#also this post has been queued for like two days

[akkivee]

nobody asked but these are probably my favourite live looks hayama-san gave us lol

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: May 14

"Diamond on a Landmine” by Billy Talent

[blizzardfluffykpop]

As a Kpop fan now, if you've been here since at least 2021/2022ish~ you've outlived 2 apps. V Live and Universe, congrats, you don't get anything, but you can say you've outlived them.

[bts-hyperfixation]

What do you think the boys would've done on their last nights with their significant others before joining the military?

Some of these are last nights, others are full days. Also only Taes has explicit smut mention, although most mention sex in some fashion

Please send me asks to keep me motivated while I'm off work! Thirsty thoughts, Most likely to, reactions, life updates, and general gibberish welcomed!!

Namjoon: 

I think Namjoon would've wanted a quiet night. He was probably stuck at work trying to finish plans on that Instagram account that's still posting and maybe fiddling with the album we know he started. But he would have tried his hardest to put it down and return home by nine to spend time with his loved one. His partner would be waiting for him with a simple takeaway on the table and maybe a TV show they had been watching together queued up. They'd stay cuddled on the couch for the longest time. They'd maybe fall around but not get anywhere (Something Namjoon regrets by day 3 in the barracks), maybe they intended to have sex one last time before he left but neither wanted to acknowledge it was actually the last time. He would talk about how this was ridiculous, it's not like they'd be 18 months without one another, just a couple of months at a time is all... And then he'd get sad and introspective. They'd fall asleep on the sofa because going to bed would bring their last night to an end and Namjoon doesn't want to willingly relinquish that time. 

Seokjin: 

I think he hired out a restaurant he and his partner like, maybe even their first date restaurant. The partner actually panicked that Jin was going to propose the night before he left and was ready to yell at him if he pulled out a ring. Jin sets up multiple proposal cliches throughout the evening giving his partner a heart attack each time while he acts nonchalant about it, pretending he doesn't know why they are getting worked up. This is stuff like a jewellery box on the table (It's a necklace), A gem in the champagne (It's tiny ice), He kneels by the table (and ties his shoe). They take a long walk by the river after dinner, his partner increasingly exasperated but still very fond. He finally does pull out a ring, but he insists it's only a promise ring and the real ring will be given to them on June 14th 2024 (Doesn't want to share the anniversary). The evening probably ended with some very slow, heavy eye-contact, love-making

Yoongi:

Disclaimer - I'm not 100% sure if Yoongi had to go anywhere for any length of time... but this is written as if he were doing the same as the other boys. 

He cooked dinner, something he is gonna claim is simple, but he took all day to make it. He also lay the table with a white tablecloth, dimmed all the lights and set out candles. Flower petals lead you through different stations of the apartment. First appetizers and cocktails on the sofa so his partner can talk about their day, then to the table for the main course, to the bathroom where bubbly and strawberries await next to a warm bath for two, and finally to bed for dessert. Which actually meant dessert, there's a snack platter of sweets in the centre of the bedspread and a movie queued up on the TV. the movie wasn't really watched... but the thought was there.

Hoseok: 

I feel like Hobi made an entire day out of it, he set aside time to make sure he only had his significant other to focus on and made sure his SO did the same so they were uninterrupted. Then he locked them into their apartment, only opening the door to bring in food deliveries. The day starts with lazy morning sex. Then breakfast. Then lazy shower sex. Then maybe some TV time, where his hands remain firmly on his partner as if they are going to disappear the second he lets them go. The SO convinces him to go for a walk at lunchtime, they hold hands the entire time. Hoseok has them sit in his lap when they return home. Just wants to be permanently close. The third round of sex is definitely more driven, like he has a point to prove and doesn't want his SO to forget what exactly it is they are going to be waiting so patiently for. 

Jimin: 

Jimin took his SO back to his home town a couple of days before. Maybe spent some time with his family in Busan, had a very nostalgic craving for his parents cooking and took his SO along for the ride. They do stuff he liked to do as a kid, visiting places that he wouldn't be easily recognised. He's anxious, and jumpy, and clingy a lot of the time. He keeps asking his partner if they are going to be okay when really it's his own insecurity. Jimin had someone drive them in a nice car back to Seoul in the early afternoon so they had the evening together, they probably fooled around in the car as he tried to keep himself occupied. He let them hold his hand while he had his head shaved, needing the familiar reassurance. He took a break to show Army his hair, but the SO is hiding behind the camera. Then the evening is spent quietly, wrapped together to enforce the fact that they aren't going anywhere.

Taehyung: 

He came up with so many different plans for what he wanted to do that by the time the day came around he hadn't actually implemented any of them. And sure he is Taehyung of BTS, if he had made a couple last minute phonecalls he could have made anything happen but he decides the lack of plans is exactly what was meant to be. He runs on pure unplanned whims and ends up taking his SO to absolutely anywhere that pops into his mind in the most chaotic fashion. They go to the movies (Something everyone's already seen so no one else is there) (they may spend most of it making out in the back). They go to an arcade (An old buddy of Tae's owns it and makes sure they get an hour uninterrupted). They eat lunch at the SO's favourite restaurant. Eventually, they go home and Taehyung spends hours between his lover's thighs, trying to immortalise the taste of them in his brain before he no longer has the access he so desperately craves. They probably also have a lot of sex. He falls asleep insisting on cockwarming, convincing his partner the UTI will be worth it with the Tata mic face. 

Jungkook:

It takes a while for his SO to convince him to do anything at all because "What's wrong with in my arms in my bed forever?" (And he's right, nothing wrong with that and if his SO don't want it I volunteer). He convinced them to snuggle back down with him at least three times until lunch rolled around and they insisted he get up with them to go somewhere. They never end up leaving the house. Every time his SO goes to put on a shirt, Jungkook grabs it and throws it somewhere it can't be easily recovered. There was one in the sink with the dirty dishes, one mixed with the already dirty laundry, and another hanging from a light fixture they would both need a ladder to reach. Eventually, the SO has to relent because they won't have any shirts to say goodbye in the following day. So they succumb to his wishes (Although they make him go out to fetch food first). He holds on to them possessively throughout the day, pulling as much of them against him as is reasonable at any given time. I fully believe Jungkook would crawl into the skin of an SO if he thought it was possible. 

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[handwrittenhello]

i think its kind of ridiculous to think that homestucks are seriously using bots in this poll because why the hell would they bot this poll instead of the tumblrwoman poll which was the poll EVERYBODY in the hs fandom was actually making a big deal out of . also because im going to be real but i dont think anyone cares about polls enough to rig one? even the bayonetta/miku poll turned out to actually not be vriska voter fraud (most people in the homestuck fandom voted miku anyway) i think people are just unable to comprehend that a lot of people are still dormantly into homestuck & probably just saw vriska serket at the front of the trending disco elysium tag and thought it was funny. like oh my godddd no one cares enough about the outcome of this poll to bot it . somebody with a lot of followers probably just posted about it on twitter or something mundane like that its not that deep . a lot of people on tumblr have read homestuck its not extraordinary that a lot of vriska voters exist. disco elysium fans im sorry your blorbo is losing you’ll probably be back in the lead in a couple hours anyway all of you need to chill out‼️‼️‼️

answering only this ask about the cheating/botting, and no others, because i'm getting a lot of asks about it. congratulations, this contest has officially had all the fun sucked out of it.

here's data i've been collecting for every poll i've run. it's organized by votes the character received per round, then the total number of votes on that poll, for all five rounds. then there are two columns for totals.

the next five columns, Notes 1-5, are the number of notes on each poll. i've highlighted two posts that were circulated with a greater-than-average frequency even after the poll ended (the loki/JC one because people were memeing on JC, and then HDB/Howl one because it gained popularity following a popular blogger reblogging it.)

V/N is the votes to notes ratio for each poll. it was taken by dividing the number of votes when the poll ended by the number of notes on each post. one limitation is that this was not taken at the same time each day, and so older posts will have slightly higher notes. however, i believe this uncertainty isn't enough to discount the conclusions i'll come to.

i've highlighted vriska's V:N ratio in red at the top. as you can see, round vriska's V:N ratio wasn't even the highest; she beat kaeya alberich easily, and the comments in the notes reflected that.

in round 2, things started to get interesting. this is where i and other people noticed a sudden flip, but i didn't think much of it. she was up against izzy hands. izzy was leading all day, and when i queued the next day's poll and went to bed, izzy was leading by 60%. when i woke up, it had flipped to 53/47 in vriska's favor. it's not a HUGEamount, but it is a NOTICEABLE amount.

keep in mind that every single day, there have been other, closer polls, that hovered around 49-50-51 all day, and which also flipped at the end of the day, or remained 50/50 and could only be determined by tumblr. in these cases, the notes also reflect the split. these polls also never swayed more than one or two percent.

in round 3, when vriska faced zuko, there was a clear and immediate lead for zuko, with him leading by 80%. keep in mind that by this point, all 28 other polls i ran, besides vriska's the day before, never swayed more than 1 or 2% once a clear lead had been established.

this poll went from 80/20 zuko to 59/41 vriska. that's RIDICULOUS. the only way that's possible is if an OVERWHELMING amount of people voted vriska and NO people voted zuko. for such a thing to happen, this post would need to spread really rapidly, right? surely this post had tens of thousands of notes and comments!

the V:N ratio for round 3 is TWENTY-SEVEN to one. that's the most out of any poll. the standard deviation for the round 3 polls is 9.0, compared to 4.8 and 4.9 the days before. not to mention reading those notes also does not get us an overwhelming amount of comments rooting for vriska.

today has also been highly suspicious. it started out with an 85/15 lead for harry. i wouldn't necessarily expect it to hold exactly at that percentage, but the flip was immediate and drastic. you can see the trend being tracked on this post. not at all suspicious, right? also note that the comments all day have been 95% rooting for harry and maybe 5% for vriska.

please also look at the GRAND TOTAL column, which has reliably predicted the winners of future polls each day. vriska has received 49,064 votes over the course of the whole contest. harry has received 64,644. that's 24% more votes. and yet the poll is locked at 50/50?

and if this isn't enough evidence for you, then remember the tumblr sexywoman poll. it is a FLAT FUCKING FACT that those polls were spammed by bots. out of respect for their privacy i won't go into detail, but they outright admitted it.

TO CONCLUDE,

it's pretty fucking obvious that something is up, and although i admit that there's simply no concrete way of proving it, there would have to be a really standout explanation for this.

and besides this being super lame, it's also removed all the fun from this contest. it's a stupid tumblr poll that wins literally nothing, congratulations!

also, to everyone making death threats in the notes, BOTH SIDES, you've failed my secret challenge of not being rude which means i'm judging you personally. be fucking nice.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: G for Grinding

Summary: Your famous last words: "until my thighs fall off"

Notes:~700 words, @dragon-kazansky sent me this photo and I just... I needed to write something about it. Also happy father's day cause Dream is daddy :)

Warnings/Tags: MDNI - 18+, riding sweet Morpheus, he guides you through it, overstimulation, queued post I'm still on hiatus

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“Make me proud, little one,” Morpheus’ voice brings you out of your post-orgasmic haze. 

Your hips begin to move again, grinding down on his cock as it brushes against the sensitive muscles of your twitching cunt. 

“Just like that,” He sighs below you, running a lithe finger down the length of your sweat-filled spine. “Indulge me. You can do more, I know you can, just like that,” Dream murmurs into your hair as he guides your hips above him. 

You crane your neck to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide in lust and desire. The room is penetrating with the smell of sex and arousal as you continue to fuck yourself into oblivion on his dick. 

You whine out as your muscles tremble from overexertion. How… how many orgasms has it been? How many has he taken from you? “I can’t, I can’t anymore!” You plea. 

Dream’s lips ghost over yours but stop short. “What did you say before this, my dear?” 

You shake your head with a whimper, hands gripping at his shoulders to stabilize yourself. Your hips are still moving on their own, the subdued pleasure racking through your body. 

“Let me help you remember,” He smirks and taps his fingers on your thighs. “Ride me until your thighs fall off, was it?” 

You’re shaking your head no while a powerful thrust from underneath has you keening and throwing your head back in pleasure. Dream’s hand finds itself amongst the roots of your hair, pulling harder and latching his lips to the canvas of your neck. 

He’s content with the number of bruising blossoms of love bites that is the beauty of your neck, but he tells himself that there could always be more. 

“Please, please,” You’re not sure what you’re asking for any more, the words tumbling out of your mouth. 

His sincerity is braided between pride and hubris as he watches you continue to move above him. Sweat clings to your hairline and mixes with the dry tears on your lashes. 

“Do you need help cumming, little one?” He hums as he sees your pupils dilate further. His fingers leave your hair, snaking between your slick bodies instead. 

Morpheus could stay like this forever, with nothing between your bodies except for the mixture of cum and love between the two of you. He loves watching your face scrunch as you convulse around him. 

It didn’t matter what part of him, whether his dick, fingers, or tongue, it’s all the same. The face you make, the screams you cry when you lose yourself to ecstasy is something he can watch over and over again without getting tired of. 

He presses down on your lower stomach and feels himself underneath, a small smile grows on his face. You nod feverishly as another plea tumbles out of your lips.  

“Here?” He asks sweetly as his thumb presses into your swollen clit. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” You chant, your fingers rake down the length of his arm.

You have newfound energy with the promise of yet another orgasm on the horizon. Morpheus plays with the flesh, never keeping to the same pattern. He alternates between pinching, to circling, to simply tapping at the abused clit. 

“Please,” You sob again, clenching around him.

Dream groans underneath you but listens for once. His fingers fall in pattern to his thrusts, holding onto your harder as your walls begin to tighten around his cock. 

“Just like that, you are perfect,” He praises roughly into your eyes. 

His words trip you over, your orgasm burning through you like a forest fire. Your body finds itself between heaven and Earth as the pleasure racks to each nerve ending. It engrains itself into your system and memory as Dream finishes himself, holding you flush to his hips as he releases his cum into the deepest part of you. 

Goosebumps pop across your arms as Morpheus’ slender arms wrap themselves around your overheating body. Despite the embrace, it cools you down as he shushes your overstimulated sobs into his neck. 

“Did‒did I do good?” You hiccup, your eyelids growing heavy.

“Perfect, you did perfectly,” He praises once again.

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[mendeshoney]

you know my weakness is you (act two)

author's note: um...hello? is this thing on? sorry i've been away and that it took me a literal year and a few days to post part two to this story. also i meant to post this eariler but i am at home visiting family so i didn't realize this was not queued to post in est until literally right now. i appreciate everyone's love and patience in the meantime and hope you enjoy!

as a reminder - this character is a WOC and is plus sized bc...well, that's what I know as a person and it's kinda time I start actually trying to write like it. so let's just pretend there's a world where POC plus sized hockey wags can exist, mkay? i'm also manipulating some of the other wags of the team, so, that is also happening.

tags/warnings in no particular order: 18+, angst, enemies to lovers, miscommunication, unintentional secrets, insecurity, original female character, WOC character, consensual unprotected sex

word count: ~14,125

(read act one here)

When Mat sleeps, he dreams of Summer.

Mat dreams of her, craves her, wants nothing more than to have and to hold her.

He dreams of the words his captain spoke to him almost a week ago.

I’m telling you not to take this risk. This whole ‘I hate you but now I like you’ risk. And especially not with Summer.

She can’t go through that again.

And whether you want to admit it or not, there’s something between the two of you, and if it goes wrong, it’s going to be really, really bad.

If you’re not serious about her, leave her alone.

He thinks back through all of the horrible things he’d ever said to her, how even though he knew in his heart he was miles ahead of her shitty ex, he still wasn’t the type of person to deserve her, but dammit, that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to try.

Mat knows that he seriously wants Summer. Wants her desperately, has wanted her since the moment they met even though she pushed him away. And he’d wanted just one chance to prove to her that he’d make it worth her while, and he got more than enough.

Except now, it seemed his captain was going to be the one to put a stop to it.

After Mat had slept with Summer and Anders had given Mat his words of warning, the captain backed it up after practice a couple of days later, making it very clear to Mat how he felt about the idea.

“I can see in your eyes you’re not hearing what I said, so I’ll repeat it. Stay away from Summer.”

Mat had blinked at Anders, completely shocked and also thankful they were having this discussion away from the rest of the team.

“What?”

“Stay away, Mat.” Anders repeated, more serious and almost angry. “It’s not that I don’t like you, and it’s not that I don’t think you’re a good person. But you cannot be with Summer. At all.”

Mat bit back his snarky response, instead choosing his words carefully. “Is this about Sabrina?”

Anders shook his head. “This isn’t about Sabrina. This is about Summer.”

“What, are you in love with her or something?”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. Anders’ nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes at Mat, jabbing a finger into Mat’s chest.

“Listen, Mat. I’ve known Summer since she was sixteen, she’s been my little sister in every sense of the word just as much as she’s been Sabrina’s, and I’ve seen her go through way too much and put up with way too much to allow you to come in just because she’s suddenly single and you’ve suddenly got the notion that you can do better than her ex boyfriend. I’m telling you right now, based on what I’ve seen? How your dynamic works? You can’t. And I don’t want you dating her.”

“That’s not up to you.” Mat said, moving Anders’ hand away. “That’s Summer’s choice. If she wants to be with me, she can be.”

“Then make it her choice not to be with you.” His captain responded, and it was exactly the ultimatum it sounded like. 

“And how do you propose I do that?” Mat bit back sarcastically. 

“You’ve been bickering since you met, and you’ve not done a single thing for her that shows that you care about her, or that you like her. Just because you slept with her once doesn’t mean you’re in love and need to be in a relationship. That’s not how it works.”

Mat scoffed. “Why are you speaking to me like I’m a kid?” 

“Because you’re acting like one.” Anders spat. “You’re acting like a child who thinks he’s in love after one time.”

“What if I’ve loved her the whole time?” Mat countered, completely serious.

Anders didn’t even blink, just laughed and shook his head. “Love? You’re joking, right? None of what you have is love, Mat. It’s not, it never has been, and it never will be. I’m telling you right now, before you take it any further, before it gets too deep. Stay. Away.”

Before Mat could respond, could tell Anders to either go fuck himself or try to plead his case, his captain walked away, and Mat knew in his gut he meant every word.

But…it already is too deep.

And he’s about to disobey his captain.

~

Despite her better judgment, Summer finds herself smiling when she walks into the small cafe shop, seeing Mat tucked into a table in the corner with her favorite iced coffee and favorite breakfast plate already ordered and sitting in front of him alongside his own order.

He’d texted her this morning, almost a week since they’d last seen one another, suggesting that they meet up to talk about what had happened in her room at Sabrina’s house.

When he’d given her the best two orgasms she’d ever had in her life, then asked her not to run, admitted to her that he liked her.

Mat Barzal.

Liked her. 

The thought made her both giddy and confused at the same time, admittedly completely unfamiliar with the rush of butterflies she’d been feeling everytime she found herself thinking about Mat, or reading a text from him.

They hadn’t seen each other since that time in her bedroom, Mat being too busy with pre-season training and practice, and Summer didn’t completely mind it. She had work as well, and was still helping Sabrina and Anders out with their wedding planning. 

Even so, seeing him after a week almost felt like she hadn’t seen him in months, and Summer knew in her heart that was probably something she should pay attention to a little more.

The butterflies, the anticipation, the giddiness - it was all quite a bit considering their history, but there was a part of it that just kind of…made sense?

Sabrina had teased her the night before when she’d been over to help her finalize the floral arrangement details. “It’s like when mom used to tell us that the boys who picked on us only did it because they liked us.”

Summer had laughed a little, and Anders, who had been sitting with them to finalize the boutonniere designs for the men’s tuxedos, had scoffed. “They’re not kids though, babe.”

Anders had seemed…apprehensive, to say the least, about her and Mat, but when Summer had asked him about it, Anders had just said “I’m not worried,” so she left it at that. Whatever it meant.

The closer she got to the table where Mat was sitting though, the more all of her concerns and worries faded away. 

Mat looks up as she approaches, pocketing his phone and giving Summer a wide smile. He stands to greet her, his hands cupping her face and offering her sweet kisses, murmuring how he thinks she looks pretty today in between each peck.

She’s sure she’s blushing beneath the bronze of her skin, and the smile she gives him in return is probably showing just how happy she feels at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No need to be sorry princess,” he says. “You’re right on time.”

Summer smiles, taking her seat across from him and taking a sip of her coffee.

Mat watches her with a smile on his face, laying his hand out on the table, palm up. She raises a brow, but puts her hand in his anyway, waiting.

“We should probably talk about all this, shouldn’t we?” He says.

Summer shrugs, “If you want to.”

“I just want to know that you want this, too.” Mat offers, playing with the rings decorating her fingers. “We don’t have to talk, because as far as I’m concerned, if we both want this, then there’s nothing to talk about.”

She assesses Mat quietly as she takes in his words, thinking about the dynamics of their relationship.

“I think we maybe owe it to each other to at least clear the air, don’t you?” 

He nods, thumb rubbing the back of her hand gently. “I’ll start. I never hated you, not even a little bit. You got on my nerves a little, but I never hated you. I think I just acted that way because I thought you hated me first.”

Summer blinks a little, not expecting that right away. “I didn’t hate you, Mat.”

“It kind of felt like it.” He admits, but his eyes are playful, letting Summer know he’s not upset by it.

She thinks back to the day they met. His curious gaze as it ran over her body, how back then she couldn’t handle scrutiny like that from anyone, good or bad, because she could only ever see it as bad. 

A man like Mat looking at a plus size woman of color like Summer didn’t exactly always spell out happy endings.

She’d let her insecurities get the better of her then, let it push them both into something that maybe neither of them wanted. 

But still, they’d gotten here in the end, didn’t they?

“I think I just…I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She admits. “I never hated you either, I think I just felt…unsure.”

“Of me?” 

“Maybe you, maybe myself. I don’t know.” She says.

“Well now that it’s established that we don’t hate each other, and that you know that I like you, how do you feel?”

Butterflies.

Anticipation.

Giddiness.

Like a teenager in love for the first time.

Summer ignores all of that and shrugs playfully. “I suppose I might like you, too.”

The kilowatt smile that breaks out on Mat’s face is one Summer is probably going to remember for the rest of her life. He’s looking at her like she just hung the sun, moon, and the stars in the galaxy, crafting the heavens and given it to him.

“I can work with that.” He says, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it gently. “I’ll be happy to work with that.”

Her heart hammers in her chest, and as they dig into their breakfast, she can’t help but feel like she should’ve made this decision a lot sooner.

~

Mat wakes up to Summer cuddled against his side, and he quickly silences his alarm, wishing for nothing more than the opportunity to lay in bed with her for the rest of the day - the rest of time at this point.

Carefully, he untangles himself from her, making sure she’s sound asleep and tucked back in while he heads to the bathroom to start getting ready for training and practice. Once he’s brushed his teeth, he heads out and into the kitchen, going about making himself breakfast and getting food ready for Summer for when she wakes up later.

He checks his phone, spotting a text from Anders in the team group chat reminding everyone of the start time today at the facility. 

Mat tries not to get pissed off before the day even starts.

Anders has been nothing but a pain in his ass since he and Summer started seeing one another, almost as if he knows Mat never had any intention of listening to him and knows that Summer’s been in his bed nearly every night since that conversation.

Whatever. Mat doesn’t give a shit.

He’s not a kid, Anders isn’t his dad, and he’s not Summer’s keeper. He and Summer can do whatever they want, and if Anders wants to throw his weight around as captain Mat can handle it, but he’s not giving Summer up.

Once he’s about ready to go, he heads back into his bedroom to grab a hoodie and his gym bag, surprised to find that Summer’s awake, laying on her side, putting her phone down and greeting him with a soft smile when he steps inside. 

Mat’s heart literally nearly leaps from his chest to lay at her side.

Her curly hair rests on the pillow beneath her like a gentle halo, full breasts pushing at the fabric of Mat’s shirt she wore to bed. His shirt’s risen up a little and is showing a glimpse of the skin of her stomach, the blankets pooled a little bit above her waist.

She beckons Mat to her playfully, and he goes easily, climbing onto the bed and kissing her without a second to waste, slightly surprised by the minty taste of her mouth.

“You've been up long?” He murmurs to her, and she shakes her head.

“Maybe about ten minutes or so?” She says. “I thought you’d already left, so I was getting ready to go see Sabrina.”

“More wedding stuff today?” He asks, bending his head and pushing her hair over her shoulder so he can leave soft kisses on her neck.

She nods, letting out content sounds as his lips move. “Yeah, figuring out the seating chart for Anders’ side.”

Mat pauses at that, and pulls back, staring at Summer curiously. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Anders voicing his recent distaste for Mat to her, but still.

“Has he been different towards you? You know, since we…” His voice trails off.

Summer shakes her head. “Not really? He seemed apprehensive about it, but he hasn’t been different. Why? Has he said something to you?”

Mat hesitates, unsure of what and how much to tell Summer.

“He’s…not exactly happy about the two of us at the minute.” Mat begins, but as he speaks, he can see the fire in Summer’s eyes begin to build. Since he’s all too familiar with where that might lead, he immediately backtracks, making the decision to not tell her the whole truth. “It’s fine, just…maybe don’t talk about us in front of or around him for now, okay?”

“Don’t?” Summer asks, and at the fact that Mat can see the fire dissipate for a little, he nods, still careful with his words. 

“Not that I want to keep us a secret, or anything like that, I just don’t want him to say something to you about it, or have him get upset at you. He’s just trying to be a good brother in law, is all, I’m sure. Just let me handle it, okay?”

Summer nods, smiling sweetly. “Okay, I won’t say anything, I promise.”

Mat smiles, kissing her again, not complaining when Summer turns the kiss a little dirty, running her tongue against his lips gently. He pulls away again, quickly checking the time on his phone and smirking when he sees he’s got about fifteen minutes before he absolutely has to leave.

He really only needs five.

When he looks back at her, he’s got a cheshire grin on his face that Summer’s eyes twinkle at. 

“Are you still in the same state you went to bed in?” He asks. 

Summer smiles, nodding. Mat immediately rips the covers off of her, exposing her bare lower half, and Mat’s cock throbs at the memory.

Last night, after they’d showered and gotten ready for bed, Mat had cuddled up against her, wrapped her in his arms and tried very hard to not focus on how soft she felt against him, about how good it felt to have her there, how warm her body was.

She’d rested her leg on his waist, propping herself open, and Mat had dipped his fingers under the blanket to play with her, his sanity completely disappearing when he felt how wet she was for him. He’d torn her underwear off her not long after, fucking her slow and gentle until she shook in his embrace, his name falling from her lips in satisfaction.

Now, he shuffles himself down the bed till he’s nestled between her beautiful thighs, and Summer looks down at him curiously.

“Thought you had to leave for practice?”

“I’ve got plenty of time,” he says. “Plus, this is way more important than practice.”

Summer starts to protest, maybe to say something smart back to him, but whatever her response was going to be dies on her lips the second Mat’s mouth latches onto her skin.

~

Summer feels like she’s practically skipping as she heads into Sabrina’s house, bouncing off the balls of her feet in happiness. 

After Mat had managed to coax about three orgasms out of her just with his mouth and fingers before leaving for practice this morning, she felt like she could just about do anything. Especially with the way he speaks to her the whole time.

She’d enjoyed bickering with him before all of this, but it wasn’t until she reflected on the first two times they’d fooled around that she realized Mat loves dirty talk, and that he’s particularly good at it. 

The second she enters Sabrina’s house though, she shoves those thoughts aside and tries to tone down the happiness, especially with Sabrina staring at Summer like she’s got three heads.

“What are you so chipper about this morning?” Sabrina asks, eyeing her over the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee.

“Nothing,” Summer dismisses all too quickly.

“Mhm,” Sabrina says, raising a brow. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain winger, would it?”

“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t.” She responds, resting her purse on the counter and going about making a cup of coffee for herself.

“How are you two doing?”

“We’re fine,” Summer says. “Happy.”

“That’s good,” Sabrina says genuinely. “I’m glad. Anders will be happy to know you haven’t killed each other.”

At that, Summer remembers Mat’s words from this morning, and turns to her sister with a slightly serious expression. “Could you maybe…not tell him?”

Sabrina blinks at Summer. “Why?”

“I just…I know how protective he is, and I don’t think he’s a fan of the idea. I just don’t want to put Mat in a bad spot. Could you maybe just…keep it to yourself? About Mat and I?”

“You want me to keep it from my husband that my little sister and his star winger are dating?”

Summer sighs. “Please, Sabi? Just this once, I am asking you not to tell your husband every little thing about your life and mine.”

Sabrina eyes her warily, but agrees. “Alright. But is this because Mat doesn’t want anyone to know you’re dating? Or something else?”

“It’s like I said, Anders is protective, he’s not a fan, and the season’s about to start. I don’t want to put Mat in a bad spot.”

Summer can see that there’s something in Sabrina’s eyes that makes her want to push this more, to understand, but thankfully, she drops it. 

Truthfully, she’s not sure where Anders’ apprehension is coming from, or why, but it’s clear he and Mat are at odds about it, and Summer trusts Mat enough to handle it, and enjoy their time together in the meantime.

~

After practice, as Mat is walking out to his car, he hears Anders’ call his name. Internally, he groans, not wanting to deal with his bullshit right now, but he knows it’s better to just get this over with now so he doesn’t have to put up with it for the rest of the season.

He turns, his face completely deadpan as Anders approaches.

“Did you think about what I said?” Anders asks.

Mat rolls his eyes. “Yeah, been thinking about it non-stop.”

Anders doesn’t look amused. “I wasn’t joking, Mat. I meant it.”

Mat feels the instinct to ball his fists, but he refrains.

He doesn’t care that this is his friend and captain, and doesn't care how long Anders has known Summer. Anders doesn’t get to just rock up and tell Mat who he can and can’t have feelings for. 

Whatever Mat and Summer’s relationship was like in the past is theirs to work through, and if Anders doesn’t like it, then fine.

He doesn’t need to fucking know.

“I’m aware.” Mat says. “I took care of it.”

Anders raises an eyebrow. “Took care of what?”

“We’re not together.” Mat says, the lie slipping easily through his teeth. “We’re not dating, not seeing each other, not falling in love, just like you asked. Your precious sister in law is perfectly fine high in her tower.”

Anders stares at him, probably gauging to see if he’s telling the truth, but Mat’s expression doesn’t falter. After a few moments, Anders visibly relaxes. “You two fought again, didn’t you?”

Mat scoffs. “Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. That’s not the point. The point is you got what you wanted.”

“It’s for the best, Mat.” Anders insists, reaching out to rest a “captainly” hand on Mat’s shoulder, but Mat steps away, shaking his head.

“Whatever. See you tomorrow.”

Mat gets in his car, pulling out of the team lot and heading home, a smug feeling settling in his chest that Anders has no idea Summer will most definitely be waiting for him when he gets there.

~

“You got a little something on your face, Princess” Mat says, “Riiight…here,” and leaning in, he drops his spoon into his bowl of ice cream, grabs Summer’s face between his hands, and peppers kisses all over her face, working from one corner of her mouth to the other.

Summer giggles wildly beneath his lips, eyes shut tight as she tries to hold onto her own bowl and spoon under the assault of Mat’s kisses. 

She felt like her laugh lines were getting deeper and deeper with each passing day she spent with Mat, wrapped up in his embrace or under the constant receiving end of his affection and attention. It had been a little over a month of this now, this work in progress relationship. 

From what she knew, things between Anders and Mat were still a bit tense, but Mat reassured her that things were fine. It was just Anders finding it difficult to have a teammate date a family member, Mat had explained to her, and that he just needed time to come to terms with it. Summer could understand, so to be safe, and to make it easier on everyone, she continued to avoid speaking about Mat around Anders, and even shared a little less with Sabrina, just in case.

Knowing Sabrina, it only took a couple of glasses of wine for her to spill the beans, so it was better to say less than say more.

There had been a couple of times that they’d all been at Anders and Sabrina’s house, Summer there for wedding things and Mat there for team things, when they’d sneak off and fool around for a little bit with no one being the wiser, but Summer found it more fun than anything.

They’d just gotten back from a dinner date a little bit ago, Mat making them ice cream sundaes to have for dessert before bed after Summer admitted she had a small craving.

Once he finishes his onslaught of kisses, Mat reaches for the canister of whipped cream, spraying a little more onto her bowl and his own before digging back in. 

The TV’s playing a movie on Netflix, and when he turns his attention back to the screen, it brings Summer’s eyes to the time on his DVR box.

“Don’t forget we have dinner tomorrow night at Sabrina and Anders’ house.”

Mat groans. “Their pre-wedding late engagement party thing, right?”

Summer hums in confirmation, taking another bite of her ice cream. “Yeah. They didn’t throw one when they first got engaged since they were in Marbella, so they’re having it now while some of Anders’ family is in town for the home opener.”

“Speaking of the home opener,” Mat says, then puts his bowl down, walking off to his room before coming back, an Islanders Pro Shop bag in his hand. He hands it to Summer, who eyes it warily.

“Is this what I think it is?” She asks.

Mat shrugs, grabbing his bowl and digging back in. “What do you think it is?”

“An Islanders branded dildo?”

Mat chokes in surprise as Summer laughs, enjoying how easy it is to make him flustered.

She turns the bag upside down and is only mildly surprised when the jersey falls into her lap, the bright blue and orange and white staring at her like a neon sign.

“Would you prefer that I wear this?” She asks. “Are you going to ask me to only wear this once we get back home?”

Mat laughs, shaking his head as he puts his finally empty bowl to the side. “You wear whatever you want, baby, however you want to wear it.”

Summer smiles at him, then pauses. “Wearing this to the game probably wouldn’t be a good idea, what with Anders and all.”

Mat frowns. He’d clearly forgotten about that part, but shrugs. He reaches over, playing with the hem of Summer’s dress where it rests against her thigh. “Then I suppose you will have to wear it once we get home.” 

Summer smirks as Mat moves and wraps a hand around her ankle, maneuvering her until she’s laying with her back on the floor, watching him through curious eyes.

“And what else would you propose I wear?” She asks, watching as Mat removes her underwear and then reaches for the whipped cream canister, squirting out a dollop onto her clit.

“Nothing, if we’re being honest.” He says, rearranging himself to lay between her legs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Princess, it’s a little rude to talk with my mouth full.”

Summer’s giggles dissipate into moans as Mat’s tongue licks away the whipped cream, the fabric of his jersey gripped tightly between her fingers as he enjoys his second dessert.

~

Mat leans back against the sofa in Sabrina and Anders’ living room, a little bit of tension leaving his shoulders now that Anders’ family has left and it’s just a few guys from the team, some of Sabrina’s friends, and Summer left behind. 

Everyone’s settled into the living room to wind down and chat a little before they all head home, and Mat watches as Anders’ has to keep a hand on Sabrina’s waist while she sits down. Summer told him that she’d had three glasses of wine because of how nervous she still got around Anders’ family, but it hardly affected her throughout the night. Now though, it seemed that since his family was gone, the anxiety and nerves were also gone, and the wine was catching up to her pretty quickly.

Summer was the last to make her way into the living room, and after a quick scan, found the only open seat left was next to Mat on the sofa. He was aware of Anders’ stare the entire time Summer made her way over, only breaking away once Summer sat down and Sabrina said something to him.

Mat barely listened to the conversation going on around him, too aware of the fact that Anders was watching them both like a hawk and that he was trying his best to behave. 

At one point, Summer must have started to feel exhausted, because he could hear the way her breathing began to even out, and then, her head gently landed on his shoulder. Tito saw it as well from his spot, and smiled at Mat.

That drew Sabrina’s attention, and she cooed, reaching out to gently wake Summer.

“Been a long day hasn’t it babes?” Sabrina asked, and Summer blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

“Sorry,” she says, then recognizing she’s still leaning against Mat, she blushes, smiling shyly when she repeats “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, trying to seem flippant about it. “I don’t mind.”

“You two are such a cute couple.” Sabrina says through a laugh as she observes them, and the silence that follows is almost deafening.

“Who?” Tito asks stupidly. 

“Summer and Mat, obviously.” Sabrina says, and the second it’s out of her mouth, realization hits and her expression changes.

Damn wine.

“I mean-” Sabrina tries to backtrack, but it’s too late.

“Mathew, can I speak to you for a moment? Outside.” Anders says, his tone of voice making it clear that it’s not a request, but a demand. 

Anders heads out to the backyard, and Summer looks at Mat wearily. “Mat, you don’t-”

“No, it’s okay, Princess.” He promises, pressing a kiss to her temple and ignoring the apologetic look Sabrina tosses his way. He heads out after Anders without another word, walking up to where he’s waiting by the pool bar.

“What the fuck did you do?” Anders demands, pushing Mat the second he gets closer.

Mat finds restraint deep in his well of patience, deciding it would still not be a good idea to punch his captain in the face. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been seeing Summer? This whole time, you’ve been dating?”

“Maybe we have. What does it matter to you?” 

“I told you to stay away from her.” Anders spits, pointing a finger in Mat’s face. “I told you to stay away and you didn’t listen. And you somehow thought hiding this behind my back was a good idea?!”

“And I told you that you didn’t get to tell me who I did and didn’t get to have feelings for.” 

Anders laughs bitterly. “Oh so now it’s feelings? At the beginning of all this you said you were in love with her, and now it’s just feelings? Make up your mind, Mat.”

“I do have feelings for her! I do love her!”

“No you fucking don’t,” Anders spits. “You haven’t loved her a single day since you started sneaking around and lying about this relationship.”

“What else was I supposed to do? You made it very clear you didn’t want me around her and I made it very clear that that wasn’t your choice to make. So I did what you asked and let Summer make the choice for us both.”

“What is he talking about?”

Summer’s voice cuts through the night air like a knife to the gut, and Mat turns to find her staring at the both of them. 

She looks like an angel, hair blowing in the wind, the skirt of her dress flowing out beside her, the backyard lights casting a heavenly glow around her. 

But it’s her face that breaks Mat’s heart. Her face says she heard everything, and even though she’s standing right there, Mat can tell she’s already a million miles away from him. 

God dammit.

He couldn’t catch a fucking break today, could he?

“Summer,” Anders says, using his brotherly voice with her. “Go back inside.”

“No,” she says, and the tone of voice she’s using is one she’s only ever used against Mat when they used to be at odds. 

That used to feel like a lifetime ago, but Mat knows for sure that it’s probably coming back to him sooner than he’d like. 

“Summer-” Anders tries again, but Summer won’t hear it.

“No,” she repeats, taking a step closer to them. “You told him to stay away from me? Tried to stop him from dating me?”

“I was just trying to-” 

Summer holds up a hand, effectively silencing Anders, then turns to Mat. “And you. You said you wanted to keep quiet about us until you and Anders reached an understanding. But really, the whole time, you told him we weren’t seeing each other?”

“Summer, I can explain, I-”

“You said you didn’t want to keep us a secret.” She continues talking like Mat never said a single word. “But really, you just didn’t want to be the one keeping a secret. You wanted me to do it for you.”

The night air is suddenly heavy and silent, Anders and Mat staring at the ground in shame, nothing left to say. 

Summer scoffs bitterly. “Unbelievable.”

The click of her heels on the pavement has Mat’s head snapping up, his feet immediately moving when he sees she’s walking away. Anders is hot on their heels, following as Summer heads back into the house, noticing Sabrina and the others with their attention on Summer as she heads for her purse, then straight for the door.

“Summer?” Sabrina asks, concerned.

Summer says nothing, and Mat calls for her, but she keeps walking.

The three of them follow Summer out to the driveway, and Mat breaks into a sprint then, managing to get in front of her to block her path. 

“Princess please, just listen for a second-”

“Get out of my way, Mathew.” She says.

It’s the tone of voice that almost has him frozen in his spot. There’s no anger, no heat.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Princess, I-”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry, Summer, I’m so sorry. But you don’t understand, I just wanted us to-”

“It doesn’t matter.” She says, placing a hand on his chest. “I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Please move.”

Mat wants to do anything but that, but he knows he probably won’t get anywhere with her about it tonight, so he does as she asks, and steps aside. By the time Anders catches up to them, she’s in her car and backing out of the driveway.

Mat feels like she’s taking his heart with her.

~

Summer sighs, spinning in the mirror and pursuing her lips as she examines the fifth maid of honor gown Sabrina’s managed to coax her into in the last hour. 

They’re at the Vera Wang Bridal House on Fifth Avenue, where Alex, one of Sabrina’s oldest pageant friends and bridesmaids, works as the manager. She’s been diligently helping Sabrina and Summer find the right maid of honor dress with the wedding only a couple of weeks away, and also helping to talk Sabrina out of some of the more less than ideal options.

The dress Summer’s trying on now is in the exact shade of what Sabrina’s been calling “champagne rose gold,” that she picked as one of her wedding colors, a spaghetti strap gown that accentuates Summer’s curves and compliments her shape. 

But it still doesn’t feel…well, like something Summer would wear, at least not as the maid of honor to her sister’s wedding. 

“I don’t know, Sabi,” she mutters, examining the way the silk falls against her body. “I like it, but it could be better.”

She looks in the mirror towards her sister, the bride to be, watching as she frowns, cocking her head to the side. “You’re right. The Lou's nice on you but the color’s a little off.” Sabrina turns toward the rack of dresses, pointing at one of the racks and then turning to Alex, smiling sweetly when she asks “Can we see the Lourdes, the Joelle, the Evelyne, the Diane, and the Vaness?”

Summer blanches. “Not the Vaness.” 

Sabrina raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. “Why not?” 

“Sabi,” Summer deadpans. “The v-neck on that dress is deeper than the Mariana Trench. My boobs would be all over the place.”

“Your boobs would look amazing in it.” Sabi insists, turning to Alex. “Right?”

Summer sends Alex a pleading look over Sabrina’s head, and Alex smiles, shaking her head. “Your sister’s at least a 38D and the Vaness can barely hold a 36C. I’d say ax the Vaness, and if you want to see a v-neck option, we can look at the Vanetta and the Varun instead. They’re a little more stable.” 

Sabrina hums, then nods. “Alright, I’ll accept the alternative.” 

“Thank you,” Summer says with a grateful sigh, and Alex sends her a wink before pulling the six gowns off the rack and putting them in Summer’s dressing room before heading back out to join Sabrina.

When Summer shuts the dressing room door, she carefully takes off the gown she has on and puts it back on its hangar before reaching for the next one.

Just as she’s zipping up the Lourdes, her phone vibrates in her purse from where it's resting on the chair beside her. She ignores it, focusing on adjusting the sweetheart neckline and the tulle of the train of the down when it goes off again, and then again, and then again, before it starts to vibrate with the frequency of a phone call.

She assumes it’s their father, calling on behalf of their mother to pester Summer for details on the fitting since Sabrina probably won’t answer.

Sabrina and their mom had gone shopping for her ‘mother of the bride’ dress last week and Sabrina was not pleased after her mother insisted on needing three dresses - one for the ceremony, one for the cocktail hour, and one for the reception. Sabrina was still a little upset, and their dad had been playing the middle man ever since.

Fussing with the zipper with one hand, and reaching blindly in her purse for her phone with the other, Summer answers her phone without even looking, immediately saying “Tata, okay naman kami. You don’t have to keep calling, just tell mom I’ll send her a picture of my dress when I’m done. Lalo lang itong makakainis kay Sabrina.”

From outside her dressing room, she can hear Sabrina snort in agreement. 

There’s a small pause on the other line, and for a second Summer worries that she’d been on speakerphone and their mother was about to scream down the line, but then she hears someone clear their throat before they say “I uh…I’m not your dad, and I didn’t understand a lot of that.”

Summer blinks, her heart plummeting to her stomach. She lets go of the zipper of the dress that she’d finally managed to pull up, then slowly pulls her phone away from her ear. When the screen lights up, and the contact name “13” shows up on her phone, she gasps in part shock and part anger, the phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the hardwood floor of her dressing room.

She wasn’t expecting that.

He’d been silent these last couple of weeks, giving her space after everything that had happened, so him calling so suddenly was…strange. 

And Summer was definitely not prepared to speak to him today. Especially when she hadn’t sorted out how she felt and how she’d go about handling this ridiculous situation.

The noise alerts Alex and Sabrina, who Summer can hear scramble to their feet before they start knocking on the door. 

“Summer,” Sabrina calls. “Are you okay in there?”

“Do you need help?” Alex offers.

Summer takes a deep breath, trying to calm her sudden racing heart and staring at her phone in total offense. She can hear Mat going “Hello? Summer?” and prays Sabrina and Alex can’t hear him at all.

“I’m fine,” Summer croaks out. “Just dropped my phone.”

She quickly bends down, grabbing her phone and ending the call, turning off her phone, and tossing it back into her purse. Quickly, she looks in the mirror, adjusting the dress one final time and fixing her hair. 

There’s a slight flush to her cheeks, and she schools her facial expression, pointing at her reflection in the mirror as if to say “Get your shit together,” before squaring her shoulders and opening the door.

“What about this one?” Summer asks, pasting on her best “nothing to see here” smile. 

Sabrina and Alex exchange suspicious glances, and Summer promptly ignores them.

And also especially ignores the way her heart hasn’t stopped pounding in her chest since hearing Mat’s voice.

~

Mat looks down at his phone one more time, then back at Summer’s building. 

He hadn’t seen her since everything that had gone down at Sabrina and Anders’ place, and she’d been ignoring his texts and calls, save the one she definitely didn’t mean to answer the other day.

Part of him knows it’s because she’s probably upset at him and Anders for lying to her, but before, when she was upset, he was used to her arguing with him, with her still being around.

All this space and silence was new, and he didn’t like it at all.

As he approaches the front of her building, nerves start to creep in. 

What the fuck am I doing here?

The more he wondered, the more he was afraid, the more he thought about her. And the more he thought about her, the more she got under his skin, the more she invaded his dreams, the more he knew he couldn’t waste another second without seeing her, or feeling her one more time.

No matter how badly he may have fucked up. 

There’s a buzz, a loud one, that snaps him back into reality, and he’s surprised when “Come on up!” from Summer's cheery voice greets his ears.

He hears another buzz and the snick of the doors unlocking, so he rushes in without a second thought, taking the elevator to Summer’s floor. 

When he gets to her door, he knocks tentatively, noticing she’s got some door decoration hanging over her peephole, and Mat feels his gut churn irritably. 

“Coming!” Summer calls, and Mat’s heart suddenly starts to thunder in his chest. 

Hold the fuck up. Is she expecting someone?

Blood starts to boil in his veins.

She let me in without even knowing who I was.

He can hear her footsteps getting closer to the door.

Is she…is she going on a date?

The thought is irrational, he knows, but he can’t help but worry about it anyway.

There’s a distinct shattering sound that echoes in his ears. Before he even debates if he has the right to think that, let alone even think of asking it, the door opens and Mat’s eyes are graced with the stunning reality of Summer’s natural beauty.

She’s wearing an oversized graphic t-shirt that has him questioning if she’s even wearing pants, and her long beautiful curls are down, stray curls framing her face, and then those chocolate eyes are staring at him in disbelief and he just-

Fuck.

“Hi.” He breathes, heart in his stomach.

God damn she’s so fucking beautiful.

“Mat?” Summer asks, like she doesn’t believe what’s in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” He begins. “I know it’s been a minute, but-”

“It’s been almost three weeks, actually,” Summer deadpans. “And now isn’t a good time.”

“Expecting someone else?” He all but interrogates, venom quickly seeping into his voice. It’s too easy with Summer, too easy to slip back into their little game, no matter how much he doesn’t want to.

But apparently Summer doesn’t want to either. She gives no indication that she’s heard him, no obvious tell that his irritation is irritating her right back. Her full lips don’t move, remain stoic and perfect and plump and-

God does he want to kiss her.

“Yes, actually.” She tells him. “I have friends coming over, and-”

Mat goes to her before he can think about it. He’s moving into her space, backing her into her apartment and kicking her door shut behind him before he takes her in his arms, spinning them around to press her back into the door and then sinking his hands into her hair, pulling her head back, and kissing her like his life depends on it.

For a moment, time stands still when his lips meet hers. He feels like his universe was knocked off its axis without her, and being close to her again, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

All the tension, all the worry, all the “will she, won’t she,” it all falls away and disappears. 

The only thing that matters is Summer.

Relief instantly floods his veins when he feels her relax against him, when her hands land on his shoulders, and it dissipates just as quickly when she puts just enough pressure under her hands and pushes him away.

Mat backs up, hands dropping away from her altogether, even though his fingertips tingle with the need to reach for her, to bring her back.

Summer looks angry.

“No.” She says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

No no no no no he thinks. Panics.

“Summer, I-” He begins, watching her walk past him and moves further into her living room. 

“No, Mathew. You don’t do what you did and show up here and kiss me and expect me to just forgive you.”

“I’m sorry, I just meant to-”

“I know what you meant. But you still shouldn’t have done it.” Summer spits, all fire and brimstone. “You can’t come here and kiss me like I’m still your dirty little secret.”

“What?” He shakes his head, staring at Summer in disbelief. “You’re not my dirty little secret, Summer. That’s not what this was at all.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes. “Okay.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” he insists, swearing, “I just…I just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t tell me that Anders tried to enforce some stupid rule you didn’t need to listen to because you’re both grown men? Couldn’t tell me that he was being overprotective and that he told you you couldn’t be with me? Couldn’t tell me that you didn’t have the guts to tell him no to his face? What of any of that ‘couldn’t’ you do, Mat?”

Mat frowns. “He’s my captain, Summer.”

“What the fuck does that mean to me? He’s my brother in law. I could’ve handled him on my own, spoken to him and told him to back the fuck off, and Sabrina would’ve told him the same. Instead you made it sound like he knew the whole time but was just having trouble accepting it.”

“You’re right. I handled it terribly, and I’m sorry.”

She stares at him for a second, then nods. “Okay, I accept your apology, now get out.”

His stomach bottoms out. “What?”

“Just leave, Mat.” She says, shaking her head and pointing at her front door behind him. “Just leave.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know what else to do, so he just nods, doing exactly as she asks.

~

Mat lets out a frustrated groan, dropping down to the ice to lay on his back, pain running through his bones as he shuts his eyes.

He can hear a teammate skating closer to where he lays, before feeling the blade of a stick poke him in the side. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Isn’t that the fucking question of the day?

It had been a week since she’d kicked him out and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the look on her face out of his head, and he couldn’t escape the lingering tingle on his lips after kissing her after spending so much time away from her. 

The reality is that he had Summer, and then he didn’t. And though to everyone else it should seem like that’s normal, that they’ve always been at odds and don’t like each other, it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Mat never hated Summer at all, and he never wanted to keep her a secret, but he thought that was his only option, the only way to go about finally being able to have her.

And he still ended up losing her anyway. 

“Nothing.” Mat mutters, keeping his eyes shut and trying to focus on the freezing surface beneath him, wiggling his toes in his skates.

“Looks like something.” He hears Tito mutter as he skates closer. “You’re skating like shit today.”

“Thanks for that babe.” Mat deadpans. “Appreciate it.”

“Did you get dumped or something?” Tito asks again.

Mat’s eyes fly open at that, and he lolls his head to the side to glare at him. “Not so fucking loud, dingus.”

“Well is it true or not?” His best friend presses. 

“I don’t even know if we were officially together in the first place.”

Across the ice, a loud voice echoes. “You’re not gonna be together in the future either if you don’t get your shit together.”

Mat finds himself shooting up into a sitting position, head spinning to look at his captain, who’s already looking at him with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Anders’ mouth presses together in a firm line as he skates closer to Mat and Tito, and when he’s close enough, he jabs Mat in the leg with the blade of his stick. “It means you need to apologize, you idiot.” 

Mat just stares at him. “Thought you said you didn’t want me to be around her?”

“I said I didn’t want you to be around her if you weren’t serious about her. You moping around the locker room, skating like shit, acting like you just got divorced - that tells me that I was wrong about all of this, and that shit might be a little serious.”

Mat stays silent. He’s not exactly sure what to tell his captain at this point. A week ago it would’ve been “Fuck you very much,” but he’s pretty sure Anders is trying to…apologize?

He assesses him carefully, then it clicks. “Summer and Sabrina chewed you out, huh?”

Anders doesn’t look impressed. “I got what was coming to me. Looks like you did, too.” 

Well that he couldn’t deny. 

“I tried to apologize.” Mat admits. “She told me to take a hike.”

Anders scoffs. “Did you expect anything less? And since when do you back down from arguing with her?”

“Like you said, shit’s pretty serious. So…yeah. I backed down and I left when she told me to.”

Tito taps Mat in the leg with his skate gently. “You love her?”

Mat hesitates to answer, not because he’s not sure. He’s pretty sure he does, almost certain, but he’s never said it, not really shown it, and he isn’t sure if Anders is still after his head, so he stays quiet.

Anders sighs. “What do you feel for her, exactly?”

Mat can put it into words, but as he thinks about it, it might not be the best explanation.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with Summer since the day I met her, but she hated me on sight, so I pretended to hate her too. Except then I realized that she actually liked me, and now because I’ve been an idiot I think she actually hates me. And I still think I might be in love with her anyway.

…to be fair, that didn’t sound so bad.

Except, when Mat says those exact words out loud to Anders, silence falls around them, and he realizes several of their teammates, including Tito, were in hearing range, and now everyone’s staring at Mat like they’re waiting for him to disintegrate right in front of them.

“I uh…” Mat begins, falters for a second. “I just mean…”

“I know what you mean.” Anders says, nodding. “You should probably tell her all that yourself though, yeah? Preferably soon. Wedding’s next week, and Sabrina and I are going on our mini honeymoon during the Thanksgiving break, so…do with that what you will.”

Without another word, Anders skates away, and only after Mat casts a scathing look to the rest of his eavesdropping teammates do they follow suit, except for Tito.

Tito shakes his head, tapping Mat’s side with the blade of his stick. “Get your shit together,” he insists, before he skates away too.

Mat sighs, laying back on the ice and letting the cold settle into his bones. 

~

Sabrina and Anders had a beautiful wedding.

Truly, really, they did. 

Summer’s heart ached with happiness for her sister. 

It was everything Sabrina had wanted, everything she’d worked hard to plan, and through all the stress and breakdowns her older sister had, she was finally married and had the wedding of a lifetime to enjoy and look back on.

And since she and Anders had managed to resolve their issues, she was genuinely happy for him again, too. 

She had a feeling she’d find it hard to remain upset at both Mat and Anders, considering the more time she had to think about it, and remembered that men were in fact, stupid, thanks to Sabrina, she did understand both their perspectives. 

Anders had known her since she was sixteen and had seen her struggle with her self love, seen her date shitty people, and witnessed every second of her and Mat arguing like their lives depended on it. He was just looking out for her, wanting to protect her and make sure she didn’t go through something like that again, and especially not with someone Anders was friends and teammates with. He had to be around Mat on a frequent basis, and if it went bad between her and him, he would’ve had to tiptoe around them both awkwardly.

Except none of that was his to worry about, or even something Summer expected of him, which he understood now. 

The part that had Summer tripped up was the fact that Mat had explicitly said he didn’t want to keep Summer a secret, and how she’d understood, but he ended up keeping her a secret too, and she unknowingly helped him. 

Realistically, she did forgive Mat, but she also knows she should’ve been able to move on from it just as easily as she did with Anders. Maybe it was the fact that she expected more from Mat, considering how…intimate they were, but deep down she knew it was just her insecurities rearing their ugly head again.

Before it was the disbelief that he’d been looking at her in appreciation the first time they met, and now it was the uncertainty that he was only doing what he thought was the right thing to do at the moment. That he didn’t keep her a secret from anyone other than Anders and that he didn’t think she was enough to be shown off to the world.

Rationally, she knew it wasn’t anything, that she should be able to just move past it. But irrationally, Summer felt like it was still too good to be true.

Besides, they’d never actually said anything other than that they liked each other. It wasn’t like they’d fallen for one another. 

Okay…maybe that’s not entirely true. Summer knew she’d started to, especially the more time they spent together, the more they’d slowly gotten to know one another. 

But they never said anything to each other, so…

She’d managed to steer clear of him so far throughout the wedding, avoiding his gaze and purposely putting herself on the opposite side of the room. Right now, she was at the bar, waiting for the bartender to make her a margarita and watching where Sabrina and Anders were greeting their guests.

It was only when she realized after a moment that she didn’t see Mat anywhere that she had a feeling avoiding him wouldn’t be possible much longer.

“Do you think there’s more legs in the world? Or eyes?”

Despite the fact that she’d been expecting him, the absurd yet intriguing question has Summer turning her head to the right, and Mat stands there with a lopsided smile that spells mischief. 

Her heart collides into her ribcage in a painful throb. It’s been almost a month since she’s seen Mathew last. He looks just as good, is everything she remembers and desperately tries to forget in the same breath.

Before she can help herself, the corner of her mouth quirks up in a small smile, and she leans against the bar a little, shaking her head. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Got your attention, didn’t I?”

She wants to roll her eyes, but refrains, turning her attention back to the bar, grabbing her drink from the bartender with a polite “thank you,” and dropping a five dollar bill in the tip jar next to her elbow. 

As she starts to walk away, Summer can feel Mat fall into step with her, and even though she doesn't want for it to happen, her body stiffens, unease seeping into her bones at his proximity.

“I didn’t know if you’d show up to the reception or not.” He confesses, the charm slipping away from his tone.

She shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s my older sister’s wedding. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d do it to avoid me. Or if you finally decided that you hated me.”

His confession almost makes her falter in her steps. Almost.

“That’s a bit dramatic, considering I remember that I told you that I never hated you in the first place.” She practically bites out, quickening her steps a little.

“Could’ve fooled me. I mean I never saw you after you kicked me out.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“It felt like you were on another planet.”

This time she does stop in her tracks, turning to face him. “What do you expect me to say, Mat? I’m not exactly happy about what happened. I know you apologized, and I get it, I just…I need time to come to terms with it, okay?”

Summer can see Sabrina approaching over his shoulder, and she shakes her head slightly, letting Sabrina know that she can handle this. Thankfully, she nods, and moves to make conversation with another table of her guests. 

Mat looks at Summer then, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Tell me what I can do to help then. What do I have to do to make this right? Tell me how to fix this.”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “You can’t,” she says, already retreating. “You just can’t.”

His eyes burn into her back as she leaves, and heads back to her seat. She’s determined to stay out of Mat’s way and keep her eyes away from his for the rest of the night, no matter how much her heart twists in her chest.

~

Mat stuffs one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, the other one clutching the bouquet of roses as he crosses the street, approaching Summer’s building for the first time since she kicked him out.

He felt like a bit of a stalker, showing up to her place unannounced again, but he felt like he didn’t know what else to do. 

He’d tried asking Anders for advice, and the only thing his captain did was remind Mat that he and Sabrina were leaving on their mini honeymoon, and to take care of it before they got back.

So…this was him fixing it himself. Or trying to anyway. 

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to actually work up the courage to press the call button to her apartment building. This time, when he presses it, instead of Summer letting him up immediately, there’s a small pause, before her soft voice comes through the speaker.

“Mat?”

He pauses, waving awkwardly at the little camera. “Hi.”

Another pause, then he hears Summer sigh. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

“Probably not, no.” Mat answers honestly, running a hand through his hair. 

There’s silence, and then the building door buzzes and Mat pauses for a second too long before heading through it, and up to Summer’s apartment. 

He only manages to knock once before the door flies open and reveals Summer standing there in jeans, a white tank top, and a black cardigan over it, her feet in fuzzy socks and even fuzzier house slippers. 

Still, she looks so fucking beautiful.

Summer has a look on her face that he can’t read, and that in itself scares the shit out of him. He’s experienced every single one of Summer’s emotions, been the target of a few of them too many times to count, but this one is…

Different.

“For you,” he forces himself to say, handing the roses out to her. “As an apology. Or, the start to one.”

Summer eyes the roses, and for a split second Mat thinks he can see the corner of her mouth quirk up in a little smile, but then it’s gone. She takes the roses from him hesitantly, cradling them in her arms and staring at them for a second.

Mat hovers in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

Summer clears her throat, deciding for the both of them. “Are you just going to loiter in my hallway, thirteen? Or do you want to come in?” 

The urge he used to instinctively have to roll his eyes is gone, and instead all he can do is nod, crossing over the threshold when she steps aside to let him in. 

He toes off his shoes by the door, following her inside. He waits while she puts the roses in a vase, looking at the art on her walls.

When she comes back, they sit on the couch, and Mat takes a small breath.

“Maybe I should go first this time,” Summer says suddenly. He nods, waiting patiently, and she sighs. 

“I want to start off by saying that I do forgive you, and that I do understand where you and Anders were coming from, no matter how ridiculous. I think the thing that's kept me upset is that I couldn't tell for myself whether or not you kept me a secret for you, or for Anders.”

“It was for Anders,” he swears. “I would never keep you a secret, Summer. I swear.”

“Okay,” she nods, accepting his answer. “Then with that being said, I don’t want to completely put you on the spot, but what exactly is this?”

“This?” Mat asks, confused.

“You and I,” Summer says. “What are we? Because I’m going to be honest, I’m not really sure.”

“Well, I would like to say you’re my girlfriend, but we didn’t really establish that.” He hesitates, gauging her reaction. “Would you…would you agree that we were dating?”

Summer nods. “Yeah, I thought we were. I thought you were my boyfriend.”

Mat really doesn’t like the past tense she’s using, but ignores it. “Is there anything that's stopping you from thinking that I still am?”

“I just don't know that I'm clear on how you feel, and I would prefer we lay our cards out on the table now.”

“Okay,” he says, turning his body towards her. “That first day that we met, I’d spotted you before I even realized who you were. You came inside with Sabrina, and I could see you from where I was in the kitchen. I was staring at you when you met me, admittedly for probably a long time, because from that very first second, I thought you were beautiful, and I wanted to get to know you.”

Mat can see Summer’s surprised by his admission, but he continues. “I’ve always liked you, and I’ve always been interested, but I was under the impression that you didn't like me, so I just followed your lead. I was jealous of your ex, I was jealous of that random dude from the club, and it was because this whole time I felt like I'd ruined my chances before I even had one. When you were finally single, and we slept together for the first time, it felt like I finally did have that chance, but then Anders stepped in and…well you know the rest.” 

Summer’s quiet for a second, observing him, and then she nods. “I knew who you were when we met, it was kind of hard not to. I thought you were cute and I was excited to meet you, but then when I caught you staring, I got insecure. I thought you were judging me, and that's why I shut you out and didn't let you in at first.” 

Mat’s heart shatters in his chest. 

How could you not see I thought you were the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen? He wants to ask her, How could you not see you had me in the palm of your hands that very first day?

“I thought that there was no way that you would be interested in someone like me, so I put up a wall and thought it would be better to keep you at a distance. I didn't really intend for us to bicker for as long as we did.” Summer admits.

She takes a deep breath, fiddling with her own hands. “When I was with my ex, I was genuinely with him, and then when I wasn't, and you and I slept together, I was genuinely into you. I had a feeling that it might be complicated between you and Anders, and when you suggested not telling him anything at first, I understood, and I still understand, but I'm still having a hard time in my head trying to convince myself that you weren't trying to be malicious.” 

Mat moves to reassure her, but the soft smile she gives him stops him. “I know that you weren't, but like I said, that's for me to convince myself of and not you.”

“So…not that I have selective hearing, I’m just trying to get this right. Do you have feelings for me?” Summer laughs softly at his question, but nods, so he continues. “And I have feelings for you. And you forgive me for what happened?” 

Summer nods again, “I do.”

“Okay…then…” Mat trails off, unsure of how this is supposed to go. 

“Then?”

“Are we…okay?” He asks.

“We’re okay,” Summer says, nodding. There’s a moment where Mat’s relieved, where he feels like he can breathe again, but then she says “But I don’t know if we should get back together. Or…get together, however you want to put it.”

Mat’s heart thumps hard in his chest. “What?” 

“Not today. Not right now.” She says, a small shake in her head. “I think…don't you think we need to take a step back?” 

“What about a step at a time?” He offers. 

Summer blinks. “What?”

“You said we shouldn’t get back together today, and I can see your point. Not today. But maybe…maybe we can just take this a day at a time?”

“Mat…” Summer hesitates, completely unsure. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now. That’s why we can take it a day at a time.”

She eyes him quietly, a million emotions flitting across her face as the seconds pass between the two of them. “What would you even do? Where would we even start?”

“Coffee.” Mat says immediately. “Just coffee. Nothing more, nothing less. Just let me buy you a coffee.”

Summer’s quiet, and for a second, Mat worries she’s going to say no, but then her shoulders relax, and she nods. “Okay, coffee sounds good.”

~

Three Months Later

“You just wanted me close to a knife when it was in your hand, didn’t you?”

Summer shakes her head with a small laugh, turning the knife around in her hand so she holds the blade between her fingers, placing the handle in Mat’s hand. He takes it, but the hesitancy is still in his gaze, so she idles up beside him, bumping his hip a little before focusing on the kitchen counter.

Mat had admitted that he hadn’t tried Filipino food before when Summer and Sabrina had gone to visit their parents in New Jersey, so she’d offered to cook for him only on the condition he helped out.

Their father, Sonny, had come from the Philippines as a child with their grandparents. Their mother, Shauna, who’d grown up in the Bronx, lost her parents by the time she’d married their dad, and so the girls had mostly grown up with the Maldonado family.

Their grandmother, Soledad - the “S” naming tradition in the family ran deep - had taught the girls how to cook staple dishes when they were young, so Summer could make this in her sleep.

She’d already gone through the meticulous and thorough process of showing Mat how to wash rice and correctly measure for the correct amount of water, and that was currently bubbling away in the rice cooker on her kitchen counter. 

Now, she was going to walk him through making the marinade for probably the easiest dish to introduce Mat to when it came to Filipino cuisine - chicken adobo.

“Okay, so I’m going to cut up the onion, but I need you to mince the garlic. We have eight cloves here, and you’re going to take a piece of garlic and put it under your blade,” she instructs, grabbing one of the extra cloves of garlic she’d put aside for practice, and moving it to her board. She places her blade right on top and waits until Mat’s done the same.

“Good, now don’t hesitate, just bring the meat of your fist, pinky side down, onto the back side of the blade, and smash the clove. Just be sure you’re holding the handle of the knife firmly, like this,” Summer says, then brings her hand down, listening to the blade and the satisfying crunch of the garlic clove beneath it.

Mat follows suit on his own clove, and of course, because he’s apparently good at everything, gets it right on the first try. He smiles shyly anyway, waiting for her confirmation, to which she smiles, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Perfect.”

Mat beams at the praise. “Really?”

“Yeah, so just do that to the other seven, and it’ll be easier to chop those up. Think you can handle it?”

He nods, reaching for another clove, and Summer tosses him the one on her board before grabbing the onion. 

They work in a silent tandem, and Summer chances a look at him to find his tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration.

It makes her heart twinge with something she isn’t totally ready to come to terms with.

They’d been doing this…thing…taking it a day at a time, for the last few months. Mat had taken her out on countless dates, focusing on romancing her the way he would have had they not gotten off on the wrong foot. There had been some sex, not a lot, but whenever they did have sex, it was always intense, and Mat always made a point to reassure Summer every chance he got, in bed and out of it, that he thought she was beautiful, kind, and everything he ever wanted.

Outside of that, Mat had taken her to meet his parents and his sister, and even joined her on her bi-weekly Saturday visits to Anders and Sabrina’s home for family dinners. The captain and his winger were still working on repairing that whole mess, but it was getting better, for the most part. 

And now he was here. In her kitchen. Learning how to make her Lola’s chicken adobo. 

When she finished with the onion, she tossed everything into a pan with a little vegetable oil, placed it on the stove and fired up the burner. She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, then brought it over to Mat for him to dump in his minced garlic. 

“Pretty good there, thirteen.” She says before guiding him to the sink to wash and dry their hands. 

“Okay, now what do I do?” 

Summer smiles, pointing at the ingredients next to the stove. There’s shoyu, vinegar, brown sugar, black pepper, chicken stock, peppercorns, and bay leaves. “I need you to measure out the ingredients on the card by the bottles and put them in that little bowl next to it.”

“What? I’m on measuring duty?” He asks, wrinkling his nose with a frown.

Summer leans up and kisses his nose before backing away. “It’s because you’re meticulous, so I trust you.”

He blinks after her kiss, then nods, heading over to his new station with a little more pep in his step.

Summer stirs the onions around since they’ve already started to cook, then grabs the minced garlic and tosses it in before heading to the fridge. 

Her Lola’s recipe is usually meant as dinner for two, so she had six pieces of chicken thighs rinsed and pat dry set aside specifically for dinner tonight. Bringing the plate out of the fridge and over to the pan, she grabs a pair of tongs and places each piece skin side down once the onions and garlic get fragrant, allowing them to brown a bit. 

She double checks on Mat’s progress, only to find him already done, marinade measuring and poured in the bowl, and his eyes on Summer, watching her with a cheshire smile.

“Look at you,” she muses, going easily to him when he opens his arms, wrapping her own around his waist. “Hope you’re not too attached to your diet.” She teases. 

Mat scoffs. “As if.”

“You’re right,” Summer agrees, running her hands under his shirt and caressing the hard muscle of his abdomen. “You don’t really need it.”

She feels him flex under her fingers and she laughs, looking up to find him smirking down at her, the heat in his eyes evident. “Well I kinda need it, gotta stay in shape to keep up with you at night.”

As if to remind her, her body’s muscles choose that moment to remind her of their ache, and Summer flushes, pushing away from Mat to head back to her place on the stove. 

“Well,” she begins, flipping the chicken over. “I appreciate your dedication. Can you bring over the marinade?”

He nods, grabbing the bowl and carefully idling up beside her. 

“Okay, now you’re just gonna pour it over everything, but make sure you cover each piece of chicken when you go.” She watches as Mat follows her instruction, and once he’s done, she shakes the pan a little, lowers the temperature a smidge, then covers it with a lid.

“Now what?” He asks, looking around. She’d already washed and set the rice to cook in the rice cooker on her counter, but he didn’t see any additional food lying around.

“Well, we have to let it cook for about fifteen minutes, and then we add the finishing touches, and then we eat!”

She ushers him back toward the stove to wash their hands again. It was something she’d learned as a kid, washing her hands after every step in cooking, and she hoped Mat didn’t think it was weird or strange.

He didn’t seem to mind though, going easily along and washing and drying his hands beside her without complaint.

“So…we have fifteen minutes to ourselves?” He asks, setting up a timer on his phone. 

Summer raises a brow at him in suspicion. “Yes…why?”

Mat smirks, leaning with his hip against the sink when he reaches for Summer. “Cause I’ve been thinking about eating your pussy since this morning. Can I?”

He takes her in his arms before she can answer, and then he’s kissing her neck, hands wrapping around her waist and down to her ass, palming the flesh in his hands. She moans a little when his teeth nip at her neck, and she has to push him away to be able to back up and out of his space. “Mat, we shouldn’t, we-”

“Please baby,” he pleads, taking a step and crowding her back against the counter. “Just this once?” She feels his hands creep at the hem of her dress - the easiest thing to wear around him, especially when they tend to have moments like this - his fingers bunching it up to her stomach when he drops to his knees. 

Summer finds herself automatically grabbing the material between her fingers, nodding her head and lifting her hips away from the counter for Mat to pull her underwear down her legs. She doesn’t miss the smile that crosses his face when he runs the lace through his fingers, and stuffs the fabric in the pocket of his jeans.

“Jump up on the counter, baby.” He says, waiting for Summer to settle onto the counter before pulling her forward, her butt resting on the edge of the counter. Mat grabs one of her barstools from the other side and places it right in front of her before taking a seat, pressing “start” on the timer on his phone.

He feels like he could drool a little at the sight of her open and bare for him, the prettiest shade of pink shining at him like a neon sign saying “just for you.”

Not another second passes before he’s burying his face into her pussy, Summer letting out a blissful and content sigh as her body relaxes and Mat settles her feet on his shoulders, gently circling his hand around her ankles and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his head, to pull him in closer.

She doesn’t, not right away, anyway, too wrapped up in the feeling of Mat’s tongue. He squeezes her ankle once, trying to get her attention, and all Summer can manage is to loll her head to the side to peek at him. He rises up a little, speaking against her skin, not wanting to be too far from her.

“Wrap those beautiful legs around my head, baby.”

All she can manage is a nod, and Mat returns to his task, moaning when her warm thighs touch either side of his face, his shoulders under her knees and her beautiful calves resting on his back. He can feel when she locks her ankles behind him and he settles in closer, relaxing against her as his mouth continues to devour her pussy, her arousal dripping down his chin.

He feels her nails scratch against his scalp when her hands dive into his hair, fingers gripping his curls and lightly tugging. Mat knows those tugs by heart now, which one means to keep going, which ones mean to ease up, which ones mean she’s loving it and not to stop or she’ll kill him.

“Mat,” she whimpers, her thighs squeezing his head and he nods, bringing his hands up to squeeze her breasts, loving when her hands cover his, holding onto him. 

He says nothing, just focuses on keeping his pace and the way Summer’s body reacts to his mouth, beginning to feel her start to shake under him as she gets closer and closer to her orgasm.

Right when Mat thinks she’s going to grip his hair tighter, letting him know that she’s about to come, she suddenly sits up, pushing him back gently.

“Baby?” He asks, confused.

“Get up,” she says, and he’s up and off the stool in a second, approaching her carefully. He’s only a little surprised when she reaches for the waistband of his jeans, making quick work of the button and the zipper. By the time Mat’s brain catches up to him and finally understands what Summer wants, she’s got her hands in the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down while Mat’s cock springs free.

He watches as her pupils blow out wide, and smirks a little. Gently, he places a finger under her chin, coaxing her gaze back to his face. He kisses her a couple of times while crowding into her space, resting his cock against her soaked pussy while she chases the taste of herself on his tongue. 

Mat grips her waist, pulling her a little further to the edge of the counter, gently moving his hips. 

“Needy girl,” he playfully chastises. “Won’t even let me finish eating that pretty pussy because you’re so desperate for cock.” 

Her eyes flash up at him, her playful spitfire in her eyes at his dirty talk. Mat’s found out that this is the kind of push and pull she prefers most, when he teases her or says dirty things and she can fight him back on it in a way that doesn’t cost them both. 

Mat can see that she wants to talk back, but she bites her lip to refrain herself. 

“Use your words pretty girl,” he says, grinding his cock against her. “Ask me nicely.”

“Please give me your cock,” Summer replies obediently. “I need it.”

Mat smiles, murmuring a soft “Good girl,” then he’s moving his hips back until the tip of his cock catches at her entrance and pushes in slowly, watching Summer’s face the whole time.

He loves this part, loves watching the way her whole body relaxes, watching the way her eyes flutter shut and her beautiful mouth parts just a little as her body welcomes him. He leans forward, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss as he bottoms out, waiting for her to adjust to him.

He’s learned he loves that part, too - how no matter how many times they’ve done this so far, she always seems to need a minute to adjust to him. But whenever she did, she took him so well that they could go at it over and over again till their muscles were sore.

While he waits for her to adjust, he takes a quick glance over at her stove, then at his phone, checking the time. Nothing’s burning, but he’s still only got about five or so minutes left.

Mat turns back to her, bending his head and burying his face into Summer’s neck, leaving filthy open mouthed kisses, speaking in between. 

“Are you okay if we make this quick? Since we are cooking and all.”

That seems to bring her back to reality just a little, because he can feel her nod, and then she’s locking her ankles behind his back again, pulling him in closer - her usual sign that she’s ready for whatever Mat gives her.

He carefully pulls back before pushing back in, setting a pace he knows is enough to bring Summer to orgasm in no time. Summer lays back on the counter, and Mat’s hands immediately go to her breasts, cupping them through the material before yanking it down, smirking to himself when he finds she’s not wearing a bra.

Mat leans down, sucking a nipple into his mouth and drawing a soft whine from Summer’s lips. A whine that tells him that she’s definitely going to come in no time if he keeps it up.

He laps at her skin with his tongue, sucking at her skin as his hips piston in and out of her, moaning when he feels her squeeze down on him as her breath catches in her throat. Her back bends and he keeps his pace, his own orgasm quickly approaching as Summer comes around him, squeezing his cock in a vice grip and wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. 

He comes a few seconds later, buried deep inside and his mouth still latched to her, tongue soothing over the now bruised skin. 

His favorite part is this, the moment right after they fuck - how she seems so content to just lay there with him and let him hold her, let him stay inside her till he’s either ready to go again or ready to help clean her up or drag them both to the shower.

They catch their breath for a moment, Mat just staring down at her, admiring her beautiful curves, her full breasts, the curve of her belly. He traces his hands down her stomach, gently caressing her skin, rubbing at where he’s still buried inside her.

Her breath catches in her throat at the same time the timer goes off on his phone, and they both jump, Mat slipping out of her suddenly, and they both hiss at the loss.

“Well,” Summer says through a small sigh, “Looks like lunch is ready.”

Mat frowns. “But I already ate?”

Summer blinks at him, and when he smirks playfully, wagging his eyebrows, she rolls her eyes, slowly sitting up. “Funny, thirteen.”

He leans in for a kiss, and she softens, going lax in his embrace. Between kisses, Mat can feel his heart hammering in his rib cage, and he murmurs “I love you, Summer,” before he can stop himself.

She pauses for a second, lips frozen against his, and he backs up, gauging her reaction. She’s shocked, that much is obvious, and Mat can see the hesitation, so he leans in, kisses the tip of her nose, then her cheeks.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he says, “I can wait as long as you need me to. I just wanted to make sure I laid all my cards out on the table.”

She leans back, looking into his eyes. Mat knows what she’s looking for, knows she’s trying to make sure he’s being genuine, but he’s pretty sure he’s got hearts in his eyes, so she’s probably going to find what she’s looking for pretty quick.

“Mat…” She says, his name soft and syrupy on her lips.

“I love you,” he repeats again, leaning in to kiss her again. “And you can tell me when you’re ready.”

He pulls away, heading toward the stove to finish up, but Summer takes him by surprise, pulling him back to her and kissing him like her life depends on it, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close.

“I’m ready,” she says between kisses. “I love you.”

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Ten (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Hope you like this next instalment! It’s a long one, and it’s a flashback, so it feels like a HUGE RISK to shove this in so far into the story. However, this memory of Santiago’s and reader’s is SO vivid in my mind I feel I could basically use it as a patronus charm. Therefore, if you’re at all invested in these two by now, I do feel like the payoff is worth it, and that it will set you up PERFECTLY for the next, concluding chapter! (Also: ooh, intrigue, as we get to see how they were with each other back in their youth, you know?). Anyway, as always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. ILY :-*

P.s. there’s a timeline goof as a song mentioned in this, although recorded in ‘88, was not released until 2015. But we’re just gonna look past that, okay? 😝 In this world it was released early. 

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

Word count: 16.6k for this part. (SORRY!)

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Many years earlier

Santiago is tired. Ready to crawl into the cocoon of his bed and draw the covers over his head, refusing to surface again until he’s dragged feet first outta there. Unfortunately for him though, sleep is not on the cards. 

Instead, he has a vitally important mission to attend to. And, in the face of a mission, this particular soldier never settles for anything less than completion. That doctrine is especially true - he has proven time and again - when it comes to taking care of you. 

Tonight, Santiago is tasked with making your birthday a memorable one; or, as memorable as he can muster with the $40 he currently has to his name. 

“Civilian aircraft, man. Where’s a goddamn helo when you need one?” you fruitlessly complain as he nods along in sympathy.

Evidently, sleep is the last thing on your mind. You’d been looking forward to cutting loose for weeks, with this night touted as “the birthday to end all birthdays”. Serendipitously, this was the first time your birthday had coincided with a period of leave since you signed up to serve and, thwarting all that, your connecting flight was grounded unexpectedly.

Santiago feels crushed - on your behalf - that the plans have gone so pear-shaped. 

“One o’ these days, getting shot for the Motherland will gain me some fucking privileges, huh?”

Santiago flinches at that particular addition. He doesn’t like to think about that day. That day’d had him waking up in frequent cold sweats going on a year now. He’d put himself on the line countless times - no problem- but almost losing you had been decidedly different. Had been the single most terrifying moment of his career (and his life) to date, all told. Which sure was saying something considering the hairy situations he routinely found himself in. 

Graciously, your present circumstances are considerably less dire. You’ve still been griping, of course. And, your complaints have not succeeded in changing a damn thing. It is now abundantly clear - if it wasn’t already - that the two of you are stranded for the night. So, here you are, holed up in a dingy and characterless airport motel in Philadelphia. 

It beats enemy fire, for sure… but even so, Santiago is acutely aware of how much you’ve been looking forward to this. To the rare chance to catch-up with your far flung squad mates, scattered every which way across the globe since graduating basic. He knows too, that the anticipation of this reunion had acted as your glue - had held you together - through what had been a particularly brutal deployment. 

“I haven’t seen Miller in months, man. I need to give that bastard some grief soon or I’m going to lose my damn mind.” 

“We can call that pendejo tomorrow,” Santiago soothes, popping a stick of gum and beginning to chew obnoxiously. “Hey. We can even pool our insults, huh? Really get him going.” 

You raise your palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. “Shit. I just miss the fucker, Santiago.” For the first time tonight he hears your voice break, your stoicism cracking apart and revealing your soft middle. 

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

Santiago knows how crushed you are. And so, for whatever it’s worth, the man resolves to show you the best night he possibly can, all circumstances considered. 

“Come on,” he encourages, kneeling before you as your lower lip quivers. He plants a hand on your thigh and jostles your leg gently. Meanwhile, you sit slumped on the long edge of the lumpy motel bed, beginning to feel rather more sorry for yourself. “You and me, baby. I’ll make this night special, I swear. Just give me a chance, huh?” 

“How?” you sound, throwing your palms up and gesturing to your dismal surroundings. “This place is barely even a step-up from the barracks.” You eye a particularly suspect stain on the carpet with disdain. “Actually, I think it might even be a step down.”

Santiago’s face crumples obediently in a measured display of sympathy, but honestly, his first instinct is to chuckle. You look so forlorn in this moment, Santiago has to consciously suppress his smile. You are the most stubborn, ferocious, determined person he’s ever met. You are fucking tough. Hell, he’s seen Staff Sergeants buckle in a crisis before you’ve even come close to breaking - and yet here you are. Almost in tears because you can’t make your birthday party. It’s all a little incongruous to him that out of everything, this would be the thing to take you down. 

At the same time though, of course. He understands it perfectly. 

Santiago has understood for a long time now that you possess a (well-concealed) softer side. Knows it better than most others do, in fact. As you’ve gradually allowed him to sneak past your militia-guarded perimeter -only a soldier of his calibre capable of making it, he’d wager - he’s begun to catch more and more frequent glimpses of the achingly soft heart you guard within. If your tough exterior had initially magnetised him to you, it was your soft heart which ensured he’d stuck around.

Solemnly then, he pats your thigh in a consolatory gesture. Of course, Santiago gets it. He knows it isn’t the presents or the attention or fuss which you’ll miss tonight - though they would have gone over well too, he’s sure. He knows that it is your brothers (in arms, if not blood) that you are feeling the loss of. The squad mates you love dearly, and to whom you are loyal with a tenacity Santiago has rarely witnessed. A loyalty he too feels blessed -strictly in the lapsed Catholic sense - to be on the receiving end of. 

Valiantly fighting back glassy tears, you pop your lower lip in a display of petulance as he rubs reassuring circles into your knee. “Philly sucks ass.” 

This time, he can’t quite quash his smile all the way. 

“Philly sucks ass, huh?” he repeats, buying himself time to think. 

Santiago isn’t sure whether you know that for a fact. He isn’t even sure you’ve ever been to Philly before to assess how much ass it does or does not suck. But, he does know that, irregardless of facts, you seem altogether determined to wallow in your self-pity. 

Santiago has noticed this about you. How you always developed an inalienable picture in your head of how you hope things will end up. It’s inspirational at times - your ability to visualise victory, for example, even in the most dire of circumstances, has held missions together. Has held him together. At other times though, it only set you up for disappointment. How could it not, when, through no fault of your own, you cannot reliably manifest the various futures you set your heart on. 

It’s not as though you ever ask for a lot; but sometimes, in your profession, even asking for a little is asking far too much. 

Still, it is brave, Santiago thinks, to hope for things. For his part, he has learned the hard way not to hope for anything much. 

Your shoulders sag in time with his as he exhales a breath and, though your display is dejected, Santiago gathers a soft smile. You are stubborn, that’s for sure, but in him you’ve met your match - or so he likes to think. Santiago is perhaps the only person who could reasonably claim the title of being twice as stubborn as you are, and (while he realises deep down he probably shouldn’t wear that as a badge of honour) he has often pushed his theory to its limit. And so, stubbornly, refusing to give up, Santiago rises to standing. He fishes around in his jeans pocket, yanks out a fistful of dimes and small bills, and brandishes them victoriously. 

He waves them enticingly in front of your face then, but you forlornly swat them -and him- away. However, he knows from the dull, reluctant spark in your eyes when he makes his pitch that he is finally on to something. “I saw some peanut butter cups in the hallway vending machine,” he sing-songs, with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. He knows fine well they’re your favourite, and he can’t believe he’d forgotten his secret weapon: chocolate. “We can clean them out, take a cab, find some shitty ass dive bar, and have ourselves a sweet ol’ time. Whaddya say?” 

Nothing else had worked, and so Santiago is eminently thankful when a smile finally twitches your mouth. Honestly, he’d been about one attempt away from offering to eat you out all night - and he hadn’t been sure whether that would’ve made you happy, or would’ve resulted in you verbally lambasting him.

On balance, he figured it was probably best that he didn’t risk either kind of tongue-wagging. 

“Fine,” you concede whilst swallowing a mischievous grin, not at all eager to let on that Santiago has finally cracked you. “But don’t you be expecting to muscle in on my Reese’s, understood?” 

Santiago chuckles warmly, slipping into Spanish. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Birthday Princess.”

You snort at your newly bestowed title, playfully adjusting an invisible crown on your head, and you extend your palm towards his to shake on it. The gesture, as Santiago’s palm over-enthusiastically clasps yours, causes dimes and bills to scatter chaotically to the floor. A shit-eating grin etches itself across his face and meanwhile, your boisterous laugh rings out through the tight space. “Shit, Pope. Don’t drop it on this grim-ass fucking carpet.”

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?” 

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

“And you don’t know where the hell he’s been?”

“The opposite. I shared a bunk with that hijo de puta, I know exactly where he’s been.”

With easy laughter eddying between you now, you both crouch, carefully gathering up the spoils of the latest Pope/Catfish wager to change hands. 

“I really need to meet that guy.” 

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.” 

Your hand brushes Santiago’s as you transfer him a mess of coins, sending a trail of goosebumps shivering up his arm. It always surprises him how soft you feel to the touch, accustomed as he has become to his own calloused hands - and to those of even rougher men than him. 

“Garcia. I swear to you I’ve never clapped eyes on the bastard.”

“You just don’t remember him.” 

“Shit. Well maybe he’s not very fucking memorable. Jog my memory. What did we talk about?” 

His shit-eating grin is back. “I dunno. But I bet you talked for the both of you.”

“Hey!” you protest, batting Santiago lightly -more or less- in the upper arm. 

“I just mean he’s quiet. Takes a while to warm up, that’s all. But he’s a good guy. You’ll like him, I promise.” 

“Okay.” You shove the remaining dime into Santiago’s palm.

“Okay?” 

“He’s clearly special to you, so he’s special to me too. Introduce me to him. Again.” 

Santiago smiles at you, gentle crinkles forming around his eyes. He’s already told Frankie so much about you, and he really thinks the two of you will get on. “Deal.” You both stand, and Santiago once again extends his cash-filled hand towards you. 

With a cheeky grin you chide him, not eager for a repeat calamity, but your tone is fond. “Don’t you dare shake on it, idiota.” 

Your smile digresses to your eyes. You extend your palm to pat him on his stubbled cheek - in a gesture weighing heavily with affection. Your lips animate, and Santiago wonders whether something sentimental might actually come to the fore. 

You whisper, low. “You have thirty seconds to get me my peanut butter cups.” 

He chortles and, for the first time (perhaps since imagining his head between your legs), Santiago is eminently excited to see where the night will lead him. 

Safe to say, he might be dog-tired… but he finally feels like staying awake. 

***

Despite your very vocal distaste for the music, and the clientele, and…well, just about everything in the first dive bar you and Santiago stumble across, the combination of cheap beers and even cheaper shots has succeeded in getting you efficiently merry. And, despite your earlier reticence, you now seem plenty eager to continue the party. 

Considering he could only afford cab fare from the motel to a dead neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city, it wasn’t going too badly, he thought. Though, Santiago had hastily steered you outta the first joint when a group of creeps had started leching on you. He knows you can handle yourself and he wouldda been happy to back you; but tonight especially, conflict is the last thing he wants for you. He figures you’ve had more than enough of that to last a lifetime. That you finally deserve a little peace. So, instead, he links your arm in his to keep your tipsy ass steady as he steers you down the main drag, desperately searching his mind - and scanning the unfamiliar streets - for what to do next. 

His mission, as it stands, is to satiate your threefold desire - for drinks, dancing, and good music. Tricky, given that he is already down to $10 dollars, give or take - and he’ll need that for the cab ride back to the crummy motel. 

Truth is, as he ambles with you for a few blocks, he is running out of ideas for how to show you a good time. What’s more, ever since he first entertained the idea, in his desperation, all his dumb ass can come up with is to offer to eat you out until morning. It’s pretty much becoming an intrusive thought at this point and, as the sordid image of you spread out for him further invades his mind, he quickly tries to blink it away. 

He doesn’t want to be that guy. You receive more than enough unwarranted attention as it is. And besides, Santiago would never want you to misinterpret that the reason he hangs around is to -eventually- get in your pants. 

You are so much more than that to him. Sometimes, he even has to keep his distance, so that in moments of weakness he doesn’t forget it. 

You’d held him at arms length for a while there too. 

Soldiers; not friends. 

He hadn’t won you over, he knew, because of his sparkling wit and charm. You’d been drawn to him because he was competent. Surprisingly level-headed for someone so baby-faced. You’d wanted people you could work with. People you could trust to get the job done; because you had to trust them with your life. 

The two of you have some undeniable chemistry, that’s for sure. At least, on his end, he’d felt something fierce and magnetic right out of the gate. Even so, from the outset, and even as your friendship had deepened, the two of you had seemed to quickly forge a tacit agreement. 

Friends; not lovers. 

You had made the assessment quickly, jointly, unconsciously. After all, under the rather intense circumstances in which you’d met? You’d each needed a friend - a genuine friend - far more than you’d needed a lay. For you especially, as he understood it, the former had been far more difficult to secure than the latter, especially as a woman in a highly-charged cesspit of toxic masculinity. And for him? Well, as talented as Santiago is at gaining connections, he doesn’t find all too many people he is willing to go deep with. To trust - and he trusts you with his life. 

When he’d found you then, he’d grabbed firmly on to you, and had resolved that nothing would get in the way of the friendship you’d forged. Not even - or perhaps especially not - his own… urges. 

Still. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. Not like you’ve never gotten him a tad… flustered. Indeed, as the rhythm of your steps marching in time beside him lulls him into calmness, feeling safe, his mind wanders in precisely that direction. 

So what though? He’s only human, right? Prone to fantasising; like he is now, he supposes, as he thinks vaguely about licking and kissing down your enticing, bare expanse of stomach. About popping the button on those low slung jeans. Shimmying them down over your hips just enough to sink his mouth over the mound of you and suck. 

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something. 

He swallows then, feeling guilty for being such a horndog, and he turns to you. You seem to be perfectly content. To be enjoying the hit of fresh air, the apples of your cheeks sheened, with a subtle glow, from the exertion of your dance moves back in the dive bar. And honestly? Looking at you? As guilty as he feels for thinking about you like that, Santiago can’t muster a single better idea of what to do with you. 

He pushes it down, of course. Chalks it up to being just a tad pent-up following a seemingly endless deployment. That’s all it is, right? His dick is just looking for a little relief, and you are the closest, attractive body capable of providing him a warm welcome? 

Sure, he rationalises. That’s all it is. He can find a girl one night soon and take her home, like he’s done plenty of times before to work out his urges. Except for the fact that seeing you out of those (helpfully) modest fatigues is reminding him you are exactly his type. 

“You’ve gone quiet, Pope,” you frown as he -no doubt- looks at you dopily. “What are you plotting?” 

With your question, Santiago tears himself violently from his thoughts as you interrupt their increasingly feral trajectory. Still, in scrambling for a deflection, all he is able to land on is something else deep and wet. “The Mariana Trench,” he fumbles. 

Hell. Maybe he isn’t quite as smart as he gives himself credit for. Or, maybe all the blood is simply rushing to his crotch instead of his brain - for some reason. 

Even so. He urges himself to get his mind out of the gutter and to focus up. You deserve so much more than bearing the brunt of his accumulated sexual frustrations. So. Much. More. 

You laugh at his response though, oblivious as you are to his inner monologue, even linking your arm into his more tightly - as though he isn’t a huge perv. Your bright, infectious, beer-addled laugh bounces off of the surrounding asphalt and concrete. And, whilst it ricochets off of everything else, it sinks into him, mixing just a little more of you into his generic, rapidly dissolving fantasy. It offers a luminous gilding around the edges of his hazy desire, stirring in a vivid and more golden want than he has strength in this moment to acknowledge - never mind name. 

“Okay, weirdo. Sure. You’re thinking about the butt crack of the ocean? Miller been feeding you National Geographic documentaries again? You guys do know pay-per-view exists, right?” 

“Fine. You got me,” he confesses, your paces slowing as you gradually halt by the crosswalk, the two of you realising you have no particular destination in mind. “That was bullshit. I was actually thinking about what the hell I’m gonna do with you next.” 

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly. 

Santiago looks you up and down where you stand, out of habit more than anything - a result of that now familiar “buddy up” system soldiers make use of to check each other for injuries. Sometimes, with the adrenaline and the shock, you don’t even know you’re bleeding out. This time, thankfully, the only ailment Santiago notices is the goose flesh prickling your skin, and he wishes that he had a jacket to offer you to keep you warm. 

“Oh?” You turn your body in to face him. Sway just a tad, eyes a little bleary, and Santiago instinctually plants his hands around your waist to keep you stable, touching on the smooth, bare skin where your ratty old band tee fails to meet your waistband - by approximately the width of four thick fingers. You shiver even though his touch must be warm. “Okay. Well what are you going to do with me, Santiago?” 

You blink at him then, your eyes wide and - dare he say - hopeful, one eyebrow arcing in idle curiosity. 

You are typically the decisive one. You are always clear on what you want. Tonight, however, it is evident that you are counting on him to lead you somewhere. 

Even though he doubts his ability to take the lead, rather fortuitously, Santiago does (miraculously) manage to stumble upon one single idea outside of the realm of cunnilingus… “Hey, come here,” he coaxes, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes.” You oblige him, folding your grip around him, firm and sure. His heart swells a little at the instant, implicit trust you exhibit - no hesitation. “Do you hear that?” 

Santiago’s eyes remain open, observing you as your eyes blink clumsily shut. You slide your soft hands up his forearms, bracing yourself with a gentle “woah”, no doubt as the closing of your eyes makes your alcohol-saturated world sway and swirl just a little more intensely. “Listen, cariño,” he scolds good-naturedly, cupping his palms at your elbows. “Do you hear it?”

He can’t help but smile as your face scrunches in adorable contemplation. Then, he can’t help smiling even wider, as you begin to tap his arms and jump excitedly up and down on the spot. You hear it too then. The distant thud of music bouncing off of the tall buildings. 

“Music!” you exclaim excitedly, opening your eyes and grinning at him, still bouncing on the spot like an excited kid. 

The full beam of your unfiltered smile knocks him for six for second. It has been a while, honestly, since he’s seen it glow that bright. Turned all the way up. You’d gone through some shit on this deployment. Blood, horror, pain; rinse and repeat. Some of your spark had understandably dulled, and honestly, he had worried -in part, a little selfishly- that it might never come back to its full strength.

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong. 

Santiago had quickly come to learn that you possess a singular combination of character traits - and not only the magical ability to piss him off more than anyone else could. No, in fact, he’d learned quickly that you possess a singular kind of zest for life. One which he’d feared was too pure to survive long in the dark. Honestly, he’d believed your optimism and your joy was naive at first. Something to be knocked out of you in boot camp. But he was wrong so far. At every turn you endure. At every turn, you shine. As he feels increasingly bogged down, saturated with inky, oily shadows, you are bright. His guiding light, always calling him home from the edge of the dark, shadow-coiled path he skirts. 

“Do we follow it?” you ask excitedly, the glint of adventure in your bright eyes, and in that moment he could swear he’d follow you anywhere. 

“Yeah. Of course we follow it. It’s our goddamn duty to follow it.” Santiago stomps his boot and waves his arm in a sloppy military salute - the kind that would earn him fifty push-ups back at base. You follow suit, even more sloppy, but entirely resolute in your faux seriousness. 

“Tonight, I swear my oath and pledge my allegiance to music, so help me God.” 

Santiago stomps emphatically again, for effect - an overblown, cheesy action-movie-style salute, his strong jaw set in an overly caricatured display. You beam again, a face-splitting grin, and he…

…realises he is having fun. 

In this moment, you are giddy. You are bright. Full of life, and Santiago briefly wonders if this is how things could be. If it could be like this all the time if only you could get out. If you could leave the military behind. God. You are the last person he wants to lose from his side, but a knot twists in his stomach at the thought you should get out while you still can. Before it drags you down like it is him. Before he drags you down with him, since you’ve seemingly tied your fates to his with red bloodied ribbons, wound between your bones and his. 

He doesn’t have much time to consider those things though. To let the blood seep into the edges like it always does; because you start running. You take Santiago’s hand in yours and run towards the distant thud of noise, leading him behind you and laughing and whooping as you do. Making a grey night in a grey part of town feel vibrant. Making him feel vibrant by association. He realises only then how numb he’s felt lately. How your buoyant smile had been the only thing to feed his own these past months. 

You are so much more than a throwaway fantasy to him. 

You truly are the friend he’s needed so desperately, and feels so, so lucky to have found. 

He runs with you, and he hopes, silently, selfishly, somewhere in the pit of him, that your paths never wind in different directions. 

He’ll follow you anywhere. 

***

After a few, giddy, chaotic minutes of tracing the ricocheting sounds, you find yourselves in the lobby of a seedy hotel, breaths sawing in and out of your lungs and mirthful, intermittent giggles spilling out of you. 

“I’m on the guest list!” you insist with a hiccough, trying your utmost to blag your way into the wedding party contained beyond the double doors; the established source of the music. 

Your assertion is much to the chagrin of the teenaged, stoner-looking kid on the front desk, who is clearly milking his new-found authority for all it’s worth. 

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?” 

Santiago looks at you expectantly, his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his chest already shaking and nose scrunching with a mildly tipsy, sleep-deprived concoction of mischief. 

“The name’s Trench,” you deadpan, and the poor fellow actually begins to skim his index finger down the alphabetised list. “Mariana Trench.” 

Santiago eyeballs you. Honestly, half of him is awed by your balls, even as the other half is despairing of your chosen (and completely unnecessary) alias. Still, he sees the funny side, of course, and has to swallow a hearty laugh by faux coughing into his fist. 

There are not many factors helping your case here; especially the fact your body is already unconsciously bopping along to the music. Santiago has to physically encourage you back to your spot with his arm around your middle, and, as the rhythm continually beckons you forth, he hastily tucks you into his side in a fruitless attempt to subdue you. 

By the time Santiago’s gaze flicks back to the kid at the desk, he’s folded his arms over his chest like a stern math teacher, clearly enjoying his upper hand. “Dude,” the kid probes sceptically, perhaps sensing that Santiago is the more sensible (or at least more sober) of the two of you. “What are the names of the bride and groom?” 

“Nicole and Dio,” Santiago fires off smugly, causing you to first gasp and - second - to gawk at him like a fish (which is funny, because for all you know he’s made those up too). 

“How did you know that?” you hiss-whisper, thinking you are being oh so subtle, and Santiago elbows you discreetly in the ribs for your trouble. This time though, he is unable to stifle his laughter entirely, a throaty chuckle shaking out of him, and the crinkles around his eyes rehearsing deeper future furrows. 

Meanwhile, whilst the kid at the desk continues to eye him sceptically, he cannot refute Santiago’s knowledge. The soldier silently praises his undeniable powers of observation - and the fact the kid seems to have entirely forgotten about the huge fuck-off sign standing in the entrance lobby. 

“Yeah. Still no.” This kid is a tough nut. 

“Shit,” you plead. “Well can I at least use the restroom?” 

“I guess that’s fine,” the kid concedes with an eye roll, gesturing towards the left hand side of the lobby. 

You saunter off, beelining towards the door with such ferocity that you whack your hip off of the doorframe on the way in there. 

Santiago winces in time with your “ouch!”, but as you throw your arms in the air, triumphantly insisting you are fine, he turns his attention back to his mission; to get you whatever you want for your birthday. 

Sporting the friendliest smile he can muster in the full knowledge this kid behind the desk hates him already, Santiago mosies up to the counter. 

“Come on, buddy. Hook us up,” he reasons. “It’s a Tuesday night and everywhere else is closed by now.” 

“Dude, your attempts to get laid are not my issue.” 

“No. No, it’s… She’s my friend. It’s her birthday and-”

“-Then take her to a fucking Chilli’s, bro. Still not my problem.” 

Santiago huffs, still trying to keep his face neutral. Non-threatening. He needs to step things up before you return from the restroom. 

“Listen, buddy.” The kid scowls at him then as if to confirm - I’m emphatically not your buddy. “Do you know what it’s like to be shot in service of your country?” 

“What?!”

He nods behind him, in your general direction, his eyebrows pumping up towards his hairline (and reaching for a hasty explanation before the kid presses the under-desk alarm button). “Because she does.” Santiago rests his folded arms up on the counter. Leaning-in. Going all out with the eye contact. “When I tell you she’s had a shitty time of it? Lying on the ground, bleeding out. So, look, man. I just want to give her a good time tonight, alright? Would you please help me out, man? She’s fucking earned this.”

A gulp trails down the kid’s neck, and he tucks his long, straight blonde hair behind his ears. “You’re intense, bro. Anyone ever told you that?” 

Santiago opens his mouth again, wishing to further embellish his case; but before he can do so the kid caves, waving his palms in total surrender. “Fuck, man. Do what you want, but for the love of God, would you just stop talking to me?”

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Yep. Whatever. Don’t get paid enough for this shit, bro.”

Santiago hears the door swing behind him, and joins you just in time to lead you further into the building, pleased that he is able to report victory. He’s almost forgotten about the front desk already - until the kid calls after him, growing bolder the further you two retreat, apparently. “This is why I’m a pacifist, dude! You might wanna think about it.” 

“Sure thing,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

Then, Santiago gently ushers you into the corridor leading towards the party, taking a moment to celebrate his “smooth-talking”. Before he can even think about bragging though, you throw your arms up in the air in a tada gesture and exclaim “you are welcome!”. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’d had no part in getting past the gate, and so instead, he opts to finally vent his quashed laughter. The fact you’d name-dropped Mariana Trench, specifically, supplies a giggle hearty enough that it makes his abs ache.

“Oh. By the way. How do I look?” you question, when the two of you are just shy of making an entrance to the main hall. 

Santiago turns to you and looks you up and down. Notices the fresh application of smeared red over your plush mouth. Surveys your jeans and tee with approval, as though you are outfitted in a gown. “Good, chica.” 

“Good!” You step forward then, towards him, and lay your palms flat on his upper chest. “Now. You know what I wanna do?” For a split second, with your proximity, and the husky thrall of your voice, Santiago finds himself imagining what you might want to do to him - if he should be so lucky. “I wanna dance. Will you dance with meeee, Santiaaaaggooo?” 

Santiago feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. Tries hard to forget that… well… red lipstick and dancing? They are - more often than not -  your highly decipherable code for being horny. Shit - he wonders if you are as pent up as he is. 

“You got it!” he musters, getting himself quickly in check. Christ, he needs to prioritise getting laid  - just as soon as he is no longer wholly dedicated to your birthday. 

“Yay!” 

You lead him by the hand and, once again, Santiago does not complain. Then, swinging open one of two double doors, plastered with unsightly fire regulations, you enter the fray. 

The doors open on a busy room, bathed in beams of chaotic coloured light. In reality, the interior is drab. A sad, grey, carpeted room. A few busted ceiling tiles up top. The circular event tables are flanked by a sorry stage at one side - fronted by a sticky, modest square of dance floor - and a small bar at the other. Finally, the far wall is edged with a rather depleted buffet, and intermittent bowls of greying macaroni. Whilst the room itself is nothing to write home about, however, the jubilation inside makes it feel positively wonderful. 

Santiago feels only for a split second like he is intruding. Within moments, he is all wrapped-up in the buzz. Enveloped by it. The band’s amps are turned up far too loud. The dance floor is awash with couples gyrating on each other and groups of singles circling each other, looking for an in. Throngs of friends and family are grouped throughout the room, laughing and chatting, taking photos on disposable cameras and clinking glasses, and when the two of you enter, matching smiles plastered on your faces, no-one even bats an eye. 

“We’re really doing this?” Santiago raises his voice above the tremor of the music. “Crashing a fucking wedding?”

“Relax! It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done, Garcia. It’s not even against the Geneva Convention.” 

“Jesus! I’m not a fucking war criminal!”

“Relax, Santiago,” you encourage, tone soothing and your hands massaging into his shoulders; and, finally, he lets himself. For once, he lets his guard down. So, as you travel deeper into the room, Santiago begins to move a little less like a soldier on patrol, and allows his gait to loosen up. Allows himself to approach the room not as a soldier on high alert, but simply as some guy with his buddy, looking for a good time. “Attaboy,” you encourage, seeing him visibly unclench - a rare thing. “We’re good, alright? Hey. I’ll even leave a pack of Reese’s on the table. That way, we even brought a gift.” 

“And you’ll keep a low profile, right?” 

“Of course!” You flash him a faux innocent grin, which he sees right through. 

Yeah, figures, he thinks. Honestly, he isn’t sure you are capable of blending in - stealth ops aside, of course. But here? Without your camo and a distinct lack of a gilly suit? Baby, look at you, you’re gonna be noticed. 

“Alright. We dance. Just keep it low key or-“

“-Sure, sure,” you dismiss, waving your hand through the air as though to erase his plea. “But first, tequilaaaa!” 

Evidently, you are ignoring him completely, and yet the beaming smile on your face is so utterly worth it that Santiago could care less. “Eh. Whatever you say, Princesa.” 

You wink at him. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

Santiago watches you skip gracelessly over to the bar, making zero attempt to blend into the crowd (unsurprising). You order up two shots, downing one instantly and handing the other to him with a jubilant, mildly devilish grin. At this stage, Santiago is deliberately a few drinks behind you, having wanted to remain sober enough to take care of you. So, he figures he has a little wiggle room remaining before he reaches the point of no return. Egged on by your encouraging nods, he tips it down the hatch. 

“Cheers!” you exclaim, clumsily clinking your little plastic shot glass against his. The remains of the amber liquid still glisten on your mouth, lending an appealing shine to your red lips. As you mop the drips away with the back of your hand, you slightly smear the shade towards your cheek. 

Before Santiago can rectify the situation for you though, you’ve once again taken his hand and trailed him behind you, clumsily weaving through the crowd as he interjects “sorry!” each time you bash - either your body or his - into someone else’s. Before long though, the two of you are safely tucked right in the midst of it all, adding to the messy, merry throng on the compact dance floor. The amateurish but jubilantly played rock covers from the band began to vibrate all the way through his chest as you position right next to the speakers. 

As the vibrations tickle through him, bass inflating like a balloon in his rib cage, drowning out his thoughts and his heartbeat, you dance. With his thoughts silenced - or, rather, out-volumed- he slips into his body as if it is his own again. As if it belongs to him, and not just to some notion of God and country. 

You, for your part, dance as if compelled to. As though, after living for so long with your body following orders, exercising control, being disciplined, staying in line, you can finally let it be free. Can finally let it express itself.  

You move well, Santiago notes as he allows his own body to limber, freeing up his arms and his hips and feeling the buzz of the music and the alcohol thrum pleasantly through his body. It all feels somewhat alien to him now, his body stiff and lacking muscle memory for such imprecise, unplanned movements. You though? You move with abandon. With joy, like you never forgot how to feel it, belting the lyrics right from your chest. Jumping and waving your arms when the guitar solo drops. 

It makes him deeply happy to see you like this. What’s more, amidst the dance floor of preened, deliberate women encircling your space, their movements seemingly contrived to be appealing, alluring, sexual, your reckless expression is far sexier to him. You feel freed, wild - and it almost feels dangerous to him. This clear absence of regiments and rules and barriers feels dangerous, even the barriers between your body and his disintegrating as you dance closer, the beat shaking you together like sand on a drum skin. 

Indeed, your bodies are pushed ever closer and closer as the surprisingly heaving crowd compresses you tighter and tighter in the minimal, sticky-floored maneuver room. And so, after you’ve suffered one too many bumps and restrictions from stray shoulders and elbows, you finally give in to it, looping your arms around his neck and choosing to dance with him. 

Instinctually, automatically, Santiago’s hands fall to your hips, gripping you there as your body sways and rolls in time to the music, the raw, dirty hard rock vocals moving through you and bedding down into your body. 

At first, when your body presses up against his and the hot breath of your laughter fans over his neck, Santiago thinks about adjusting. About sliding his hands back up to your waist, where -perhaps- the gesture may seem less intimate. May allow for a little more room and a little less contact. 

It isn’t as though the two of you are strangers to touching. You are both tactile people, and besides, you’re often in close quarters. You’ve slammed each other to the mat plenty of times. He’s had your sweaty, writhing body all over his. Your grunts of submission sounding in his ear. Huffs of exertion fanning against his neck. Thighs locked with his. His hips pinning you. But this? This is a little different. It isn’t precise, technical touch. It isn’t objective-driven. There are no clear rules, besides friends not lovers, and even that distinction is starting to feel a little blurry. 

No, this kinda touch is something else. It is raw. It is instinctual; and that scares him, in truth. 

However, it doesn’t scare him nearly enough to want to stop.

He does not move his hands from your rolling, swaying hips. Can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gives in to it. To the music. To the feeling. To you. And, when does, he finds himself surprised by how fluidly your bodies move together. Symbiotically. Like a team. Like you do in battle, sure. In the field. Like it is the most natural thing in the world; but this time, your combining is not at all driven by survival. It is driven by living, and Santiago could swear, in this moment, that he has never felt quite so alive. 

The room is getting hot. The undulating crowd of bodies surrounding you is only adding to it. Exertion is glowing on your skin. He can feel it up against him, your sweat bleeding through your damp t-shirt where your breasts press into him. Can feel it beneath his fingers, tacky and slick, as he wraps his hands around that bare flash of skin at your midriff. God, you are smooth, and soft, and slick, and he is momentarily transfixed by a bead of sweat sinking down the centre of your chest, disappearing beneath the “v” of your shirt. 

Someone else’s body briefly presses up against his in the crush and he cringes away from the feel of their slick skin… but you? Yours? You feel good to him. He doesn’t mind it. 

That scares him too; but still, not enough to stop. 

With a joyous, unfettered laugh you claim back some space, spinning Santiago underneath your arm, your dance moves growing increasingly outlandish. Of course, Santiago follows your lead. Always does. And, before long, the two of you can barely dance from laughing and can barely laugh from your insistence to keep dancing. 

It feels good. Good to push your respective bodies to their limit on your own terms for once. To be with each other, side by side, in a scenario which could not be further from life or death; but that feels a thousand times more vital and central to being alive. 

Seeing your smile strobe as the blue party lights slip and flash over the planes of your face, the beats and riffs pulsing through his body, Santiago feels giddy and he feels bright. With laughter bobbing in his throat and aching in his sides, he feels goddamn luminescent, and so he can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but wonder if this is how he would feel all the time. If he got out. If the two of you could just be people, instead of soldiers.

Santiago holds on to it. He holds on to you. To the feeling of freedom. Of pure, unfettered joy. Of this strange peace amidst the blurry, heavy noise. 

He holds on to it while he can. He smiles with you until his face hurts. Laughs with you until his breath wanes. Dances with you longer than he should, song after song. Dances until he is sweating through his t-shirt, a dark “v” of sweat trailing down his chest. Dances, long after that now familiar heat in his newly ailing knees has crossed into discomfort. Dances closer and closer to the speaker until the music is indistinguishable from him, beating through his chest and down into his bones, and still; the two of you move your bodies. The two of you cling to each other like your life depends on it - and perhaps, precisely because of all the times it has. 

When you lean forward, cupping his ear, your lips almost pressed right to his skin to be heard over the din, a warm snake travels down his spine. “See! We still haven’t been found out!” You draw back to flash him a mischievous grin, your eyes glinting with a spark far more warming than the heat which already slickens his skin. 

You are most definitely up to something. You dip forward again as he strains to hear you. “Wanna be a little bolder?” There is a dark and delicious lilt in your voice. A tempting thing, enticing him into trouble - as per usual. 

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder. 

He wants to kiss you, in fact. To test the limits of just how well your bodies can move together. But…  just like all the other times tonight he lets that desire atrophy. Pushes it outside of his body. You are so much more to him than the tingle in his dick. Offer him so much more than whatever parts of you he could seek out with his hands and his mouth, skin finding skin, finding deep, dark wetness. 

If you wanted it, hey, it’s not like he would say no. He isn’t that strong; but he’d decided long ago that when it came to crossing that line, he would simply follow your lead. 

“What did you have in mind?” Santiago asks, dipping his own lips towards your ear. 

Your response is not quite what he expects. You simply throw both arms up into the air, your eyebrows jumping up with them. “Karaokeeee!”

It is a pleasant surprise, to be honest. He loves to see you like this. To see you have fun. Chasing your whims. Getting to be damn silly. For so long, everything has been so grim and so serious.

However, even if your suggestion - at first - inspires a broad, nose-crinkling smile, Santiago looks up at the freestanding mic in horror next - when he realises exactly what you are about to do. “Shit. Sweetie. It’s not-” 

-It is already too late. You are already clambering up on stage and taking your position by the vacant mic spot. “…It’s not karaoke,” Santi mumbles under his breath, mentally readjusting his level on how wasted you are. 

“Come with me, Pope!” you shout down to him, making grabby hands towards him. Next, you commandeer the mic pole as the frontman - who had simply stepped out for brief swig of water - looks on in confusion. 

Santiago sighs and slides his palm over his face, for he knows, fine well, exactly what is about to go down. That, after all the times you’ve saved his skin, tended his wounds, and -damn- even been shot to keep him safe, he for sure isn’t about to let you make a fool of yourself. At least, not alone. 

Cringing already from the forceful embarrassment of commandeering an entire stage at a wedding he’s just crashed, Santiago sets his jaw in resignation and hops semi-gracefully up there, rising to stand right next to you. 

“What happens in Philadelphia…” he mumbles, before bracing himself and accepting his fate. 

He raises his arm as a shield against the intense spotlight, and can suddenly see that the whole party is looking by now, heads whipping around following your triumphant “woop” into the microphone. 

He makes a mental note to explain to you what the words “low profile” mean later, as clearly, you’ve completely failed to grasp that concept. 

Santiago gulps as he looks out across the confused sea of faces, his mouth suddenly bone dry as he prays that no-one will actually yell “who the fuck are you?” Then, not for the first time this evening, he desperately attempts to conjure up a plan of action. Once again, he is pretty sure that cunnilingus won’t quite cut it here either. 

His goal right now is two-fold. To enable you to sing on stage, like you want to, and to avoid being forcibly removed from the venue. It is unfortunate that the former goal seems to void the latter, but hey. He’s been in stickier situations. And, with luck, Santiago remembers one useful thing. The fact that -according to damn near everyone- he’s a charming little fucker. Now, he supposes, is as good a time as any to put that theory to the test. 

“Nicole and Dio.” He gestures to the bride, and motions to gesture towards the groom too. That is, before realising he has no idea who “Dio” is in the crowd, so instead, he lets his arm flop uselessly back to his side. Next, he takes what he feels is a well-earned moment to let the feedback from the microphone die, wincing slightly at the noise, and becoming acutely aware of the sizzle of nervous sweat burning off of his forehead. “I think it’s safe to say,” he ventures with a little more confidence, straining to remember his cousin’s wedding and every platitude he might repeat, “that a love like yours comes around once in a lifetime. I know I speak for both of us when we say we’d like to wish you a lifetime of happiness together to enjoy it.” You helpfully lean forward in that moment and give another celebratory woop. “Thanks for that, sweetie,” he deadpans, wiping his brow just as urgently as he scans the room, searching for something -anything- he can pull from to meet his twinned objectives. 

Suddenly though, against all odds, he actually spots his way out. Emphatically, triumphantly, he points towards the Irish flag proudly adorning the far wall, and dearly hopes he is on to something. “A million tiny things had to align for you two to come together. You could even say it was fate. So, in tribute to the miles travelled by your ancestors, here it is. This one is for the Irish-Americans in the house!” Firstly, he is relieved, to say the least, when that statement earns a hearty cheer from the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Metallica; Whiskey in the jar.” Secondly, he is relieved when that statement earns further cheers, particularly from you. 

Next, Santiago looks confidently to the band, deciding he will simply stare at them pointedly until the drums kick in. “For Nicole and Dio!” he adds with a flourish after an uncomfortably long moment of inaction; and, as the crowd gets behind Santiago, who on earth are they to deny him? 

“Everybody on the dance floor!” you add, with an enthusiasm so overblown it can’t fail to be infectious.

Still, when Santiago finally thinks he has it nailed, you turn to him with a sudden and pronounced wash of horror on your face. “Garcia. Shit. It’s not karaoke!” 

“Princesa,” he soothes as the band kicks in, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist to avert your knees buckling in fright. “If it’s not karaoke, why the shit do I have a mic and a backing track, huh?” You still look unsure. “Come on, sing it with me. You’re hot as hell up here, don’t go shy on me.” 

Santiago turns, forgetting the crowd entirely as his mission revolves wholly around you. 

He begins to sing to you, gaze soft and encouraging until you relax back into it, your broad, electric smile returning. He tugs you closer into him, snug and safe until you grow bold enough to sing along with him into your one shared mic, gradually letting go and -bolstered by him- giving it increasing amounts of gusto. 

The pool of guests at your feet are going surprisingly wild for it too, almost every one in the room having now descended on to the dance floor.

“Here,” he encourages, as soon as he feels you’re ready, handing the mic off to you for the remaining verses of the song. “You got this, sweetie.” 

He lets you have your moment in the spotlight, cheering you on from the sidelines as you sing and air-guitar your way through the final chorus. You aren’t necessarily singing at your best after belting out lyrics at top volume, but what you lack in vocal ability you sure make up for in spirit. You have bags of that, and you perform it with plenty of showmanship, throwing yourself all over the stage and making Santiago’s face split with joy as he whoops along with you, fist-pumping enthusiastically. 

You even end the song by taking a knee and exclaiming “Nicole and Dio!”, raising your mic arm triumphantly in the air like the rock star you are - which is a huge relief to Santiago, as it had looked for a moment like you were about to stage dive into the completely unsuspecting crowd. 

You wrap it up to what Santiago will later describe as rapturous applause. You milk it for all it's worth, before relinquishing the mic to the actual band and skipping over to your biggest fan. 

“Was I fucking amazing?” you ask, bundling him into an enclosing hug. 

“Holy shit. Felt like I was watching Kerrang.” 

You punch him playfully in the arm for his shit-eating grin. “Dickhead.”

“What’s next for the Birthday Princess?” Santi asks, hopping off of the stage and guiding you safely down too. 

He’s secretly praying you’ll say “back to the motel”, but it doesn’t surprise him at all when you throw your arms jubilantly into the air and yell: “more dancing!”. 

Santiago brings the pad of his thumb up to the corner of your mouth, finally smoothing away that damn lipstick smear he wishes he’d gotten to before your impromptu stage show. “Go for it, hermosa,” he insists fondly. “I’ll be with you in a sec, yeah? After pulling that shit, I don’t think we have long before we get busted. You gonna be ready to hustle soon?”

You nod, fist-bump him, and skitter off to the dance floor, your seemingly boundless energy carrying you right the way through towards dawn. 

Santiago will give this track a miss, he thinks. His knees need a goddamn time-out; but his eyes still linger on you, shining fondly as you are folded into the crowd. 

***

“Touching speech, lad,” a low-timbre voice sounds to Santiago’s left. “But who in the devil are ya?”

Santiago, who is sat blissfully nursing a glass of ice cold tap water, immediately swivels on his barstool. This puts him face-to-face with an older gentleman, of considerable stature. 

The man’s crinkled, bushy-eyebrowed face is stern; but not unkind, even as his chin juts up in challenge. Santiago rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. There is no point trying to wriggle out of this one, and he’s already sure of it. 

“Okay,” he responds, his voice slow and low and his palms raising defensively in the air. The man might be both older and frailer than Santiago, but he exudes a certain authority which trumps his own youthful confidence. In short, Santiago certainly doesn’t want to piss him off. “You got me. It’s a long story, and we weren’t technically invited… but we don’t mean any trouble, Sir. And, hey, we did bring a gift,” Santiago adds for good measure, not entirely convinced that the mushed up peanut butter cups in your jeans pocket will make any shade of difference now - but hoping. 

The man presses his lips together and hums, as if mulling over the guilty party’s fate. After a moment of contemplation though, the older gentleman unceremoniously releases some of the rigidity from his body, slumping down into Santiago’s neighbouring bar stool with a sense of resolution. A gulp trails down Santiago’s neck all the same. “You a military pair, kid?” the man asks casually, making-out like he’s thoroughly absorbed in rolling his cigarette papers, but his sharp eyes still finding time to needle Santiago incisively. “I know the type.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Hmm. Well.” The man licks along the long edge of cigarette paper with the tip of his tongue. “You came clean, I’ll keep quiet. Besides commandeering the stage(!), you two don’t seem like too much trouble.” 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m Colin, by the way. Nicole’s granddaddy.” The man extends a hand and Santiago shakes it. 

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.” 

Santiago would’ve allowed some of the tension to seep out of his own rigid body by now; except for the fact he can sense the man is not quite finished with him. He lights the tip of his cigarette with a battered-looking, engraved lighter, smoke swirling around him and becoming one with his white-gray, thinning hair. “Since I’ve been so generous, lad, how’s about you explain to me the circumstances that brought you to crash my granddaughter’s wedding?” 

From the man’s unwavering stare, Santiago knows fine well this is a demand and not a suggestion. He rubs his sweaty palms together, finding himself reluctant to spill but with little apparent choice in the matter. Still, as his gaze flicks back in the direction of you, he feels a softness overcome him. “It’s her birthday. We’re on leave. Had a big trip planned to reunite with some buddies but the airport-“

“-ah. All shut down.” Colin nods in partial understanding, taking a long drag on his smoke. 

“Yes, sir. So I, uh. Well, I had to improvise.” 

Colin’s eyes flutter briefly closed. Then, a small flicker of a smile appears, as he - apparently - achieves a fuller understanding than Santiago’s divulgence should have allowed. An understanding which Santiago isn’t sure he has attained himself, as it stands. Is he missing something? “I see. You wanted to show her a good time.”  

“Yeah. Yessir.” 

To Santiago’s utter surprise, the man’s hand clasps down on top of his closest shoulder, the cigarette still pinned precariously in between his forefingers, and the smoke tangling around Santiago’s curls like future grays attempting to stick. “What are you drinking, lad?”

“Uh. Water,” Santiago replies simply, recalling the glass sweating on the bar top. 

“Not any more.” Colin signals the bartender with a barely perceptible raise of his chin, and manages to convey his order simply by raising two of his fingers in the air.

Santiago watches as a bottle, sporting an affixed yellow post-it note, is grabbed-up from its secret hiding spot under the counter. Must be the good stuff. 

When served, Colin slides one glass over to Santiago with the back of his age-spotted palm. “You don’t have to drink it, o’ course - I’ll just think you’re a rude fecker if you don’t.”

“Thank you, sir.” The two men swivel on their stools to face the bar and Santiago takes a sip, doing his best to hide his reaction to the intensity of it. 

Colin guffaws. “Yeah. That’ll put hairs on yer chest.” 

Santiago splutters, attempting to quickly smooth himself. “Cheers. To Nicole.” He hoists his glass in the air. 

“Aye. Here’s to that.” 

Santiago smiles, clinking his glass with Colin’s and hoping against all odds that you might come and rescue him soon. 

You don’t, but mercifully the chat is suspended for a moment as the man coiffs his cigarette and his drink, and Santiago even suspects he has been forgotten entirely as another guest draws Colin into niceties and conversation. 

Therefore, after a few warming swigs have slipped down his throat, each one followed by a grimace, Santiago turns, realising it has been a minute since he’s had eyes on you. He quickly locates you on the dance floor, boogying with some tall, white guy. A guy who is - with your encouragement - getting rather handsy. Seeing this, all of Santiago’s muscles tighten and he feels the vague urge to leap up off of his bar stool - that is, until Colin interjects.

“Can I give you some advice?” 

Santiago’s initial thought is “no”; but he has a feeling Coilin may offer his unsolicited advice regardless. “Don’t crash weddings?” he jests half-heartedly, the lion’s share of his attention still on you and that guy’s damn hands. 

“Marry her.”

Santiago’s gaze flips immediately towards Colin, his face the picture of abject confusion. “Sorry. Who?” 

Colin chuckles to himself, evidently quite tickled, and nods his head gently in your direction. “Your lady friend.” 

Santiago saws his palm over the five-o-clock shadow adorning his jaw. A weak, throaty chuckle bobs in his throat. He finds it funny. Preposterous. “With respect, Sir. That’s not gonna happen.” It is knee-jerk. Santiago had sworn off marriage long ago. Had long ago given up on the prospect of any form of happy ending. Besides, you and him? He doesn’t think so. 

“Oh. Boyo,” Colin begins, his tone juuuust condescending enough to make Santiago stiffen. “You find someone who makes you as happy as that, you marry her. Trust me, lad.”

Santiago purses his lips. Tightens them into a thin line. “We’re not… together.” Not that it’s any of this guy’s business what you are to him; but he’s just not getting it. 

“You love her,” Colin says softly. Almost gently, as though he’s breaking bad news. 

”What?” Santiago shakes his head incredulously, blinking several times in succession. 

“I can barely see past my own arm these days, lad, but I can see that much.” 

There is that hand, clasping his shoulder again. This time it feels different. “You love her.” 

The first time Colin had spoken these words, Santiago had bristled. Felt provoked. He should feel similarly now too - he knows it - but upon hearing them for a second time, a sudden clarity settles over him. In fact, he’s never felt less confused by a statement in his life. 

He feels his mouth go dry. A sudden ringing in his ears. He could’ve sworn he had hands and feet earlier in the evening, but right now he can’t feel them. 

Of course he loves you, he thinks, reaching for logic. For rationalisations. But it’s not like that. That’s simply what happens when you go through so much together. You bond, intensely. That’s all it is. All it amounts to. 

Colin has this all wrong. 

Santiago looks at you then. Really looks at you, as you grab your dance partner by the shirt and shove your tongue in his mouth, pulling away from the kiss with a wolfish grin. Some kind of feeling he can’t hope to name tightens like a fist in his stomach when you do that. “She’s…” Santiago wants to protest. Wants to say that no, he doesn’t. But those aren’t quite the words which find their way out. Instead, he says quietly, like he’s delivering bad news now: “she’s my best friend.” 

“Ah,” Colin breathes, in a fresh tone of relief. As if satisfied. As if he has now achieved full understanding - even if Santiago has not. The older man stubs out his cig and downs the dregs of his whiskey, cheersing Santiago once more with a clink of his empty glass. “There you go then. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Isn’t that the same thing?

It is a blur from there. A blur as Colin once again outstretches his hand and Santiago obliges by shaking it, his arm feeling limp and useless like a bag of cotton-wool. It is a blur as Colin wishes him well with a jolly “take care, lad,” sauntering away with no concern for the destruction left in his wake. 

It is a blur as you sidle over, as though the volume in the room has been turned down all of a sudden. It becomes gradually louder again as you approach. 

You. 

You. 

You.

“Fuck, you okay, Garcia? You look like you’re about to puke.” 

There’s nothing here. 

Nothing with you. 

Nothing he could have with you. No way. 

“Seriously! You look queasy as hell.” You place your hand across his brow to see if he’s burning up.  

“No. ‘M good. Fine,” he says tightly. 

You nod, still looking sceptical but opting to buy what he’s selling. “You just tired? Too much dancing?”

”Heh. Something like that.” It is a struggle to push the words out, but he surprises himself. Gradually sinks himself back into the room. Back into his body. 

Santiago notices the brief spark of an idea fleet over your face as you regard him and, in the next moment, you dip forward to chastely kiss him on the cheek. He feels a deep, blooming heat develop under his skin, his cheeks darkening with a crimson flush, and he resists the urge to clamp his palm over the spot your lips touched. “What was that for?” 

A delicate smile dances on your mouth. “Thank you, butthead. I’m having a good birthday.”

It’s what you don’t say. It’s what your eyes are telling him. Your body language. Your touch. You’re telling him things you’ve been saying for a long time now. Things which, thanks to Colin, beg a whole load of new questions.

You slip your hand down his arm, grasping his hand in yours. For a moment he just stares, looking down at your hands clasped there together. He is vaguely aware of the track switching in the background, to a slower, more heartfelt tune, and, by the time he drags his eyes back-up to yours, he figures he’s got a head start already on what you’re about to ask. 

He makes it so you don’t even have to. “One more dance?” 

He stands, capturing your waist with his wrapped arm, leading you back towards the dance floor. The surprise and relief and glee on your face as he preempts you is almost too bright for him to look at. 

“You even know how to slow dance, Garcia?” you ask as he maneuvers the two of you into prime position, right in the beam of a sweeping purple spotlight, the dancefloor filling exclusively with swaying couples as the tender, swooping song resonates through the room. 

“Haven’t slow danced since prom,” he admits. “But I’ll follow your lead, Princesa.” 

“You a’ways do, asshat.” 

“You know? You’re not wrong. Now, come here.”

He holds his arms out and you step into his sturdy circumference, no hesitation. Trust implicit, your bodies moving in sync. You drape the loop of your arms gently around his shoulders, your twined fingers brushing the nape of his neck, sending a warm shudder through him. His hands hover helplessly for a moment, but he eventually settles them on your hips, drawing your body closer, tightening the space between you as you each sway together, cheek to cheek. 

“I - I can’t believe you did this for me, you know?” Your voice is lower, dropped in your throat. Heavy with solemnity as though you are thanking him for taking a bullet for you or something. “Tonight. The karaoke. Everything.” 

“Well,” he dismisses, against the shell of your ear. It’s not nearly enough.“You got shot for me, so...”

Your light, lilting laugh fans across his check. It isn’t funny at all, wasn’t a joke; except that it’s so tragic it kinda has to come full-circle, he supposes. “Fine,” you offer. “Call it even?” 

Even? 

It could never get close to even. 

Santiago feels a surge of emotion welling in him. Like suddenly there is a mechanism dredging all the settled silt back up to the surface. It rises all the way up - into his chest, into his throat. He pulls back slightly until you are face to face, his expression far more severe than the situation merits; but he can’t help it. It feels barbed, difficult, coming out of his mouth, but it needs to be said. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me, you know?” His eyes are glistening, a telltale softness nestled beneath his thick brows, and his thumbs unconsciously rubbing circles into the meat of your hips. “You’re…. I… I mean. You’re… my best friend.”

You gawp back at him for a moment, visibly caught off-guard by his emotional intensity. Then: “oh no,” you whisper-shout into the space between you, as though if you push too much sound out, the emotions might overspill along with it. “Don’t get all soppy on me, you hear? You’re the only fucker who knows I have emotions, and I damn sure wanna keep it that way.”

His gaze flits all over your face. “Secret’s safe with me, Princesa.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

He smiles at you - a smile that only reaches his eyes. 

You nestle yourself back into the crook of his shoulder, your body pressed right up against his. One hand grasping at his back. The fingers of the other clasping his shorn head, dancing over the prickled hair of his army-issue buzzcut. 

He holds you, and in turn you hold him even tighter. You hold each other tightly until you are no longer even dancing. Until you are simply an island in a sea of undulating couples, holding on to each other for dear life. 

It scares him.

It scares him to his depths that he never wants to let you go; but not enough to stop.  

As he pulls you close to him, buries his face in your neck and embraces you tightly, he thinks about it. He thinks about whether he believes in happy endings. He thinks about whether his, if he could be so lucky, would involve you. 

Those thoughts are interrupted when he feels a wetness bloom on his shoulder. Feels you jerking and sniffing against him, and he experiences your sudden outpouring of pain as acutely as though it is his own. 

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

”No. It’s…” You sniff. “It’s just been so hard lately. And, you know. Tonight has been so… It’s been so…” 

He thinks he knows what you mean. Thinks he understands you completely. “Perfect?” he ventures. 

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.” 

He holds you as you cry. And there’s not a chance in hell he’s letting you go. 

***

Considering your intoxication level, the sudden onset of tiredness, and your tears, Santiago figures it’s about time to head. He manages to get you in a cab back to the motel eventually - only after you’ve visited the ladies restroom, become fast friends with an equally drunken Nicole, bestowed her with peanut butter cups, and promised to meet-up next time you’re in the city. By this point, you are already dropping, and the soporific movements of the cab have you falling asleep draped over Santiago’s lap. 

He pays the driver when you arrive, stirring you with a warm hand smoothing up and down your back. He tries to be calm. Soothes you with his voice; because he knows all too well that for someone in the military, a rude awakening is no small thing. 

He walks you to the room and helps you sit down on the bed. Tugs your boots off for you as you opt to bury your nose deep in your own armpit and sniff. 

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.” 

“Fuck that. You can shower in the morning.” 

“I stink.” 

“Trust me. You’ve smelled much worse.” He smiles softly as his comment earns an indignant snort from you, but the ire in your face is quickly snuffed as he looks up to you a little too softly. “Let’s get you dressed for bed, alright, birthday girl?” 

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.” 

He swallows a smile at seeing you in this sleepy state. It’s not often that you allow anyone else to take care of you. In fact, Santiago feels a strange surge of honour - a glow within his chest -  that tonight, he is the one who has the privilege. 

You unabashedly begin to strip off your jeans and top next, and Santiago quickly scoops up an oversized t-shirt from the gaping mouth of your hold-all. “Here,” he says, swallowing the tremor in his voice as he gathers the fabric up and guides the garment gently over your head to cover you. Gingerly passes your arms through the right holes. “That’s it. Put this on, alright? Can you get your bra out from under there?” 

You maneuver the clasp and straps beneath the cover of the shirt until you are pulling the bra out from the confines of your tee, triumphantly flinging it across the room with a soft “woo!”, to which Santiago’s lips twitch in silent amusement. 

“Need to brush my teeth at least,” you argue, holding your arms up and out - making grabby hands to signal for his help. 

“Alright. Sure. Let’s go together.” Santiago helps you stand. Maneuvers and encourages you onwards. He wraps his closest arm around your waist, and his other hand catches the arm you throw out to him so he can keep you steady.  Then, steps in sync, you pad the short distance to the bathroom, Santiago lightly directing you away from bumping your hip on the doorframe (again) as you pass through it. “That’s it. Little off course there,” he chuckles. “Almost as bad as Ironhead’s God-awful driving.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder and scold him good-naturedly. “Ouch. Don’t remind me.” 

“Yikes, sorry. Too soon?” You’d teased Will for the unfortunate humvee training exercise that had put you in med bay, but Santiago guesses you aren’t quite ready to have him joke about it yet. 

“Never getting back in a car with that bastard in the driver’s seat, trust me. Fella takes off-road a little too literally, you know? Still have that goddamn tweak in my back too to prove it.” 

“You do, huh?” Shit, you’ve certainly hidden it well enough - had insisted you were unscathed, in fact, when sober - and so Santiago mentally logs that information for later.

With a little bit of wriggling around, you squeeze into the tight bathroom space. When you reach the bathroom sink, Santiago is still behind you, his hands now clamped on your hips and keeping you steady. When you turn on the faucet and bend enthusiastically towards the stream of water however - hinging at the hips and dipping to splash your face with cold water - Santi punches out a strangled note. Which is natural, he thinks, given that your panty-clad, half-bare ass is thrust further into his hands (and his crotch), with decidedly no room in the cramped space for him to back-up. “Woah, Jesus. Keep it vertical, would you?” 

“Shit, sorry. Liked that did you?” you mock, with a dirty, chaotic snigger. 

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

With a nervous twist in his belly, Santiago flees to the more expansive space of the bedroom, leaving you to complete your task. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, he throws open the window, thankful when the relative cool of the night air kisses his skin. The room has grown hot and sticky all of a sudden. Too close. Lord knows why. 

He perches himself inside the opened wooden square then, the flung-open frame an awkward perch. He rests with one leg hiked up on the ‘sill and one foot bracing him on the floor, his back reclining against the biting vertical edge. 

Only when you reenter does he reluctantly drag his eyes away from the black night and into the soft, shadowed shell of the dreary room. Despite this dimness, he can barely bring himself to look at you in this moment. It is as though you are too bright for him, and so he quickly -and uncharacteristically- averts his eyes. 

Still, you’re like a magnet, and his gaze quickly relocates you without much trouble. 

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?” 

Despite looking bleary-eyed - dead on your feet, even -  you nod in response to his proposition and, much unlike earlier, Santiago suddenly feels he wouldn’t dream of sleeping. You perch yourself on the edge of the bed and flick on the lamp, casting a sallow glow throughout the room. It makes you look at once dream-like and infinitely more real to him, as the glare highlights the goose flesh trailing up your arms and thighs. The tired circles under your eyes. He doesn’t know how you make such details attractive, but as far as he is concerned, there is no bad light to cast you in. 

You lay down, legs stretched out on the scratchy comforter, and torso propped against the stiff, unforgiving pillows. You make space for him to lie down alongside you, and yet Santiago opts to hover, not ready to relinquish his window seat. It’s as uncomfortable as it probably looks, however, and so he fumbles in his pocket for a smoke, figuring it as good an excuse as any to be sitting up there - instead of lying next to you. He stares out into the blackened parking lot with enough vigour to convince an onlooker it is entirely compelling - instead of looking at you. 

You are quiet for a moment following and Santiago lets it hang, exhaling twists of smoke from his mouth to the window. Flicking his spent ash down onto the asphalt below. Then, you expel a blustery sigh.

“Shit,” you grumble. You click your tongue. Santiago turns to see you lying flat on your back now, staring contemplatively up at the dusty, motionless ceiling fan, arms folded behind your head. “That guy I made out with.” 

Santiago takes an even deeper drag on his smoke; perhaps unconsciously hoping that if he is occupied long enough, he won’t be required to respond at all.

Your head lollops to the side, your gaze finding his. “Do me a favour and don’t tell Tommy I did that, okay?” 

Fuck. 

“Wait. Tommy?! You and Tommy?” The words are expelled faster than he would’ve wanted, almost making him choke on a cloak of hot smoke. “Tommy fucking Nelson?”

“Yeahhh. We’ve, um, sorta… been hooking-up lately.” 

Santiago quickly inhales another drag, smoke seething out of his nostrils as he flicks the used cigarette butt down to the asphalt below. He is grateful that the lungful gives him a second to think before he speaks - yet apparently, it is not quite long enough. “Shit. The guy’s so stacked I swear he must have abs on his dick.” 

You laugh; and Santiago decides that, based on the beauteous sound of it alone, Tommy fucking Nelson doesn’t even remotely deserve you. 

“I dunno about abs on his dick… but he’s got enough to work with, know what I mean?”

Santiago continues to peer out of the window, and so you don’t see his face crumple with a frown. “So he’s good, huh?” 

You scoff to yourself. “Oh. Fuck. Not really. He doesn’t do much of the work…” Your dirty laugh sounds out. “Fortunately, I’m a goddamn miracle worker when it comes to getting myself off.”

Strike two. Tommy Nelson definitely doesn’t deserve you. 

You giggle. Giggle like this is a girls’ fucking sleepover. Like you are revealing some - far more innocent - secret to a best friend. 

But… of course. Because that’s precisely what he is to you, right? Nothing more, nothing less. And that’s never bothered him before. Has never bothered him until precisely now. 

What exactly has gotten into him tonight, then? Why does some old guy have his head in a spin? Why is he delaying crawling onto his side of the bed? Why can’t he look at you? 

Further delaying the inevitable, Santiago pats down his pockets, hoping for another cigarette with which to prolong his diversion by the window. However, he comes up short. Has no other recourse left besides brushing his teeth, kicking off his shoes, stripping down to his boxers, and laying his body out alongside yours. The mattress dips as he settles on top of the covers, and you swivel on to your side to face him. 

“Hey.” You prod him in the pec. “What about you anyway?”

“What about me?”

You reach down. Snap the elastic hem of his boxers until it pings back against his toned stomach. “Been getting any lately?” 

He makes a vague, non-committal sound, hoping it will be enough; but, of course, you don’t stop there.  

“Your dream girl… Let’s see.” Your eyes spark, far too animated considering such a long night. “Wait. Don’t tell me. She’s… nude. Huge breasts.” Santiago had wanted to roll his eyes at you, honestly, but he finds he can’t quite quash his smile. “She’s… I know… draped in the American Flag.” His face splits with mirth. “Reciting the Fifth Amendment.” You prod him emphatically in the pec. “Plus she plays bass in a Pearl Jam cover band and gives next-level blow jobs.” His gaze sweeps over your shit-eating grin like a paintbrush over a canvas. Like fingers down a guitar fret. Like it belongs there. Like he belongs here. “Well?” you’d needled. “Am I warm yet?” 

“Wait, I think I know her.” Santiago snaps his fingers. “Hey. Yeah. Didn’t she hook-up with Benny last week?” 

You twist as chaotic laugh spills out of you, throwing your arm over him and dipping your head towards his bare chest. It is a small thing. A minute, unconscious action. A brief touch. A single moment. Except… the way it makes his stomach lurch makes it completely undeniable to him. Undeniable that the only girl doing it for him is you. 

He realises it all now though, as he looks at you. Realises he’s been seeing you in pieces. In fragments; because of course he has. Of course, because he’s been trying to survive, and if he’d dared to think, instead, about living? Well, then he’d have far too much to lose. 

“Come onnn,” you purr, jutting out your bottom lip, entirely oblivious to the way the ground is disappearing from beneath him as you remain curled into his side. “Give me some gossip. It’s my birthday!” 

He swallows. Tries to pull himself together. Tries to be exactly what you need him to be. 

“Christ.” He nervously scratches at the stubble sprouting along his jaw. “Well. Let’s see. First of all, I’ve spent so long without any action but my own goddamn fist that even Morales is starting to look appealing.” 

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”  

“He should be so lucky. Anyway. He’s got a girl back home. High school kinda sweetheart deal.”

You scoff. “What? For real?”

“Mm hmm. He’s in it too. His eyes mightta wandered occasionally - but as far as I know his dick never has.” 

You pump your eyebrows like that surprises you. “Good for him.” And then: “It won’t last though.”

“Christ. You’re really that cynical already?”

“Something like that,” you smirk. “Guess it comes with the old age.” 

“Oh yeah. Speaking of birthdays…” Santiago pushes off his elbow and swivels, reaching to fumble a tiny, square parcel from his jeans pocket. He settles back into position with a grin on his face, extending his gift toward you. You eye it sceptically, but with casual intrigue. 

“Fuck me. Something else from your trousers that’s been manhandled to death, Santiago? You know how to treat a lady.” 

He can’t explain why he feels nervous as you weigh the package in your palm. “It’s… for protection.” 

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?” 

You rise up, settling cross-legged on top of the covers, and Santiago shifts to mirror you, with a lopsided, self-conscious smile. You pause, looking between him and the package with a gentle, subdued glee. You gingerly peel the red tissue paper away, revealing the gift nestled within. As soon as you observe what is inside, however, the glee evaporates from your face. You look down at it, for once rendered speechless before you say his name, the sound as thin as the wisps of smoke still eddying up on the ceiling. “Santiago.” 

He swallows. Saws his hand across his stubble, suddenly worried that the gesture is all off. “It’s-” 

Your eyes snap up to his, your expression raw and soft. “-I know what it is.” 

You look back down to the gift now, warmly. Lift them up, a string of black rosary beads unfurling. The beads his mom had gifted him for protection the day before he’d shipped out, clamping her hands over his and reciting a prayer he didn’t believe in, but which he’d felt all the way down to his marrow. The beads that he’d kept on him ever since, usually nestled in the pocket of his tac vest. The beads which his mother had prayed would keep him safe. Would protect him, when it had turned out to be you who had answered her prayer. You who had protected him, at whatever cost. 

“But I can’t-“

Stupid. You’re stupid. Of course you can. 

“It’s no big deal. I’m just a cheapskate,” he minimises. 

You inhale, about to launch a protest, but you must read something altogether too earnest in his face, since any such argument is subdued as soon as you look at him. Instead then, you hold them up once more, your eyes glistening as you admire the cheap, plastic beads for far more than they are worth. 

“But won’t your mom-“

“Be mad I gave them away?” You let the beads pool in one palm, the red tissue paper now strewn over your lap like swatches of blood. Santiago clamps his hands over yours, nestling the beads safely within, in a gesture which mirrors his mother’s own plea a little too closely. He empathises with her then. With her fear of being left behind. With her fear for his soul and its fate. “Are you shitting me? You saved her angelito. She’d probably sign the goddamn house over to you. I mean, shit - she’s already been bugging me to bring her new hija over for tamales.” 

He hasn’t ever told you that before. Maybe that’s why you do it. Why you gently cup his face and dip to render a light, chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. When you draw back from him, you look almost as surprised by the gesture as he is.  

“Santiago.” Your eyes well-up. “It really means a lot.” 

He doesn’t have words for a moment. It does. It means a lot to him, and he’s struck with sentimentality when he realises that it means something to you too. He nods once, gaze gently dancing over your face. 

“I mean it,” you squeeze out through welling tears. “This is the sweetest thing-“

“-Shh. Oh no. No, no, no,” he captures your tears with the crook of his forefinger just as they spill over, motioning as though he is attempting to restore them to whence they came, a soft yet playful concern dancing over his face. “Quick sharp. Put these back,” he whisper-shouts, faux urgently. “No-one can know you feel things.” 

His remark causes you to laugh through your tears, as you hastily lift a balled fist to scrub them away. The sounds dissolve into a pleasant yet taut silence, leaving the two of you simply looking into each other’s eyes. 

You are the first to break it, dropping your gaze down towards your lap. 

“Listen. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I could do.“

Your expression grows more troubled then, a divot notching in your brow and your head shaking softly side to side. “Santiago. I need to say this. You… you don’t owe me any debt. Okay? And… and don’t you even think -ever- about trying to repay it. You hear me?” 

He owes you everything, and he’ll repay it however he can; but he isn’t about to argue with you. Instead, he simply nods. Forces an even, concessionary smile, leaning into a swift topic change. “You tired yet?”

“Yeah. Exhausted.” 

“Let’s lie down then, alright?” 

“Mmm.” You set the beads down so carefully on your nightstand that it constricts his chest, arranging them in a nest of tissue paper. “It’s just… I…”

“What?” 

He flicks off the lamp and you lay down on your back, staring up at the ceiling fan, the room now illuminated only by the distant glow of the motel’s neon sign across the lot. It bathes the room in a purple-tinged dark. When your voice comes back, it is small. “It’s just that I… I don’t want this night to end.” 

Santiago lays himself out, right next to you. “Then let’s try and stay awake, huh?” 

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” You shiver; then, instead of crawling beneath the scratchy comforter like he expects, you curl into his side. Rest your head against his chest. Santiago’s arms hover over you for a moment, as though he doesn’t know what to do. In actual fact though, it comes far too naturally to him. 

He wraps you in his arms, and begins to smooth one hand up and down your back - of course, being careful not to venture too low, even as you torque your body into his touch. 

You exhale against him. Hum, up against his bare, tan skin. Drape your arm over him, and, reliably, there is that knot again. That fist, tightening inside his chest. 

“Hey,” he croaks, voice smaller than it needs to be. “Birthday princess?” 

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?” 

“Do I what?” 

He hesitates. Stares coldly and contemplatively up at the ceiling fan himself now even as he bundles the warmth of you in his arms. “Do you believe in happy endings?”

He feels your breathy expletive fan over his chest. “Fuck. That’s a big one.”

“Sorry. Forget it, you don’t have to-“

“-No. I do,” you say with certainty. “I do believe in them.”

Santiago hopes that you can’t feel his heart thundering beneath the shell of your ear. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Except… not for people like us.” 

His brow tightens, mouth turning down at the corners. “Why not?” 

“Well,” you muse, wriggling pointedly until his hand - stopped dead with suspense - resumes its ministrations over your back, his fingers obediently seeking out the knots and notches until your airy hum sounds again. “Because our hands are too bloody now to build anything good. Right?” 

It’s strange because, right now, caressing you like this, he could almost forget that his hands are blood-soaked. Your touch is the only reminder he’s had in some time that his hands can indeed be loving. In fact, the whole concept of war feels so entirely incongruous to him while he’s holding you. Like it could not be further away, even though -in your lives- it is only ever around the corner. He pushes his response out from the depths of his chest. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bleak?” 

“I dunno.” You shrug, and he doesn’t enjoy how sad your voice grows . How old you somehow sound all of a sudden. “It’s just… They told us we’d be heroes, Santi. But… When was the last time you felt like one?”

You’re my hero, he thinks loudly, in the achingly quiet room; but, he catches the words before they make it out of his throat. In the end, nothing more than a small, reined-in grunt manages to escape. 

“Why do you ask, anyway?” 

Because you deserve one. More so than anyone he’s ever met, you deserve one. 

His fingers and the heel of his hand continue to massage the dink in your back, rooting out every source of tension. Learning how to take the pain apart for you like a weapon in his palm. “Dunno,” he lies. “The wedding. All that.” 

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.” 

“You’re fucking brutal, you know that?”  

“And you’re hilarious. Shit. Happy fucking endings? Man. At this point, I think I’d settle for a happy middle, you know? Before I go down in my inevitable blaze of glory.”

“Don’t say that,” Santiago scolds, his voice taut. “I hate when you talk like that.” 

He doesn’t blame you. For being cynical or pessimistic - not really. Doesn’t blame you one bit. Not after you’d legitimately looked death in the face. He understands well enough what that can do to a person. How it can change them. How, even someone like you, who always saw a clear, bright path ahead, could begin to doubt the clarity of that vision. 

Absent-mindedly, you circle the pad of your forefinger in the valley of his pecs. “What about you, then? Do you believe in all that stuff? Marriage? Happy endings?” 

“Meh. Not so much,” he answers honestly, fissures in his voice. Maybe it is his ingrained Catholic guilt talking, but he certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves a happy ending. Not after the things he’s done. Not after all that blood.

“Then how about this, Santiago Garcia,” you begin, tone much more playful, like you’ve had a bright idea. “Would you settle for a lifetime of trouble-making with your ride or die?” 

You extend your pinky towards him for the most sacred of all vows, and he curls his own little finger around yours.

He intends his response to feel light-hearted. Equally playful. He really does. But, when the words escape his lips they are heavy. Dripping and weighed with sentimentality. “With you, honestly, it doesn’t really feel like settling.” He suddenly feels like someone is sitting on his chest. Like the air is scarce and sharp with some incendiary cloud - about to ignite and burn everything he’s known to the ground. 

“Kiss ass,” you poke lightly, and a wistful smile briefly dances across his features. 

“It’s only what you’re due.” 

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?” 

“Sure. Maybe you can get Tommy-abs-on-his-dick-Nelson right on that.” 

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

Santiago jostles you gently in his embrace. “Hey. Speaking of. Sorry you got lumbered with the sideshow tonight, by the way.”

“Fuck off, Pope,” you huff, like he’s just said something which causes deep offence. “Of all the chumps I couldda been stuck with, I’m glad it was you.” Santiago’s heart flutters, his chest blooming with a hazy, metered-out warmth when he hears you say those words. “Now. Wish me happy birthday one more time, and then sing me a damn lullaby, would you?” 

Santiago crushes his chin down to his chest to get a better look at you, having decided that you must surely be joking. “Huh?!” 

“We all knew about your guitar skills but you have a beautiful set of pipes too? Been holding out on me, Pope. Now, sing!” 

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

“It’s only what I’m due, right? Come on, I haven’t got all night, asshat!” Somehow, the derogatory term sounds imbued with a deep fondness somehow, and it blooms through him. 

“Alright. Alright. Keep your panties on.” Shit - you had better. 

“Thank you.” 

Santiago dips his chin so he can reach your hairline. Settles a chaste kiss there, which lingers a touch too long - but which he can’t possibly cut any shorter, his eyes closing as his lips brush your skin. “Happy birthday,” he breathes, completing part one of your demand. With any luck, he thinks, you might fall straight to sleep like this - before he even has to serenade you. 

He stills as your eyes flutter closed, listening out for the slowed pace of your breathing. That is, until you open one eye and whisper-hiss up at him. “Sing.” 

A resigned amusement twitches his plush lips and he finally obliges you. He begins softly speak-singing, hoping his soporific and sandy tones will lull you towards sweet dreams, his broad palm still sweeping up and down your back. 

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…” 

A soft smile graces your features as you note his song choice. “Cobain? You’re such an angsty little gremlin, you know that?” 

“I can stop at any time,” he threatens, teasingly. 

“No. No, please.” 

He clears his throat. Lets his voice grow a touch more full and resonant, despite it being scuffed by tiredness and smoke.

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.” 

It is a little funny, at first. A little awkward; until suddenly, it isn’t . Until, suddenly, a weight settles in your brow. Until his voice begins to falter, cracking apart with emotion. 

He hadn’t been able to say it. Clearly not even to acknowledge it. 

He hadn’t been able to find the words to tell you what you mean to him. To explain the pit in him which had opened up when he’d almost lost you. Didn’t have the words to tell you you were the reason he’d prayed for the first time in ten years, pledging loyalty to a God he hadn’t believed in -hadn’t needed - until he was begging Him not to take you. He didn’t know how to describe the way it had felt for him to kneel by your bedside, his mother’s rosary beads clutched in his palm so tightly the cross has drawn blood - even as he’d openly cursed them for protecting him and not you, and had cursed you for the same. 

He swallows the hard, tight knot which has gnarled in his throat. Wonders if maybe he can stop, because singing feels like purging himself of far too much of the pain and love he has buried, and fuck, it hurts on the way out. 

He does consider stopping. That is, until your small, grief-laden voice sounds out as though it hurts you too; but that you need to hear what he is finally telling you. “Please. Don’t stop?” 

It is a question, this time, not a demand; and yet, Santiago couldn’t dream of denying you. 

And so, with a weight in his brow, he keeps on singing. 

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky. 

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

It is at this point his voice cracks wide open. It is at this point a single tear slips across the bridge of his nose as he sings it out loud. Something he’d known for a long time, in truth, but hadn’t quite found the words for:  

“And I love her.”

The room seems eerily still as you each hold your breath. He doesn’t know where to go from here - but luckily, you always seem to know the way forward. 

“You know,” you say softly, voice wet with emotion. “It’s a real shame. Because if you did believe in happy endings?” 

“Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper.  

“You’d look pretty good as somebody’s endgame, butthead.” 

An emotion Santiago can’t name twists through his middle, like he is being wrung out. Like his blood-soaked soul is finally being purged. It is no wonder then, that his words come out dripping red. Soaked in cynicism. With a disbelief that anything good -for him - is deserved. “Let’s get each other through the happy middle first,” he says, as hidden tears glitter on his long lashes. “Then maybe we’ll see about endings, huh?” 

You don’t speak for a moment. Simply swallow in the near-dark. But, it is not lost on him that you hold him just a shade tighter. Then, when he hears a gentle intake of breath from you, he knows your request before you even utter it. 

Please. 

He resumes his singing. Slower, more off tempo. Begins to repeat the lines, over and over, softer and softer, until your breathing is deep and soporific. Until your weight on him is heavier. Heavier from sleep, and heavier from this new knowledge he has gained. 

And, there it is. The end of the night, and yet Santiago cannot dream of sleeping. Not yet. Can only watch you, hold you, listen to your soft breathing, his heart full with a new understanding. And understanding he didn’t invite, but a welcome guest all the same. 

He resolves it then. Resolves that, even if he doesn’t deserve a happy ending, he will do everything in his power to make sure you get yours… 

Even if that means letting all hope of you -for him- go. 

So, as he cradles you in his arms and stares unsleeping up at the ugly ceiling fan, Santiago contemplates it. 

Contemplates in great detail the four days with you that irrevocably changed the course of his life. 

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you. 

The day he realised he was in love with you. 

And the day he started running from that.

The first day had been two years ago, the second had been five months ago, the third had been today, and the fourth? 

The fourth will be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, he will start running, because his feelings for you are far too deep and huge for him to handle. 

He doesn’t even pause to wonder whether he’ll ever allow himself to stop. After all, once Santiago Garcia has a mission, he accepts nothing less than completion. 

Maybe he’s no hero; but he always gets the job done. 

[whoishotteranimepolls]

I post over 50 random polls a week, all in the name of some good fun. Requests Closed Please stick to the rules. All polls are queued, so if you did make a request, it may take a few days for them to be posted, but the queue is also frequently shuffled, so I can't give an exact timeline

Propaganda is welcomed. However, please be respectful.

Request Rules

It must include both the character name and show name (please make sure names are spelled correctly or at least close enough that Google can figure it out)

It must be a matchup, for example, between character A and character B from the X and Y shows. Don't just send me a random list of characters

Characters must either be assumed to be adults or high schoolers in the story or canonically confirmed to be over the age of 15. Absolutely no one under that age. Now that means minors can and probably will be matched up against each other and against 18+ characters. Please don't come at me about that choice. These characters are fictional. You can't hurt them, and a blog like this isn't going to normalize preying on minors. YES, it's wrong in real life, but anime teenagers are not normal teenagers. I literally just finished an anime about an assassin trying to get back to his wife. He was 16 and had a wife. I swore he was at least 20, but sometimes anime ages don't make sense. Please don't start anything, or I will start blocking. But for those of you who don't want to participate in those polls, I will tag them with #minor poll so you can block all polls that have confirmed 15-17-year-old characters. So if you have a problem with this decision, block the tag and don't participate. Don't start crap. Now, that does mean please, in your request, say there is a 15-17-year-old so I can add the special tag for the sake of everyone that doesn't want to participate in these polls. To clarify, if they started the series at 14 and ended the series at 16, they will still qualify for my polls. Now if you see a character that is a minor and the poll is not tagged, please let me know. You can politely leave a comment or shoot me an ask and I will add the tag. Some people are not the best at letting me know their poll has a minor in it and needs the tag when they request

Characters, where age verification is complicated due to magic, time travel, other universe shenanigans, or the immortal child trope are accepted on a case-by-case basis and will be tagged with the #schrodingers minor just to be safe

Characters must be from a manga, anime, or anime-like show. Right now, no characters from webtoons, webcomics, mechs, or sentient weapons. No strictly video game characters. Not sure if the show counts here. Is it a list of cartoons and anime-like shows and if can they be requested before you ask

Up to 5 regular matchups or 1 Six Way Poll per request. A lot of people have been ignoring this. So quit doing it. Your request will be deleted moving forward if you go over the max.

You can request up to Six-Way polls.

Please limit your request to two asks a day during the duration of requests being open that's up to 10 matchups. Let's let everyone request polls

Please format your request in a way that's easily legible, I am very dyslexic, and I have shared multiple examples of good request formats. You can find them easily. If your post is illegible to me, I will give you a chance to resubmit it in a better format, and then it will be deleted. Look under the tag #requests example if you want to know how to format your request so it's easily legible to me

Rules for ships

Both characters must meet the age requirements stated above

If the ship is incest, whether it be adopted or blood I will have to tag it with #incest ship so So people can filter it out if they don't want to see it. So I would like a heads up and the request if it needs the tag and if you see a poll that needs it. Let me know in the comments. However, this does not include found family. Please do not try to argue that ships like Naruto/Sasuke or Zoro/Sanji or somehow incest. I have seen things on the internet so I have to clarify.

If you do not submit a photo, I cannot guarantee your request will be honored because it is sometimes very hard to find photos of ships that are not fan art and I do not accept fan art

And ship requests are different than Duo and trio requests or polls?

Rules for Duo, Trios and Groups

All characters must meet the age requirements listed above

These are not entered as ships, so their rules are different. For example, you could submit the Straw Hat Pirates from One Piece or the Dungeon Meshi adventuring party as a group or Jessie and James from Pokémon as a Duo. Again, these are not necessarily ships, but they are a group of characters

If you don't submit a photo again, the request might not be honored because of the difficulty with finding photos

General request guidelines and recommendations

If you don't follow the rules, and submit an underage character It will be deleted

Rematches are allowed if you feel like your character was wronged or victim of recency bias but the original poll must be over. That's one of the advantages of not doing a tournament and just doing random polls for fun

Not required but recommended if you want your poll to end up in the queue faster putting their age in the submission saves me time and will probably make your poll end up in the queue faster. Especially if there's a 15-17-year-old so I know to put the minor tag

Also recommended but not required. You could submit photos along with your request. This is especially for people who have super specific photo requests. You just did half the work for me and as long as it's not fan art because I would need that artist permission to use it, I'll use it. And again because you just did half the work for me. So, your poll will more likely end up in the queue faster. Now if you do submit photos, please make sure both photos share The same orientation they either both got to be landscape or portrait for formatting reasons.

And if you send photos please no photo links. They are unreliable. They frequently do not work. And because I try to only use official photos, I do not accept links to Facebook or Pinterest for photos

If you have any questions or even want an example of a wonderful request that makes my life easier, please look under the tags, #not a poll #ask #request rules #poll requests #request questions & #requests example. See if your question was answered there. If not, shoot me an ask and I will add it to the ever-growing list of posts under those tags

Polls that contain spoilers relating to any fandom will be marked with the tag #spoiler poll so you can go ahead and block it now Now if you see a poll that contains a spoiler you can leave a comment and I will mark it. People are also terrible at letting me know if things are spoilers.

If you request polls anonymously you probably won't get a response unless I make an announcement that says I emptied out the request box and everything's in the queue. And honestly, there's a chance your poll might be posted before I do that. The only other way you will get a response is if there is an issue like I can't find a photos because the show came out 2 weeks ago so you should try again in a month when there's actual photos on the wiki or something

However, if you don't request anonymously, I can always just respond privately to your requests telling you that it's in the queue

Non-Poll Series

These can all be found under their respective title tags

Poll Analysis, where I write down my thoughts about observations I have made about fandom behaviors and trends because some of you guys have interesting behavioral patterns, and I read every tag and comment left on my polls

Nicknames and Funny Tags, where I collect All those creative tags and comments that have been left on my polls for your viewing pleasure. I have posts dedicated to specific fandoms and their creativity, which I update whenever I have time

Fandoms vs Illiteracy, where I publish one of the many essays I receive asking me to ban certain characters or fandoms and due to their problematic nature or other stupid reasons. This can sometimes turn into a fierce debate

Defend Your Blurbo, my bi-weekly series discussing how some people can find (insert Blorbo of the week) attractive. This can be funny. This can be stupid. Sometimes, this involves PHD level dissertations in defense of our favorite 2D characters. You never know what you're going to get. Also, look under the Defend your Blurbo response tag. That's where all my followers send their responses to the original Defend Your Blurbo post. Those can get wild! DyB Masterlist and Series rules and guidelines

The Horny Scale is a series where people ask where particular fandoms fall on the horny scale. I made details here, and the Masterlist

Fandom Jail, aka the Wall of Shame

All fandoms listed below are serving their jail sentence due to bad behavior. Here are the dates of when you can expect to see polls from these fandoms again

The jail is empty. Everyone has been on their best behavior. Let's keep it that way

[sofiareidings]

I'm Not Yours

Summary: You're getting over a breakup and meet a cute guy on a case, what you didn't realise was that your best friend has been waiting for years. Warning: Swearing

A/N: I'm sorry my post is so late!! I had it queued up to post at 9am like normal and then it didn't?? And then I had a math test so I couldn't go on my phone or anything, AND THEN HALF THE STORY JUST DISSAPPEARED SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT?!?!? It has been quite the hassle. Also this was a prompt from @andiebeaword's 3000 follower celebration! The first sentence of the story was the prompt. Also, I meant for this to be gn!reader so if anyone sees any she/he pronouns for reader please tell me! Love you all <333

Word Count: 1.5k

Song Suggestions: Yours - Conan Gray

"I can't stand you choosing another person over me, again."

***

His bright blue eyes shined in the sun, a ray hitting across his face perfectly. Pushing his short brown hair out of his face while smiling at you made your insides flutter, completely forgetting about your ex now.

"So as I was saying, it would be best for you and your team to set up here. There's lots of room and we haven't used it in years." His voice came out in this long, deep tone. JJ walked into the room raising an eyebrow at you before taking over the conversation with the officer.

"What was that look?" Jumping slightly, you turned around and saw Penelope. It was that once a year situation where she actually had to join the rest of the team for a case. "Someone likes the officer."

The girls took any chance they could to get you to talk to the guy. They weren't wrong, you did think he was insanely cute but, you just weren't quite sure if you had the guts to really talk to him.

"I do not!" You laughed, "And even if I did…it's not like anything could happen." Penelope continued pestering and Emily joined the conversation and made sure to give her opinion as well.

***

"You better at least get his number, we're only gonna be here for a few more days." Penelope had been bugging you the most out of anyone, "Well, I let you sit on that thought. I need to go work my wonderful magics so I will talk to you about this later." She smiled and strutted away back to her laptop setup down the hall.

"What was Garcia talking about?" Turning back to the task at hand, Spencer was standing at a board. Working on the case. "Is this about that officer?" His voice was very flat, little emotion which was unusual for him. Especially around you, the two of you had been best friends since you transferred to the BAU.

"Yeah it was, she's trying to get me to get his number." Not turning from his work you started to flip through some files and continue to talk. "I do think he's pretty hot, but I also think it's way too early to start putting myself out there you know?"

"Yeah, yeah I guess I can understand that." Peeking over his shoulder briefly to look at you. Hearing the way you were talking about this guy was leaving him conflicted. The first day he had met you he'd already fallen in love. No statistic or math problem could explain how that happened. He's been sitting on the sideline for the past three years, watching you go from boyfriend to boyfriend, letting him be your shoulder to cry on when it was heartbreak after heartbreak. But honestly, he didn't know how long he could keep going like this.

"...But it could also be some type of fate thing. Like, I break up with a toxic asshole and then meet a dreamy police officer? I don't know, what do you think Spencer?" Walking over to him to put up some photos and thoughts on the board you look up at him, waiting for his response.

"Whatever you think is best I suppose," It took him a long time to respond, the way you were speaking of this guy was just breaking his heart more and more. It was taking all his power to not just scream 'I LOVE YOU!!' and see your reaction. "Do you want to ask him out."

"I think so, I guess he is really nice, and really good looking…" Going on about him a bit more, you paused then changed your thought process. "I mean everything and everyone is telling me to go for it but some small part of me is saying no."

"I think I'm just being paranoid, why shouldn't I put myself out there? It has been like three months. And if it doesn't work out, so what? At least I tried. I think I'll do it." Just like that, the hope died. Should he just say it? Get it out there and hope for the best? This was impossible.

"What does that mean? Are you just not ready to put yourself out there again or is it because there's someone else?" A small glimmer of hope ignited in him, maybe he still had a chance after all.

***

"I'm going to do it. So you can stop annoying me about it, Pen." She smiled and started to ramble about how it will be so good for you. The case had been solved and you were all packing up. Everyone with the exception of Hotch and Rossi were in the room given to the team.

"I'm so glad you're going to do this! You two would be such a sexy pair I just know it." You and Penelope continued to talk, but Spencer was just heartbroken. Standing on the opposite side of the room he could still hear you. He was packing up his things slowly, hoping to get a chance to talk to you alone.

"You should just go for it kid, don't let them get with another guy without you atleast saying it." Derek, giving his opinion to Spencer while leaning against the wall. Tossing a ball now that he was all packed up.

"What if you say something and they like you back?" Derek counter protested. Spencer thought about it for a minute, he had a point. But on the other hand he couldn't tell what would be worse; watching you ask someone else out again or telling you and losing such an important person in his life.

"I know, I just don't want to ruin three years of friendship. What if I say something and they never talk to me again?" He questioned, still listening in on your conversation.

***

"I'll be done in a minute!" You called out to Penelope and Emily. Still packing up your things it was only you and Spencer left in the room.

Finally throwing your bag over your shoulder you started to catch up to the rest of the team you heard Spencer call out to you. "Wait! Can I talk to you for a minute, please?"

"Yeah, of course." A little confused on why he sounded so nervous you stood infront of him, waiting for him to continue. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing it's just," He cleared his throat, no or never. "I was just wondering if you gave that officer your number yet."

"Oh, not yet. I was actually about to do that. Why do you ask?" Titling your head, curious. He started to fidget with his hands, not sure what to say.

"Oh, so you are going out with him." His voice barely above a whisper. "That's nice I suppose."

"Okay…" You smiled and started to head to the door. "I'm going to go now, see on the jet Spencer?"

"I- please, I need to say something." He tripped over his words, come on Spencer, just say it!!!

"Are you okay? You seem nervous." Why was he acting like this? It was so confusing to you.

"Okay, I'm just going to say it." He sighed, "I don't want you to go out with that officer. I mean if you really want to you should do it of course but I don't want you to because I want you to go out with me. If you don't feel the same way tell me but it's just, I can't stand you choosing another person over me, again." Biting the inside of his cheek, waiting for your response.

"Oh," Was all you could say at first. You didn't really know what else to say. "You, you like me?"

"Yeah, I do. And if you don't feel the same way I get it and pretend I never said anything because I don't want to lose you. But if you go out and date this guy I'm going to have to put up a boundary, I'm sorry."

"Spencer, I don't know what to say," You laughed lightly, not sure how to say what you were thinking. "I feel the same way, I just assumed you never would like me back so I have been trying to get over it."

"Really?" He smiled and gave that puppy-dog face he always made. "Are you serious?"

"Why would I lie?" Throwing your bag over your shoulder you hugged him then stepped back giving a small smile. "We should go though, the jet is supposed to leave like now. But can we talk about this later?"

"I would like that." The two of you started to head out, and you completely forgot about the officer. Spencer just walked out with a huge smile on his face. Why didn't he say this sooner???

[petermorwood]

Sound FX oopsie or not?

I was watching a couple of episodes of "The Crown" last week, and picked up yet again on something I'd noticed - heard - before. Unless there's something going on that I don't know about, the sound the show used for phones is incorrect.

They (w)ring wrong. In fact they ring American.

UK / Irish bell-ringer phones, the ones I grew up with - and which you'd expect to hear in Buckingham Palace, Balmoral etc. - had a short double ring, like so: Brringg-Brringg ... Brringg-Brringg ... Brringg-Brringg.

US bell-ringer telephones had a single long-ish ring, like so: Brrriiinnng ... Brrriiinnng ... Brrriiinnng.

It probably sounds unimportant for those too young to have heard these phones unless they've installed a "old phone ring" in their mobile.

However for people who grew up with a particular ring (not that long ago, the phones in those pics brring'd on in homes and offices on both sides of the Pond well into the 1990s) the incorrect sound can be as odd as, for instance, seeing US or Irish / UK cars driving on the wrong side.

It takes a couple of seconds, and then "Oh, that's not right..." (or not left, as appropriate).

Despite more on-line searching than I should have wasted time on, I haven't found either "goof" or "reason why" to explain how those phones in "The Crown" rang the way they did, and it's an itch I'd love to scratch.

*****

Another sound error is depicting modern British emergency vehicles as having two-tone (dee-dah-dee-dah) horns. Not any more - even though an EV going somewhere in a hurry with lights and sounds on is AFAIK still "running blues and twos".

Nowadays "twos" have been replaced by wailer, yelper and oth-er kinds of electronic siren - none of which, IMO, are as efficient as the two-tone either for cutting through ambient noise or indicating which direction the sound and vehicle is coming from.

I've also got a memory of a documentary sometime in the past year about the Battle of Britain and the Blitz (i.e. 1940-41) where whoever dubbed in the sound-effects clearly assumed that a dee-dah tone has always been the British police-fire-ambulance warning.

Ahhh... No.

British emergency vehicles in the 1940s didn't use sirens, horns or klaxons; they were fitted with hand-operated or electric bells. At that period, the two-tone warning called a Martin-Horn...

...was AFAIK exclusively German...!

All this sounds picky-picky, but while using the wrong plane or ship or vehicle because no example of a real one exists any more is one thing, making a mistake in something as inexpensive and easily-reconstructed as a period sound is another matter.

Of course it's a well-known truism that while the contract for a movie / show's historical consultant says they must be paid, there's no matching contract clause that says they must be heeded, so for the sake of their scholarly reputations those consultants sometimes demand to be removed from the credits.

Looking at you, Ridley...

*****

ETA: Some days later, with that original post still queued, I may perhaps have found an answer. :->

I've just watched "Thirteen Days", that rather good, properly tense movie about the Cuban Missile Crisis, in which Kevin Costner's character had two phones at home. The black one was domestic with a US single ring, the red one was Official...

With a UK-style double ring.

Without bothering to re-watch each relevant episode of "The Crown", I'm now thinking those "incorrect" phone-rings may all have been internal lines and - like the Official phone in "Thirteen Days" - had a different ringing pattern to denote they weren't a "civilian" call.

In addition, the Costner character and his wife both react to the double ring with alarm, indicating they know its significance.

All of the above makes sense when you consider that custom ringtones were half a century in the future, and there's only so much the electrical pulses driving a pair of metal bells can do...

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap (creature feature: werewolf): what hidden truth does the moonlight illuminate? where do you lack control? where are you in transition?

welcome to my october pac/pap creature feature series - instead of having a single pac/ pap this month, there will be five! every monday (at 5p / 17:00 EST) this october, a new creature will be coming out to play as the sun begins to set earlier and earlier... keep an out; you never know what is lurking in the darkness..

today's creature is the werewolf: song queued: "she wolf" by shakira! when was the next full moon again? phew a few weeks to go... half man, half beast, the werewolf is - according to lore - forced to transform on every full moon. the once civilized man loses control of his body and senses.

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: creature feature: the beholder - what do you see that no else does? what aren't you hearing?

masterlist of pap/pac posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading. options and prices!

pile one

the truth is that you must share your ideas more actively - you need confidence that matches your passion. you can trust that you will be accepted for your ideas - and if not where you first attempt to be so, you will find yourself in a more accepting place the next attempt. if you keep doubting your abilities, you might just find that you can't grow like you hope/dream to. so the spotlight (moonlight) is on you - share what you want to / are passionate about right now.

oof you are really trying to control a lot right now. things aren't going as you expected, huh? you can't control that something is close to the end of its cycle. it's okay that you are going to miss that something - know that you should be celebrating instead. celebrate your wins. you have done so much! new things are just around the corner.

a power transition in your life is underway. you are being given a chance to lead and prove your strength. make sure that you are leading from a place of wanting to see others succeed instead of one where you are asserting your power over others. you can't just be thinking about yourself right now, remember that "with power comes responsibility" - it's not just about you anymore it's about those around you too.

pile two

your disconnection for others and your beliefs seems to be in the spotlight right now. you might be feeling hopeless and alone in your situation right now - it's time to reconnect and recharge. a cleansing is needed - do not lose faith, you are right were you are supposed to be, despite how painful this moment may be. let the glimmering moonlight be a sign that healing is ahead - better days are coming.

i feel like your schedule right now is unsustainable - you are stretched too thin and juggling too much all at once. you might have too many school/work responsibilities considering your personal ones. this is all making you feel emotionally drained (have you stress cried recently - i feel like you might have). you should know that you are currently "leveling up"; anytime you level up in life, this type of challenge to your routine occurs. do things in moderation and ask for help if you need it (there is no shame in reaching out for help).

an opportunity has arisen recently that is going to change your world - likely in a monetary way. there is a new beginning on the horizon. you are getting even closer to the life that you have been dreaming of - prosperity is in your future, it is written in the stars. you are cultivating abundance for yourself and i couldn't be more proud. you have unlimited potential - keep it up.

pile three

new moon energy. there are a lot of things that you are hiding, you are also likely refusing to acknowledge the truth, and you are refusing to look at things deeply (which can be good (you're not reading too heavily into things) and it can be bad (you might not be "reading the fine print")). you aren't listening to your intuition like you should be - stop deceiving yourself. trust that you are capable and you are worthy of so much more than you are currently doing / have.

right now a relationship of yours is extremely out of balance (someone is doing all the work in the relationship or someone is extremely co-dependent in the relationship). it is not good to rely too heavily on a partner to fulfill your needs. your expectations might be unrealistic which causes you to feel even more out of control. look inward so you can better find the source of your disharmony.

i feel like you reading that last paragraph has your wheels turning - the transition ahead of you has to do with your relationships. you are noticing that there is a imbalance in what you are giving versus what you are receiving. i know that receiving things makes you feel weird (you feel unworthy/undeserving), but get use to it - haha! stop feeling obligated to give back equal to what you have received - things are being given of their own volition, no one expects you to give back what you were gifted. simply remember that kindness breeds kindness - the more comfortable you become with receiving, the more you will gain.

want a personal werewolf reading? tip 4.99 USD with the comment "werewolf" and i will privately get back to you with what hidden truth the moonlight illuminates for you, where you lack control, AND where you are in transition!

other then that, thank you for reading! don't forget to comment down below which monster you believe is coming to join us next monday?

[dracoxsworld]

What it would be like to date Ron Weasley

A/N: You guys I have been wanting to write for Ron for SO LONG I just have not had the time! I am queuing up some posts as I type this so you guys can have some content throughout the week so you aren't left hanging since I'll be going back to work tomorrow after a small 5-day break (So sad I do not want to work.) Enjoy! <3 and let me know if you want the sex w/ ron weasley version too! <3 Warnings: None! Just fluff. :)

This boy is NEEDY.

You know the Tiktok audio, "walk him like a dog" Yeah, that's you and Ron.

It's not because he's not like, masc or anything; he is just an absolute simp for you.

He's whipped for you, literally.

He will get you a n y t h i n g you want.

He is also an excellent date planner. He's very creative, and caring.

Some couples, it take them a while to say "I love you" to their partner, for Ron, it was different. He has no filter.

The boy said it to you in the middle of muggle studies.

IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS.

He said he was just infatuated with how you looked reading your book, with your hair tucked behind your ear, the ay you bite your bottom lip when you were concentrating.

He knew he had loved you from the moment he met you, he just wanted to wait.

You literally were the surprised pikachu meme.

"What did you say?" You asked him in a hushed voice

"I said that I love you?" Ron said, a bit nervous now.

"Are you asking me or telling me." You teased.

You told him that you loved him, too.

Cuddles are this mans FAVORITE.

The common room your dorm room, after Quidditch practice.

This man does not care to show that he is a clingy motherfucker.

You two always go to the Astronomy tower on Friday nights, he knows how much you love the stars.

You read his palm, point out his birth chart to him, etc.

He doesn't understand any of it, but he loves you, so he pays attention... or tries to.

Not to get too spicy, but he loves make-out sessions, like when you're supposed to be studying together, he always makes it priority for you to be in his lap, lips connecting.

He loves your hands in his hair, his around your waist, etc.

Or you falling asleep in his dorm, late at night. He loves being the big spoon and holding you close, afraid you'll disappear.

He loves you. Very very much.

[bruceweek]

Bruceweek 2023!

BRUCE BANNER APPRECIATION WEEK RETURNS!

HELLO FANS OF BRUCE BANNER!

From 2018 to 2021 we had a blast with Bruceweek - after a break, we are now back with Round Five full of love for Bruce and ready to celebrate him!

We would like the focus for Bruceweek to be on Bruce and less on Hulk. This year, we have made a change to the rules, and fan works with romantic content for any Bruce ships are now allowed and welcome. As usual, all friendships are also very welcome! Please respect everyone’s choices regarding romantic and platonic ship choices.

We will give two prompts a day for every day of Bruceweek, so you can choose yourself which prompt(s) you want to use.

WHEN

November 20th - November 26th 2023

WHAT DO WE LOOK FOR:

fanart

fanfiction

mood boards

edits

gif sets

meta

every content you created yourself

all universe versions of Bruce

CONTENT RULES

all kind of “dark” themes are allowed as long as they are tagged appropriately

stories focusing on romantic relationships and/or friendship  is fine, with Bruce as the focus

PROMPT LIST

Monday (November 20): Seasons, Friendship

Tuesday (November 21): Memory, Reunion

Wednesday (November 22): Battle, Dance

Thursday (November 23):Spell, Home

Friday (November 24): Ghosts, Transform

Saturday (November 25): Dream, Hero

Sunday (November 26): Adapt, Admiration

We’ll give you two prompts per day, but you don’t have to use both of them in your content (Though you are definitely welcome too, for an extra challenge!) Feel free to match up newer prompts with older ones as well if you’d like.

The prompts are here for inspiration. You don’t have to use them if you have other ideas, we will happily accept any Bruce content for this event as long as it properly tagged.

Our AO3 collection can be found here.

Official tags to follow all posts from us are #Bruceweek2023 and #bruceweek

We will be queuing up Bruceweek posts, and will start reblogging posts for each day’s prompts after the daily prompt post has been posted. If you think we’ve missed your post, please send us an ask or submission!

If you have questions, please ask away ~

[wehangout]

Another @shamelessdvdcommentary requested by the wonderful @suzy-queued with questions made by the amazing @callivich! This one is for Slick back My Hair (You know the Devil's in There)! These are a lot of fun, so hit me up if you want to see this for a different fic 😘

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

Wrote it in 2015! It’s a long one-shot, and I think my second ever shameless big bang.

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

Okay. Took me a minute. I knew this was inspired by a one-shot I wrote for GW2015 that has since been taken down, but I also knew the one-shot was inspired by something and it took forever to go back and figure it out. Anyway, the initial one-shot was inspired by the Day 7 theme of “Imagine Your OTP – go to the website http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/ and choose a prompt!”. I don’t recall what the exact prompt was (I think digging a grave together), BUT apparently I still have the one-shot posted here on tumblr if you wanna read it! So, yeah, the Big Bang fic was inspired by this one-shot which was inspired by GW2015. Phew. That was a novel on its own

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

Mickey. Because I am me.

What was your favourite scene to write?

I’m not sure, but reading back, I really like the scenes with side characters as assasins. Sheila, Jimmy, and Angela. Fun stuff.

How did you come up with the title?

Ugh. This was back when iTunes was a thing lmao. I basically went through all my music, picking out songs I thought might fit the fic’s plot, then went through the lyrics.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

Two! I had fake IDs with the names John Foley and Axel McClane which is a reference to John McClane and Axel Foley – Die Hard and Beverly Hills Cop respectively. And I also had this line “Two inches to the right and it would’ve hit your fucking heart, Ian.” "Two inches to the left and it would have missed me completely” which was reference to The Mighty Ducks. Only one reader picked up on these lol.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

The Terry fight scene. And, honestly, I just pushed through it.

Favourite line in the story?

Okay, the “My hero” continuation, but also, back in 2015, I wrote, word for word, “Knew you’d come.” I mean, it’s Ian saying it, but obvi why it’s a fave lmao

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc)

I wouldn’t call them twists, but the little surprises that turn up along the way – Sheila being a badass, the texter being Mandy.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

At the end, where Mickey goes to save Ian. Ian’s “goodbye” is legit. Dude was sure they (at least he) was going to die.

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

It’s very quick. I’d probably add more depth to it. (also the title shh)

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

I’ve considered it, but one half of the dynamic duo gets taken in this one. What other plot could there be?

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc?

I think I did the big Oh moment in this, along with a few others. I think that’s about it.

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

This is definitely not my most popular, lol, but I appreciate the love it’s received!

Were you nervous or excited to post this story?

Oh, always excited

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

I did! Again, this was back in 2015 when my pal Ella @hubrisandwax was still around. We had similar time zones, so we’d Skype and write at night (poetry, bitch), and have our own little sprints. She was my cheerleader and beta!

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story?

I know this is an Ian and Mickey romance, but I actually preferred the scenes after Ian was taken. Getting into Mickey’s head when he’ll do literally anything to get Ian back? Including torture and murder his own brother? That shit was fun.