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lynnsmix · 1 month ago

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GHOST PIRATE *ੈ✩‧₊˚ h. haddock x reader

summary : snotlout mocking you for your eye scar might unintentionally be the best thing that could have happened to you.

word count : 7.3k words

tags : fluff, rtte!hiccup, fem!reader, friends to something more, awkward romance, falling-down-and-getting-catched cliché, first kisses, getting caught, reader has a scar on her right eye which she covers, reader is like gothi's assistant, reader isn't adept at social situations, reader is quite oblivious, one throwaway sex joke at the end, snotlout's a little aggressive but when is he not, no use of y/n or (name)

author's note : why are there such a shortage of rtte hiccup x reader's MAN i am thirsty for some :(( anyway, this was fun writing, rtte hiccup is my roman empire dreamworks did not need to make him that fine

Having that scar over your eye had always made you insecure. It wasn't just because it looked horrible, there were other reasons for that. One of them being that it was a reminder that your face wouldn't look that same again, always having that ugly patch.

The other grounds for it were the way that Vikings—also known as (pardon the bluntness) meatheads with a hard comprehension for being. . . particularly emotionally adept—didn't know how to mask their emotions, and that the only expression that would grace their face when they see you was always in pitiful smiles, and more often than not, thinly masked disgust.

You would think that now that Berkian's learned to be in peace with literal Dragons, they'd also learn to be more emotionally sensitive, but you'd guess wrong.

But going back to Dragons. Those big, ferocious creatures had always made you antsy. Especially when you were younger—with all the ghost-stories that the kids would always rumor around, and the dead-man's tales that the older people in Berk would sing about in the Great Hall, it had given you the chills. You were all too scared by them.

Maybe a bit too scared.

A bit too scared that when you were mature enough—mature being sixteen years old—to be ordered to fight them off in one of their ambushes before they were domesticated, all those anecdotes and tales fled back to you, making your legs tremble then go stiff.

With the opening you had given it, one of the vicious reptiles had tried to bite your face clean off. Without Gothi's help—or more like her trusty staff and her good swing—you were sure you would've died.

But still, after all these years, you aren't too sure if that was a good thing. Now you're left with a wound that would never go away, a timeless reminder that you were frightened, and you didn't do anything to protect yourself.

A unaging memento of weakness.

It was all too much for a teenager like yourself, always being perceived as a poor soul, seen as an unfortunate example for Vikings that not thinking fast enough would wind up to look like you.

So, you did what all teenagers do when they didn't want to confront something—you hide it away. And that's exactly why you're wearing an eyepatch, well—a makeshift one, thanks to Gothi, who made you a simple cloth eyepatch. Gods bless her soul.

You looked more like an injured survivor, but it was better than people seeing you like you were some kind of weirdo—as if walking around with an eyepatch wasn't any less weird, but the Vikings found it less odd.

But still, jeers from your age group didn't cease. They lessened, but the subject topic of their jokes had shifted. From you being too weak of a Viking—if you could still call yourself a Viking—to being name called as a pirate. All of it just made you more inclined to stay inside.

Well, it was better than being mocked as weak, so you take that as a win.

And that's how it's currently been now, with you in the Great Hall, and with your exceptionally unfortunate luck, the only table vacant being next to a group of teenagers.

Oh, It's those Dragon Riders.

You haven't seen them in a while—you've presumed it was because they were busy at some place that you overheard them calling Dragon's Edge. But even with the lengthened time of not seeing them, you still remembered their names. They probably didn't know yours, but you didn't mind.

You were never really close to them, not that you bothered to be close—you didn't ever see yourself being in their circle, but you had hoped they didn't have the same reactions to you like the others when they notice you eating at the table next to theirs.

You wished they didn't sense your presence; or more specifically your eyepatch concealing your scar, but when they did notice, their hushed dialogue—is it still called hushed dialogue if you're talking this loudly?—had shifted to you, and who you were.

"She's pretty odd, when I first saw her, I thought she was supposed to be a pirate." You had heard Snotlout's voice boom from their friend's table next to your empty one. Even without looking at the Viking, you could already tell from the dripping ignorance in his voice that he was smiling, as if he was proud that he had called you that.

You didn't care enough to turn your head, just continuing to shovel food in your mouth, but you had heard a clear thonk! of wood hitting something metalic—you'd presume a mug making hard contact with his helmet.

"Ow." The boy whined.

"Sorry, my arm cramped." Astrid had apologized, with the tone of not being apologetic at all.

"Snotlout." You had heard Hiccup's voice warn his cousin. Even if Hiccup tried to warn him, it would be fruitless, because you knew Vikings like Snotlout—and Vikings like him didn't stop with just warnings. But still, the gesture had still made you smile.

"What? It's just strange, y'know? She barely talks too, like some kind of ghost."

"Snotlout, drop it." Now Astrid was trying to make him stop. You wanted to thank her for that, but maybe not now.

"What if she's some kind of ghost pirate? Like, haunting our village." Ruffnut commented.

"I heard that you could ward off ghosts with salt," Tuffnut had added.

"Ooo, does it work with ghost pirates too?" Her twin had asked, curious.

"We'll have to test it out, like an experiment." The blonde boy had raised a finger, as if to look more academically inclined.

"Okay, guys, I don't think—" Hiccup's voice had seemed nervous, but he didn't get to finish.

"Cool, let's try it." The blonde girl had entertained. The twins had gotten the salt from a bowl, a handful in both their fists, ready to lob it at you.

This time, you were actually amused enough to look at their table, observing each face, but not letting a word out.

Somewhat surprised that you had looked at them, the two Vikings had tried to cover up their mischief, one of them putting the salt in their mouth, and the other throwing it behind them, evidently covering Fishlegs and Hiccup in a good sprinkle of seasoning.

You were quite confused—more so, a bit peeved that Snotlout was talking about you like that, but you didn't pay attention to it too much. Turning back to your food, they seemed to match your actions as well—but not with Snotlout getting the last word in, albeit a little bit whispered, but not enough to be quiet.

"See? I'm just saying; no talking, no expression—Ghost behavior, I tell you." Snotlout leaned into the table to whisper, but it really did seem futile with that loud mouth of his.

Not wanting to hear any more of his or anyone else’s slight mockery, you stood up, the long bench chair you were sitting on skidding as you push out of your sitting position and walking out the Great Hall, but not before burning a glare at the teens.

You really didn’t mean to scowl at the whole table, you were only going to throw a dirty look at Snotlout.

It genuinely wasn't your intention to, especially with how the other teens had done nothing remotely wrong—some even trying to halt the discussion—but with just one eye as your vision, you couldn't help but just look at them all with a stink eye.

But you didn't care anymore, you just wanted to get away. You went to the Great Hall to eat for Thor's sake, not to be gossiped about like a spectacle. Stomping off to the exit, you didn't care enough to hear the scolding Snotlout and The Twins—but mainly just the sable-haired Viking—had to hear.

"Great job with that, Snotlout. Now she stormed off," Astrid chided.

"What did I do?"

"I think we should apologize, or one of us at least." Fishlegs meekly let out, finally speaking after the girl had walked out on all of them. All the while that this was happening, Ruffnut seemed to be spewing out the salt she'd hidden in her mouth at the side of the table, trying to blow raspberries to remove all of the saline taste from her mouth.

Astrid had looked to Hiccup, with them locking eyes. She had silently gestured for him, nodded to the door and her eyebrows raising, basically saying 'Dude, this is your chance, c'mon'. The brunet Viking had quickly understood, slightly nodding.

"Pretty sure you're right Fishlegs. I think I should catch up with her guys, she seemed pretty upset." Hiccup had already started to get up from his seat, starting to jog to the large door of the Great Hall.

They had watched him speed-walk away, hoping that he could reach her before he loses sight of her. The Dragon Riders had gone back to eating, with The Twins still trying to goof around, throwing their food at each other, and Fishlegs reading while scooping food to his mouth.

"I still don't understand what I said wrong," Snotlout had muttered, pushing his soup around in his bowl.

"Snotlout, I swear if you don't stop talking, I will hit you harder with my mug." Astrid threatened, who was right next to him.

"I thought you said that was an accident?"

"Keep talking and my fist will accidentally punch you."

You were speed walking with a tired expression on your face. You didn't even get to eat a lot of your food. Why did you have to storm off like that? You've endured much more scathing insults, but you suppose it hurt more that they were talking about you literally on the next table over. Now you're hungry and annoyed.

Just great.

You had almost made it to the ascending stairs, the way to Gothi's hut. You were about to go up before you heard someone try to call you, paired with the sound of quick pattering steps and the clanking of metal hitting the ground.

You presumed that it was Hiccup, since no one really had a metal leg in Berk, and that distinct voice he had that singled him out from the other Vikings. You looked over your shoulder before turning your whole body, seeing him catch up with you before putting his hands on his knees in exhaustion.

"Hey! Wait a sec—wow you can walk really fast," He uttered between breaths.

". . . Uh, hi?" You were entirely unsure of what to say. You'd never been in this type of situation before.

He had dusted his knees off and stood normally, his exhaustion finally subsiding, he waved awkwardly.

"Hey there, I wanted to apologize—Snotlout's just, he's the type of guy that just. . . says things, y'know? Don't take it too seriously," He shrugged.

"Don't be sorry, it's fine," You waved him off, dismissed his apology, and turned back to walk up the stairs. But your ascension up had been paused, especially with what Hiccup said.

"No, it's not, actually. Please just let me apologize about him, 'cause I know he won't."

"I assure you, it's fine." You insisted, but it genuinely wasn't. But you didn't want someone trying to apologize to you for someone else's actions.

You had tried to walk up quicker, but he seemed just fine matching your pace.

"At least just— let me accompany you up to Gothi's hut, as an apology of sorts. . .? Please?" Hiccup seemed to be unsure in what he was saying, you were 100 times confident that he didn't plan what he was saying to you, just blurting out what came to his mind to stop you from leaving him in the dust.

You found it amusing, so you allowed it. Now, he was walking with you up to Gothi's.

But what you didn't find amusing—was him trying to make small talk. The other people at Berk never really tried making dialogue with you, but maybe that's also your fault, with how jaded and distant you seemed from them. The only time they ever talked to you was to voice their concerns about their health and ask you to help them.

So now here you were, trying to reply as normal as possible to Hiccup's questions.

"Are you uh— hurt anywhere?"

"Huh?" Your steps slowed, with Hiccup matching yours.

Then you understood what he meant. He was asking if you were injured because you were going up to Gothi's. Your steps had paced normal again, with Hiccup trying to match your steps.

"Ooh, no. I'm just her assistant. . . I think so? It's not official, but it's kind of like that, I guess. I take care of the hurt patients who come up here if she's away."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Uh-huh. . ." You replied, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

"You stay up there a lot, right? I don't see you a lot anymore." He smiled a little.

Anymore?

You didn't want to interrupt this casual dialogue, so you reply normally.

"Uh, yeah, I— I do. I pretty much moved all my stuff there so the others wouldn't see me much. Surprisingly, not everyone wants to see this," You pointed at your eyepatch.

"Really?" Hiccup listened, the way he looked so focused on you made you want to say things even more.

"Yeah, who knew? I guess not everyone wants to see a hideous scar when they go on to do their morning jobs. Crazy, right?" Your sarcasm was dripping from your voice, but you went on even more.

"It's not even exposed anymore, I covered it, but they're still weirded out. I'm pretty sure this time they're the weird ones at this point." Your arms had raised in action, expressive as ever.

Hiccup's hums of agreement and gentle smile had spurred you on even more to rant. You weren't sure what it was—maybe it's because finally someone had wanted to listen and look at you like a normal person, not some pitiful weak Viking.

"Might as well just bandage my whole face so they don't see me. I think I should change my eyepatch if they're still feeling odd about me, maybe that's it, I dunno. . . I don't really have the skill for it, though." You had shrugged.

"But I swear, if they still look at me funny when I do wear something else, I think I'll just give up and accept my title as a ghost pirate and haunt our village—just like your friends were saying." You looked at him, concluding your rant. Hiccup softly chuckled at your attempt at a joke, and it made you heart smile.

You both were almost at your mentor's porch when he went silent, as if he was thinking of something. Just a couple of steps left, and you were there. You were pretty satisfied with how you both weren't speaking, just a soft, gentle tranquility accompanying both of you.

But then, Hiccup had piped up.

"Well. . . If you were, let's just say, hypothetically; you had the chance to change it, what would it look like?"

You were puzzled by the random question. Was he trying to entertain you? You looked at him, and looked away in thought, before going back to look at green observant eyes.

"Well hypothetically speaking; I guess I'd make it out of leather with something to cushion it inside? That way it wouldn't really hurt on my skin." You had mused, your steps slowing as you had made it to the last step of your mentor's stairs.

"And maybe some kind of design on it? I feel like it would look nice if I put our tribe's insignia, I'm not sure, but maybe just something. . ." Your eyebrows furrowed in focus, your thumb rubbing against the pads of your fingers, a habit that helped you to think.

"Nice-looking, I guess. Maybe it'd take attention away from. . . Yeah." Your body went lax, feeling kind of shy. You realized you were getting too into it, remembering it was just a hypothetical question.

"Well, I'll be sure to remember that." He didn't seem mind one bit, that you went on a whole speech, and just smiled back at your timid stature. You didn't know what he meant by what he said, but you smiled back at him anyway.

You had made it to the top. He had paused a step before you, now slightly looking up at you. You had turned around, fiddling with your hands.

"So. . ." You didn't really know what to say next. See you around? Does this make us friends? Your apology's accepted? You weren't really prepared to being put in a social situation like this. Well, you weren't prepared for any social situation for that, with how little you talked with others, but anyway.

Thankfully, Hiccup had spoke, because you were sure if you had enough silence, you'd just end up saying something silly.

"I'll see you, around then. . .?" He had gone up the last step so he could be at your height, and rubbed the nape of his neck, waiting for your reply.

"Uhm— yeah! Thank you, by the way— for the. . . Coming with me, I— I guess," You sputtered, but had recovered, a soft grin with crinkled eyes lay on your face.

"I'll be going now. . . Yep," You pointed behind you and started to walk backwards, hopefully reaching Gothi's door. But that plan would fall flat when you tripped over some stray bottle that had fallen from the table.

"Woah!"

The split second you had before you fell you saw from your peripheral that if you stumbled just a little bit more, you'd fall off the tower.

Just incredible, what a way to go.

You closed your eyes, ready for the impact of the air hitting you as you fall down, but you were surprised to feel a weight jump on you, tackling you to inches away from to edge.

"Umph!" Hiccup's voice had jolted out.

You open your eyes in caution; to see Hiccup lying on you, his head tucked in your neck. You were close—a little too close. You can smell his scent, the way his breathing pattern was heavy from lunging at you, his hair which seemed messy and unkempt from flying, but he still managed to make it look good.

"Gothi should really add a safety railing," He mumbled into your neck. It gave you goosebumps.

You expected yourself to be weirded out, but you weren't. You were just flustered, now thinking about it. Hiccup practically glomped you—yes, to safety, but that wasn't the point—and you were both stuck in this position, with the Dragon Rider still lying on you.

You supposed he felt how tense you were—assuming you felt odd in the position you were in and tried to prop himself up with his hand.

"Oh! Yeah sorry," Unintentionally, he had grabbed your waist in support, maybe a wee bit hard, earning him a surprised oh! from you.

Realizing his mistake, he let go immediately, as if he had touched a hot furnace. But given that it was his only means of support to give him balance, him letting go had consequently made him fall onto you again, his head almost meeting yours, but missing.

But what didn't miss though, was his lips falling onto your cheek. It felt surreal, something you've never experienced—a kiss, happening literally right before your eyes. Accidental, yes, but it still made you blush furiously. But it seems as if he didn't notice, or chose not to, picking your comfort first.

"Oh Thor, sorry about that, let me just," Hiccup tried to get up again, his hand already trying to prop itself on the floor, but you stopped him, grabbing his forearm.

"No, just— just stay still. I'll move instead." He nodded bashfully at your request, you guess he also felt nervous feeling the gravity of the position you're in.

You nudged his leg with your own, so he could move it up, and then you maneuvered yourself out.

You both stand up, dusting yourself off while he fixed his tunic that went askew when he was laying on you.

"She really should add a railing," You reply.

"Yeah,"

Again, a calm silence had covered you both, a lingering of eyes at each other, observing the latter.

You didn't want to keep him longer, maybe he was busy. So, you sent him off.

"Now this is officially 'i'll see you later'." You threw finger guns at him as you shyly grinned and waved, the gestures reciprocated by the brunet Viking, before you went into Gothi's hut, the last glimpse of him walking down the stairs before you closed the door.

You smile to yourself as you look at the door, before leaning your head on it. You placed a delicate hand on your right cheek, where his lips had accidentally placed themselves on.

First kiss. Cheek kiss, yeah, but who cares?

Your smile grew wide as you quietly chuckled. If anyone saw you right now, they'd probably think you were being weird—well, weirder. But you were in the comforting silence of Gothi's hut, with no one to perceive you.

Turning around, you swear you has actually jumped out of your skin, your joyous expression replaced with one of shock.

"GAH! Gothi, you. . ." You clenched your heart, before trying to even your heartbeat.

"Really need to make a sound so I know you're there. I almost died," Your hand had dropped back down. You were exaggerating clearly, Gothi knew that as well, rolling her eyes. She had gotten off the stool she was on and nodded to the door, walking up to you.

Having enough time spent with the old woman, you already knew she was gesturing for you to ask what happened out there.

"Oh, I just tripped over a bottle, I almost fell down the tower, y'know? Hiccup was there with me too; he was apologizing for something Snotlout did." You had explained, a smile had graced your face when you brought the Dragon Rider up.

"I didn't want him to apologize, but he insisted, so he accompanied me up here. So, back to me falling—He helped me so I wouldn't fall from the tower, he practically lunged at me. He's pretty. . . nice. He's got a nice smile, too. I haven't seen him or the others in a while, it was a nice change. Anyway," You had walked over to the shelf of books the hut had, trying to find a book on botany to brush up your knowledge. You were trying to focus, looking at the titles on the spines of the books, before you felt Gothi stare at you, a knowing stare paired with a growing smile as if she was teasing you.

You looked back to meet her gaze and smiled innocently.

"Okay, What?" You had giggled, as if you didn't know. But you knew she was teasing you. Maybe you really shouldn't have talked about him like you were crushing on him.

Not that you weren't.

Gothi raised her eyebrow, still grinning at her assistant, not believing it for a second.

"He's just a friend, Gothi—a passerby, even. Nothing more." You concluded, busying yourself with actually finding the book, and you eventually did. Pulling the book out with a swift motion before going to a vacant chair on her dining table, opening to a random page to read with the book close to your face, trying to remain as unaffected as possible.

Gothi had seemed let it go, coming up to her student and patting her head, a comforting habit they had grown to enjoy in the comfort of her home.

The Viking healer had gone up the stairs, supposedly to feed the Terrible Terrors. Once she was out of your peripheral vision, you had leaned back on the back of the seat, book covering a quarter of your face as you looked up to the ceiling.

What the Thor just happened?

You tried to recall the latest events that had occurred with the brunet boy, looking back to the most memorable parts—well, most memorable to you.

You replay the moment where you both had accidentally were on the floor, especially the events after that. Your cheeks were going flush as you naturally smiled, the book being your cover, your eyes closing as you replay the moment.

He seemed like someone you'd like to be seeing more often. What was it about him that made you so. . . allured? You only had one meeting together, but why did you feel so pulled to him?

Was it because this was one of the only normal conversations that someone had treated you like a human being? No, you already felt like that with Gothi, but it was something else.

You wouldn't deny that Hiccup was. . . For a lack of better words, an attractive dude. He grew in well, his height really elevating him, paired with his babyface growing more chiseled, evolving him from a cute and charming boy who was also quite handsome.

But just because you liked him now for that, doesn't mean you didn't have a crush on him before. It was before every one had actually believed in him.

You'd watch from afar as he courageously proven his worth, showing that he is so much more than what the village painted him to be. He was. . . really cute back then too. And the way he was sarcastic and witty, you liked that as well. You would never tell him back then about it, and you probably never tell him now.

Sighing into the book, you shake your head in disapproval.

What am I thinking? I need to read this, not think about him like some kind of lovesick yak.

You sit upright now, actually retaining the information of the contents in the book, but not before putting an imaginary tab in your thoughts to revisit the subject about the brunet Viking.

"Gothi told me you needed my help?" You stick your head in first, peeking inside before going in fully. Walking into the Blacksmith's Shop, you saw Hiccup, working away at some new invention for him and Toothless.

He had turned to you, his eyes slightly crinkling with a satisfied smile.

"Yeah, I do," He walked some steps to where the tools had been stored, and pulled out something you couldn't tell what it was, his body covering the tool.

He faced you again, before speaking.

"C'mere." He spoke quickly, now unraveling the hidden object—a measuring tape.

Huh?

"What? Hiccup, what are you doing?" You asked, tiredness coating your voice, crossing your arms and tilting you head slightly.

"I need to measure you. Now, come here." He beckoned again, gesturing to you to come closer. He had put more pressure in the command, but smiling gently to not look like he was trying to be domineering—not to say you didn't like it.

You had rolled your eyes playfully, dropping your arms and marching up to him, a little too close, your chest just mere inches apart.

But he didn't tell you to step back.

"Measure me for what?" You shrugged in confusion, but he didn't answer your question, he just gave you another request.

"Stay still, okay?" Without another beat, he hovers both arms on your shoulders. If his arms were a little lower, placed on the curve of your shoulder. But you wouldn't mind. You imagined that they looked like they would fit there. As if it was in its rightful place.

Fiddling with the measuring tape to get the right side, he instinctively leaned into the side, hovering over your face. You observed him, your eyes following his face as he was working, a little too observed—you'd say yourself, noticing the scattered freckles kissed on his face, the small cut a few inches under his lips.

You never noticed he had a scar on his chin; it looked quite cute.

A little shocked—more like flustered—you had lifted your head an inch, as a means to back away. He noticed, halting his movements and looking you in the eyes.

Locking eyes with his, those eyes. Oh, his eyes. They enraptured you; like the gentle breath of the air hitting your skin, the viridescent irises, dull like olives, yet alluring as much.

His gaze was on you, before grazing over your features—the way your cheeks were flushed presumably from the heat of the Blacksmith's Shop, the slow fluttering of your eyelashes as you blinked as if you were being cautious, and then your lips.

It was only for a brief moment, but as you saw his eyes glance down, your lips parted in bewilderment. He seems to have caught on, blinking quickly, slightly pursing his lips in struggle, and turning his head back to the job at hand.

The soft material of the measuring tape had wrapped around the circumference of your head, Hiccup looking as if he took a mental note, before changing the angle of the measuring tape, diagonally over your head, from the side of your head all the way to under your ear.

After finishing, he lets go of the measuring tape, and his arms drop down to his sides.

"Well. . .?" You tilted your head slightly, your arms crossing once more. It was a pass at him, as if to reignite your previous questions, hoping he understood the memo.

Rest assured he did not understand the memo.

"Well, that was it. Thanks." Shooting you a soft smile, before turning around to put what he was using back to its rightful place, before looking at you with a grin.

If Hiccup wasn't so charmingly cute with the sheepish simper of his and if he was just like all the other Vikings, you would have hit him with the closest thing in your vicinity.

Ignore the first part of your thought, you weren't supposed to be thinking about that right now.

Instead of going for the gruesome part of that pondering, you close your eyes in slight irritation.

"So, let me get this straight; you order Gothi to call me, you lie and say that you needed my help, make me walk all the way down the stairs, just to measure me?"

"Okay, I know it sounds bad right now—" Hiccups quick to defend himself, his hands raising as if to show innocence.

"More like weird, but sure," You add.

"But I swear," His arms extend to you, grabbing your shoulders delicately. It felt nice, being treated like that from him.

"It will make sense tomorrow." He squeezed your shoulders in assurance, hoping you'd believe him. It didn't make you believe him, more like make your brain short circuit that would force you to say the only thing you knew how to.

"Just trust me, okay?" He looked like a puppy, asking its owner to pet him. He looked genuine, as if he wasn't capable of treating you brashly, only carefully.

Not being able for your mind to process anything else but him clutching you on each side, combined with the way his eyes kissed your gaze, you replied with an unfocused agreement.

"O— Okay," You smile at his kind eyes, his own lips reciprocating.

And that's where it ended. You didn't really remember exiting the shop, or walking back, just laying yourself on the bed, the cushion of your pillow the only thing bringing you out of your trance.

You still couldn't understand why he brought you all the way down just to measure your head, but you didn't want to complain—nope, scratch that. You didn't have the mind to complain.

Maybe it's 'cause of your teenage brain, the hormones in your mind thinking about boys, the most decent one out of them, your head full of him even when he wasn't there. Yes, just science, definitely because of that.

But then your thought floats back to the previous events; his gaze on yours, looking at your facial features, before going to your lips, then going back again to his work, slightly flushed on his cheeks from the heat of the Forge.

You smile at the thought.

Yep, just hormones.

"Just keep having your eyes— uh, eye closed," Hiccup had almost tripped over himself trying to drag you up the stairs with your vision blocked, especially since you were just walking aimlessly in the direction he was leading you to.

"If this is something stupid again and you're measuring my arm's next, Hiccup, I will throw something at you." Your one hand was still covering you left eye, with the other holding his hand.

That snark from you didn't earn an eyeroll from him, but a soft chuckle.

"I promise it's not,"

You wanted to smile, the feeling of his fingertips brushing against yours felt sparking, and the way he squeezed them when in assurance that he was still there made you melt, but you didn't want to focus on that right now.

"Okay, we're here." You feel the terrain under your feet change, the stone clacking on your boots now turning soft, dampened. You suppose he took you inside somewhere.

"That was good, but we're going to have to go up the stairs again, okay?"

Getting tired of this whole charade, you finally let down your hand.

"Okay, Hiccup, what are we. . ."

That was as far as you could get in your sentence, your attention now focused on the location you were in.

It seemed to be the Chief's hut, where Hiccup and Stoick reside, and you were at the front of the stairs. You've never been in here, but with the small bits and pieces you've seen from the moment the door was wide open, you could pinpoint that he had took you here.

"No wait I—" He had panicked, the other hand that was free going behind him.

"Why are we here. . .?" You questioned as you looked at him, and then the hand behind his back.

"And what's behind you?" You tilted your head, trying to take a peek at what he was hiding, but he just shuffled back to hide it more.

"Nothing, my hand's just cramping, y'know. . .?" He laughed, and that was definitely what made you believe he was lying, your face going deadpan.

"Hiccup." Your tone had gone into a warning, arms crossed, and your eyebrow raised.

Looking at you once more to check if there was a sliver of a chance that you'd let it go, he sighed, his shoulders dropping. He slowly let his hand out, with something in his fist.

"It was supposed to be a surprise in my room where it's private, but I guess it still is secluded here."

He opened his palm and presented it to you.

An eyepatch. It was crafted from leather, a nice sleek brown color, with a star-like embossing, reminding you of the stars of a compass. Turning the eyepatch around, you see a soft fabric, supposed to cushion around the eyepatch to prevent harsh rubbing on the skin. You turned it around and examined it more as he talked again.

"I tried to make it to what you wanted—"

You lifted your head and looked at him, then to the side in thought as you recalled what he was talking about. He was listening that time. He was taking account of your ideas, and he was actually listening to you.

You were silent and turned your eyes back at him as he explained more.

"If you don't— If you don't like it. . . I can make it again," He mistook your silence for disgust, and rubbed his arm in nervousness.

"Hiccup, no," You stepped closer to him, and took both his hands in yours, the eyepatch forgotten about as you held it between his hands.

"I like it." Your grin grew as his face had started to contort into relief.

"Y— You do?" He was smiling now, and that just made you giggle.

"Yes, I do!" You couldn't contain what you felt, and clutched his hands in yours in assurance, earning you a small kiss of red on his cheeks as he smiled back.

"I like it so much, I could kiss— kiss you. . ." Your joyous face had contorted into horror, your eyes avoiding his immediately, with your voice weakening at the last part when you realize what you just said.

Hiccup's face had also matched yours, but not horror, with shock. Like something he could've never expected came out of your mouth.

"What?" He uttered. His face was unreadable, but that just made you all the more upset.

"Sorry, that was. . . weird. I'll go, " You dismissed yourself quickly and had immediately let go of the hold of his hands, but he had immediately snatched them back in his grasp.

The unexpected action had made your troubled face look to him, and you were surprised to see his painted with worry and panic.

"Don't go, okay? I wouldn't. . ." He hesitated with his choice of words, making you curious.

"You wouldn't. . .?" You waited for him to say what he wanted patiently, but what he said made your shoulders go lax, relieved.

"I said I wouldn't. . . mind," He mumbled the last word, but you heard it loud and clear. It felt confusing, but you were happy nonetheless trying to put the pieces together.

He wouldn't mind. . . Kissing you?

It gave your stomach literal flutters, as if multiple Night Terrors had taken refuge in there, flying about.

You didn't want to assume, you wanted him to say it.

"What?" You acted oblivious, a smile gracing your face.

"I said I wouldn't mind," He muttered it with more confidence, but still with a tad bit of hesitance.

"You. . . Wouldn't mind what?" Your eyebrows furrowed in faux confusion.

He sighed in slight irritation, but he felt like he was being teased this time.

"Do I really have to say it all, out loud?" He said with deadpan, and you nodded eagerly, the mask of confusion pulled off.

He held your hands and pulled you closer, his eyes meeting your gaze. He understood now that you were just acting confused.

"I wouldn't mind you kissing me, okay?" He smiled, and you mirrored him, slightly laughing and nodding.

"You get it now? I even said it all out loud for you—"

He was cut off, the feeling of your lips on his had made his voice die in his throat, with his eyes fluttering close. You didn't plan it, but the way he looked in the light of the nearby crackling fire had graced his had made him look so. . . Kissable. You couldn't help it.

You stayed in that position for a few seconds, before you pulled away, his hands still intertwined with yours.

"I get it now, crystal clear." You taunted, a grin and a small breathy chuckle leaving you.

But he didn't reply, only a smile expressing that he was as happy as you. Before you could say anything else, he pulled you in again. One hand leaving yours to cradle your cheek.

This kiss lasted longer, and you both pulled away only mere inches to see each other. The way you both looked ecstatic, your grins and crinkled eyes looking at each other, as if you could stay with him forever.

But this moment didn't last forever, with the door suddenly bursting open, revealing Hiccup's burly, large, and intimidating father, Stoick and seeing the rather incriminating position you both were put in.

You immediately pulled away from each other, as if you both were the same polarity of a magnet, trying to cover yourselves up and salvage what was left of both your dignities.

"So, thanks Hiccup for. . . Helping me with that—" Dusting yourselves off as you went to the door to exit, Hiccup trailing behind you.

"Yeah, it's fine, it wasn't a big deal—" He waved you off.

"I really should go now, I think Gothi's calling me right about now. . . Oh, hi Chief, didn't see you there. . .!" You quickly greet, your pitch going a bit higher as you scurry out of the space between the Chief and the doorway.

Stoick had greeted you, a gruff 'Hello' sufficing and finally moving so his son could follow you up to the porch of the door, watching the whole scene unravel.

You had started walking away, but not before looking back and waving goodbye.

"Uhm— goodbye, Hiccup," You smiled as you waved, your cheeks flushed from the embarrassment and the heat of the moment that had just happened.

Hiccup wasn't looking too good either, his freckled face slightly kissed with red, his grin a little dopey, weakly waving back.

You had made it far enough from the hut that you were alone with your thoughts.

What just happened?

You couldn't comprehend where a lot of it came from, but you knew one thing, and it made you giddy;

This was the blooming start of something new between you two.

BONUS ⋆˚✿˖°

Today was one of the best days of Hiccup's life—he kissed you, the girl he had a crush on his whole teenage life, and you like him. You actually liked him back.

And not just being one of the best days of his life, but some of the rarest; as the patriarch of the household, Stoick the Vast, had surprisingly ate with his son at supper.

The dinner table was filled with wood clunking against each other and mouth's chewing, not wanting to address the large Bewilderbeast in the room, until it was interrupted by Stoick's rough voice.

"So, how's your girlfriend son?"

Hiccup had choked on the soup that was in his mouth, coughing quite violently.

"Dad— that wasn't— We aren't—" Hiccup tried to let out his defense, but the soup still in his throat had made it all the more harder, punching his chest to speak properly.

"It's okay, son, I understand," Stoick had put a hand in defeat.

"You're at the right age already, and I shouldn't stop you," His father shrugged, and Hiccup didn't have the energy to defend himself anymore, just letting his old man talk all he wanted to until it ended.

But what his father said next made him jump up to talk, immediately wanting this to end.

"But I guess it's time I should teach you this now son," He put a hand on his son's shoulder in affirmation.

"About fornication— or birds and the bees, whatever they call it now," He finished.

Yep, Hiccup might just implode inside right now.

He groaned and covered his ears.

"Okay, Dad, it's fine—"

"I know it won't happen, son— You're a responsible, young Viking, but all the more reason to tell you. What if something happens?" His father ignored his pleas as he shrugged.

"Okay, Dad, I think you should stop." Now covering his eyes, because he cannot believe what is actually happening right now, he lets out a big sigh as he gives up, letting his father rant about being 'safe' and knowing the 'responsibility' of their actions.

He thought of something else to let his mind wander, and it eventually led to you. He smiled under his hands, but it wasn't enough to drown out his father's lecture.

"But I know when you do, you'd be a great parent, son—" Hiccup cut his father off, groaning at him.

"Oh, Dad. . ." A tired tone lacing his voice.

But he didn't mind, because all of this happened because you kissed him. And he wouldn't take it for anything else.

Well, maybe exclude the 'birds and the bees' talk he already knew well about.

He was a teenager, after all.

lmao W for stoick tryna teach hiccup about safe sex lol, anyway hope you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it :3

tell me if you liked it in the comments, i love getting replies on my work ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

anyway, peace out guys 𖹭.ᐟ

#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #hiccup haddock #httyd #httyd rtte #httyd hiccup #how to train your dragon #httyd x reader #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccup horrendous haddock the 3rd #hiccup httyd #rtte #rtte hiccup #race to the edge #httyd 1 #httyd 2 #httyd 3 #♡ — hiccup haddock !#𓂃🖋 — lynn writes !

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thealchemistbae · 1 month ago

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How to Make F*ck You Money Using Your 8th House💸

Let's talk about F you money...the kind of money that buys freedom, power, peace, and the ability to say "no" without guilt. The kind of money that screams main character energy. And guess what? Your 8th house holds the key.

The 8H in astrology rules over shared resources, passive income, investments, inheritance, $ex work, shadow work, transformation, power dynamics, and yes...BIG MONEY. Think generational wealth, not just what's in your checking account.

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at [email protected] or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

Step 1: What Sign is on Your 8th House Cusp?

This shows the vibe of how you handle money from others, investments, and power. Here's the tea:

Aries -> You get big money by taking bold risks, being first, and having a boss b*tch attitude. Crypto? Only if you're first. Entrepreneurship? Yes ma'am.

Taurus -> You attract wealth through luxury, patience, and beauty. Real estate, slow investments, sugar baby vibes. Rich auntie/uncle energy.

Gemini -> You get paid to talk, think, or write. Digital assets, intellectual property, courses, or content that keeps paying you forever.

Cancer -> Wealth from family, real estate, and emotional labor. Generational wealth, healing work, or investing in homey assets.

Leo -> Fame, visibility, and charisma = money. Your presence alone is profitable. Passive income through fans, royalties, and performance.

Virgo -> You monetize your skills, routines, and healing abilities. Systems, services, editing, health and wellness work, and digital products.

Libra -> You attract wealth through beauty, relationships, and luxury. Partnerships, sugar daddies, aesthetic businesses, or passive fashion income.

Scorpio -> Powerhouse. You were born for F you money. Wealth through mystery, sex work, investments, and deep transformation. You can flip pain into profit.

Sagittarius -> Money through teaching, publishing, and going global. Travel content, spiritual coaching, or international biz? Goldmine.

Capricorn -> You build wealth over time. Passive income from systems, institutions, or your own empire. Think CEO bag.

Aquarius -> You make money through innovation and being ahead of your time. Tech, astrology, community platforms. Viral = income.

Pisces: Dreamy dollars. You remake money in mysterious or spiritual ways. Art, music, dreams, healing, even OnlyFans.

Step 2: What Planets Are in Your 8th House? (Your Superpowers)

Each planet here tells you how you make that boss-level, passive, transformative money.

Sun: Your power and identity are tied to your ability to accumulate and manage wealth. You're meant to live off royalties or investments. Your legacy pays your bills.

Moon: You intuitively attract wealth. Cyclical income. You can profit from nurturing, healing, or female dominated spaces. Wealth may come through family or emotional work.

Mercury: You write, speak, or strategize your way to money. Stock tips, intellectual property, or sharing taboo knowledge. You make $$$ from secrets.

Venus: You're literally made to attract luxury and resources. Sugar baby potential, creative investments, passive income from beauty or love-based businesses.

Mars: You hustle for that money. Sex work, bold business moves, and aggressive investing can be major wins. You thrive in high stakes financial spaces.

Jupiter: F*ck you money is your birthright. You naturally expand and attract wealth often through spiritual wisdom, teaching, or blessings from others.

Saturn: You build wealth slowly, but it's unshakeable. Passive income through discipline, real estate, legacy building, or authority in your field.

Uranus: Sudden windfalls, viral moments, and unconventional income streams. You were born to break the rules and still get paid. Internet wealth = chef's kiss.

Neptune: Spiritual, artistic, or mystery money. Think music royalties, dreams turned into passive profit or even hidden/inherited wealth. Trust your intuition.

Pluto: You're a financial powerhouse. You attract wealth through transformation, shadow work, or high stakes environments. Sex, death, taxes? You run it.

North Node: Your destiny is to become wealthy through other people's money, deep transformation, or taboo topics. Follow the path of power.

South Node: You've already mastered wealth in a past life; now you're learning to share it or evolve past it. Don't cling to scarcity.

Chiron: You've been wounded by money, sex, or power...but healing these wounds makes you RICH. You can guide others through their darkness and get paid for it.

Your 8th house is your wealth witch zone. It's not your salary...it's what keeps the money coming while you sleep. Use your placements to tap into wealth that's bigger than you, tied to transformation, and often a lil taboo.

You don't just make F you money; you embody it.

Want a custom money astro reading? Slide in my DMs for prices.

Subscribe to Patreon: ⬇️⬇️

#astrology #astro observations #astro community #thealchemistbae #birth chart #horoscope #astrology for beginners #natal chart #astro notes #money astrology #8th house

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papercorgiworld · 4 months ago

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"If You Need My Love" is a very innocent tittle for something that isn't innocent at ALL... This is smut in capital letters: SMUT! Let's all take a moment and pray for more subby Matty.

If You Need My Love

sub!Mattheo Riddle x gn!reader; smut

summary: something about the way Mattheo’s dark chocolaty curls looked against the pillows and his body sweaty from quidditch practice made you want to suck the soul out of him. through his cock, obviously.

a/n: back by unpopular demand: me, with more matty blowjobs (& overstimulation) bc i just can’t help myself. + matty won the poll, so you degenerates must want it too 🫶 super short, oops. 18+ below the cut

Mattheo knocking at your door at odd hours of the night was something to be expected when you’d agreed to start dating him. Guaranteed, if he didn’t come to your dorm with you at the end of the day, he’d wind up there by the early hours of the morning.

That’s how you ended up with him sprawled across your bedsheets, his cock in your mouth and his fingers gripping the fabric beneath him. You’d lost track of how long you’d spent in this position, but really, you’d probably stay like that forever just to see the absolute wreck Mattheo’s become under your touch.

A string of gasped oh—fucks fall out of his parted lips as his abdominal muscles twitch with every lick to his just as twitchy cock. Your tongue runs along the vein on the underside of his shaft again as he whines, “I can’t—babe, please, too much—”

“Oh baby boy,” you purr, “it’s only been a couple, I think you can take just a few more. Have you been a good boy and kept count for me?”

His head tips back against the pillow, another sharp whine leaving him as you gently suck on the head of his cock, tongue massaging where the tip meets the shaft. “I—yeah…I think ah! four.” His hands scramble to grip the sheets like a lifeline as you take him fully in your mouth once again. It doesn’t take long to pull another one out of him, his entire body shuddering almost violently as near pathetic moans echo in the room. Nothing comes out of his spent cock, just needy little jerks in your mouth. “Okay! I did it, I did it, too much—”

You pull off with a pop and he immediately tries squirming away from more. “Sweet boy, I thought this is what you wanted?” You don’t let him get far, one hand holding his hip down and the other coming up to move his sweaty curls away from his face.

Mattheo pants softly, trying and failing to regain control of his breathing. It was a rare and downright sinful sight, him splayed out on the bed and at your mercy. His abdomen spasms once more, hips involuntarily bucking up for more contact.

You lean down like you’re about to take him back into your mouth until the last second, you redirect and bite the tender flesh of his inner thigh. “I asked a question Matty, c’mon, gimme an answer.” He gasps and attempts to jerk his leg away from the light sting of your teeth.

“I did—yeah, wanted your mouth—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You don’t give him a chance to respond, tongue tracing a line from his balls up to his tip. He lets out a strangled, overstimulated moan while his cock jumps slightly against you. You press a delicate kiss to his shaft before enveloping his cock in your warmth again and you swear there’s almost tears in those pretty brown eyes.

You slowly press down, his tip running along the roof of your mouth at a torturous pace. He brushes the back of your throat as your nose presses into his pelvis and he whimpers. Tongue massaging the underside of his shaft all the while, your eyes flick up to his sweaty, blissed out face.

Mattheo is panting and moaning like he’s seeing god, thighs twitching and squeezing your head between them. “I—fuck! fuckfuckfuck—” he gasps followed by your name like a prayer on his lips. Then his entire body is spasming again, tears pricking behind his eyes from exhaustion, cock pushing further down your throat.

You drag your mouth off of him as the first tear rolls down his pretty cheek. Catching it with your thumb, you carefully lick it away. He’s still trembling as pleasure runs through him in waves, coming down from the high. His breath is shaky as you press a series of soft kisses across his face. “You did so good Matty. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

You roll onto your back and pull him to your chest for him to relax and regain functionality of his brain. It takes a few moments of peaceful silence, wrapped in each other before he’s smirking, “so, your turn?”

#thank you for blessing us with your work!#love the fic love the author

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boricuasirena25 · 3 months ago

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loser, nerdy 2000s ellie x popular, bimbo, mean girl fem!reader headcanons

authors note : just wanted to say thank uu sm for the support i’ve seen on my last post abt nerdy ellie, i fr posted it without thinking and i can tell a lot of yall like it! im taking requests for her so lmk what uu want. :)

cw : some nsfw (some of the things i put in the nsfw might be like pg13 but i still put them there anyways idk 😭), lotta jokes abt boobies, ellie’s PAINFULLY nerdy like oh my goodness. takes place in the late 2000s to be oddly specific.

— SFW

• she has fantasies of you and her in the medieval times, you being the glamorous princess and her being your daring, knight in shinning armor. she literally draws it in her sketchbook, pages filled with doodles of you in corsets or big and gorgeous low cut gowns, her holding up a sword towards your “boyfriend” adrian, who in her medieval universe is “lord adrian of valebrume”, a totally made-up kingdom name that sounds dark and full of lies. she made sure it rhymed with gloom, doom, and consume—because duh, he’s the villain.

• and her favorite medieval scenarios? saving you. you’re chained in a tower. a dragon’s outside. adrian is there, trying to “rescue” you but being a fool. ellie shows up on horseback, sword drawn, cloak flapping dramatically. she slays the dragon, pushes adrian off a cliff, and drops to one knee like: “my lady. i have come for you.” you run into her arms, kiss her hard, and whisper, “you’re all I ever wanted, sir williams…”

• she can solve a rubik’s cube in under a minute. but she will not do it in front of people because she’s been bullied enough. only her stuffed triceratops knows how smart she really is.

• she’s so soft for you it’s pathetic. you could insult her in front of the entire class and she’d still smile and go “you’re so funny…” like a kicked puppy. you could say “shut up, ellie” and she’d respond with “yes ma’am” and a full-body shiver.

• 100% draws on her converse “E + (your initial)” with a heart inside of it.

• she’s, OF COURSE, obsessed with dinosaurs. she’ll say corny pick up lines like “i think if i was a dinosaur, i’d be a simp-o-saurus. because… y’know… for you. i’m simpin’ real hard.” and then she’d probably smack herself in the head after like “what the f*ck was i thinking…”.

• even though she’s HEAVILY bullied (specifically for being a lesbian who’s obsessed with you) shes blessed enough to constantly third wheel with dina and jesse.

• quite literally owns a rubber “i heart boobies” bracelet that she insists is for breast cancer awareness, but really she just thinks boobs are awesome and it’s the only time she’s allowed to say it out loud.

• she’s knows how to skate and does it quite frequently as a source of transportation (until joel gives her his rusted up, old, monster truck that ellie isn’t allowed to get till she passes spanish).

• death note is her favorite manga. she bought the first volume from a crusty used bookstore with joel, and it unlocked something feral inside her. the intensity? the drama? the moral conflict? she ate it up. once accidentally moaned when reading a panel of misa sitting on light’s lap. would never admit that.

• she owns a fake death note she made and writes adrian’s name in it “adrian luis davis – punched in the nuts by a ghost and then falls in a porta-potty in front of the whole school. dies of embarrassment.” then she drew a tiny doodle of him slipping on a banana peel. and if another boy makes you laugh? she flips open her ‘death note’, glares over her glasses, and mutters “he’s done for.”.

• she’d be a marching band lesbian idc, she’d play percussion and have the most wrinkled up band uniform ever. and she literally never wears the hat right. it’s always tilted or falling off her head. one time it flew off during a performance and she had to kick it off the field. she was mad until she looked over and saw you laughing at her in the stands.

• still plays the guitar, (she does in every universe), and she practices every single day. after school, while watching invader zim. she zones out completely when she’s playing. it’s the only time her brain shuts up—unless she’s thinking about your boobs. then it’s just chaos. one night she was home alone and played “the only exception” by paramore after smoking weed and cried because it reminded her of you.

• she didn’t tell anyone. just laid on the floor of her living room like a snow angel in her spider-man boxers whimpering.

• she owns a jennifer’s body DVD and keeps it hidden under her bed. watches it on mute when joel isn’t home. she has the kiss scene with needy memorized (she sometimes even rewatches it and imagines it as u and her).

• she owns a chunky PS3 and plays GTA IV when she’s had a bad day, or is just like super angry as her own therapy. she’ll storm into her room, throw her backpack down, and boots up her fat, fingerprint-covered PS3. the fan’s loud, the controller’s kinda sticky from soda, and the GTA IV disc is always already in. she plays like a menace—steals a car, blasts the liberty rock radio station, and causes chaos in liberty city.

• but if she’s super mad?! like adrian calling her out in front of the whole class once again?! his arms around your waist while you just sit there?! she types cheat codes into her cracked notebook and gives niko bellic rocket launchers and infinite health. she’s full on blowing up traffic jams, launching grenades into alleyways, and driving into the water just for the hell of it.

• when joel checks on her like, “you alright, kiddo?” she just grunts “yeah,” while casually tossing molotovs at cop cars with dead eyes. but she plays minecraft when she’s just chilling. she builds the ugliest dirt houses with torches everywhere and lives like a little swamp gremlin. has one big chest labeled “STUFF” and refuses to organize it. she wears full iron armor and still falls in lava. blames lag.

• OBSESSED WITH SPIDER-MAN. she literally has spider-man bedsheets and posters in her room; one above her bed, one crooked on the celling holding on by a thread (when her fan is on too long it almost blows off), and one behind her door.

• when she writes about you in her journal she puts “my MJ <3”. she even draws it. little comic panels where she’s spidey saving MJ (you) from some made-up villain that originates from adrian. ellie gives herself abs and a six-pack. no shame.

• she also owns a knock off spider-man costume. it’s from walmart and a little too tight, with faded colors and one busted web-shooter strap. she wears it with her dirty converse and grey sweatpants and thinks she’s the coolest thing ever. wears it to the store when joel isn’t paying attention. she once got it stuck in the dryer and cried.

• only wears boxers. various different pairs that r always peaking out of her sweatpants, cargos, or jeans. her favorite pair? her prized possession? a pair of faded-ass spider-man boxers. they’re red and blue with tiny spidey logos all over. she’s had them since middle school and refuses to let them go—even though they’re worn thin, have a little hole on the thigh, and the elastic’s basically screaming for mercy.

• she calls them her “lucky boxers” and lowkey wears them on days she knows she might see you. she also owns black boxers with little green dinosaurs on them and classic plaid ones that r oversized and practically fall off her hips. the waistband’s always showing. always. at this point, it’s part of the fit. she doesn’t even care if they get bunched under her jeans—just tugs at them in the hallway like “gotta air it out.”

• if she’s nervous around you, she adjusts her boxers way too much and acts like it’s not because she’s turned on.

• and for some reason, this loser is like freakishly good at soccer? beastly good. jaw-dropping good. weirdly good. but then again it’s probably because she’s a lesbian. she’s fast, aggressive, strategic—she plays forward like she isn’t afraid to slide tackle some 6’0 dude to the ground. she gets called for fouls all the time because she plays like she’s ready to fight. her coach yells at her all the time; “williams! dial it down!”, “williams, it’s not that deep—GET OFF HER!”.

• she wears the same cleats from middle school. they’re black, duct-taped, and smell like her garage. her shin guards are always crooked, and her socks never match.

• she once tried to hit you up by calling you mamacita with the worst accent you’ve ever heard. thought it was smooth. just for you to hit her with the dirtiest look ever. let’s just say she never said that out loud again.

• her all time favorite soda is dr pepper. she drinks it a little too much… her bedroom is a crime scene of empty cans. they’re stacked into little pyramids on her windowsill, crammed into her backpack, one might even be under her pillow. joel once tripped over a can pyramid and she screamed like he destroyed a sacred monument. BUT she swears it “makes her smarter.” she’ll sip it during math tests like it’s brain juice. “it’s got 23 flavors, joel. i’m running on 23 IQ boosts right now.”.

• literally owns a faded, crusty dr pepper graphic tee. it’s oversized and has holes in the collar, but she thinks it’s high fashion. it was $3 at goodwill and she treats it like a designer item. if she’s wearing it under her flannel, it’s a special day. she also 100% has a dr pepper can tab on a necklace chain. she popped it off her “lucky can” and wears it under her shirt. when you find it one day and asks about it, ellie stutters, “it’s—it’s like, uh, for good luck. and stuff…”

• dina notices ellie in class going through her sketchbook, finds one page where your name is written next to a sketch of you in a princess outfit. next to it? ellie’s self-insert knight version—sword drawn, hearts floating around them. dina looks up slowly and goes, “ellie… have you spoken to her yet?”

• “she said ‘thanks’ when I let her borrow a pencil. we’re basically married.”

— NSFW

• she gets turned on by the stupidest things about you. the way you chew gum, the way you fix your hair, the sound of your laugh, the way you tie your shoes, the way you stretch in class and your shirt rides up a little. she’ll cross her legs in AP biology like “be cool. don’t squirm. don’t look at her boobs again.” just to take another quick glance down.

• ellie found out what a strap was from the L word. she saw shane pull it out of a drawer once and nearly passed out. didn’t even know what it was called at first—just googled “lesbian harness thing from l word” on ask jeeves. then, when scrolling online she saw this neon green strap-on with a ugly, cheap, fake leather, hideous colored harness—and for some reason, she bought it. i mean the harness was only $29.99, dildo $14.99 and with a shipping of $8 dollars, it’s not like she could afford those $90 ones. now it’s growing dust under her bed.

• her cute, hideous glasses always slide off her nose when she catches you near her in a mini skirt (or she pushes them up to get a better look at my tits) and because of this, she can quite literally draw your tits from pure memory. no reference. no glances. just pure gay brain storage. she knows the exact curve, how they rest when you’re sitting vs standing, how they look in that one white top with the scoop neckline that makes her borderline pass out.

• but even though she knows them like the back of her hand, she still sneaks glances when she thinks you’re not looking. sometimes you’re bent over the locker room bathroom mirror, adjusting your necklace or putting on lip gloss, and she’s across the room—pretending to tie her converse back on but she’s staring dead at your tits in the mirror reflection like she’s about to start drooling.

• and she’s memorized every single bra you own. color, fabric, lace pattern, where it cuts on your back, how the straps sit on your shoulders, whether the padding lifts your tits or not. she knows which ones you wear when you want to feel cute and which ones are for laundry day.

• when she’s high? forget about it. she starts rambling about the “artistic gravity” of your tits, how the curve reminds her of renaissance sculptures, and how she wants to sculpt them from memory using clay she found behind the garage. dina and jesse once walked in on this monologue and left in silence.

• she doesn’t even smoke that often—maybe once every couple weeks if someone else has it. but every time she does? she turns into a flushed, squirmy, glassy-eyed mess who gets insanely horny within ten minutes. like clockwork. doesn’t matter if it’s a chill high or a head high—ellie’s already halfway down bad the moment it hits her bloodstream.

• one time she smoked weed in dina’s garage with her and jesse. the three of them snuck out to her garage—lights off, old couch, lava lamp glowing. they pass it around like total amateurs, coughing and giggling and pretending to be cool. ten minutes in, ellie is absolutely done for.

• her knees are pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves over her hands, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed bright pink. she’s quiet, too quiet, until dina looks over and goes: “ellie… you good?” and ellie just mumbles, “mhm… i’m chillin’…” while clearly not chillin’.

• she’s thinking about you in a miniskirt. she’s thinking about your glossed-up lips. she’s thinking about your thighs on either side of her head. jesse’s rambling about alien conspiracies meanwhile ellie’s gripping the edge of the blanket, vibrating with how badly she needs to excuse herself. she finally blurts out “i’m gonna go… uh… bathroom. real quick.”

• she bolts toward the house, slamming the bathroom door shut. she barely locks it before her hand’s down her boxers—moaning softly into her arm, her mind spiraling with nothing but you. how pretty you are, how good you smell, how soft your thighs would feel wrapped around her flushed face.

• and her sketchbook is a problem. deep in her sketchbook, the parts she refuses to let anyone else see, are filthy. you sitting on her face, moaning. you spread open with your fingers, juice dripping down your thighs, her name scratched onto your skin. you with hickeys on your chest, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and the exact position your mouth makes when you’re cumming.

• she’s drawn close-ups of your tits in her sketchbook more times than she can count. like full-studies. the shading, the softness, how the nipples perk when you’re cold. she knows which way they tilt when you’re laying on your side. she draws them squished under her hands. she draws them from memory and gets mad when it’s not perfect.

• and some of her sketches are drawn from scenarios she wishes happened. you sitting in her lap in just your mini skirt with your hand around her neck, you pulling her by the collar into bed with a kiss, you in the school bathroom kissing her against a stall door.

• in which ellie draws herself completely cornered against the stall door. her cheeks are flushed bright red, glasses fogged up, and her lips are shiny from your lip gloss—because you kissed it off her. in the corner of the page, ellie scribbled: “she wore juicy perfume. i could smell it all over me after.”

• remember ellie’s medieval fantasies? well let’s just say they’re not all innocent… a specific one is where she drew you pressed to the castle wall, dress lifted, bent over. ellie’s behind you, armor still on, her gauntlet clamped around your mouth while she takes you with a thick medieval strap—drawn with detailed curve and shimmer of neon green (yes, she draws the neon green strap even in fantasy).

• you’re moaning through her hand, crown slipping, legs shaking while your heels dig into the stone. she adds notes like: “told her to be quiet. she couldn’t.”, “her moans echoed through the halls.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #nerd!ellie #ellie williams texts #bbf!ellie #lesbian #fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #loser!ellie #2000s au #latina oc #black oc #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams #ellie tlou #the last of us #ellie x fem reader

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piastrisun · 5 months ago

Text

next in line.

pairings: lando norris + verstappen female reader.

summary: your brother announces his first baby, suddenly everyone’s eyes are on you. the teasing starts as harmless fun, but life has other plans.

faceclaim: lila moss.⠀warning: none.

request: for a smau idea, can you do verstappen!reader that just found out that her brother's gonna be a dad and is just excited maybe a reader x lando? and the grid teases her telling her she's next?

notes: so so happy for max, i’m sure he’s gonna be an amazing dad. and to make clear, i do not support kelly’s actions but i respect her as max’s partner and mother of their kid. also, i’m really sorry this took so long, i didn’t had my laptop :( but i do now!

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and others

ynverstappen i’m going to be an aunt, AGAIN!!! congratulations to the best brother in the world and my sister-in-law for blessing us with a tiny human. can’t wait to meet my future favourite little one. 🤍

tagged maxverstappen1

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username this got me thinking she was expecting as well, the GASP i let out ��

maxverstappen1 best brother in the world? finally getting the recognition i deserve

username the fact he commented this first, so unserious 😭😭

username1 i was so moved by the caption and now i’m laughing

maxverstappen1 ik houd van je, kleine zus!!! (i love you, little sister)

ynverstappen ik hou altijd van je, you’re going to be an amazing dad!! (i love you too)

username2 FAVES

username3 my most parasocial relationship are them because i feel like they’re my cousins

kellypiquet thank you!! 🥹 baby can’t wait to meet their favourite aunt

ynverstappen stop it i’ll cry

username they’re so sweet with each other

username4 OMG congrats to your family!!! can’t wait to see the cutest baby pics

landonorris i’m next in line to become an uncle

ynverstappen i hope you’re ready for all the babysitting we’ll be doing!!

username5 wait... does this mean lando and yn are next?

username6 imagine the chaos if they had a baby too 😭😭

maxfewtrell chaos? more like pure excellence the world’s not ready

landonorris couldn’t agree more

ynverstappen you’re BANNED from my posts

username7 do you guys think i still have time to reincarnate in that baby?

username8 MOVE, it was my idea first

danielricciardo aunt for now, mum next?

ynverstappen delete this immediately

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

YOUR CHATS: MAMMA’S FAVOURITE GROUP.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

ynverstappen added to their story.

replies to your story

landonorris just say the word babe

ynverstappen STOPPPP

landonorris i meannn, i was already planning our baby names list, but take your time

ynverstappen keep the list, i’m busy trying to decide between napping or rewatch criminal minds

maxverstappen1 we’re just preparing you for the future

ynverstappen future? i was planning on sleeping past 11 AM, thank you very much

ynverstappen but sure, let’s add kids to the list!

victoriaverstappen you’re next! the family is ready for some mini-you

ynverstappen okay that is kinda cute

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

YOUR CHATS: TEAM BABY.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by francolapinto, carlossainz55 and others

landonorris four years with my person, my best friend, and the love of my life. here’s to many more!! i love youuuuu

tagged ynverstappen

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lnfour nice number that one

ynverstappen beyond grateful for you every single day, love you more than anything!! <3 ♥︎ liked by author

landonorris love youUuUu

maxfewtrell you two have made it 4 years and not killed each other? impressive

ynverstappen jerk, we’re literally the best couple

username SPEAK UR TRUTH 🗣️

username2 seeing you two together makes me believe in love and what

carlossainz55 yeah, how’s that baby talk going?

ynverstappen can we just enjoy the anniversary without being bombarded about children

landonorris hey!! it’s a valid question

sophiekumpen watching you grow together has been such a joy ♥︎ liked by author

landonorris we couldn’t have done it without all your support 🩶

username3 this is the cutest thing i’ve seen all day

username4 sooo, where’s the baby update?

georgerussell63 you better be sending out wedding invites soon... you know i’ll be waiting ♥︎ liked by author

username5 lando liked this omg

username6 OH IM SO EXCITED

maxverstappen1 maybe we can get the baby a matching anniversary onesie

landonorris don’t tempt me!!

username6 you’re worse than the actual mother 😭😭

alex_albon he is and we appreciate it

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

landonorris added to their story.

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maxfewtrell she has that pregnancy glow

landonorris she says: fuck off

maxfewtrell so lovely as always 🥰

charles_leclerc is the shrimp carrying a baby shrimp?

landonorris i don’t think so but stay tuned!

charles_leclerc 🫡

ynverstappen shrimp 😭😭 you’re unbelievable

landonorris you’re MY shrimp, tho

ynverstappen i know i love u

landonorris special shrimp

ynverstappen yes

landonorris mama shrimp

ynverstappen too far babe

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

ynverstappen added to their story.

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danielricciardo i’m assuming shrimp is code for ‘future mum’ now?

ynverstappen lando’s been calling me shrimp since FOREVER

danielricciardo for obvious reasons, you kinda look like one

ynverstappen you’re relentless

oscarpiastri you can’t escape forever, you know

ynverstappen i can and i WILL

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by landonorris, username1 and others

ynverstappen we <3 new york

tagged landonorris

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alex_albon this feels like a soft launch for a baby announcement

ynverstappen in WHAT world

alex_albon i don’t know, everyone says new york is romantic

ynverstappen no one has EVER said that

carlossainz55 you two look like you’re scouting locations for a babymoon

ynverstappen STOP GIVING HIM IDEAS

landonorris i do like the sound of that ♥︎ liked by author

ynverstappen no you don’t

username she says that and yet likes all the baby related comments 😭😭

landonorris do you think we’ll get a discount if we book the babymoon now? asking for a friend

ynverstappen i’ll throw you in the ocean

username2 LMAOO he’s not even subtle about it

maxfewtrell baby’s first visit to the empire state? 👶🏻

landonorris give us nine months, mate

username3 savannah slow down

username4 y’all are a little too cute and i love it

username5 REAL like those are my parents

oscarpiastri if you name the baby after me i’ll babysit for free. think about it

landonorris oscar norris-verstappen it is!!!

ynverstappen first of all, my last name would go first

ynverstappen second, you were my favourite, oscar

ynverstappen and i remark WERE

oscarpiastri got it miss

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

YOUR CHATS: TEAM BABY.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by danielricciardo, ynverstappen and others

lando.jpg muse

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username he has called her his muse a million times and it gets me every time 🥹

ynverstappen love love love ♥︎ liked by author

lando.jpg 🖤

danielricciardo your family portraits are coming along nicely. just missing one thing…

lando.jpg i’ll admit that would make a good christmas card ♥︎ liked by ynverstappen

username2 u don’t even TRY to be subtle, huh? lmaooo

username3 someone pls tell him he’s not slick 😭😭

username4 you two are the cutest

username5 okay dad in training, we see you!!

username6 they can’t escape baby talk even online i’m CRYING

username7 husband AND dad material, i don’t make the rules ♥︎ liked by author

username8 him liking this he’s NOT real

username9 this man is ready, someone call yn

charles_leclerc dog dad today, human dad tomorrow 👀

ynverstappen tomorrow’s a bit ambitious, but thanks for the timeline

username she’s not saying no—

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

#piastrisun: work #piastrisun: smau #piastrisun: requests #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #lando norris smau #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris fic

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roselites · 7 months ago

Text

one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

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

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

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

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

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

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

“She called me a buttface!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

“Nice one,” you threw back.

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

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

“Well, you look great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That cow,” Julie put in.

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

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

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

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

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” you warned.

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

“Seresin, what the hell!”

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

“Oh, didn't you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

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

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

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

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

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

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

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

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

“That hardly seems fair!”

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

“Stop it!” you complained.

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

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

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

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

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

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

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

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

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

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

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

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

“There she is!” he cackled.

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

“Seriously?”

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

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

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

“What was wrong with him?”

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

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

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

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

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

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

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

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

“I beg your pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really, what's that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

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

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

“All of them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

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

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

His face went still. “What, no.”

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

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just messing with you, you would say.

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

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

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

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I am.”

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

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

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

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

He stopped.

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

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

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

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

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

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

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you always do that?”

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

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

“I’m making what weird?”

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

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

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

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

“Dork.”

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

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

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

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

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

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

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

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

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

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

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

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

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

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

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

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

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

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

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

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

“Okay, well…”

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

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But boy were you dreading it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

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

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

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

“About last night…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His very muscled arm…

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

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

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

“What, I am nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Both true.”

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

“Don’t I know it.”

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

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

“Oh, really?”

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

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

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even the groom.”

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

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

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

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

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

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

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

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

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

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

“No.”

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

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

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

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

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

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

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

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

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

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

To be bold. To follow through.

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

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

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

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

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

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

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

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

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

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

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

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

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

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

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.

#rosie.fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #tgm fic #tgm x reader #top gun maverick x reader #glen powell x reader

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