speculating about every little detail, whether intention truly existed behind it or not, because it feels like it did. You learned that it might have. Maintaining that illusion while playing I think is the primary reason they were included, not actually the experience of "knowing" the history. Rain World in general seems to have a thematic fixation on the simple idea that individuals have limited perspectives. Joar Jakobsson has said that one of the core ideas behind Rain World was to recreate the life of a "rat in Manhattan." That is to say, a creature that understands how to find food, hide, and live in a complex man-made structure, that cannot understand it's structuring purpose or why it was built. The very core issue of the iterators, is that the solution to the "great problem" intrinsically has to lie with knowledge that could only be obtained from "the other side." They are corporeal beings trying to know something that pertains to something outside corporeal reality. Yet pursuit of knowledge is very important to creatures like ourselves. Collecting any individual pearl is mostly an exercise in doing a lot just for little bits of knowledge. There is a lot of understanding of just how significant wanting to know more is, even something unimportant, when you are left in the dark the way you are in the game. Most information pearls you deliver are literally completely useless to know about, but they feel personally important, especially in how finding them relates to your connection to the iterators. My primary motivation to find pearls in my first play was to spend more time with Moon. On a very real emotional level, Moon felt like my only friend in the world while I played. On a mechanical level, she does literally nothing. But Rain World manages to operate on a very emotional, even instinctual level with how it's designed. I wanted to be in her company and have something to give her. Because I am alone, and lost. So something along those lines is why I felt saddened to hear the sentiment like Rain World somehow "fails" to deliver it's "story." The purpose of the game is not to find pearls and hear about some grand narrative. At it's core, Rain World is a game that's design was inspired by nature, and it's use of history within the world relates to us as a player the way history relates to us as people. It is relayed through people reading from records created by parties with their own perspectives, and connects us abstractly to a sensation that there is more out there than our own lives. That is a feeling you have as a player, and ultimately the true story that Rain World tells is the memories you have playing it. What you did, saw, and felt. The same as how our story is that of our own lives. That is the purpose of the game.

[lovebugism]

“we don’t like each other, but we’re at a mutual friend’s Christmas party and we keep getting caught under the mistletoe together”

eddie and r at steve’s christmas party!

ty for requestling lovie! pls enjoy xoxo — you and eddie, arch enemies since you met, share a kiss under the mistletoe thanks to your meddling friends (enemies to lovers, fluff, 2.2k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Steve’s hand is warm on the small of your back as he leads you the long way to the kitchen. His too big house is glowing with life — with warm-colored Christmas lights and the laughter of your closest friends. It all makes your skin sparkle. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol.

You’re draining your cup of its contents, head tipped back to catch every drop of Steve’s dad’s expensive liquor. You let the boy lead you blindly for a refill until you notice that you’re further from the kitchen now than you were sitting with him on the couch.

“Where are we going?” you wonder with a hearty chuckle.

“To get you another drink!” he insists, playing innocent.

“Then why are we circling your living room?” 

He guides you around the French doors of the entrance and past the wooden staircase — where Max and Lucas dangle mistletoe from a string on the upper story. They bicker back and forth about exactly where to place it and forget to be discreet about any of it.

You’re about to walk past it and towards the kitchen, but Steve stops short before you can. Eddie exits the hallway just in front of you, seemingly led by none other than Dustin Henderson in an obviously concocted plan. 

This marks the second Christmas of your friends trying to get you and the freak to kiss.

It’ll also be the second Christmas that they fail.

“I can see you, you know?” you shout to the arguing teenagers.

The banter quietens all at once. 

Lucas shoots an awkward smile down at you, dressed in an itchy sweater and collared shirt that his mom obviously dressed him in. Max is much less apologetic. Her auburn braids sway on either side of her face as she leans over the railing, clutching at the lit-up garland with a bandaged hand.

“Can you just kiss and get it over with?” she pleads with all her practiced teenage desperation. “Lucas almost chopped my hand off cutting the fishing wire, and I need to know it was worth something.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, Mayfield,” Eddie scoffs, walking past you without a single glance your way. You wouldn’t know, though, because you weren’t looking at him either. You bypass the mistletoe and head the opposite way toward the kitchen. “Not a chance,” you murmur under your breath.

“I said I was sorry!” you hear Lucas exclaim as you go.

Max squints her stony blue eyes at him. “Yeah, ‘cause sorry’s gonna fix my hand, right?”

You pour your own drink while Steve lectures the kids about being distracted. He’s back a couple minutes later, wearing a dumb Christmas sweater and an even dumber grin. “Watcha doing?” he lilts slowly as he walks to stand at your side.

You lick beer from the side of your thumb after spilling a drop or more. “Separating myself from the plotting,” you answer, vague and somewhat ominous.

He furrows his brows and scoffs out a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone’s trying to get me and Munson to kiss. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s just a joke,” he assures with a shrug, even though you both know it’s more than that. 

He could’ve used that excuse the year before — when he and Dustin were practically tripping over themselves to get you and Eddie in the same room and under the same mistletoe. Now it’s a competition. Now it’s real. 

They’re trying to prove to themselves that they can get you and Eddie to kiss more than they’re trying to prove that they’d been right about the two of you all along.

“Is that why you hid a mistletoe by the records?” you squint and raise your cup for another sip. 

You and Eddie have a history of fighting over what music gets played at parties. You’re notorious for it, actually. Even tonight, you argued about whether to play Christmas music or the regular stuff. That was before you noticed the ribboned plant hiding in the cabinet of records, of course. Then you walked away entirely.

That’s why you’re listening to Dio now instead of Nat King Cole.

“Robin did that, actually,” Steve tells you as he crosses his arms over his chest. “And it would’ve been genius if she actually hid the damn thing. It’s like I’m the only one taking this seriously!”

“Both of you are idiots. And creeps.”

“Do you wanna go smoke, or do you wanna keep calling me names?”

“Hm…” you hum and pretend to ponder his question. You purse your lips to the side and flit your eyes to the ceiling. “How about we go smoke and I keep calling you names.

He thinks for a second. Then nods. “Deal.”

Steve’s deck is as ornately decorated as the rest of his house. It glows yellow from the wreaths on the windows and the garland on the railing. The golden color is the only warm thing about being outside. The bitter breeze bites through the material of your sweater, pricking at your skin no matter how tightly you fold your arms around yourself.

You and Steve huddle together like penguins for warmth. He pulls out a little tin box from the back pocket of his jeans — there’s one joint left inside it. He passes it off to you, then pats at his sides with a frown between his brows. 

“Shit…” he huffs.

“What?” you ask, teeth chattering.

“I forget the damn lighter.”

You scoff. “Genius.”

He rushes back inside. The glass door slides open, basking you in a momentary warmth, before sliding shut again. 

You’re not alone for very long, though. He’s back far quicker than you expect. You hear the schlick of the opened door and feel the woosh of golden heat. When you look over your shoulder with a half-hearted complaint on the tip of your tongue, you realize that Steve isn’t back.

It’s Eddie fucking Munson.

“Oh, you gotta be shitting me,” you mumble under your breath.

His brows pinch together, dark eyes twinkling with confusion when he looks at you. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Wait— Don’t shut the door!”

“What are you talking about?” he laughs and shuts it anyway.

“No, don’t—” 

It’s too late. You rush to the glass and hear a faint click on the other side. You wrap your fingers around the cool handle and pull. It doesn’t budge. 

“Those assholes locked us out here,” you grouse — partly for Eddie, but mostly for the assholes in question locked inside.

Steve peeks through the blinds. You can only see his eyes, honeyed and sparkling with mischief. “Who’s the idiot now?” he teases. The big dumb grin is audible in his voice. You blink, and he’s gone again.

“He lured us… With weed…” Eddie murmurs. You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. He nods with a small shrug. “That’s kinda genius, actually.”

“Except we can’t smoke it. ‘Cause we don’t have a lighter.”

Eddie’s face screws up in offense, chin jerking back like he’s flinching. He pulls a pale hand from the pocket of his leather jacket. The metal Zippo glimmers beneath the Christmas lights. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, sweetheart,” the wild-haired boy teases.

“I don’t,” you concur and snatch the lighter from his ringed fingers. “And I’d love to keep it that way.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?” he jokes, squinting at you with eyes made of chocolate and smiling with lips rosier than flower petals.

“Thanks for noticing,” you mumble through the joint. You hold your hand over the flame while you light it, taking a deep puff before passing it off to the boy beside you.

“At least we have a break from those psychos, right?” he jokes as he takes it from you.

Your laugh comes out in a white cloud. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure we’re, like, the only normal people here.”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t let that go to your head, though. You’re still a freak.”

“And you’re still a bitch,” he lilts with a grin, then passes the joint back to you — a makeshift peace offering.

“Don’t be mean to me—” you squint and snatch the blunt from his hand. The tone you use is a foreign one, coated with a hurt he can’t tell is real or in his head. His eyes go wide, anyway. An apology bubbles in his throat, but you beat him to the punch. “—It turns me on.”

“Oh,” he murmurs under his breath, heart thudding hard against his ribcage. “…Oh.”

Your lips curl into a smirk around the edge of the joint. The ash burns orange when you take a deep inhale and turns dark again when you pass it back.

His ringed fingers brush yours, and Eddie gets shy in a way he never really has before. Not with you, anyway. Your touch has him buzzing, gets him all awkward like a giddy teenage boy who’s never been around a girl before. 

He forces a laugh through a sparkling chest. “Now I don’t know if I should stop or keep going.”

A giggle sputters from your lips before you can stop it. You hadn’t meant for it to come out, of course — you were actually trying really hard to swallow it down. But it’s spilling from your smiling mouth like rays of golden sunshine in a navy blue winter, anyway.

Eddie couldn’t hide his amusement if he tried. The blunt burns, unhit, between his fingers, because he’s too busy looking at you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever made you laugh before,” he says, chuckling to himself while pride swells behind his ribcage. “Hell, I don’t think I’ve even made you smile before.”

“Don’t get used to it— I’m just tipsy.”

You reach over to snatch the burning stick from his hand, and he suddenly understands what you meant before — the whole don’t be mean to be, it turns me on thing that he’ll probably be thinking about for the next week or so. 

‘Cause you’re always rough with him. Rough and a little bit bitter. It bordered on hate, unrooted and visceral. Erotic. Maybe he liked teasing you so much because he liked it when you told him off. Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to leave you alone even now.

“I like you like this, though,” Eddie confesses, voice as soft as his melted-chocolate gaze. His eyes get all squishy around the edges when he looks at you now. It makes you cower because you’re not used to that — to liking it. 

He shrugs and sticks his fidgeting hands into his jacket pockets, trying hopelessly to play it cool. “Maybe we should, like, go get drinks together or something? So, you know, you can be nice to me and— halfway tolerate me or whatever.”

You get quiet, and he isn’t totally sure what to make of it. 

His flitting eyes (going halfway blind from staring at Steve’s Christmas lights instead of you) find your gaze again. You’re wearing a smirk he’s never seen on you before, barely there but still obvious. No one’s ever looked at him the way you are now — like the world could fall apart, but you’d never know it because he’s somehow more distracting.

You catch his button-eyed gaze and hold it until it hurts.

“In your dreams, Munson,” you singsong sweetly to him, lips like wine. It’s his words from earlier (ones he’s starting to regret right about now), but you say them with a wider and more sincere smile.

It feels almost like a promise.

A whistle sounds in the distance, coming from above you.

You and Eddie share confused glances before taking a single step forward. Max and Lucas are leaning over the balcony a story above you — with that damn mistletoe hanging from fishing wire. That means Dustin and Steve aren’t too far, either. Which means Robin’s probably up there, too. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie squints up at them, chin tilted to reveal the pale expanse of his neck. You don’t know why you can’t stop looking at him. Maybe it’s the weed and the one beer you had, but you never thought a neck could be pretty until now.

“We’ve been here for a while, actually,” Max sasses in return.

Lucas concurs with a shoulder pressed intently against hers. “Yeah. My arm’s starting to get a little tired over here.”

You and Eddie huff and roll your eyes at the same time, so strangely synchronized. You’d both be similarly annoyed if your minds weren’t racing. ‘Cause it’s a tradition now — for all your friends to get you to kiss with storebought mistletoe — and it’s always tradition for them to fail.

It’s a record you and Eddie would like to break now, almost painfully so, but neither of you will humor the other by saying that out loud.

The boy beside you merely shrugs. His cheeks flush pink with an embarrassment he’d sooner blame on the cold. You can see it in his eyes, though — in the twinkle in the deep chocolate of them. His gaze is weirdly expressive in that way. He couldn’t hide anything from you if he tried.

“Should we…?” he trails off. 

He won’t let you know that he wants to — kiss you, that is — but he’s not gonna do anything you don’t want to do, either. He’s not a total asshole, just a stupid boy falling head over heels for a girl he thought he hated five minutes ago.

“Let’s just get it over with,” you huff in annoyance.

You say it begrudgingly — like tasting him with your suddenly longing lips is some kinda chore.

You kiss the breath from his lungs a second later.

[honeyxbunny99]

Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt.2

After another evening spent dining alone, watching as Anna carried the half-empty food tray away, you began to wonder if the hound was eating at all. If he was, who had he been dining with? You felt a pang of jealousy and narrowed your brows in confusion at it. Day 3 of your matrimony was coming to a close, and you felt incredibly alone. You saw the hound once in the garden, walking with a purpose as always, and offered him a small smile. He offered nothing in return-- did not even meet your eyes. In the moment you were hurt and embarrassed. Now, after all of this neglect, you were angry. This is not how a marriage was supposed to be, even an arranged one. Perhaps the marriages you were imagining were only tall tales. Perhaps every man hated his woman, and every woman hated her man-- only tolerating each other long enough to put on a show for the public and make babies.

You had nothing personal to reflect on; your parents' marriage ended in tragedy before you were old enough to comprehend the intricacies of what may have led to such an end.

~"Your mother was an angel, and this world is a hell. She had to be with her kind."

That was a generous quote you remember your father telling you when you were still young and innocent. You wondered now, however, if he truly held her memory in such high regard, or if he only wanted you to think positively of her and stop asking hard questions.

Your father kept you so sheltered that you even felt separate from your sister. She was allowed to go out unescorted. Allowed to have friends, fall down and scrape her knees, make mistakes. All because she had been born later than you. Surely she held your beauty, the same genetics coursing through her veins. It was never depended upon though. Your father did not worry about preserving her as he did you, and in truth you resented the both of them for that. You grew up inside the walls of your small cottage. The only independent travel permissible to you was through books. You took full advantage of this. Your father would bring home books that taught you manners, how to dance, how to care for your hair and skin. You promised to be a good study in all of those areas and more so long as he also provided fantasy and romance and history whenever he could.~

Everything you'd spent your entire life learning seemed to be for nothing if your marriage continued down this trajectory. The Hound cared not for fantasies, had no manners, and hated to hear you talk. You chewed on the inside of your cheek in contempt for him. Even the beauty you tried so hard to care for had no effect on him. You felt utterly useless.

"Is there anything else I can help you with tonight, milady?" Anna broke your focus, and you were thankful. Your bitter thoughts were getting you nowhere.

"Where is my husband?"

Anna looked nervously at the floor. "I do not know, milady..."

You rolled your eyes but gave her a quick smile. It wasn't her fault. "Then that will be all. Thank you, Anna."

The two of you shared an embrace and you closed your eyes at the comfort of contact. She held you back tightly and giggled. If you did not have her, perhaps you would have thrown yourself out of that window.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sandor's voice boomed and the both of you startled and pulled away.

"Forgive me, Lord Clegane!" Anna rushed out, stammering with an explanation.

"I embraced her." You said boldly.

"Why?"

"Why do you find it appropriate to curse in front of a lady?"

"I see no ladies here." He grumbled, staring you down. Your lips curled in anger, and you mumbled to Anna to go to her room. She glanced between the two of you before casting her eyes to the floor out of fear and retreating past the hound, who growled like a dog as she passed. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Is being rude all that you know?" You scolded him.

His brows knit together in anger. "Is being daft all YOU know?!" He crossed the room to you quickly, but you stood your ground. "You don't touch the servants, you don't call them by their first names, you don't pretend she's your bloody fucking sister!"

You were surprised he was even aware of your family.

"You don't even know that girl! Do you realize how fast she'd hand you over to Joffrey if you let the right thing slip out in front of her!" His large hands swallowed your arms as he shook you slightly, trying to get some sense into you.

"You know her even less! Anna would never--"

"You didn't know the girl but 2 days! Now you want to play dollies and kiss--"

"It was a hug!" You shouted back.

"I forbid it!"

You laughed in his face. His pressure on your arms grew.

"I am your husband, you daft little cunt and what I say goes!" "You are a joke!" You spit back. "You are no more my husband than my father is noble! You certainly can parade around as if you were, but the Gods see through your falsehoods. They know we are not truly joined. And if you continue neglecting me the Red Keep shall know as well."

"You think the Gods care where and when I stick my pecker, you've got some very bored idols..." He released your arms and you tried to keep your face stoic. "If anyone is going to question our marriage it'll be your fault, and it'll be your head on a pike, not mine." He smirked. "I'm your punishment! You, you're meant to be my prize. Something to chew on for the King's old dog." He looked you up and down.

"A prize you reject but wish so dearly to protect from evil handmaidens." You squinted at him with disgust. "Don't ever speak to Anna like that again."

He laughed, brows raised. "You mean to tell me what to do? I could crush your bones and not break a sweat, love."

"Do it then." You dared.

He stared at you like you were crazy.

"The moment I cursed Joffrey I anticipated death. It would have been worth it, were it only my life on the line... I would have cursed and sworn until my tongue was cut out and then fought some more." Sandor quirked a brow at you slowly. "But it wasn't just me... It was my father, daft and rude as he is, and my sister. Instead of death he gave me you, only you... But you don't want me. Could never want me. His intention was to humiliate me but I did not feel embarrassed."

"Frightened." He grumbled.

"Frightened, yes. You're very imposing, but it wasn't to do with your looks or even how you handled me... I was, am, frightened of losing all I have known in my life. I have only ever had my sister and my father, and now I can never have them again. You won't even allow me a bond with a handmaiden. I only have you and you want nothing to do with me. Even now you hide yourself in the shadows. You do not deem to speak to me except to threaten or intimidate. I have no one to talk to, no one to touch... The curse the king gave me was isolation." You realized too late that tears had fallen from your eyes. You wiped them with your fingers and took a deep breath.

"Please leave me." You asked quietly.

"You cry about isolation and then ask me to leave?" Sandor narrowed his eyes. "If being with me is so bad then I suppose Joffrey should have been more merciful with death, eh?"

You rolled your eyes. "Being with you is not bad! You don't understand what I'm saying!"

"Then what are you saying, princess, your wish is my command!"

His sarcastic voice broke you. "I want you!" You shouted, causing his hard demeanor to shrink down. "I want to know you, to be near you. I want to please you, but I don't know how--"

"Stop talking." He said gruffly.

You sighed, closing your mouth as another tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't bother wiping this one, he'd already seen you for the vulnerable, pathetic, lonely little girl that you were. You watched him struggle with something in his mind before stalking over to you again. He pulled off his cape and offered it to you, looking into the fire to the right of you.

You took it gently, confused.

"For your tears."

Suddenly you were nervous, but raised the cloth up to wipe away the wetness on your face.

"Do you wish to go home?"

Now you were REALLY confused. "I cannot."

"Do you wish it?... If you could, if... If I could make that happen for you, sneak you away." His eyes were shifting between yours and the flames. You weighed it in your mind, but the truth didn't take long to reveal itself.

"No..." You said truly. "I wish to make a new home." You tried to hand him back his cape, fingers brushing against his.

"Keep it." He commanded. Finally, his eyes settled on you, analyzing your face. You took the opportunity to analyze his. He was handsome, even with the scars. Anna had told you some story about his brother mutilating him when they were just boys, and it hurt your heart at the time. His complexion with split in half, warm glow of the fire illuminating the left, untouched side, and moonbeams cast through your window highlighting the right.

"If playing house with that servant girl makes you feel better about it all, then do it. Just don't let anyone else see. If you fear for your head by me not being around, then I'll come to you every night that I can."

"I don't want you around out of fear--"

"Well you don't want to know me. Shouldn't... There's not much about me that wouldn't disgust you in the end anyways." He nodded, resolving to his next statement. "But I can guard you. Keep you safe."

"I-..." You sighed, wanted to tell him how you desired him like a husband. "Thank you, my lord."

"I told you in this room you don't have to call me that."

"Well, I'm not calling you dog."

"S'what I am."

"Not to me... Your real name is Sandor, correct?"

He made no move to answer.

"Did you know that it means protector?" You felt embarrassed but couldn't help words before they spilled out of your mouth. You were only trying to be civil, find some common ground to build on. "Once I had a book full of all the names you could imagine and beside them was their meaning, their origin, famous people that shared that name... I loved that book. You were born to be a protector."

"I wasn't born to be anything."

"Do you truly believe that?" "Aye. If I were named something pompous, I would not have wound up a king. I would have ended up the same burnt brute I am today, only with a name that didn't match."

You smiled sheepishly at his explanation and nodded. "Yes, perhaps the concept is a little silly... Anna's name means graceful..."

He widened his eyes and nodded once. "Horse shite." To which you giggled softly. When you looked back up at him through your lashes you could almost swear you saw his face changing color. He cleared his throat and walked away but you took quick steps to catch him before he could reach the door. You grabbed his armored bicep with both hands and said, "Wait..."

He obeyed, turning his head to watch your hands on him.

You cleared your own throat nervously. "You didn't come to me last night..." Hearing the obvious he turned to you waiting for you to continue. "I was thinking... You could stay tonight."

His lip curled up in the smallest, cocky smirk. "I can stay any night I like, it's my room."

"What I mean is," you tried to remain polite, but your tone was betraying your mild annoyance. "Would you like to stay the night with me?" He blinked at you, smirk disappearing just as quickly as it had come. "I would like you to stay the night with me..." You pushed further. You realized your hands were still wrapped around his strong arm and you carefully slid them off, feeling shy.

"You have to sleep some time, don't you?" You tried again after a moment of silence. "I swear not to bother you. I'll- I'll keep to myself, I'll move silently, I'll go straight to sleep and I can even sleep on the floor--"

Sandor rolled his eyes at you and turned around to lock the door. "Crazy bitch." He grumbled under his breath, but you heard. Despite him insulting you, you felt a smile spread across your face. He would stay with you. Stay because you asked him to. Perhaps your husband knew kindness after all.

He walked past you and began to undo the clasps of his armor. "You're not sleeping on the damn floor."

"Neither are you." You turned to him, hoping this wouldn't cause another argument. You watched him continue removing his hard outer layer and waited for a response. "I don't bite..."

"I do." Sandor retorted, back still to you. You folded your hands nervously behind your back.

"I think your bark is worse than your bite... Did you know I was bit by a dog once? A real dog? It's the only scar that I have--"

"Didn't you swear not to bother me?" He put out the fire. His harshness made heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

You nodded remembering the only reason he agreed to stay here was because you promised you would move silently. You moved quietly over to the bed and pulled the covers and furs into place, trying to make it look as inviting as possible. You considered removing your dress but knew you were on thin ice, so instead you climbed into your side and slid under the covers. You watched Sandor sit down in the large chair and begin to drink the wine straight from the pitcher. You watched him close his eyes and lean back, as though he was settling in to sleep in the chair. You supposed it was better than nothing and turned away from him, trying to close your eyes and let sleep take over you.

You began counting shooting stars in the blackness of your mind. You got all the way to 105 when you heard your husband's voice chime in again, making you flinch.

"You said you got bit?" His inquiry paired with the grumpy tone confused you but still a smile began to form. You sat up slowly and twisted around to face him. All you could see was a big brooding shadow still sat in the chair.

You nodded and then paused, taking a breath and then holding it. "You can't sleep?"

"Hardly ever do. Wine's shit." He grumbled.

"Hmm..." You nodded. "So, you'd like one of my stories to put you to sleep, s'that it?" You heard him blow a laugh through his nose and mentally cheered. "Happy to oblige... A bedtime story works best when spoken softly though, are you sure you wouldn't care to listen to it from the bed?"

No movement, no sound. You sighed, holding your hands up in surrender. "I won't touch you, not unless you want me to."

He scoffed out a condescending sound before rising from the chair and cross the room slowly. "Such a dutiful little wife." It sounded like an insult.

"I could be a good one, you know. My whole life my father taught me the best he could to care for my future husband."

"I don't need a wife, never wanted one." "Never? Not even as a boy?"

"I was never a boy, only smaller than I am today." He laid down in the bed and it made your side rise up. You smiled and tried not to laugh at the image in your mind of a shrunken Sandor Clegane. He was trying to be intimidating but you thought it was adorable.

"It's true then." He said, his body turned away from you. "Your father made you play wife..." Your brows furrowed together as you stared at his back. "Cook, clean, fuck you cause you looked like your mother." His words dropped so casually but they made a lump form in your throat and your stomach felt sick.

"What?!" He didn't answer. You shoved his back hard, though barely moving him. "What did you say to me?! How dare you spread lies about me!"

Angry tears burned at your eyes and when he sat up to face you, you pulled your hand back to slap him. He caught you by your wrist. "Don't you EVER--" "I didn't start it, I just heard it! Gods woman settle down!" He said as you attempted to hit him with your other hand, body writhing to get out of his grasp. You struggled and whined, "FUCK!!" You cried out, head dropping to hide the hot tears that slipped past your lashes. Finally you stopped squirming and only cried quitely.

He still held your wrists, though his grip was softening. His eyes were wild still in reaction to you. How was it you were so small and weak and yet unafraid of him? Were you truly that daft?

"It's not true. It's not true, Sandor." His heart softened a bit at the mention of his name crossing your tongue once again. Finally, he let go of his hold on you slowly. He didn't know quite what to do for you, but he could still see droplets of tears forming on your dress. Almost nervously his hand went out to pet your hair.

"Aye, it's not true, girl. It's not true..." He tried to comfort and was relieved when you did not flinch at his touch.

Your head was still swimming in shame however. You realized now why he didn't want you as a wife. He thought you were dirty, used, broken by your father. Slowly, when you realized his hand on your head you looked up at him. "It's not true, please don't think it of me, Sandor... If my father ever touched me, if anyone ever dared to, I'd kill him."

His eyes widened at you again. "My whole life depended on me being pure for my husband, to save my family from poverty. Why would he ruin all of that just to satisfy an urge? Why would I let him?!" You were getting worked up again and he saw it, so he put his hands on either side of your face to steady your vision on him.

"It's not true, it's a bloody lie, and if I ever hear it again, I'll kill the man who speaks it."

The determination in his voice, the way his eyes were meeting yours, his warm hands gentle on your face; it all made you believe him and forgive him in an instant.

"I'm sorry..." You mumbled, feeling shy again at the closeness. He watched your (e/c) eyes scan over his face and he grew insecure again as he admired your dark, wet lashes all clumped together from tears.

"It's alright..." He dropped his hands and you mourned the loss. "I'd probably try to kill someone too if they said my father fucked me any time he wanted to." You cringed again at the allegation.

"I wasn't trying to kill you..." You defended, trying to feel normal again.

"You couldn't anyway." "Sure I could." He barked out a laugh and raised his brows.

"Not even if I was half-dead already."

You guffawed, actually offended at the truth. "You're lucky I don't desire you dead." You raised your brows and folded your arms below your chest playfully.

"Aye you just desire me in your bed..." He relaxed his back against the headboard, arms folding up behind his head almost confidently.

You blushed but couldn't argue much against the statement. Still, you were going to try, it was your nature. "You're the one so desperate to hear my stories that you'd crawl into bed with a stranger who repulses you."

"A stranger?" He opened one eye to look you up and down.

"Aye, a stranger." You mocked his accent. "You probably don't even know my name."

"(Y/n)."

This actually caught you off guard. "How did you--" "Your father said it when he was trying to sell you to the king."

You hadn't expected him to remember a detail like that, but you enjoyed hearing him say your name for the first time.

"(Y/n) Clegane now. Easy to remember even for me." He relaxed again into his arms, but you were freaking out on the inside. Your names together, spoken by him in this bed, made you tremble.

"Am I ever going to hear this story, or should I give up and go find better wine to drink myself to sleep?"

You sighed at his sass. "Lay down then and be quiet."

"M'fine right here, girl."

You smirked at him. "Afraid to let your guard down again? Scared to be hit by a little girl?" You watched his smile grow uncontrollably, yet he kept his eyes shut.

"You should be afraid to break a nail, princess."

Huffing again, you began, speaking softly in hopes of relaxing him.

"I was young, and had just had my first blood..." You hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

"Woman, what are you--"

"It's important I swear. Now shut up." You paused a moment before continuing and when you looked back at him his eyes were shut again. "As I said... I was young and bleeding and suffering, honestly... But my father insisted we had to go into town again. Each month, like clockwork, my father would walk me through the town, sometimes we stopped at shops, made conversation, but it was all about making sure I wasn't forgotten... My whole life I was made to believe I was untouchable. Something people had to want, had to earn. He wanted me to be a pretty thing in the backs of people's minds."

"You were his trophy... I'm sure he did the same to your mother."

You looked at him, surprised he was actually listening. His eyes still shut, but now his arms were down by his sides. You shifted slightly to lay down and rest on your own arm, taking the opportunity to admire him while getting lost in your own story.

"Perhaps that's why she killed herself... I know that there were times, like the one in this story actually, where my father's ego made me want to die... But that's beside the point. I was uncomfortable that day, I felt like the men could smell it on me..." You shook your head at the memory. "It was my first time out as a woman and the men knew, they must have known because the way they leered after me made my stomach turn worse than it had already been... Finally, when my father stopped to show magic to a group of kids in the street, I snuck away. Foolish, I know. I do a lot of foolish things... But I, I snuck back into an alleyway just to get away from the stares. I thought I might avoid them forever if I just kept walking... I stopped down one empty street when I saw a dog digging through rubbish. He was black, so skinny you see all of his ribs, and even his hip bones. I remember watching the dogs desperate search for food, and being moved to tears. There was this poor, abandoned, starving thing, and I was feeling sorry for myself because I was pretty....

"I had been carrying a basket of fruit, I.. I thought surely it would be more appealing to the dog than the soiled rags. I called the dog over, I--" you shook your head a released a small breathy laugh, "I think I called it handsome... The dog approached, and smelled the hand I had out to offer... And then he smelled my skirts, and I realized he did not want my fruit." You bit your lip as the pain throbbed once again. "He tackled me, the scrawny thing. He pounced on me and barked in my face; his teeth so close to my eye I thought he would tear it out... I screamed and thrashed but he was too heavy... He bit my arm when I tried to hit him and then he went down to my legs... It's like he was possessed, he needed meat...

"He bit down and tore open my thigh. He started chewing on my flesh, I could hear it mashing between his teeth even over my screams... And then suddenly the weight was gone, and I could sit. And when I did, I saw my father... Beating the dog's head in with a stone... And as I held my leg, I wept... I got that dog killed, because of my selfishness and my stupidity." You nodded, feeling the sorrow but being strong enough now not to cry about it. "I got in trouble, obviously, for straying... My father was disappointed in the damage to my body, but after a few days, he came to me and said that he was glad it had been a hound to find me and not a man. That a man could have ruined me in ways far worse... I hated him for it. I hated him for killing the dog and I hated the fact that he knew the evil of men, and still made them lust for me. Still wanted to sacrifice me to one for the good of the family..."

"He was right to kill the dog." His voice was soft, sleepy, and you were relieved your yammering seemed to be working.

"I had no hatred toward the dog... He couldn't help it, he was starving. He did what dogs do when they smell blood. It was my fault for putting him in danger."

"Your life is worth more than a dogs."

"To my father, clearly." You joked.

"To everyone... That dog was gonna die anyway, the way I see it you put him out of his misery."

You reflected on his thoughts. "Maybe... But I've always liked hounds more than men." You smiled. His face was totally relaxed, posture at ease, and breath growing more noticeable. Just a little more... "Anyways... I healed up. My father and I worked on my leg together and he says he can hardly see it now... I still see it though, of course. Sometimes when I'm alone, I run my fingers along it. I like the way it feels. The skin there is more sensitive than the rest and it even hurts still, if I think on it. It's the worst pain I have ever felt. My father said it would serve as a reminder of how delicate I was, and to never stray from him, lest I be hurt again... But even pain can be kind when you're used to feeling nothing..."

You finished your ramblings, studying him once again. His chest heaved slowly, you could see his chest hair poking out of his tunic and you thought honestly again how handsome he was when he wasn't being an ass. You wished you could reach out and hold him gently.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't much of a bedtime story. With luck, you'll not have to run from dogs in your dreams..." You tried to make light of the situation. "Sandor?" You called softly, shifting to sit up ever so gently. After no response you smiled to yourself. He was still sitting up, and you felt that since his guard was down, he could not fight you on being gentle to him.

You slowly reached your hand out to barely graze over his hair, admiring the texture. "I should not have hit you... I want to be gentle to you." You confessed in a whisper, knowing he could not hear. "I want to tell you more stories, better ones that were written by people more worldly than me, and I want to fall asleep to your stories too..." You sighed in contentment. "You never wanted a wife, and I never wanted a husband... But," you maneuvered him and the pillows gently so that he was in a position closer to laying down. "Maybe this can work." You settled, looking at him one last time before settling down carefully next to him, ensuring there was enough space between your bodies. You closed your eyes, feeling awfully tired now too.

"What does (Y/n) mean?" His voice from behind you made your heart skip a beat and your eyes snap open. Your breathing quickened and you covered your mouth to hide it.

~No, no, no! He was asleep! He was! Surely, he couldn't hear me, couldn't know--~

You nearly cried again from embarrassment.

~Be asleep, be asleep~ You told yourself.

"In your little book of names... What does it mean?" He asked again, and you knew there was no point in pretending.

Instead you grabbed the fur blanket and threw it over your head to hide your face, as if that would make it better. At the possibility of him being awake for your confessions, your caressing of his hair, you just wanted to disappear. Still you took a deep breath and recalled aloud.

"It means divine princess... My mother picked it." You held your breath waiting for his response.

"It..." He said and you felt him turn in bed. "It suits you... I," He dragged out the letter, "like your name..."

~Is he trying to compliment me??~ After a moment you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. No one had ever made you blush as much as Sandor Clegane. You hid your face in your hands again, even though you knew it was impossible for him to see you now. He groaned after your giggle and you felt him turn back around to face the wall. Your smile began to hurt your cheeks and you took a breath.

"I like your name, too..."

[blushweddinggowns]

When Nancy’s mom pulled her aside one day to ask her a favor, she never thought that it would involve tutoring the Steve Harrington. The basketball starter that had nearly every girl in their high school wrapped around his finger. 

And sure, Mrs. Harrington was offering some really good pay, but that didn’t mean she wanted to do it. Because Steve was…a lot. He was cocky, he was weirdly aggressive when it came to his drug dealer best friend, and if his grades and lack of self-control were anything to go by, he was also dumb as hell. 

Just because he was the hottest guy in school didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with him. But her mom didn’t really give her a choice, not when she had been vying for Mrs. Harrington’s friendship for years.

And that’s how she found herself on the Harrington doorstep on a Sunday, dreading how tedious trying to make someone with no attention span learn was going to be. She rang the doorbell, impatient for the whole thing to just be done with already. 

She was surprised when it was Eddie Munson who answered the door, clad in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt that Nancy was pretty sure belonged to Steve, unless he had been a secret swimming champion in 1982. For a split second she thought she was at the wrong house, until she remembered that Eddie was supposed to be living in a trailer park. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair, not even the slightest bit embarrassed to be caught without pants on at someone else’s house, “Uh, can I help you?”

“I’m here for Steve? Um, I’m his tutor? Nancy Wheeler?” She wasn’t sure why she said her own name like it was a question, but the way Eddie was staring her down had her uncharastically nervous. 

But his eyes brightened at the word tutor. He stepped aside to let her in, “Oh yeah! He told me that was today, I guess we just lost track of time. Wait here. I’ll go get him. You want a muffin? I literally just made them, unless you're allergic to chocolate? But if you’re not they’re like, really good, my uncle’s recipe so you can trust it.”

He was talking a mile a minute as he led her into the house, happy in a way she never would have expected from him. In school he was so…defensive. Always willing to cut down anyone who made a comment about his weird sense of style. And there was also the little known fact that he sold freaking ketamine in the woods behind school with a small history of violence and theft. She kind of thought that the drug dealer whose wardrobe half consisted of skulls wouldn’t be the type of guy to bake muffins. 

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want one. 

“Um, sure?” She said, jumping a little when Eddie suddenly tossed one her way. 

Before she could even say thank you he was two-stepping his way up the stairs, whistling a tune that Nancy couldn’t help but smile at. If Eddie Munson could be so nice, then the odds of Steve turning out to not be a total dick were looking pretty good.

She could hear him slam a door open upstairs, voice loud and obnoxious, “Time to wake up sunshine! You got some learning to do!”

Nancy wandered over to the stairs as she ate, happily surprised at just how good it was. She couldn't hear much else, just a few groans and some shuffling, then something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle before the two of them made their way back downstairs. 

Steve was just as disheveled as Eddie was, hair a mess as he blearily blinked into the light, like it wasn’t already noon. He at least had the decency to put on pants though, something that Eddie had decided was superfluous. 

He waved at her as they came down, at least apologetic, “Hi, I’m Steve. Sorry about that. I was up late last night doing- I mean watching movies. Kind of let the day get away from me a little bit.”

He put out his hand for Nancy to shake and she couldn’t help but notice just how big they were. She took it, suddenly a little flustered as she spoke, “Nancy. And we’ve uh, actually met before. Believe it or not.”

Steve blinked at her, mind obviously racing to try and figure out when he’d seen her before, “Please don’t tell me we used to date.”

“No we didn’t but- wait. You don’t remember all the girls you’ve dated?” Nancy raised a brow at him, suddenly a lot less impressed. Just how big of a player was this guy?

But at least he had the good grace to look embarrassed, “I-well, it’s not like that. I-”

Eddie put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in the midst of his stuttering sentence, “Stevie, stop while you're ahead. Now go get some food so your brain can actually function.”

Surprisingly, Steve obeyed, just like that. He just nodded and puttered into the kitchen, leaving Eddie and Nancy to follow him. 

Eddie leaned over, stage-whispering in her ear, “He’s usually a lot more charming after he’s been conscious for more than 5 minutes. I swear.”

They rounded the corner, just in time to see Steve eat half a muffin in one bite. He moaned at the taste of it, and Nancy was suddenly blushing for the second time in one day. 

He smiled at Eddie, hearts in his eyes, “How are you so good at everything?”

Nancy was starting to understand why her mom always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If she didn’t know any better she’d say that Steve was seconds away from asking Eddie to ride into the sunset together. 

Eddie shrugged, even though his face was positively pleased. Steve finished the rest of it with a dreamy sigh, eyes still locked on Eddie.

“God, I love-” Steve coughed mid sentence, and for a second Nancy was sincerely worried that he had managed to choke on a piece of muffin. But the next moment he was fine, glancing over at her before straightening, “Uh, when my parents are gone. You can eat anything you want. Thanks for making them dude.”

Eddie snorted, barely managing to keep his laughter inside, “No problem, dude. But now that you're functioning I’ll let you guys get to it. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Nancy wasn’t sure just what they would need him for, but Steve nodded anyway. It was almost weird, just how comfortable Eddie was in his house. She had half expected him to leave after he dragged Steve downstairs, especially since it was a school night, but the way he sprawled himself out on the couch said otherwise. 

They set themselves up at the kitchen table, Nancy with their biology book in hand and Steve with a second muffin. She cracked her book open, internally preparing herself for an afternoon of frustration. So imagine her surprise when none came. 

Because Steve Harrington was nothing like she expected. He wasn’t some undiscovered genius or anything, but he was diligent. He didn’t try to make a move on her, which her friends had definitely warned her about when they first heard she was tutoring him. He never got mad when he didn’t understand something, or even impatient. If anything he was just apologetic, a constant barrage of I’m sorry coming out of his mouth whenever he got something wrong that she already explained.

It was endearing to say the least. He even offered to drive her home after. She hadn’t realized that the offer included Eddie poking at him from the back seat and complaining about the music the whole ride home, but still. It was a nice gesture. 

When her mom asked her how it went she didn’t even have to lie. It went great. Not even on the whole he wasn’t a dick side of things. He was making ground when it came to his schoolwork, he just needed a little bit of extra attention. 

She found herself laying in bed that night with a smile on her face, more than excited to see Steve again. Maybe they’d even manage to get a little alone time, just so she could get to know him a bit better.

For strictly tutoring reasons, of course. 

~

Part 1.5 Part 2 Part 3

From an unpublished chapter of this fic (But I'll probably add part two and the reveal here because it kind of works with tumblr formatting!)

[feasibilities]

Sight and Smell - Tom x Married!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Tom has feelings for you and won't let anyone stop him from telling you how he feels. Warnings: Drug Use, Infidelity, Allusions to Cuckolding, Sex as Punishment, Choking, Pining, etc. Author's Note: Readers need love too! I did some research on luxury hotels in Dublin as well (because I want a late-night rendezvous with Cillian in one of them). Also, thank you @mothhball for tagging me in the prompt that spawned this insane story. I hope you enjoy it!

The sight of your beautiful smile and the smell of your redolent perfume were mainstays of Tom’s psyche. He knew your husband, Seán, since they were kids. You came along during secondary school. He knew it was wrong to lust for any woman who wasn’t Marianne, but you were different. For the first time, he felt a deep-seated jealousy toward his friend. Knocking on the front door, Tom was finally prepared to tell you how he really felt. This party would go down in history. 

“Hey, Tom. Seán will be here soon. Won’t you come in?” You smiled sweetly. You noticed that he looked disheveled and restless. 

“Of course.” Tom replied. While you led him to the kitchen, he admired how your black dress hugged your figure. He hated that Seán got to see the treasures that lie underneath. 

“Where’s Marianne?” You inquired, going back to cleaning the champagne flutes. 

“U-um, she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed back.” Tom faltered, taking quick peeks at your cleavage. 

“Ah. Well, I hope she feels better soon. How have you been?” You asked.

��Fine.” Tom answered plainly

Walking toward him, you placed the back of your hand on his forehead. 

“Are you feeling okay, hun?” You asked innocently. 

Taking your hand away, Tom hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. You heard him lock it shut shortly after. You stood there stunned before continuing to prepare for the party. 

After separating the thin white powder into lines, he gummed what was left over on his fingers. Snorting each line was like a hard reset for his body. His heart felt like it was clawing its way out of his chest. Collapsing near the bathroom sink, he trembled and cursed himself. He sat himself up in a corner and breathed deeply. The palpitations of his heart subsided. 

Hearing offbeat jazz come from the living area, Tom jumped up and gathered himself. He had to get this out of his system before guests arrived. It was now or never. 

“I need to talk to you.” Tom blurted out, watching you arrange hors d'oeuvres on multiple platters. 

“Fucking hell, Tom. You scared me half to death.” You jumped. 

“Listen, it’s very important-“ Tom started.

“Can it wait until after the party, hun?” You corrected.

“It can’t.” Tom said, growing irritated by the second. 

“Fine. What is it?” You said, exasperated. 

“I have loved you since I met you all those years ago. I think about you all the time. I hate that Seán got to you first.” Tom confessed, staring into your eyes. 

You stayed silent and stared back at him. You felt a mix of panic and curiosity. Seán would kill Tom with his bare hands if he heard this conversation. Tom’s advances made sense—especially since you felt the same way. You loved your husband with all of your heart, but you can’t say you never thought about leaving. He was away for work way too much. When he was here, he wasn’t present emotionally. Intimacy was poorer than it had ever been. You yearned for something different—rather, something electrifying. Tom was the closest you could get.

“We can’t do it here, Tom. I can meet you in a hotel after the party. Now, take these platters into the dining room. Be careful to not let anything fall.” You ordered. 

Tom’s eyes widened at your proposal. You’ve never seen him move so fast in the time that you knew him. Guests, including Seán, began to arrive. He kissed you deeply and gave you an embarrassingly hard smack on your ass. It felt like he was putting on the show of a happy couple in front of everyone. Tom was left to brood angrily as you gave him sympathetic glances throughout the party. Shortly after everyone’s departure, you got a text from Tom about your impending rendezvous.

Room 427 at The Westbury. Hope you’re still up for the challenge. 

“Challenge?” You murmured as you applied your makeup at your vanity.

“Where are you headed, love?” Seàn slurred, toying with your hair. He was too drunk to notice you flipping your phone over. 

“Out with friends. I’ll be back late.” You replied. 

“You know, I want to spend more time with you. I miss you.” He said, kissing your shoulder and starting to untie your house robe. This was another empty promise. You politely moved his hands and went back to finishing your makeup. 

“We can spend time together when I get back, Seán. I need some time to myself, ’s all.” You said. Finally getting the message, he stumbled to the bed and fell asleep.

— 

“Fuck, right there…” You moaned as Tom thrusted into you at steady pace. You raked your nails down his back—marking your territory for the time being. He stared down at you with the same admiration earlier. He loved the way your breasts moved with each thrust. He loved the resplendent noises you made when he bottomed out. You clenched around him as your legs began to shake.  Your eyes fluttered shut before you felt his hand grab your throat. He squeezed enough to limit your blood flow. You were lightheaded, but still conscious.

“Open your fucking eyes. This is what you wanted, right?” Tom hissed, speeding up his movements. This time was much more brutal.

“Yes.” You whimpered, feeling like you were about to break in half. 

Tom kissed you harshly and watched as you fell apart. Unintelligible praises came from you as he pounded you into the plush mattress. Your walls spasmed frenetically as you came. He wanted to make sure that you thought of him every time you fucked Seán. To his own perverse wish, this was payback for not choosing the better man.  Flipping you on your stomach, Tom yanked your hips backward and started taking you from behind. He put a pillow underneath you to soften the blows, but to no avail. He was reaching depths that your husband dreamed of. You weeped quietly and 

“Would be fucking sick if Seán came in and saw me nailing his wife, eh?” Tom teased, panting in your ear. A cruel part of you got off on the thought of him listening in on you two. Maybe he would give you the attention you deserve. A faint “Mhmm” emitted from you in response. 

“Cum inside me.” You cooed, looking back at him with heavy eyes. You bit your lip and clenched around him once more. His thrusts staggered as he came with a loud groan. You sung his praises as he came down from his high. Pulling out, he saw his seed beginning to spill out of you. He caught some with his fingers and pushed it back inside.  He pumped himself mindlessly before laying next to you. His stark blue eyes studied your features. He traced his fingertips along your back. You looked back at him lovingly before drifting off to sleep. 

Grabbing your lace underwear from the floor, Tom huffed them desperately. Similar to cocaine, he felt a sense of euphoria. He took in the sweet, earthy scent as he grew hard again. He didn't want to disturb you, so he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He finally got what he wanted. 

[insanely-lovely-and-random]

Ohhh boy wow. Just saw Challengers and my God my bisexual brain was firing all signals. Like within the first five minutes I realised 2 things about this movie. 1 it understands that tennis is a truly boring sport and instead makes it an incredibly sweaty, sexy, compelling game to watch. 2 this movie is bi as all hell and equally in love with all 3 of these people (as was I by the end of the movie).

SPOILERS:

God I was enraptured I think this films pretty subjective and can be seen in a few different ways but I just saw it as 3 people who think their playing the same game but none of them really are. Zendayas playing to win at Tennis, when she can't do it herself she plays through her husband. Art is playing to win the woman he thinks he loves and needs.

And Patrick is the most interesting of all, is he playing because unlike those two he actually needs to out of monetary needs? Maybe but doubt it. Is he playing to win Zendaya? And willing to be her champion unlike Art? Possibly but honestly I think it's the third option. He's playing to get back Art, Art is always a presense in their relationship and he puts him before himself. For sure the unusual sexual history between them is there. The strong friendship turned rivalry. The sheer sexual tension (Goddamn that churro!!) But oddly enough for the guy who may seem like the disloyal asshole type of the three he is both the most honest and oddly loyal. He may sleep with Zendaya but the second she asks him to throw the match? He's furious, he's insulted and refuses. But NOT for himself but for Art. His first words are "How could you do that to Art?" To cheapen his victory, if he were to know would crush Art. Art is always at the tip of his tounge and whats happening.

When they start making out in the dorm Zendaya won't stop talking about tennis but equally whats Patrick talking about? Art. When he finds out Arts not just interested in Zendaya but is acting snakey he's proud.

And god that sauna scene?? (I mean yeah its hot but I mean the dialouge!) He asks Art if he'd miss it and he completely doesn't understand what he's really asking. He once again is talking to somone who thinks their talking about tennis but he's talking about anything but.

I knew that bloody signal was gonna come back and when they had sex in the car I was like "okay this is it, he's gonna tell Art" but the question was.. will it be to hinder him? Make him lose his cool so he loses the game..? OR will he do it to truly spur Art into a game changing rage and unlock his fighting spirit? And as the scene unfolded I belived it was the latter. And it was NOT for Zendaya because he could've easily thrown the match like she said but NO he wanted Art to win fair and square. He wanted to help him do that.

That wordless communication they share? That Zendayas just sat on the outside of not undertanding but worried? Golden. The brutal match and then that gorgeous smile. When I think Art realises what his friend has done and really why he did it. And Patricks, the sheer joy of seeing Art smile at him again. That beautiful, fly through the air and that throw of his own racket down so he can catch Art as he gloriously wins the match. Because tennis was never really what mattered to Patrick, and neither was it really to Art. And despite it being Arts victory they've really both won.

And Zendayas roar of victory from the crowd to me was almost funny. Because she won too. Her husband, her extension of her own career and self won his match with his challenge. His/her past. She also sees it as a victory even though I really won't be suprised if it's lost her both her husband and her back up career/boyfriend. And maybe she won't mind that so much because she got what she wanted. Because she was playing a different game.

Also banging soundtrack, loved it. Also this is just my view of the film and it really can be read multiple ways I'm sure, would love to hear other peoples ideas on it! What can I say I just love some bi emotional drama!

Also Im seeing it again friday so any incorrect quotes, extra thoughts or such I'll probs fix then haha

[cameronspecial]

Loving the Zach stuff so far!!!

Could you maybe do something where yn hates his guts, but he is like in love with her and all her sass?? Then they're forced to go on some school trip together or something, and she realizes she likes him and a cute angry love confession, perhaps???

Danke 🫶🏼��

Thank You, History Class

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Zach have been running in the same friend group since Freshman year, but it doesn’t mean they necessarily get along. Well, it doesn’t mean that she likes him. His sarcasm and puppy dog vibe annoys her cool and distant personality. He’s always asking her how her day is going and trying to make her laugh with his stupid jokes. Zach, on the other hand, fell for her grumpy soul the moment he set eyes on her. Unlike most people, who don’t bother looking deeper into her personality, Zach could see the soft side that she held within and never let anyone see. He would always catch how she would stand up from her bus seat when she saw an elderly person. She wouldn’t let people around her know it was the reason, but she always did. He saw the little bowl of milk she left outside her house for a cat mother and her kittens. Finally, he saw how sweet she was to children whenever they were around her. 

Zach didn’t want to take a history class and he certainly didn’t feel like going on a field trip to a museum. It all felt very high school to him. The only upside about it: Y/N is also taking the same class. When he saw that he needed a history credit to graduate, he definitely didn’t go looking for what classes she was taking this semester to try and be in the same one. The cost was giving Jason access to his bathroom whenever he wanted, but it was worth it. He knows the field trip isn’t mandatory for any marks, yet he knows Y/N is going to be there. As he heads toward the Victorian house, he finds Y/N out front waiting for the professor to show up. Her clothing consists of black and brown colours as usual. Her hair was held back by a shiny black claw clip. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, coming to stand beside her. She gives him a side eye, “Could you be more cliche? Try something more original, would ya? I still can’t believe you are taking this class.” He doesn’t let her sour mood dampen his energy. “Come on, you know you like having me with you in this class. The only other people in this class are girls who have a romanticized view of the era, or guys, who have a history stick so far up their ass that they think a history degree will take them far in life,” he notes, turning to look at her. She looks him dead in the eyes, “I’m a history major. And I am neither of those things.” “I know, that’s because you are so much better than them. You are far too smart for them,” he flatters. She shakes her head, turning her attention to the professor who has just arrived, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” The professor leads them into the museum and begins his lecture. After ten minutes of listening to the man speak, both Y/N and Zach realized that coming was a big waste of time. He doesn’t know what he is talking about and Zach can hear Y/N constantly correcting the older man under her breath. 

He leans toward her, making sure his lips are close to her ear. “Wanna go on our own little tour? This man is getting half of this stuff wrong.” She thinks she has lost her mind because this must be the first thing Zach has said that she thought was a good idea. “That actually sounds kind of fun. They have a Victorian fashion exhibit I want to see, but I don’t think Professor Robo over there is going to take us to,” she whispers back. Her hand finds his and she hates to admit she likes the warmth of his in hers. They round the stairs to the exhibit. She looks delighted when she spots the first mannequin with clothes. Her feet find their way beside a girl about six years old, already looking at the dress. The child’s eyes find Y/N’s face and they smile at each other. “You know, this is an 1843 Evening dress. The bodice, the thing around the chest, is low off the shoulders. And they have lots of other skirts underneath to make it poofy,” Y/N softly explains to the little girl. 

They spent around thirty minutes in the small room. Y/N walks around with Willow and Zach, explaining each outfit to them. She is surprised that Zach seemed honestly engaged with what she was saying and would ask thoughtful questions. Eventually, Willow’s mother, an employee, came looking for her and took the girl to lunch. “Do you want to head to lunch?” she asks. He shakes his head, “Actually, I was hoping we could look at the Victorian sports exhibit. I brought some snacks, so if you are hungry, we can share.” He pulls out a bag of cucumbers shaped like hearts. She has to giggle at the sight because big jock Zach MacLaren likes to have his vegetable cut into shapes. 

“What?” he questions in fake offence, holding out the Ziploc to her. She shakes her head with a chuckle, “Nothing, just surprised your cucumbers look like an inaccurate depiction of a human organ.” “They make them taste better. Try,” he says with a shrug. He hands her a slice and listens to the sweet crunch of her biting into the vegetable. “Okay… I must admit it is more fun to eat it like a heart. I can pretend I’m a witch eating people’s hearts,” she agrees. He doesn’t look disturbed by her macabre comments, instead, he pretends to be ripping out his heart as he hands her another slice. She enjoys him playing with her deadly thoughts.

They spent about an hour looking at the different displays, eating his snacks and taking turns reading the display’s blurbs to each other. As they stand on the steps of the museum, Y/N towers over him from the step above. He looks up at her like she hangs the stars in the sky. “I hate to admit that you made this day pretty fun,” she confides. Her hands find their way behind her back, biting her lip as she looks into his eyes. His mouth turns into a crescent moon, “I’m really glad I did. I like spending time with you.” She takes a moment to think and moves her head away in frustration. Not at him, but at the turmoil inside her mind. Why is his charming smile suddenly getting to her? Why does she want to step into his warmth and let his arms bring her in? “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m falling for you, MacLaren. So… would you want to go to dinner? Like on a date,” she confesses with a hint of annoyance in her tone that is just normally there. She is disgusted by the excitement that crosses his face. He gets off the steps, running around the green grass in front of the building. He jumps every so often with a little whoop let out as he does so. 

He rushes back to her, grabbing her around her waist and spinning her around. She finds the sound of her giggles odd but enjoys it nonetheless. “Way to keep a poker face,” she sasses, looking down at him. He doesn’t care though all he wants is a chance to be with her.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[sapphiresaphics]

So I woke up to THIS conversation this morning:

So yeah… apparently Zaun = Gaza and Israel = Piltover now. We’ve done it! We’ve linked Arcane to real world politics now! Doesn’t matter that the show was in production nearly a decade before the horrific attack on October 7th, or anything. Doesn’t matter that Christian Linke has said his inspiration was American politics. Doesn’t matter that throughout history conflicts like this have existed for centuries. Nope! Apparently this was all “planned” as an allegory to the war in Gaza from the start!

I’m gonna have an aneurysm….

Is THIS why so many people are unable to look at Arcane’s story as anything other than oppressors oppressing the innocent, and are incapable of looking at the larger nuances and parallels Arcane is taking? They’ve conflated their political ideologies and real world situations to that of a fictional setting?Is THIS why you guys hate the “we must come together to fight a greater evil” ending????

And like… if you’re going to view Piltover and Zaun through such uncritical eyes… then what the FUCK does Season 2 Episode 1 have to say about your beliefs? Cuz in that episode, during a PEACEFUL MEMORIAL, Zaun invades Piltover and attacks and slaughters a score of people. If you are on the side of Zaun does that parallel you being on the side of the terrorists who slaughtered people on October 7th?

Real talk: I had a couple friends and some distant family members DIE in that October 7th attack… They were people I knew. They weren’t soldiers. I can’t even process how ANGRY this person’s hateful and ignorant response to me is right now. Imagine losing a friend in such a brutal way and some rando comes up to you and says you deserve to die because of it. Jesus Christ…

Also, I really REALLY shouldn’t have to say this… but if someone says “Jew” and you hear “Zionist” instead, YOU ARE BEING AN ANTISEMITE. That’s how dog whistles and hateful rhetoric WORKS.

When Caitlyn angrily grits her teeth and says Zaunites are “animals,” that’s YOU when you’re saying “Zionist” to a Jew. Learn the fucking parallels you pieces of shit.

You think you’re being Jinx, but in reality you’re just being Caitlyn. Like the whole POINT of Caitlyn going off the rails is because her anger and hatred caused her to “other” people she should be caring about and protecting. That’s what you’re doing. And you took NO EFFORT to try and learn what my beliefs or politics were because the SECOND I said I was Jewish, you conflated me with the IDF slaughtering children. Fuck you and your ignorant black and white world view!

I’m not surprised this is the level of intelligence and reading comprehension on this website, but I am still disappointed all the same.

Ps: I’m not gonna bring up my IRL politics about the war in Gaza and all that shit after this post, because I deserve to put some distance between reality and fiction. But I needed to get this out there because I am horrified at how this interaction went and you should be too. If anyone wants to come at me for being Jewish and not supporting the war, don’t bother, and If you try to argue about the war with me or on any of my posts I’m just gonna block you.

[rei-ismyname]

Uncanny X-Men #6 From The Ashes

We're starting to see Raid on Graymalkin come together with each team having a member in custody, but first we get to know these kids a little better. Spoilers, naturally.

Yeah they're a mystery to us too.

Calico/Becca has been in pretty serious denial about being a mutant and is easily the least worldly of the four. Context clues told us she grew up wealthy, sheltered, and that her mother did a number on her. It's good to make that explicit but I think something is lost by doing it in third person flashback. This is information she doesn't know and considering what happens next it'd be more effective to have her tell her own story. The flashbacks feel jarring to me too, knocking me out of the present. Her having Ember kick Logan was pretty funny though.

And she's cured! 🙄

Calico has a breakthrough after a minute talking to Gambit, completely accepting her mutanthood. I think this would be the place to hear her speak - just a little back and forth instead of Gambit getting through instantly. She basically drops out of the story at this point, repeating that she's a mutant to anyone who'll listen. Yeah, she's been going on about goblins and her mother the entire time, and she was clearly in denial, but the sudden acceptance feels unearned.

We're not done with Harvey X, it seems. He's died at least once on page and said his powers would move on when he did. Does that mean he's not dead or was he just wrong? The thing with fakeouts is that the more you do it the less readers trust what you tell them. Logan brings up the old guy whose death bed he visited in issue #1 and shares the story behind the Tequila. He asks them to drink it with him and Rogue realises he's heartbroken. This feels unearned too, frankly. We'd never seen this army buddy before and while it's sad, there's so much trauma in all these people's very recent history. Krakoa, The School, Chuck, a genocidal war, Beast, hundreds of thousands of slaughtered mutants. The narrative doesn't really need new trauma when so much is already set up.

It sucks to lose an old friend, but the reader doesn't know the guy at all so it comes out of nowhere. A lot of page space was dedicated to the Sarah Gaunt/Chuck relationship and both aren't present in the story right now. Imagine if that space was spent on, say, Sarah/Logan instead. Very little needs to be changed and being blinded/nearly killed by his now monstrous ex would be a payoff that was setup.

I have complex PTSD myself and I would love to see it handled well in this book, but it's off to a weird start that centres Rogue more than Logan. He's in the middle of sharing his trauma and reaching out when she does this. It's really fucking odd, and I have an uncomfortable feeling it's not meant to be. I'll reserve judgement and see how this plays out.

Is the spit take because of what she said or because she's acting strange? You all have PTSD

Uhhm, what? Is this meant to be Harvey X's influence on Rogue? Her narration seems to suggest that, though she's still using her accent. I don't know, but it feels off. It's great to see the letters PTSD in an X-Men comic, because no shit Logan has PTSD. However, once you pathologise it instead of just referring to trauma, you need to pay that off. I'll believe that when I see it. Also, she just cut him off and told him. Logan says she's not qualified to diagnose that and he's right.

The kids are off to school! I think this is an interesting way to keep the education element of X-Men books separate from the mutant part, and naturally the kids run into bullies straight away. We're shown the other kids listening to Jitter though her confidence is attacked by jerks making fun of her stutter. Ransom has her back but Deathdream is really committed to the bit. This scene shows us what class dynamics are at play too. Showing and not telling might seem like faint praise, but I appreciate it when it's done elegantly. It's something this title has struggled with and I'm happy to see Simone lifting her game with the kids. That said, the bullies are extremely generic. Total cutouts that could be from 1950 or 2024. That's probably intentional but high school drama is a trope that's been beaten to death. If you're going to do it you want to do it well.

More bullying happens and Deathdream seems to take Ransom's words to heart, scaring the bullies with Eldritch horrors. Deathdream really doesn't seem bothered he's about to catch hands, but Ransom rolls his sleeves up and lays them out. I think the Olympics business was overegging the pudding, we can tell from his stance and form that he's trained in boxing. Or maybe this could have come up when they fought the X-Men. Everyone would notice an Olympics hopeful boxer. It could have been in Rogue's narration and wouldn't need to be vocalised as the skill is being used. Chekhov's Skill - it's narratively satisfying.

Unfortunately, while this is going down five heavily armoured dudes corner Calico and tase TF out of her. They call it in to Graymalkin and the Raid is set up. I wonder how they got into the school or knew they were here at all. Cerebro explains the latter. Why are they so obsessed with these kids anyway? Dr Ellis was concerned for their lives 2 issues ago and now she's encouraging brutality. Whatever, big ding for the Uncanny team's record of caring for children.

Kurt and Jubilee head to the store to do shopping and Kurt BAMFs away to save a little girl from being hit by a bus. For once he gets some gratitude, though while he's doing this Jubes is being cornered by Siryn, Blob and maybe Wild Child in full Hound mode. She gets snatched up too and Kurt returns to blood and mess everywhere. He calls Rogue and she tells him to get back quickly. The ending leads straight into 2 issues of Raid on Graymalkin (with 2 over in X-Men) and both teams have their motivation. I'm not looking forward to the contrived conflict but maybe we'll get some answers. We saw Siryn and Blob being tortured in earlier issues, but I'm surprised they're here unsupervised. Perhaps those collars are responsible.

Pound for pound I'd say this is the best issue of Uncanny yet. It had some super odd moments but most of them were relics of the first arc. I do wish we got more time to know all the characters, especially the Outliers, before moving into a mini crossover but this is what we have. Still skippable but seems to be getting better. I'm interested to see how the PTSD thing plays out though my expectations are low. I know that sounds quite negative for what was an improvement, but the first arc left a bad taste in my mouth and trust is earned. Also there's NINE main characters which is really not especially sustainable in a book like this. There's just not enough space, and you end up in situations like heading into an event without a solid grasp of where most of the cast is at.

Don't stand behind a horse, Logan. Lucky you have a healing factor.

[cloudy-em]

Hi there! I got a request for Lip, if you don't mind 🥺

Reader is friends with either Fiona or Ian (she's the same age as Lip though), and one evening, she's dragged to the house for dinner (she's also very shy, very), so they meet and he just can't help but flirt constantly to make her blush and stutter.

And maybe later on, he hears her talking to Fiona/Ian about it, saying something like not keeping her hopes up because she can't believe he could actually like her ("no one likes the shy girl" kinda thing, I had that said to me and I need some comfort for it😂).

He basically wants to prove to her that he actually likes her. Maybe he already noticed her st school or something.

Have a good day, hun 🤘

of course!! glad to provide some comfort <3 i was the same way all from like elementary to high school so i get it! have a great day, too, thanks for the request <3

ages are pretty inconsistent in the show, but i think in season 3 he's like 18? i don't write characters when they're minors, so the reader and lip are both 18 years old and they're seniors in this! so this is set in like season 3ish i guess.

xxxxxxxxx

Ian and Y/N walked through the front door of the Gallagher household. Y/N took her shoes off, following Ian to his room where they dropped off their backpacks. Even though they aren't in the same grade, they're still great friends. It started when Ian found Y/N at school one day, trying to hold herself together after being made fun of for her quiet response to a teacher's question that she had to repeat multiple times. It turned out, Ian and Y/N actually had a lot in common, and the rest was history.

Y/N wasn't over at Ian's house often. The loud and chaotic nature of his family was endearing, but she didn't quite feel comfortable enough with the other Gallaghers yet to let her walls down. Not that she was ever as loud or chaotic as the family; she was just on the quieter, shyer side, and the Gallaghers respected that.

Ian had invited Y/N over for dinner, making sure Fiona was aware. Ian and Y/N both helped her with dinner, Y/N smiling quietly to herself as Ian and Fiona laughed and joked together. They set the table, and Fiona yelled up to the rest of the family to come eat.

Frank was god knows where doing god knows what, and Kev and V were busy at the alibi, so it was just Y/N and the Gallagher kids for the night. Debbie and Carl came barreling down the stairs leaving an empty seat between them because the two had recently been arguing. Lip walked down the stairs, Liam in his arms, and helped Liam get into a high chair. He sat between Carl and Debbie, clearly sick of their argument, and sighed. Y/N was stationed between Ian and Fiona, the two she was most comfortable with. Food was distributed and everyone tried to make dinner conversation.

Y/N looked at Debbie politely as she talked about a student counsel project she was working on, trying to plan out how perfect and showstopping it would be. She smiled hearing the girl's plan; it sounded great and she had no doubt Debbie could do it. Glancing towards Lip, she noticed him watching her instead of his younger sister. There's a pause, and Lip grabs her attention.

"You look really pretty today, Y/N," he says genuinely. In response, she blushes and looks towards her lap, mumbling a thank you. Lip opens his mouth, ready to say something else, when Carl pipes up.

"Yeah! You look just like the Barbie I put on the grill earlier!" He exclaims before backtracking. "Well, you look like her before I put her on the grill. And I wouldn't grill you, you're too nice." Y/N smiled and tried not to laugh at the young boy's antics as Fiona lectured him about cruel and unusual punishment. Lip kept staring at Y/N, completely mesmerized by her shy and gentle nature. He was wracking his brain on what to say next; he didn't want to try stupid or sexual pickup lines on her. He wanted to take his time with her. He'd noticed her in his literature class in school, they both sat at the back, but on opposite sides of the room. Ian was about to kick Lip under the table for his weird behavior, knowing Y/N would be uncomfortable, but Fiona beat him to it.

"Lip, it's rude to stare, especially at our guest."

Hearing his name brought him back, and he cleared his throat. "Um, Y/N? You have Mr Harbor for Physics II, right?" he asked, curious.

"Yes, 4th period," she replied quietly. Lip smiled hearing her voice, wanting to hear it more often.

"Oh great! I have him for 6th. Do you wanna come over sometime and study together? We can work through some problems if you want, maybe do some physical experiments-" he's cut off by Carl.

"Gross, Lip, you don't propose sex in front of the family!" he yells. Lip's eyes widen.

"Oh, jesus! No no I wasn't- Y/N that's not what I meant, I- I meant just calculating projectiles with a slingshot or something, not- not THAT!" he tries to explain desperately. He really did just mean doing problems and experiments together. They're both very intelligent people, and Lip thought it was a good proposition for a subtle excuse to get to know her.

"I-it's okay, Lip, n-no worries!" Y/N felt her face and neck flush. she knew he didn't mean sex, but the idea of it made her blush. Of course she'd heard plenty of rumors around school about how good Lip Gallagher was in bed.

The meal was done pretty quickly. The family all got up, Y/N waiting until most of them left to bring her plate to the sink.

"I'll take care of the dishes, Y/N," Lip said, gently placing his hand on the small of her back. She jumped slightly, moving out of the way and nodding, heading upstairs to finish her homework. Ian follows shortly after.

Lip walked up the stairs to grab a cigarette from his desk, but paused as he caught his name.

"-and it's nice to hope for just a second that maybe, just maybe, he likes me, that he cares for me, but he doesn't, Ian! There's no way someone like Lip would ever like someone like me! He's confident and attractive and smart and girls love him! I'm just me. I'm shy and quiet and it takes me forever to warm up to people and nobody likes the shy girl," she sighed sadly. "You don't think he's trying to prank me or something, do you?" she asked Ian. Lip walked away, not realizing she felt this way.

He had to do something. He went back down the stairs, no longer set on his cigarette, rather a way to prove himself to her. He thought hard for a while, realizing it was probably just best to talk her alone. He sighed, thinking of what to say without fucking up.

Lip heard Ian yell goodbye to Y/N, and her footsteps walking towards the front door. He ran towards the front door, trying to be casual.

"Hey, I'll walk you home. Make sure you get home safe," he said, sounding more like he was making a statement rather than offering.

"Oh, um, okay. Let's go then," Y/N replied.

The walk to her house was quiet. Lip didn't know what to say. 'Hey, I've been watching you at school for the past 3 months and I haven't hooked up with anybody since I noticed you because you're all I can think about even though we've barely ever talked'? He knew he needed to say that, he just needed to find a less...aggressive way of saying it.

He walked Y/N to her door, making sure she got it unlocked. He reached out and touched her arm just as she turned to enter her house. She turned to look at him with big eyes.

"Look, Y/N. I, uh, I've noticed you at school a lot over the past couple of months, and I know you're my brother's friend, but I'd really like to get to know you better. I think you're really, really smart and you're pretty, too, and Ian talks about you all the time. You just sound like a great person and I think I have a small crush on you. I know you probably don't feel the same, but if you'd give me a chance, I think we'll get along great and we can get to know each other. Please?" He poured his heart out.

Y/N hesitated, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. "I- okay, Lip. We can get to know each other. I'm just nervous and really shy around people I don't know so I'm sorry-" he cuts her off.

"That's why we'll know each other, 'kay?" he said, gently stroking her upper arm with his thumb.

"Besides, I like shy girls."

xxxxxxx

lip x shy!reader is one of my favs thank you so much for this request! let me know if you want more of this kind of content please!

[kuschelbarr]

okay so i made a pinterest and seeing all the sonic headcanons is making me want to make my own so… SONIC HEADCANONS ‼️

Sonic is very forgetful and as such Tails puts sticky notes around their house reminding him of any errands he needs to run or things he has to do

Sonic loves to boast about Tails’ accomplishments. Sonic has the biggest ego but he’s also so proud of Tails that he will, much to Tails’ embarrassment, loudly proclaim how cool his inventions are

Amy loves going over to visit Cream and Vanilla to help out, and she loves baking with them

I don’t see people talking about Vanilla nearly enough, but i think everyone who knows her adores her and likes to help her out - she is a single mum, after all. Sonic will run errands for her, Amy will babysit Cream, Knuckles will carry her grocery bags for her, Tails will make her little gadgets and trinkets with Cream, etc. It’s all very sweet

Sonic takes a lot of naps. It doesn’t matter when or where he just plonks himself down and he’s out

Amy carries a polaroid camera around with her to take photos with her friends and then pin them to a cork board

I’ve seen this said before, but Silver is a history nerd

He’s also a giant trivia fan. He’s the kind of person that’ll memorise the dates that his favourite movies came out and then pull that fact from nowhere and his friends are all really confused as to why he knows that off the top of his head (No i’m not projecting. Shh.)

I also strongly believe Tails knows how to sew and has a sewing machine

Blaze, Shadow and Espio probably have a book club. Sometimes Tails and Silver will join them on their sessions.

Knuckles taught Amy some hand-to-hand combat. Boxing stuff, yaknow?

Blaze’s gloves are a lot tougher and more abrasive to withstand her fireballs

Sonic is a big fan of older things believe it or not. From classic fairytales and stories (thinking back to the storybook games), to retro music and 80s movies

^Side note, he also loves Michael Jackson’s music and i think he’d love Back To The Future

I also think that Silver likes Star Wars

Silver has a sweet tooth, but Blaze has a more savoury taste. Blaze’s tolerance for spicy foods is also much higher than Silv’s

Espio and Blaze are also big on candles, i think

Because Silver grew up in the literal apocalypse, i think he’s very adaptable. he’ll manage with what he’s got, and he’s very resilient

Tails prefers 2D animation to 3D. Charmy prefers 3D animation. Cream chooses to not get involved in the matter

Vector was in a band in his youth, just like he is now with Espio and Charmy. He wasn’t any better back then, but he also wears hearing aides now because he busted his hearing with his music too loud. He still hasn’t learnt his lesson from that.

Just shooting off a few for you! When my mental headspace gets worse Sonic is always my comfort fandom, so here i am, and i hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you would like more or if you had any ideas, i’m especially trying to think of some for Mighty and Ray, because they’re my special little guys goddammit.

Remember: stay way past cool!