#fan pier park

[docileeffects]

[emaadsidiki]

Find me under the palms... 🌴🏖️🚵‍♂️

[skzstannie]

"Did you know?"

SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member! reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort wc: ~4,500 cw: slight violence, swearing, reader has to go to the hospital

summary: some online rumors cause turmoil within the group, and it seems the members’ concerns were certainly not without reason

A/N: Here's another angsty 9th member fic for you guys, hope you enjoy! My requests are still open, so if you have any ideas, feel free to send them in!

Likes/reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Part 2 | Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

Today was the first date of your North American tour, landing you guys in the beautiful city of Los Angeles, California. Your managers allowed you the morning to explore the city, given you had constant security. They made you specifically promise to abide by these rules, as you had a habit of sneaking off to see fans on your own. What can you say? Security could be annoying, and your fans were always the sweetest.

This little habit of yours not only made management anxious, but also your members. They knew you could be innocent and credulous when it came to other people, always wanting to believe there was good in everyone. While this may be true, people's best intentions sometimes went out the window when confronted with their favorite Kpop idols.

"Ok, first the art museum for Hyunjin, then Griffith Park, and then the nice breakfast cafe down the street from the venue. Anything else?" Chan reads off your planned itinerary, glancing upwards at you guys.

"Yea, I said I wanted to go to the Santa Monica Pier. They have the cutest attractions there," you say, repeating yourself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. You were the only one wanting to go, all the other members not wanting to risk getting sick on fair food and carnival rides before the concert.

"Yes, and I already acknowledged the fact that we will not be going there today. And we, includes you, meaning you will also not be sneaking off to go by yourself," Chan pointedly looks to you, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"What makes you think I'd ever do that?" you give him a cheeky smile, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Don't look at me like that. You know exactly why I'd think that."

You drop your innocent act, giving him a bored look in return.

Chan gets notified that the vans have arrived, so you all pack up your things and head to the hotel elevator. The boys roughhouse in the hallway, Seungmin almost tackling Jeongin to the ground. This is quickly stopped by Minho, reminding them they can't get hurt before the concert tonight. They roll their eyes at him but oblige.

Leaving the hotel, you all jump in the cars, embarking on the short drive to the art museum. Your van consists of Seungmin and Felix sitting in the middle set of seats, while you're squished in the back between Chan and Minho. The air is weirdly tense and quiet, everyone seemingly too occupied with their phones. Besides Chan describing the itinerary this morning, everyone has been quiet all day.

You feel Chan's watchful gaze slide to your screen, and you pull away, leaning towards Minho. "Do you mind?" you sass.

"I do actually. What are you looking at on there, any cute boys?"

"Give me a break, we have a dating ban," you scoff, turning your phone back off and sliding it into your crossbody bag.

You continue to sit in silence until you arrive, not wanting to deal with Chan's wandering eyes on your Instagram feed.

Finally arriving at the art museum, everyone piles out of the vans. Fans line the sidewalk, and a grin spreads across your face. You step out of line quickly, wanting to go over to a particularly young fan. She looks around 8 or 9, and she has a poster of you in hand with a black Sharpie. What's the harm in giving this young girl a quick signature?

Within your first few steps, your arm is aggressively pulled backwards, and you stumble into Minho. He gives you a stern look, and you know, especially with this many people around, not to question him. You fall back in line, looking back to give the young girl a sympathetic smile as you're guided the rest of the way into the museum.

You guys walk through the entrance of the museum, officially out of sight from all the fans. Minho gives you another pointed look, finally releasing your arm from his grasp. "We told you, no funny business today. Tonight's important, and we need you in one piece for it."

Your eyes widen at his tone of voice, not appreciating the seriousness behind it. You know you tend to break some rules here and there, but it's always light-hearted. You'd never intentionally put yourself or anyone else in danger.

You guys explore the museum exhibits in peace, security doing an excellent job of keeping the fans outside. You, not having much of an interest in art, spend most of your time watching Hyunjin and the way he admires the artwork. He really is an artist at heart, and you love the way he can appreciate each individual piece.

While staring at Hyunjin, who's admiring an intensely beautiful painting of a riverbed with flowers, you suddenly feel eyes on you. You quickly spin around to be met with the stares of Felix, Jisung, and Jeongin. They quickly look away, busying themselves looking at the statues next to them.

You give them a squinted look, walking over to them. "What is wrong with you guys today? Why is everyone acting so funny?" you confront them, furrowing your brows.

Jisung stumbles over his words, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Felix jumps in, giving Jisung a strange look, "We were just talking about how beautiful you look today." He comes over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

You don't stay there long, removing his arm from around you and walking away. "Weird," you mutter to yourself.

You guys finish up in the museum shortly after. Piling back into the cars, you're once again stuck between Minho and Chan. This time, however, Chan keeps constant conversation with you. He rambles on about the concert that night, what he had for dinner last night, practically anything to keep his mouth moving. While this is still strange behavior, you prefer this to radio silence.

Arriving at Griffith Park, you guys make your way up the hill terrain. All the guys want to take pictures, planning to post them to Instagram later that week. You think the perfect spot for pictures would be the Hollywood sign, so you start to make your way towards it.

You don't think to alert anyone, as it's within eyesight, and you prefer to take your own pictures, anyway. You came prepared, bringing your tripod in your backpack.

Before you make it very far, only walking about 25 feet away from the group, you hear your name being yelled. You turn back around, seeing an angry Minho storming towards you.

"What'd we say about going off on your own? Why are you being so difficult today?" he asks, his voice rising with every word he spits at you.

You don't know what's gotten everyone's panties in a bunch today, but you've just about had enough. The atmosphere has been tense all day, and you're officially sick of it.

"Why is everyone being so tense today? Gosh, I'm only going up to the sign!" You throw your arm behind, motioning to the spot only about 50 feet away from where you and Minho stand.

"No, you will not be going up there, especially not by yourself. Stay with the rest of the group and stop being stubborn!" Minho's overly-critical eyes stare you down. He steps toward you, grabbing you by the elbow for the second time that day.

You wretch yourself away from him. "I've had enough with being man-handled today. I'm done! I'm going to wait in the van. Have fun without me!" you yell at him, stalking off towards the parking lot.

You see everyone had stopped what they were doing upon hearing the loud yells, and they're all watching you as you hurriedly make your way back to the vans. Your face flushes, embarrassment taking over your features.

You pull on the door to the van, realizing it's locked. You stomp your foot and whip around, finding everyone still staring at you with varying expressions. "Someone please unlock this door before I have a mental breakdown," you beg, feeling the beginnings of an anxiety attack taking over your body.

The driver, just feet away sitting on a bench, searches for the keys in his jacket, finally unlocking the door for you. You climb in, slamming the door behind you.

You stumble over the front row of seats, laying down in the back away from the concerned gazes of your members and the rest of the staff. Your chest feels constricted, the air in your lungs feeling limited in supply. Tears stream down your face at the unwanted advances of an anxiety attack.

The fight with Minho paired with the building tension all day, along with the nerves for tonight's concert mixed into a deadly concoction in your brain, all too much for you to handle.

You're not left alone with your thoughts for long, the door to the van opening only minutes later. Hyunjin crawls in, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey, hey, shhh. It's ok, everything will be ok," he coos, rubbing your back. He's squeezed himself down in between the middle row of seats, his elbows resting on the armrests beside him.

"I'm sick of today," tears slide down you cheeks, your voice audibly shaking. "Everyone is being so distant and mean. What'd I do?"

"No honey, you didn't do anything. Everyone's just a little stressed for tonight. There's been some stuff circulating around online putting everyone on edge, but it'll all be fine," he reassures you, trying to roll you onto your other side so he can see your face. Your mind is too pre-occupied to register his words, letting them travel in one ear and out the other.

You allow him to turn you around, uncomfortably shifting in the small space. Your glossy eyes meet his, and he's quick to wrap you up into a tight hug, your own arms squished against his chest.

"Everyone's finishing up out there, then we're going to head to the venue a little earlier than planned. Does that sound ok?" he asks, affectionately running his fingers through your hair.

"Yea," you sniffle, pressing your face firmly into his shoulder. "I don't want to sit by Minho. Please don't make me," you cry harder at the thought.

"Alright, alright, shhh. You're only working yourself up more. You know we have to stay in our assigned vehicles, but I'm sure Seungmin and Felix will switch spots with him and Chan."

After a few more minutes of consoling from Hyunjin, everyone else has finished their photoshoots. Hyunjin leaves, but not before giving you another firm squeeze. Seungmin and Felix pile into the van first, both of them coming to sit beside you. You telepathically thank Hyunjin for asking them in passing.

Felix rests a comforting hand on your knee throughout the ride to the venue. Chan and Minho are silent, completely engrossed in their phones once again.

Once at the venue, you stay far from Minho, not wanting to deal with his negativity. You notice the security is amped up a bit compared to last tour, guards standing at every door leading to your dressing rooms. You figure it's because your band has gotten so much bigger, the Stay Family always growing exponentially.

In your dressing room, Felix occupies the chair by the mirror, your stylists brushing shades of brown and pink across his eyelids. Changbin stands nearby, the hair stylist just finishing up with a couple extra spurts of hairspray. You lay on the couch while you wait, playing Among Us with Jeongin and Hyunjin who reside in the other dressing room.

Changbin and Felix offered to go with you to your dressing room, and you gladly accepted their offer. You explained to them you didn't necessarily want to be alone; you just didn't want to be by Minho.

The stylists start to work on you once they're done with the boys. They finish your hair and makeup just in time for soundcheck, applying some last minute powder to your nose before sending you off to the stage.

Rehearsals go by smoothly. You and Minho are able to put your issues behind you for now. Your fans are so important to you, and the last thing you want to do is ruin their night because of some petty argument.

Management sends you off to the dressing rooms once again, satisfied with the quality of the soundcheck. You follow your members off stage before departing down a separate hallway in search of the bathroom.

You walk for another few seconds, taking a few random turns before your met with the door to the ladies' restroom. You do your business and take your time getting back to the dressing room as you guys don't go on for another hour. The venue your playing is beautiful, so you take a slight detour, admiring all the nice architecture.

You're startled from your peaceful thoughts once again by a furious Minho. "I cannot believe you'd go off on your own again. After all we've told you today, how could you possibly think that's ok?" he throws his hands up in disbelief, his tone snarky.

"I had to use the restroom! You guys have never had a problem with me walking around the venues by myself, why now? You have been up my ass all day. Leave me the hell alone for awhile." You push him out of the way, ramming his shoulder with your own in the tight hallway.

"Do you think this is fun for me, huh? Yelling at you all day long? Did you ever stop to think for one second that there may be something bigger going on here?" His voice sounds exhausted, leaving you slightly concerned because you still have hours of performing to do. However, your anger gets the best of you, and your concern gets pushed deep below the surface.

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't read your damn mind. If there's something bigger going on, then why hasn't anyone told me? I'm a big girl, not some toddler. I am a part of this group the same as everyone else, so why are things being kept from me?"

Minho starts to speak, but you immediately cut him off, not wanting to hear the lame excuses you're sure he's come up with. "You know what, I don't even wanna hear it. My mental health has went to shit today because of you, and if I wanna be able to perform in 30 minutes, I need to be away from you. We can talk about this later," you finish, rushing off to your dressing room, leaving Minho standing alone in the hallway.

Everyone seems to have deemed your dressing room the hangout spot until the concert officially begins, as all the other boys have gathered around, making themselves comfortable amongst the laid out furniture in the room.

You all make conversation, laughing at Changbin's cringey jokes; you're happy for the distraction, allowing your mind to wander from the fight you had with Minho.

10 minutes before you go on, management comes to fetch you to get ready, providing you all with in-ears and microphones.

Your pre-performance jitters have made themselves known, but you've been doing this long enough that you can turn that nervous energy into excitement.

5 minutes before you go on, you and the boys gather in a circle. Chan leads, knowing exactly how to get everyone hype before going on.

You're all standing now just outside of view from the fans on the side of the stage, waiting for your cue from management. Once they give it, you all make your way out onto the stage, relishing in the sounds of the screaming Stay that form the crowd.

All is going smoothly as you finish your center part during the bridge of Lalala, and you make your way to the side of the stage, waiting for the part in the song where you re-enter the choreo. With all your attenton focused on the performance, you fail to notice the commotion coming from the crowd just a few feet from you.

Your attention is pulled away from the performance when you're tackled from behind. You scream in agony and fear, having landed painfully on your wrist. If the snap you felt is anything to go by, it's definitely broken. However, this isn't your main concern at the moment. You open your eyes, and they’re immediately drawn to the shiny pocket knife the man has in his hand. He's quick to slash a small cut into your forearm before he is aggressively pushed off of you. Your attacker is taken down by security; they immediately throw a pair of handcuffs on him, taking him off stage.

The crowd has broke out into panicked cries, all of Stay wondering what happened and if you're ok.

Your members are quick to rush over to you, abandoning the remainder of the Lalala choreo. While it's felt like an eternity since you were tackled, it really only took security a few seconds to get the situation under control, and only a few more seconds for your members to surround you.

"What hurts?" Chan panics, crouching down beside you.

"My wrist," you sob, totally overwhelmed from all the commotion. The crowd is still roaring and your wrist throbbing like crazy. The cut on your arm is no comparison to the pain radiating from your wrist.

"Alright, let's move her off stage," a paramedic pushes through the barricade your members have formed around you and helps you stand to your feet. You quickly move off stage, wanting to get out of the crowd's view as soon as possible.

Once off to the side, one paramedic inspects your wrist, gently grasping your forearm to hold you steady, while another wraps the cut on your other arm.

"It definitely looks broken. We should get you to the hospital to get it X-rayed and possibly casted," he explains.

Minho steps up next to you, your earlier arguments swept from your mind. "I'll go with her. You guys finish up here. Probably should cut the setlist short anyway; we're already behind schedule."

You follow behind the paramedics, them leading you outside to the ambulance. Minho walks beside you, providing you familiarity in this uncomfortable situation.

The ride to the hospital is silent except for the beeping of the machines the paramedics have you connected to. Minho holds your unbroken hand the whole ride, your disagreements on the backburner for the moment.

The more time that passes, the sorer your body becomes. Your arms feel heavy, and your back feels like it was beaten with a hammer. You realize you've probably been in shock this whole time, and the attacker did more damage than you originally thought.

You finally find yourself in a hospital room, Minho pulling the chair up beside you.

"Well," the doctor says, pulling your X-ray up onto the screen, "This cut doesn't require stitches, just keep it bandaged and medicated. We'll give you a Tetanus shot for it, though, since it was done with a knife. As for your wrist, it's definitely broken. The good news, though, is that it doesn't look like it will require surgery. What color cast do you want?"

You're expression appears dazed to Minho and the doctor, your mind completely preoccupied. "Black," you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear you.

The doctor nods his head, disappearing from the room to retrieve the supplies to apply your cast and the shot.

You look to Minho, finally feeling like you have processed everything that's happened. "What the hell happened? How did that guy get past security, and with a knife especially?"

"Honestly, we're not sure. Management and security are reviewing the camera footage now. We were trying to be cautious; there was so much extra security tonight. It should've been impossible for anyone to get to you."

You process his words, a realization forming in your mind. "Did you guys know something about this beforehand?" Your eyebrows furrow. If they knew something, they for sure would have told you, too, right? "Is this what you were talking about in the hallway before the concert?"

"Y/N," he sighs, giving you a look full of remorse.

"No. I don't want any bullshit," you snap, "Did you or did you not know something was wrong before the concert? Is that why you have been giving me a hard time all day?" You start to put the puzzle pieces together, the day replaying in your head.

The overprotectiveness, the extra security, them not wanting you to go on your phone- they knew.

Minho looks to the ground, his shoulders slumping. "Look, we find out about some rumors going around online this morning, but-"

"Get out," you say, your voice tense.

His head snaps up, his remorseful eyes meeting your fiery ones. "What?"

"I said, Get. Out." Your unbroken hand aggressively points to the door.

"I'm not leaving you here alone. Let's just talk about this-"

"You had all day to talk to me about this, but now that I'm injured and traumatized you want to talk about it?" Your incredibly angry, and your words are filled with venom. "Get out, get out, get out!"

"Do you really think it's the best idea to be by yourself right now?" His eyes are filled with sorrow, his hands in dire need to reach out to you.

"If you don't leave right now, I will scream."

His watchful gaze rests on you for a couple seconds, before he finally gives in, rising to his feet. He walks toward the door. "We'll send a car to come get you when you're ready. There's security out here waiting, and your manager is out in the hall. I'll see you when you get back to the hotel."

He disappears out the door, once again leaving you alone with your thoughts. How dare they not tell you? There are threats going around online about you, and you're the last one they tell? In what world does that make any sense?

The doctor comes back in the room just a few minutes later. He's quick with putting your cast on, and he sends you on your way, requesting you stop by the front desk to sign a few documents before you go.

You follow him out the door, meeting up with your manager and security right outside the room.

After signing the paperwork, your manager leads you outside to the car that has been called for you.

Fans must've found out which hotel they took to you, and the outside of the hotel is flooded with Stay. Normally, you'd be ecstatic to see so many of them. However, you're exhausted and hurt, so you bring your hood over your head and stare at the ground, thankful for the security that surrounds you.

You climb in the back of the car, your manager following suit. "Why was I not informed about the threats online?" you question, your eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"The concert was going to go on no matter what, so we figured it'd be easier to get you out there if you didn't know about them."

Your jaw drops at her statement. "That is not fair, how can you just assume that? I had a right to know about this," you argue.

"This isn't really up for discussion. It's the way we chose to handle it, and that's that."

You're in disbelief at her careless attitude. "How did the guys find out about it then?"

"Nosy little shits," she laughs, but you're not sure how she's finding any humor in this situation. "They saw them online themselves. We practically had to threaten their contracts to get them not to tell you."

Your heart constricts at this new information. Emotions flood your system, and you're suddenly feeling incredibly guilty for your interaction with Minho in the hospital room. All the arguments between the two of you flood your mind, and remorse rushes your body.

They have just been trying to keep you safe all day. Trying to keep you off your phone, not letting you wander by yourself, the whispers behind your back. It all makes sense now. And you realize you've been a royal bitch all day to the wrong people.

You turn to look out the window for the remainder of the drive, knowing it's useless to argue with your manager. What she says goes. This doesn't mean you're not angry with her and the rest of management, though. This conversation needs to be had in a professional setting, not in the backseat of a car when you're by yourself.

Once you arrive at the hotel, your quick to jump out of the car, wanting to be away from your careless manager. However, you stand directly outside the door, patiently waiting for security to escort you to your room.

They walk you all the way up to your shared room with Seungmin, and you're not surprised to find all of them waiting for you when you open the door.

They're conversations halt, all eyes snapping to you. You walk in and set your bag down on the bed. Your eyes well up with tears for what feels like the hundredth time that day. "I'm so sorry," you cry, afraid to meet their concerned gazes. "Today has just been so overwhelming, and my manager sucks, and my back hurts, and I have been so rude to you guys all day-," your words are cut short by another sob wracking through your sore body. You sniffle some more, bringing your sleeve up to wipe at your face. "Min, I'm so sorry for kicking you out. I should've just listened to what you had to say. I'm such a horrible person."

All the guys are quick to stand, not wanting you to rile yourself up anymore. Hyunjin comes over to you first, gently guiding you to sit on the bed. Everyone else follows, all of you now gathered on the queen sized bed. "Listen," Minho starts, comforting you, "Absolutely none of this is your fault, you hear?" He pulls you down next to him, his arm coming up around your shoulders. "Today has been an awful day, and you don't need to work yourself up about how you treated us."

"Yea, but-"

"No buts, you need to rest. We are not mad at you."

"Not one bit. We love you so much, and we're so sorry you had to go through that. Are you ok? How's your wrist?" Chan asks from the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on your ankle.

"It hurts, but the doctor gave me some painkillers to take for the next few days. My cut didn't need stitches, but I have to keep it bandaged until it heals," you explain, your words coming out steadier than before.

Your cries eventually calm down, leaving you sniffling every now and again. Felix notices you've calmed down, and he nudges your leg, opening his arms for you. You crawl into them, relaxing into his calm and comforting embrace. The rest of them are quick to follow, creating one big group hug.

You know this situation is certainly not over. I'm sure you guys will press charges, and you'll probably have to release a statement of some kind. It seems that management and you guys have come to a silent agreement to deal with everything in the morning, and you couldn’t be more grateful for it.

~ ~ ~

Part 2

[how-serene]

In Your Eyes

Pairing - Dwayne (Lost Boys) x Neutral!Reader

Summary - A night on the boardwalk with Dwayne.

Word Count - 775

Warnings - fluff, mentions of smoking, no use of y/n, pet names

A/N - Billy Wirth, you absolute beauty.

Santa Carla’s cool breeze washed over your face. Behind you, the shrieks and laughter of friends broke through the crashing of the waves. They danced wildly around a bonfire, Mötley Crüe booming through a radio speaker. Despite the night bringing a cold chill, hoards of people still strolled along the boardwalk. Even from your place on the pier, you could feel the public’s infectious excitement. 

You leaned against the rickety railing, a cigarette held loosely between your fingers. Summer’s full moon hung high, reflecting off of the rippling waves of the water. Stars blinked down at you, against the sky’s black canvas. The pungent smell of the ocean invaded your airways, mixing with the bitter smoke. 

A pair of leather cladded arms snaked around your waist, startling you. 

“Hey, baby,” Dwayne purred, breath fanning against your ear. His hands traveled down to rest on your hips, squeezing at the flesh. 

“You’re late,” you pointed out, fighting back a grin. 

He merely hummed at your words, instead choosing to leave faint kisses on your shoulder. Even through the thick fabric of your shirt, his lips still managed to leave your skin buzzing.

Dwayne trailed his lips up, til he met the shell of your ear again. His rough hands turned you to properly face him, the railing pressed into your back. 

“Got caught up with something,” he explained, dark eyes shining down at you. 

From the faint ruby stain in the corner of his lip, you understood very quickly what that something was. You brought your thumb up, to swipe at the red smudge. The corner of his lip quirked up, carefully watching your movement. 

“You’re cold,” he noticed, leaning into your touch. 

“”The pier isn’t exactly the warmest place on earth.” 

“How long have you been waiting?” 

“Thirty minutes, give or take.” You shrugged, letting your hand fall back down to your side. 

Dwayne sighed, dark brown eyes drifting past you to stare out at the ocean waves. The wind had picked up, now faintly brushing against his thick black hair. He seemed lost, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t begin to decipher. 

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, effectively getting his attention. His eyes softened, sweeping over you. 

“Wanna know what’s been on my mind all night?” You asked, brushing the tip of your nose against his. Dwayne’s sweet mouth was only centimeters away from yours. His hands slipped up the back of your shirt, the cool silver rings he wore ghosting over the skin.

“What is it, doll?” he muttered, lips grazing the corner of your mouth. Patiently waiting for you to speak. His unshaven stubble scraped against your chin.

You planted a firm kiss on his cheek, before pulling back. 

“Winning that giant stuffed panda I saw near the balloon darts.” 

The pier was alive, as bright neon lights illuminated the boardwalk. The flood of patrons rushed past you, of kids dragging their parents by the cuff of their sleeves, or friends huddled together like packs of wolves. All vying for that last ride on the Ferris wheel, or an overpriced corndog before the park closed for the night. 

You walked, with Dwayne’s arm slung over your shoulders, and a stuffed Panda lovingly held in your hands. 

“Since when were you so good at darts, mister?”

Dwayne sheepishly smiled, glancing down at you, “Just one of my many talents.” 

You snorted, bumping your hip with his. It was odd, at times you realized. Dwayne smelled of cigarettes, and cheap booze most likely snagged from the victims of bonfire parties. His mouth tasted of mint, and nicotine when he would kiss you. There was always something beyond it though, a metallic taste your mind would block out before you could process it. 

Even though you knew. 

He appeared so human at times, it knocked you back. It was almost easy to brush off the strange coolness of his skin, or the carnivorous look in his features when a hoard of people would pass by you two. 

Then there were moments when the human-like quality of Dwayne overshadowed everything else. Moment’s like now, when he pressed you into his side, grinning as he peppered kisses over your hairline. You giggled, leaning back away from him, your heart thudding in your chest. Up ahead, his pack was gathered around a picnic-table, lazily leaning against it. Their ravenous gaze met yours, locked on your approaching form. Marko, with an infectious toothy smile and unkempt golden hair, waved at you. Dwayne grumbled, muttering something under his breath.

You were reminded that monsters lurked on every corner. 

In Santa Carla, at least. 

[carolmunson]

out on the moonlit floor. (older!modern!eddie)

part six of who knows how many orange colored sky set list

you and eddie walk down to the piers at brooklyn bridge after you both meet up for dinner a couple nights after your embarrassing drunk sleep over. you both spur on conversations about each other over icecream -- and when you get home, you both share more than you expected. inspiration from this series comes to you in part by: @loveshotzz 'all i really want is you' series. wanting to fuck that old man. and readers like you.

tw: discussions of minor character death, drinking some alcohol, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), some vague talk about BDSM, couples first time, reader cries after sex

songspiration: kiss me | six pence none the richer

Now that the humidity broke it was almost a little chilly over by Brooklyn Bridge Park tonight. The water from the Hudson slapping against the posts of the first pier, each little wave winking when it caught the light of the moon. Manhattan sparkled across the river, glittering in both of your eyes while you walked toward the fireboat station turned ice cream parlor. Kids run around with sticky hands and mouths, shrieking and giggling with each other while parents look onward. Other couples walk hand in hand down towards the other piers -- some still under construction.

The air is warm but in a comforting way -- a reminder that fall is on the precipice, peeking itself out in hints so that you want something pumpkin flavored in early August. Eddie's hand is warm and clammy in yours, the silver bands on his fingers warmed by your touch.

"I never come down here," he says, looking around, "Why don't I ever come down here?"

You shrug, "I dunno -- are you a big water guy?"

He scrunches his nose and shakes his head, "Not really -- Steve'll drag me to the beach a lot when he visits and I'm fine with the beach but -- I'm not like, a beach guy. Or a river guy, or whatever. Lakes, sure. Ponds, why not?"

"I love being near the water," you say, leading him into the boathouse. You get in line behind at least ten people, all savoring their dog days of summer with an ice cream cone. It's warm in there, all the fans do is blow around the smell of sugar and cream, waffle cones off the press. He lets go of your hand to lay it gently on your shoulder to guide you through, heated skin to heated skin.

"I can love being near the water," he offers.

"Yeah?" you turn your head to look at him, his cheeks flushing. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. A little warm, a little slick on your skin. In your pretty summer dress that he hadn't seen yet. The soft quirk of your brows when you ask.

"Yeah," he nods, "For you? Of course."

You roll your eyes, taking a few steps forward as the line moves, "What looks good to you?" You pass a sticky menu you to him that he squints to read, apples up his lifting up to hide his eyes. You pull his glasses from the worn collar of his shirt, clearing your throat while you tap them against his knuckle.

"I can read it, baby," he mutters, distracted by the descriptions in light ink on white paper hidden behind a foggy sheet of plastic.

"You're gonna give yourself a headache," you chide. He rolls his eyes this time, taking his glasses and tucking them back on his collar. He passes the menu back to you.

"I already know what I want."

"Sure you do."

You walk out together, him with his Sweet Cream & Cookies cone and you with you Salted Crack'd Caramel in a cup. He's had two bites of yours and already regrets his decision.

"Well if you could read the menu then you probably would've got something more exciting," you tease, pulling your cup away when he reaches again.

"I mean this is good but it's boring," he pouts, "I'm not a boring ice cream kind of person."

"Is Steve?" you ask, his head tilts at the question, turning to you.

"Steve?" he repeats, "Why're you asking about Steve?"

"That's who Big Guy is in your phone, right -- with the little muscle emoji next to it? Your buddy Steve?" you smirk at him, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth.

"Yeah, that's my guy," he nods, "You know how I said he always drags me to the beach when he visits?"

"I do," you nod, a spoonful of ice cream resting on your tongue before you swallow leaving a coating of mocha, sea salt, and caramel behind.

"He's visiting soon," Eddie smiles down at your lips closed around the plastic spoon, "I'm really excited for him to meet you."

"Do you think I'll like him?"

"I think...Steve's a boring ice cream person," he laughs, "Always gets like -- butter pecan or something. You think I'm an old man? Wait until you meet this guy."

You both laugh with each other like mean girls on the playground.

"Is he um -- is he doing okay? I know you mentioned a few weeks ago that he lost his wife," you're shy while you approach the subject, you could tell it weighed heavy on Eddie to talk about it.

"I think..." Eddie starts, taking a lick of his ice cream while he considers it, "I think he's doing okay for being almost half a year out. I um, I stayed with him for the first three months -- moved him into the house they bought --"

"She passed before they moved," he explains when your brows knit in confusion.

"Oh," you nod along, face relaxing so he can continue.

"Moved him in -- I think he cried for six days straight. We didn't even sleep, just laid on his couch and watched Fever Pitch like, eighty five times in a row," he looks out at the water while he recalls it and then smiles, "Which is so weird considering he's a Cubs fan."

"That's so niche," you giggle before softening, "You're a good friend."

"He'd do it for me," Eddie shrugs, "He's already done like so mu--"

Before he can finish, two runners speed by, knocking him in the shoulder. You both watch his cone fall in slow motion towards the blacktop of the walk way.

"Sorry," the guy calls out while he continues on, barely looking back over his shoulder while he goes. The neon yellow of his running sneakers become little flecks as he gets deeper towards the tree covered walkway on the other side.

"Hey, fuck off and DIE, asshole!" you call after him, a grit in your voice that Eddie hadn't expected to hear. He can't help but laugh at your anger at his expense.

"Hey, hey," he starts, newly free hands resting on your shoulders, "Easy killer."

"There was plenty of space for him to run," you seethe, "He's a fuckin' asshole."

"It's okay," he promises, face relaxed, "It's okay."

"It's not okay," you sigh. You hold your half full cup and spoon out to him, "Have mine."

"But then you won't have one," he says, "I'm not taking yours."

"You already know you like the flavor," you insist, "I'll grab myself another one, I need a water anyway."

Eddie looks at the ice cream and then you, one dimple creasing when a side smile pulls at his lips, "Okay."

When you come back with your new ice cream he's settled down on a bench directly across from the Freedom Tower. You can see all the lights across the water from the Seaport, water taxis and mini dinner cruises coming in an out of dock in the haze of a midsummer night.

"Before Sandy, this used to be a weird sad looking mall," you say, sitting next to him, "And there used to be a really good restauarant called Red -- I loved it cause they never carded me."

"You go to college here?" he asks, you nod.

"I liked the mall cause there was a Bath and Body Works and a Christmas in New York store. I'd go in there every time I was homesick -- just felt cozy for some reason," you shrug.

"But the new stuff there is cool too," you say, taking a bite of your ice cream, "It's definitely like -- for rich people."

"Definitely for rich people," he agrees, his spoon sneaking over to your full cup, his empty one next to him. He steals a bite, letting the flavor savor on his tongue.

"Come on, why do you keep getting amazing flavors?" he sighs. You hold the cup tighter to yourself, a smile working on your lips.

"This one is just for me," you chide, "If you want more go get more."

"Nah, I just wanna taste it one more time," he says smoothly, quietly, leaning in. His hand finds your cheek, ducking in for a long slow kiss, "There we go."

Speechless, you just shake your head and take another bite when he breaks away.

"No, no, I think I need another one -- gotta get the full flavor profile," he smirks, loving the sounds of your giggle when he leans in again for another kiss. He gives you three loud smooches on the lips, enough to make a few people roll their eyes but neither of you notice. Too wrapped up in each other to really care.

Eddie's apartment is as it always is -- it smells like him, the walls are covered in knick-knacks and framed posters. Maximalism at it's finest -- organized chaos -- but somehow streamlined. You leave your sandals in the hallway, barefeet hugging the cold hardwood from the AC.

"You know what I could go for right now?" you ask. He looks up with his brows raised, putting his wallet and keys in a bowl by the door. He'd forget them otherwise.

"A mezcal marg," you say, "I'd fuck up a marg so hard right now."

"Well lucky for you," he starts, walking over to the bar cart behind the dining room table, he lifts up a bottle of Del Maguey Vida, "I have mezcal."

"Yay," you let out quietly, not too far off from our quiet cheer when you were wasted in his kitchen last week. You can tell he used to bar tend by the way he mixes drinks, how he slaps the mixer and shakes it, how he eyeballs the liquor. It's not long after you've situated on the couch that he comes over to you with your drink.

"Here cutie," he says, carefully passing it to you from behind the couch and walking around it with his own. The first sip confirms he's made these a million times, wonderfully smokey and salty, refreshing and fruity.

"Oh no," you laugh, "It's really good."

"I'll make you as many as you want," he takes a sip and settles down next to you, arm outstretched behind you, "Thank you."

"Why're you so good at everything?"

"Me?" he quirks his brow, "Nah, I'm just -- I have a lot of experience with like, mundane shit."

"No, no, you're like -- you're good at a lot of stuff," you nod, "Give yourself some credit."

You feel bold even though you've only had two sips of the margarita, but it gives you some courage nonetheless, "What else are you good at?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well --" the cat catches your tongue for a moment, suddenly unsure if you want to bring it up. But then again, he's already seen you at your almost most pathetic.

"I saw those handcuffs in your room the first time I was here," you start, "You good at tying girls up?"

He blushes hard, laughing off the embarrassment, "S'cuse me?"

"I'm serious," you laugh, "Are you good at tying girls up? Is that the kind of stuff you're into?"

"I -- wow -- um," he bumble through words trying to find an answer, looking down at his drink and then looking at you and back down again.

"I -- yeah," he shakes his head, surprised at his own confession, "Yeah, I'm -- I'm into that kind of stuff. Not like, not all the time -- but for some partners, sure, yeah." "So you are a little freak then," you tease.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "By the look on your face though it looks like you might be really interested in that."

You shrug back coolly, another sip of your marg giving you a moment to consider, "I can be."

"Yeah?" He leans back on the couch, legs spread open while he looks you over. He keeps his eyes on you, sipping slowly on his drink while he does. You start to get shy under his gaze, exactly what he was waiting for, "You think you could handle it, sweetheart?"

As expected, you roll your eyes, "Ew."

He puts his drink on a coaster on the coffee table, coming back up to give you a kiss, "You don't think it's ew."

"I know," you nod, letting his lips trail down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Unafraid, you crawl back onto his lap like you did the first night you were there. His hands wander more freely, sliding up and around your thighs, listening to your sounds and how you like to be touched. When you roll your hips he doesn't stop you this time, he lets you do it, savoring the relief he gets every time the pressure meets his hardening cock in his slacks.

"I'm not," Kiss, "Gonna do that," Kiss, "Tonight, though."

"Oh," you smirk, holdhing his face in your hands while you look down at him, "Are we gonna do it tonight?"

He blushes again, chastising himself for assuming what you wanted, "No, no, only if you want to. And I want it to be nice and like -- I want it to --"

You lean in for one more slow kiss to shut him up, he groans into it, "I want to."

Eddie gulps, looking up at you with a nod, "I'll um...I'll meet you upstairs."

He watches you get up and head towards the small spiral staircase, his mind buzzing a mile a minute. He collects the glasses and puts them in the fridge for later, cleaning up a bit while his hands nearly shake with nerves and excitement. Just as he's about to make it up the stairs he sees his phone start to buzz on the coffee table. Steve.

And normally he never does this, but for the first time in months he clicks 'Ignore' before heading up the stairs behind you.

You undress after him, trying not to gape at his body, trying to ignore the way it drives you insane. His tattoos dance with each move of his waist and arms, each flex of his thighs. He takes his time making his way over to the bed, sliding the throw to the floor when he sits on the edge of it to watch you.

Your dress comes off slow -- he beckons you forward to stand between his thighs. Neither of you speak while he cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing softly. You let out a quiet sigh when his lower lip drags against the top curve, pressing into a kiss. Moving to the next to take a nipple into his mouth, wet tongue sliding over it while his thumb teases the other.

Your hand reactively reaches for his head, pleasure starting as a line up your neck and down to your pelvis -- a whimper coming out of you involuntarily. He gives a final flick of his tongue before pulling your underwear down to your knees, letting them fall to your ankles. He looks up with a smile and a kiss to your lips, "Lay down for me."

He doesn't have to ask you twice, kicking kicking your panties off and sliding onto his bed. You lay back against the soft comforter and look up at him while he kneels over you, eyes gleaming while they take you in.

“Peach you’re…you gotta be fucking kidding me,” he lets out with an airy laugh. 

You look up at him while he lets his eyes roam over you again, suddenly self conscious. You cover some of your chest with your forearm, tucking in on yourself. 

“No, no baby,” he coaxes softly, “Show me, show me you.” 

You reluctantly release, it had been a while since you were fully naked in front of someone. You grimace when your arms fall back flat on the comforter, hands daintily laying just above your head. He bites his lower lip, the pink in his cheeks flushing to a soft red. His hands reach up to the sides of your rib cage, eyes on you for silent permission.

“Jesus,” he says under his breath. His hands slide down carefully, cascading into the dip of your waist and up over your belly. One finger tip traces a stretch mark just above your pelvis that you wished he hadn’t noticed — that you forgot you had. His hands continue their journey over your hips to the tops of your thighs — your body warm and welcoming to his touch. 

“You are gorgeous,” he whispers — partly to himself, partly to you. 

You lean up on your forearms and look down at yourself briefly, “Yeah? You think so?” 

“I uh – fuck –” he shakes his head in disbelief before leaning forward to kiss you, “I really think so.” 

His lips come in for a long peck, settling himself over your calves, forearms and biceps flexing while he leans on his hands to steady himself on the mattress. He breaks away to kiss your neck – gentle, only a few before placing one soft kiss to your chest – working his way downward. He kisses the pad of fat on the peak of your ribcage, down to your stomach, right over the stretch mark that you wish you’d forget about now. He kisses the other side of your belly, mouth and breath warm while he does, eyes blown like he’s mapping you out. 

You revel in the quiet, watching him savor you, adjusting to sit on his knees between your legs. He bends down like he’s praying, lips blessing the top of one of your thighs. He bends one of your legs up and out, kissing the inside of your knee. 

“Please,” you whisper down at him. He kisses the inside of your knee again, feeling your weight shift in the bed while you open your legs further. He looks down between your thighs, brows tilting in awe at the sight of you bared for him. 

“Push up on the bed a little, honey,” he instructs, so quietly you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t so close. If the rest of the apartment wasn’t so still. You slide up on the comforter while he adjusts the pillows behind you, “That’s good? You comfortable?” 

You nod breathlessly, his smile making you melt the more you see it in the light of his lamp in the corner. He kisses you again, hand reaching up behind your neck to pull you to him while you let his tongue into your mouth. It slides against yours with needy precision, wanting to get as close to you as possible while he does. When you part he lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling your nose. 

“You okay?” you press your forehead to his. 

“Yeah I’m just – I think I’m nervous,” he laughs, “You’re makin’ me nervous.” 

“Why’re you nervous?” you ask, pulling back to look at him. 

“I dunno. I guess I just,” he leans back, “I’m never normally thinking my way through it. At least I haven’t for a while.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Like I was just taking people home to fuck, then they’d leave,” he shrugs, “I’m like…I’m taking my time and I wanna make sure it’s like – the best sexual experience you’ll ever have.” 

“Sexual experience,” you repeat back in a tease, he puffs out a breath with a roll of his pretty brown eyes. 

“I’m trying to be meaningful here,” he asserts, “M’trying to like – make love to you.” 

You giggle again at ‘make love’ but cover your mouth, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I’m not making fun of you. That’s very sweet, Ed.” 

He tinges an embarrassed pink and settles back on his knees, hands running through his hair. 

“Baby,” you soothe, coming up to smooth your hands over his shoulders, “I’m sorry. I promise I’m not trying to make you feel silly or embarrassed. I’m nervous, too.” 

“Baby…” he repeats back, a boyish grin pulling up on his lips, “I’m not a baby.” 

“Yeah you are,” you nod, kissing his cheek, “You’re such a baby.” 

“Thought I was an old man,” he says, that blushy grin still plastered on his face. 

“You can be both.” You lay back against the pillows, watching him take a settling breath before coming back down to meet you for another taste of warm kisses. He lets himself press a loving kiss to your cheek before dipping down to leave intentional kisses down your sternum, following his map from your rib cage to your belly, the top of your thigh, the inside of your knee. Neither of you speak when he kisses the inside of your thigh, letting him part you right before his tongue starts to flick dutifully over your clit. 

Your quiet gasp makes his eyes flutter closed, feeling you settle down into the pillows while his lips open over you, nose resting on the pudge of your mound. His tongue works steadily, working you while your legs bend and creep upwards, thighs to your chest. One hand reaches up to squeeze the inside of one, spreading you apart a little further for him. You feel the warmth of the back of his head as he leans to the side against your thigh, tongue dragging up over and over before moving right back to center. 

“More,” you sigh out, starting to whimper, hips reacting to each flutter of his tongue. He start to suckle, eyes flicking up at the sound of your voice. He nods while he works, one hand coming up to slide a finger in either ease – he’s not surprised. 

“Oh!” you squeak out, the little quake in your thighs makes him huff a laugh. 

“Does this feel good?” he asks against your skin. He kisses your other thigh why he waist for an answer. You nod down at him, breaths picking up while his finger dips slowly in and out. 

“S’really good,” you slur out, the tingle in your belly rising to an electric buzz. 

“D’you like getting eaten out?” he asks, starting again. His middle finger pushes in with his index this time with mild resistance. 

“Hmmm-yes,” you breathe out at the slight stretch, feeling him hook into you once his fingers push the hilt. You push up on your forearms and then your hands, the pleasure making you dizzy while you look down at him. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. He obliges, head down and determined, sucking and teasing, the soft flick of his tongue getting you closer and closer. His fingers pulse, pushing in and in and in, the pads of his fingers pressing on your core that makes heat run through you. You aren’t sure if you’re numb with pleasure or you’re flooding over his finger, the buzz is becoming overwhelming. Your heart hammers, his fingers working in a controlled steady rhythm – too grown to know that when a girl’s about to cum you don’t speed up, you stay the course.

“ShhhitI’mgonnacum – ohmigodI’mgonnacum.” 

His lips break away from your clit as you start to come undone, a smirk prevalent on his face when he leans in to kiss you through it. You moan so loud into his mouth it’s almost a cry – a prayer to God that you make it out with all your senses. 

He feels the gush of your release over his first and middle finger, leaking plentifully into his comforter. He smiles when he breaks away from you — soft kisses on your cheeks while you shiver.

You flop flat on your back with a deep breath, shutting your eyes while you push air out of O shaped lips. 

“You okay?” his low gravelly voice settling in your chest. You nod, a little hazy, shifting over a wet spot under your limp thighs.  “Ugh.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, knowing that you can feel what you left behind. He squeezes your calf with a soft chuckle, “Just a lil’ mess, baby. D’y’need a minute?” 

You nod, another deep breath, peeking through your heavy lids to watch him stretch over you while he clicks on another light. The sconces above his bed glow golden and soft above the both of you, glinting against his silver jewelry like a fire. Eddie’s form shifts the mattress when he lays next to you, rough palm smoothing over the top of your stomach to the opposite dip in your waist. 

“That was uh…” 

“Yeah…”

You lay there with each other, eventually finding the strength to move onto your side to face him. He’s confident now that you came, more sure of himself – he knows he can make you do it again. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you chide. 

He giggles darkly, face splitting smile pulling his cheeks up, “M’not giving you a look.” 

“You are giving me a look.” 

“M’just…you know – It’s always good to know you still got it,” he shrugs, falling onto his back. He tucks his hands behind his head, elbows splayed out on either side, biceps flexing, “And I still got it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you still got it old man,” you laugh, tucking yourself under his arm so that your head lays on his chest. You look down the expanse of him, fingertip tracing one of his tattoos that flows down to his lower stomach. His cock twitches, kicking up at the gentle touch so close to his pelvis. You let out a soft hum when one of his arms comes down to wrap around you, kiss pressed to the top of your head. You tilt up, noses brushing while your fingers still trace, searching lower until the scratch of stubble from week old manscaping finds you. 

You kiss him first, moving out from under his arm, propping yourself up on your elbow while you guide him. He grunts out a low groan when your hand finally wraps around his cock, offering him steady strokes, giving him a type of relief he’s deeply needed this past month and some change. It’s not long before his fingers wrap around your wrist to put you back on the mattress, hard and leaking, desperate to be inside you. Your eyes linger on it while he leans over to grab a condom from his bedside table drawer, he smirks while he rolls it on. 

“Ready?” he asks, cocky, tossing the foil packaging off the bed. You nod hurriedly, grinning while he props your hips up under a couple of his pillows. 

Another kiss and he’s parting your legs again, fingers sinking into the fat of the back of one of your thighs while he guides himself down the slick slit of your core. He goes slow, tip teasing your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He’s concentrating, but he still flicks his eyes up at you beneath his feathered bangs before starting to push. 

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

He eases in, you feel the stretch immediately, legs springing up tight towards your chest. One, two, three short even thrusts before you’re slick enough to accommodate him. He pushes in slowly, both of you sighing in pleasure when he splits you open to the hilt, your legs parting further. His other hand meets your lonely thigh, gripping tight while he starts at a steady rhythm, head lolling back for a moment then coming back to center.  

“Baby…” he starts, a growl of a grunt coming from his chest, “You – oh, honey – you feel so good, so — oh fuck...” 

You can only respond with choked ‘uhn! uhn! uhn!’s at every thrust, the head of his cock plunging deep at this angle, nearly brushing your cervix. His kiss is welcomed when he lets go of your legs to lean forward over you, propping himself up on one forearm, hand  on your cheek. 

“That’s good? This feels good?” he pants into your mouth. 

“Mhm,” you whine, “You’re so deep.” 

“I know,” he coos, “M’really deep. You like that?” 

“Yeah,” you squeak when his thrusts become intentionally strong and slow. 

“Feelin’ me?” he asks, tip of his nose running along your cheek, forehead against your temple. You nod, groaning while he continues, holding his hips in place after every plunge into your core. His cologne and scent of his hair products blend together in a dark spice that makes your mouth water, eyes fluttering closed when you hear his breaths become gravelly – each one its own growl. You can barely think, your mind’s not able to keep up with the pleasure of where his cock keeps hitting, how full you feel, where his free hand wanders, how he kisses your neck. In the haze you realize that he likes this, he likes being in control. 

Your body bounces against his hips when his thrusts start to pick up in speed, not fast like a jackhammer, but fast enough that the buzz in your belly becomes a vibrant hum. He gives you a final sloppy kiss on the neck and then the lips before leaning back up for more leverage, gripping your waist just above the flare of your hips. 

“Look at me,” he huffs out, more of a command than a suggestion. Your heart rate quickens at the sound, bark and bite while his fingertips squeeze you. Your eyes snap to his like magnets, like when you first kissed after your date in the park. 

“God,” he groans, “S-so – fuck – pretty.” 

His next thrust hits a spot that makes you see white, a whimper choking out of your throat. You grab his wrist, whining, “Ohmygod there, right there.” 

“There?” he teases softly, slowing down to slowly drag his cock in and out. He hits it again at an achingly low speed this time, but the pleasure is just as delicious. 

“Yes, yes right there – please,” you don’t even know what you’re saying please for, what you’re asking. You just need to feel this, you need him to get you there. He quickens his pace, the slick and sloppy sounds of skin hitting skin and ragged breaths disrupting the quiet of the room. Tears pool in your eyes in pleasure while you cry out, back arching into each snap of his hips. 

“More, more, more,” like a chanting prayer flows out of you, spurring him on. His heart thumps in his chest while he looks down at you, your face contorted, the way your breasts bounce. He resists the urge to reach down and clamp over your neck when you bare it to him, pushing yourself against the pillows. He busies himself by gripping your thighs again in a bruising hold, holding steady at a pace that clearly feels great for you but feels amazing for him. Eddie bites his lip, the sight and sound of you sending him reeling. He’s getting close, hips starting to stutter while your walls loosen a bit to accommodate him further, you’re already soaking his pelvis – you’re gonna cum, he can feel it. 

You can feel all your sounds in your throat, kneels pulling together as the vibrant hum in your lower belly becomes a vibration. He doesn’t stop, grunting and huffing like a bull with each thrust while he tries to hold back. He pulls your knees apart to make space for him, chest to chest while he pumps in a little bit faster. Eddie’s mouth takes yours hungrily, greedily while he lets out an aching moan. 

“Fuck – fuck - shit,” he growls, eyes clamped closed while your noses rest against each other. He keeps going, fucking you through his orgasm despite his shaking arms. At this position he can adjust to go a little deeper, and when he does you gush. He keeps going, feeling the pulses of your walls over his cock, a confident grin puffing out tired breaths. 

You grip his biceps when he does one final hit that sends you over the edge, thighs and hips shaking when he does. You feel it in your whole body, goosebumps rising like you can’t handle it, back nearly aching in an arch that settles back down. Your moan turns into a cry – a real cry. You shudder while your body comes down, tears pouring down your cheeks and you can’t quite get yourself to settle down. 

“Oh, honey no, did I hurt you? Are you okay?” Eddie swallows, voice back to soothing comfort while he eases up, “What’samatter? Did you not like it?” 

You wipe your eyes but the tears still come, you shake your head no. Embarrassed from blubbering you try to cover your face but he smooths your hands away, “What’s wrong, Peach? Please talk to me. Was that too much? Was I too rough?” 

“N-no,” you laugh a little, “Sorry, this is r-ridiculous. I’m – m’okay.” 

“You don’t look okay,” he says. He settles on his calves, easing you up to sitting – with some coaxing he gets you straddled in his lap. The exhaustion from your orgasm distracts you from the stickiness between your thighs, the uncomfortable wetness leftover between your legs. You feel sleepy and soggy. 

“Did I do something?” he asks again, hands cupping your cheeks while his thumbs swipe away oncoming tears. 

“N-no it was ju-just really intense,” you swallow and cough, another sob racking through you, “J-just came really hard.” 

He nods, looking at you intensely, “Do you just want me to hold you?” 

You nod back and without a second though he pulls you tight into him, bringing you both back down sideways on the mattress. He lets you let it out, running the backs of his fingers along your back until you start to calm down, sobs shuddering down into sharp breaths, to normal ones, to slow. 

“A little better?” he asks, quiet and sweet. You nod with your eyes closed, cheek squished against the comforter. Eddie smiles, easing the condom off his now softened shaft and tossing it in the bin under his night stand. He soothes you for a while, sitting on the side of you and running his palms over your back and thighs, over your calves, selfishly over the swell of your ass. He puts pressure on your lower back, between your shoulder blades, the top of your neck. 

“This is really nice,” you croak out, feeling the warmth of his hands cascade gently over you. 

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get worshiped, huh?” 

You nod again, breaths steady, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” he confirms, “You deserve it, don’t you?” 

“I do,” you smile. 

“That’s my girl,” he coos. My girl, my girl, my girl. 

It echoes through the both of you, the declaration – the claim, but neither of you say anything.In fact at this point, it looks like you might’ve fallen asleep. 

Eddie takes the throw that had been pushed to the floor and covers you up for now, he’ll wake you later for pajamas and water and a snack. For now he figures you should just rest, you look so cute like this – all worn out ‘cause of him. He quietly slips on a pair of socks and gray sweats and pads his way downstairs to make you something, swiping up his phone to see two missed messages from Steve on his screen. 

Big Guy💪👔 37m ago Did you just bitch button me? 

Big Guy💪👔 37m ago What the fuck?

Big Guy💪👔 36m ago Photo notification. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, opening his phone to his texts. His eye roll stops when the picture of Bandit curled up on his bed by the sliding door pops up. Eddie said the bed was way too big for him, but Steve insisted he’d grow into it. 

Eddiesorry dude, i was busy. u around? 

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago Taking Bandit on a night walk. You okay? You have a show tonight? 

EddieNah.  🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago Hell yeah dude 😎 Congrats! 

Eddiethanks man.just putting something together for her for when she wakes up.

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago fucked her to sleep lol 

Eddie gotta change my middle name to nyquil 😎

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago so it was good huh? 

Eddie i’ll tell you all the horny details tomorrow but honestly dude? i might end up loving this one. 

He wakes you up later leaving gentle kisses on your forehead, set of his comfy clothes in his hand for you, “Made you a little snack downstairs, you hungry?” 

You stretch, nodding, feeling a dull ache in your hips and inner thighs. You frown when he eases the throw off of you, forcing you to stand up and get dressed. Eddie’s scent is prevalent on his clothes, enveloping you again when he does the same with his arms. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you assure, looking up at him, “Now, don’t get a big head about this or anything – but that was easily some of the best sex I’ve had in my life.” 

He lets go of you, shrugging with a smile and tilt of his head, “What can I say? I –” 

“I said don’t get a big head,” you warn, stifling a giggle, “Don’t you go around bragging about it either.” 

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I promise,” he holds his hands up, leading the way down the stairs. 

“Not even Steve.” You follow him down, body taking over to lead you to the snacks he laid out on the counter of the island. 

“Not even Steve,” he repeats, picking up his phone again. 

Eddie she just told me that this was the best sex she’s ever had in her life lol i’m the fucking man

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago you da man 😎

prev | next

[earlycuntsets]

pt. 1

parts (2, 3, 4)

earlycuntsets.org website sources - where I got all my mcr pictures

first of a series. due to tumblr limits on how many links you can post. this full idea will be continued on future posts. for now here's 2002- 1/2 of 2007. this is pictures. will make a separate post for youtube/recordings.

been needing to fully source my website so here we go! wanted to share with other kool mcr fans.

old fansites/website appearances:

most popular - theimmortalityproject.com

mcr's old website [2002, 2003, 2004, 2005]

magazine scan archive - mcrhollywood.blogspot.com

more mcr flyers here than anywhere - theydrewblood.blogspot.com

gerard pic/interview 2003 - artsucks.com

show pics:

(8/18/2003 & 04/28/2004 washington dc, 08/20/2004 gillette stadium foxborough ma and 06/13/2004 baltimore md) - brokenvoices

(09/13/2004 & 01/21/2005 birmingham academy) - blackvelvetmagazine.com

(rainbow montreal 01/06/2003, kool haus toronto ca 02/10/2003, salle lx montreal ca, 08/25/2003) - junkedcamera.com

(bottom of the hill sacramento ca 1/23/2003) - sacramentomusicarchive.com

I do not know this show, 2003 - idolize magazine

04/03/2004 majestic theater detroit mi - schwegweb.com

05/07/2004 bakersville ca - rocksandiego.com (kira olsson-trap)

10/13/2004 kansas city mo - grrphotography

03/11/2005 taste of chaos cobo arena detroit mi - schwegweb.com

03/13/2005 taste of chaos st louis - grrphotography

03/16/2005 td waterhouse arena orlando fl - jencray.com

03/20/2005 st paul mn - shatterthelens.com

07/16/2005 fairgrounds, salt lake city - trent nelson

08/07/2005 warped tour orlando fl - jencray.com

08/08/2005 warped tour verizon wireless lot charlotte nc - josh hofer

08/12/2005 warped tour tweeter center camden nj - musicmattersmedia.com

11/01/2005 wolverhampton civic hall, wolverhampton england - blackvelvetmagazine.com

03/17/2006 emos austin tx - brooklynvegan.com & andrewkendall

10/26/2006 webster hall ny - dontbescene.com

11/15/2006 nottingham uk - blackvelvetmagazine

1/21/2007 big day out gold coast australia - kylie keene

03/25/2007 cardiff - blackvelvetmagazine.com

07/03/2007 helsinki - deadflowerphotography

flickrs (show pics):

7/25/2003 farmingdale ny - gaelen harlacher

08/16/2003 toronto ca - allfalldownphotography

I do not know this show, 2004 - joel

01/13/2004 night and day cafe manchester uk - tony woolliscroft

04/28/2004 cotton club atlanta ga - mike white

06/15/2004 mr.smalls theater, milvale pa - scapularemix

08/20/2004 gillette stadium foxborough ma - futurebreed

10/26/2004 roseland ballroom nyc - alyssa

01/30/2005 cologne germany - johanna bocher

07/02/2005 warped tour piers, san fransisco ca - laurentertaining

07/06/2005 warped tour pampano beach fl - internetpirateradio

7/28/2005 warped tour quebec city, quebec @ the pepsi colisée parking lot - alec hartman photography

08/05/2005 warped tour st petersburg fl - todd cynic

08/10/2005 warped tour nissan pavillian va - jessica

08/13/2005 warped tour nyc ny - christine natanael

08/23/2005 underworld london uk - sammi hills & lauren siohan

09/02/2005 &09/03/2005 rock in idro milan italy - matteo galli

09/13/2005 station park providence ri - katie o'keefe

09/15/2005 columbus ohio - stacy chambers

09/20/2005 st paul mn - matt birhanzel

10/14/2005 tweeter center camden nj - kristin

03/17/2006 emos austin tx - nicole herbst & allison7821

03/19/2006 recording academy san fransisco ca - james

05/12/2006 sun god festival la jolla ca - sam litvin

08/06/2006 nyc - heather marie ryan

08/25/2006 bramham park leeds uk - dancelike.hell

10/12/2006 virgin megastore london uk - stephen kallao

10/28/2006 & 10/29/2006 voodoo festival new orleans - mandi & voodoo music

10/31/2006 house of blues hollywood ca- veronica murietta

11/09/2006 e-werk cologne germany- sabrina & himychemicalromance

11/21/2006 milano italy - rodolfo sassano

1/24/2007 brisbane austraila - conradpayton

2/04/2007 perth australia - richard giles

03/04/2007 denver co - selene locke

03/07/2007 las vegas nv - heather marie ryan & pamela zabala

03/11/2007 anaheim - scarlet lark

03/21/2007 brighton england - peter hill

04/21/2007 seattle wa - steven friederich

04/22/2007 ft lauderdale fl - heather marie ryan

04/28/2007 williamsburg va - andrew s

05/05/2007 east rutherford nj - maria newman & mimie7981

05/01/2007 toronto ca - liz lulu

05/20/2007 vancouver ca - amy sept

05/21/2007 seattle wa- ciera walters

06/08/2007 leicestershire uk - sara bowrey

06/21/2007 bilboa spain - patriciana

06/23/2007 madrid spain - juan the fly factory

06/24/2007 lisbon portugal - mario guilherme

06/30/2007 hovefestivalen tromoya norway - kim erlandsen

07/08/2007 naas ireland - james quinton

07/25/2007 seattle wa - ciera walters

livejournals:

04/04/2004 bottom lounge chicago il - mechanical_riot

05/11/2004 san francisco ca - from strawberyxlove

01/05/2005 newcastle university england - open_heart_zoo

03/06/2005 daytona ohio - xxmeansyourhxc

03/10/2005 taste of chaos cleveland - dyanna

04/07/2005 barrowland, glasgow uk - elite_cru

part 2 here

[afrowrites]

Your (Super)Man

A Clark x Black! Reader Smallville imagine

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 995

Clark Kent, you older brothers best friend and your secret crush takes you to go see linkin park

Notes: I wrote this for a lovely new mutual @justalovelyblackgf Thank you so much for my first ask, here's to many more :))).

“Hey (Y/N),” Your favorite tall and handsome older brother’s best friend asks you, “I was wondering something.” 

You look at him quizzically “What?”

“I don’t know what it is but, it just surprises me that one of the prettiest girls I know has never dated,” he joked. Your cheeks heat up, you remember before that during a game of truth or dare you tell your class you never dated. There wasn’t really a chance to, you lived in the middle of nowhere smallville. Your choices were slim to none and when you’re black your dating pool is that much smaller.

“Well I mean it’s like no big deal, I plan on dating when I’m twenty-five,” you answered honestly, 

“That’s a real shame because I have two great front row tickets to go see linkin park.” 

You immediately start gushing “OH MY GOD, Clark how did you get these,” “I had a little help.” He winks. 

Clark is an all america salt of the earth good boy, but for whatever reason he was still a complete mystery to you. Maybe it was the allure of him being Pete’s best friend. But his kindness was certainly known to you.  When you had sprained your ankle in p.e he carried you to the nurses office. When you wanted to join a club he welcomed you into the journalism club. He has the most beautiful eyes and gorgeous lips that you just wanna- wait you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. 

“I’ll pick you up around six, That ok?” he cocks his head to the side when he asks you, looking sweet as ever.

“It’s a date.” you smile sweetly,

~You're getting ready (sorry I didn’t have a good transition for this)

You popped in your Destiny’s Child cd and started your I’m going on a date with the hottest guy I know outfit and makeup. But it’s linkin park so you wear a super cute navy blue baby tee with gray sleeves and some low rise flares, some midi gold hoops and a small gold necklace to go with it. 

“Y/N He’s outside.” Pete yells at you.

“Oh my gosh!”,You mumble under your breath. Then you yell “TELL HIM I’M NOT FINISHED”. 

“That’s a shame because you look perfect to me.  What else could you do?” he leans against the doorframe, shyly eyeing you.

“Oh God, h-hey clark,” You were spooked by him. “C’mon tiger, let’s go.” he nods his head towards the door.

“And uh, Bring Destiny we need something to do while I drive.” He winks.

You roll your eyes as you slip on your shoes.

He opens the passenger side of his dads red pickup truck, you’re a little short getting in so he takes your hand and gently lifts you up onto the seat. The warmth of his hand is electric in your palm. 

“Thanks,” you smile. He smiles back “No problem.” Like a man who’s just seen the stars.

The drive is fun as you two sing to Independent women, “You know everyone’s favorite is Beyonce but I’m a Kelly fan myself.” 

“Of course you are.” You chuckle softly.

You both get to the venue, hordes of half drunk teenagers line up to see the main event.

The opening acts start as you start jumping around enjoying the music, and suddenly you feel a set of hands around your waist. No they weren’t clarks hands like you would have liked. You smelled cheap beer on your neck. 

“Hey!” You immediately turned to see some acne-faced guy with frosted tips start grinding on you, “Cmon, babe I know girls like you like this stuff.” 

“Hey man, you need to back off!” Clark is steaming mad, “Look man your girl is fine you need to learn how to share.” 

Before Clark can even get a punch in, the guy is immediately on the ground. “For your information, his girl won’t be shared with anyone.” you spat, “So go take a long walk off a short pier.”

The crowd around you ooh’s an ahh’s, Until the main event finally came. Chester speaks to the crowd “Hey we just wanted to let y’all know that creeps are not allowed to any of our concerts, that being said will the pretty lady with the braids c’mon stage.”

“Oh My God, Clark he wants me!!!” You scream in his ear. “Well go up there pretty lady.” 

So there you were on stage dancing with Linkin Park, and Clark can only see your shining face, and cocoa butter skin. He sees your smile that’s brighter than any stage light in this whole place. 

Later you both go back to his car, and you both talk about the whole ordeal the whole time. However, it starts to rain hard.

“You know if your parents are ok with it, Ms and Pa would love to have you over?”, “Well you know I don’t like getting my hair wet so sure.”

You called your parents and reluctantly your father agreed, but in black dad fashion he made you promise to sleep on the couch and stay six feet away from Clark. 

He even called his parents who were fine with it, and after Martha warmed you up a nice cup of tea. You settled on the couch and thanked his parents goodnight. And as they went to bed before you could even close your eyes you hear.

“Hey,” it’s his whisper that startled you, “Wanna see my room?”

You obliged of course “So what is so great about clarks roo-” He cuts you off with a sweet kiss, “I’m sorry I really wanted to do that all night.” He sheepishly smiles.

But you don’t care, instead you go in for your turn deep and passionate, and then suddenly you wake up in a blue t-shirt with warm arms wrapped around you. And you didn’t know it yet, but you had just fallen in love with the man of steel.

[hippolotamus]

Sunday Sentences 🧜🏼‍♂️

tagged by @diazsdimples @rewritetheending @eddiebabygirldiaz @lemonzestywrites for Sunday. @diazheartsbuckley @rainbow-nerdss for Saturday (tagging you back for today) thank you lovelies 💖

Some mer!Buck sentences today from later in the story. Am I that far in? Nope, not at all. bone apple teeth

From where he’s parked along the street, Eddie spares a glance at the rental house that looked outdated when he first saw it nearly two decades ago. The paint is fading but the overall structure looks decent. There’s still a wooden sign – Welcome to Anderson’s Pier – near the front door.  So much has changed – is changing – in Eddie’s life, it’s a relief to know that this hasn’t. To know that, if he had a key to go in, he would probably still see the tacky lighthouse and seagull décor, ceiling fans that can’t be any newer than the 80’s, and sliding glass doors that miraculously glide along the tracks. He wonders if he stood on the back balcony, if the sea would still call just as loudly. If it would have the same sparkle, the waves dancing and glittering under the sun’s rays. Would he be compelled to race across the sand until he meets the imaginary line where the water laps at his toes until it recedes again, begging him to join in? He holds onto the hope that it would. Because he needs that in particular to remain intact. He thinks something in him might just break if that connection was severed. He sighs and forces himself to look away. It’s not really what he’s here to reminisce over. He reaches over to the passenger side, to the small cooler of drinks and snacks he bought at the last gas station. It could be a long wait so it didn’t seem like a bad idea to have some provisions, but, honestly, they’re mostly for Evan. A few of his favorites and one or two new things Eddie thinks he might like. He smiles to himself as he gets out of the truck and begins strolling towards the pier.

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @diazheartsbuckley

@saybiwithme @bidisasterevankinard @shipperqueen6 @ramonaflow @spotsandsocks

@dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @daffi-990

@diazsdimples @swiftiefirefighters @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings

@wikiangela @underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell

@jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @dr-shortsighted-owl @dorkydiaz @bi-buckrights

@elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @tizniz @beyourownanchor6

@indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@thelikesofus @bucksbignaturals @welcometololaland @wildlife4life @eowon and anyone else who wants to 😘

[gravehags]

the papas and the ghoulettes/ghouls at disneyland

nihil - grumpy old shit that his sons deposit on a bench on main street and abandon for the day. complains loudly to no one how he wishes seestor was there (she refused to come). somehow manages to end up with an enormous waffle cone and makes a kid cry.

primo - loves, loves, loves the people watching. is content to sit on a bench of his own (far, far away from nihil) soaking in the vibes. spends the rest of the day ambling around the park appreciating the variety of plants that are on display. loves the fantasyland dark rides.

secondo - loves the thrill rides in both parks but is especially fond of space mountain. wears a simple pair of black mickey ears all day and commands quite a presence at the carthay circle bar in california adventure (he loves good liquor and a good meal). has several tourists coming up to him for pictures because they mistake him for pitbull.

terzo - adores the energy of the place and like primo, loves to people watch. charms his way into club 33 and texts ridiculous and smug pictures of himself hanging out there to an outraged secondo all day. flirts heavily with the princesses in the most over the top romantic displays. can frequently be found vibing in the enchanted tiki room.

copia - this man is riding haunted mansion on repeat and loving every second of it. loves a good dole whip or a churro (anything sweet really) and will always laugh outrageously at all the skipper’s jokes on jungle cruise. manages to make multiple babies smile and laugh throughout the day, to the utter delight of their families. cries at the fireworks, always.

cumulus - she loves fantasyland - the dark rides, the music, the fairy tale vibes. can commonly be found riding the carousel looking stunning and singing along with the songs. cries openly at it’s a small world while dew and sunshine laugh affectionately. like copia, has a sweet tooth and will never say no to cotton candy. insists on the pack staying to watch the fireworks every night.

cirrus - easily the coolest person in the park, always at cumulus’ side. loves tomorrowland and galaxy’s edge - anything with a space theme really makes her smile. compiles a professional team to conquer smuggler’s run made up of mountain, rain, sunshine, and herself. will sip happily on a blue milk and definitely ends up buying a lightsaber.

sunshine - this girl is a toontown girl!! she loves the fun architecture and delights in meeting the characters (collects autographs too). she and swiss could ride runaway railway all day and the two of them love to annoy their fellow pack members by singing the song from the ride on repeat. will fucking demolish several tigger tails and spends the rest of the evening complaining about her upset tummy.

aurora - the pack princess? you know she’s hunting down her fellow princesses throughout the park - when she finds the other princess aurora she’s beside herself with glee and insists swiss and aether act as her personal photographers. her favorite ride is soarin’ and will absolutely be the kind of person to swing her legs while she’s flying through the air.

swiss - this ghoul insists on the pack all getting classic mickey ears with their names stitched on them and makes mountain take several group selfies with them all wearing them. incredibly competitive (and good) at the carnival games on pixar pier and passes out his stuffed animal trophies to the crowd of kids that comes to watch him.

dewdrop - like copia is a huge fan of the haunted mansion. will ride with a different pack member every time and point out different goofy ghosts while telling them “that’s you”. he learns how to play grim grinning ghosts on his guitar when they get home which delights phantom to no end. loves a good candy apple. will spin the teacup so hard on mad tea party with sunshine they makes phantom puke.

rain - he loves pirates of the caribbean, loves the damp air and the darkness and will happily ride it all afternoon. most likely to make friends with random cast members throughout the park which baffles mountain who asks “how do they all know you?” is a fun little beverage connoisseur but his favorite is the non alcoholic mint juleps they serve in new orleans square.

mountain - wears the oswald ears to make himself look even taller and can frequently be found looming over children and smiling benevolently at them. is the first to offer aurora a piggy back ride when her cute impractical shoes hurt her. loves grizzly river run and the entire grizzly peak area of california adventure (redwoods enjoy redwoods, naturally). his favorite ride is guardians of the galaxy: mission breakout.

aether - the organizer of the pack he has absolutely considered getting those leash backpacks for several of them. big man loves indiana jones and the temple of the forbidden eye and definitely ends up buying an indiana jones fedora. his favorite ride though is big thunder mountain and will always insist on sitting in the back (the best seats, naturally).

phantom - yet another haunted mansion super fan and gleefully drags aurora and dew into the shops to buy all the merch. loves his jack skellington mickey ears and the little magnetic zero he got to sit on his shoulder at all times. like sunshine, collects character autographs in a book and his favorites are dr. facilier and cinderella. gets really into pin collecting and trading.

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (vii)

synopsis: over the course of the last month of the documentary, nora makes some decisions.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, all of the usual warnings, swearing, existential dread, spoilers for ocean's eleven lol, smut (like a little bit, oral sex, allusions to sex) (wc: 12.7K)

note: y'all, it's been so long, i'm so sorry 😭 but i hope the ridiculously long chapter makes up for the wait. last chapter before the epilogue woo!

previous chapter | series post | next chapter

TAGS: @theharddeck @mamachasesmayhem @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @sometimesanalice @dempy @mlibbydp @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @callsignspark @kajjaka @roosterbruiser @djs8891

Nora spends the whole weekend with Jake.

She doesn’t plan to spend the whole weekend with him. It’s one of those things that just kind of happens, like getting caught up in a good book and realizing it’s been hours and you haven’t moved an inch.

It’s not something she does. It’s more what she doesn’t do.

She doesn’t kick him out on Thursday night as soon as Jake has his pants on, doesn’t push him barefoot in the direction of the door with a Thanks for the sex, come back anytime. 

She doesn’t make up a half-hearted excuse, some reason that she needs to be up early in the morning to keep him from sleeping over.

It’s so simple, really.

She never asks him to leave, and so, Jake stays. 

On Friday morning, Jake brings her coffee in bed. 

She is still half-asleep, sheets all bunched up under her chin, hair fanned messily across the sun-warmed pillows, cheeks flushed. A wide cat-like yawn escapes her as Nora stretches her arms above her head and reaches for the coffee with a slightly hoarse thank you.

Holding the mug in one hand, she rubs the harsh sting of sunshine from her eyes, knuckles creating starbursts on her eyelids, while Jake sprawls across the bed.

He is shirtless, a gold shimmer of chest hair running down his abdomen and disappearing under the black waistband of his boxer shorts. A ripple passes over his ab muscles as Jake stretches out and gets comfortable, searching for her leg through the crumpled pile of sheets.

He strokes a comforting pattern across her calf, across the curve of her knee, and back down again, propped on his elbow to watch her face. 

“How’d I do?” Jake asks, nodding to the coffee. His voice is a low murmur, soft as the blueish morning light that filters in between the sheer curtains.

Holding his gaze, Nora raises the mug to her lips and takes a long, luxurious sip.

She almost sighs out loud. It’s perfect. 

A half-faded conversation from last night pulls at the edge of her mind, muddled by drowsiness and sleep, like a dream.

She was half-awake, already caught in the deep tide of sleep, almost pulled under from the head rush that washed over her in the late hours of the night after Jake kissed damn near every inch of her and got back in line for seconds. A fuzziness in her fingertips, like Nora was taking her first dizzied steps off of the Tilt-A-Whirl at Pacific Park on the Santa Monica Pier, finding her sea legs in the closeness of him; a kind of gravity in the warmth of his chest, pressed against her bare back. 

He wrung another orgasm from her minutes before, and in the afterglow, Nora melted into him like warmed butter, letting out a satisfied hum in the darkness.

Lips warm on her shoulder, Jake asked, “How d’you like your coffee?” 

Her lids were so heavy, and Nora let her eyes close.

“Hm,” Nora hummed. “Guess.” 

He chuckled, and Nora’s lips curved at the sound, at the warm puff of breath on her nape.

“Can’t ever make it easy on me, can you, Hollywood?” 

“Oh,” Nora yawned out. “Not a chance.” 

Jake shifted behind her, closer, and Nora sank further into the warm embrace of his muscular arms around her, so secure and solid. Comforting. Her own personal space heater in the form of a hot Naval aviator. 

Who would’ve thought a man called Hangman would be such a cuddle?

And more, who would’ve thought she’d like it so much?

His fingers tangled with hers as Jake seemed to consider his next words, his guess.

“‘Course not. Let’s see. It’s….” Jake’s lips found the hollow beneath her ear, and Nora breathed a shallow gasp. “What? Oat milk and vanilla?” 

All of the sudden, Nora felt very awake.

Her eyes flew open, and Nora startled, but Jake was too octopus-like around her for her to crane her neck around and look at him. 

“Wow,” Nora said, her raised brows audible in her voice. “Tracking me, Lieutenant?” 

“I’m observant.” Jake shifted again. “It’s part of what makes me a great pilot, sweetheart.” 

And was that a hint of self-consciousness in his sleep-slurred voice? Underneath all of that self-assured confidence and bottomless bravado?

She kind of wanted to see if Jake was blushing.

His fingers flexed around hers, and Nora lightly squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. Kissed the now-familiar curve of her shoulder and said, “Also, you drink the same thing every day. I’d have a hard time not noticing.” 

“Yeah?” Nora smiled. “You must spend a lot of time looking at me.” 

“Ever since I saw you, I haven’t wanted to look away.” 

There in the dark, Jake’s words sounded like a confession, so open, so sincere.

She drifted off to sleep in his arms, a smile on her face, a pleasant and gnawing ache in her chest.

Now, vanilla and sugar on her tongue, Nora says, “Not bad, Lieutenant.” 

Another sip. Another blissful half-sigh. 

“It’s actually so good,” Nora concedes. “It’s perfect.” 

A smile pulls at the edge of his mouth, and Jake replies, softly, “Good.” 

A quick kiss glances against the side of her knee, and Jake sits up and brushes her hair from her pink cheeks.

She is flushed from sleep; warm from the sun and him. 

He’s sitting so close; looking at her with such open adoration that she feels like she’s burning.

“You’re staring,” Jake drawls with a slow smirk. You have a staring problem. His voice is like the low rumble of a distant summer storm and slightly hoarse, and Nora wants to wrap herself in it like a blanket and sleep the rest of the day away.

Instead, Nora carefully sets the coffee on the nightstand and cupping his face between her hands, kisses him.

For once, she catches him off guard. 

A deep, surprised sound punches out of him – half exhale, half groan. 

She loops her arms around his strong neck, pulling him in, needing to be closer to him. Her fingers brush over the shorter hairs at his nape, curl in the longer strands, damp from where Jake must’ve showered before Nora woke. Dark gold, like a bottle of maple syrup in the sunlight. 

Catching on, Jake bends a hand around the back of her neck and rolls her underneath him on the mattress, following her down, his mouth on hers the whole way down. He swipes his tongue across her bottom lip and into her mouth, and Nora opens for him with a sigh. 

It’s slow and natural. 

Would it always be like this? So easy? she wonders as Jake slides his hand up her side, fingers fanning across her ribcage and higher. Would it be as easy as falling asleep in his arms and waking up to the rich smell of coffee in the morning and kissing slowly like both of them know there will be other kisses, other mornings?

His hand cuts across her abdomen, and Jake covers her breast with his palm, and Nora lets the thought go, like the end of a balloon string, and arches into him. 

There are suddenly too many layers between them.

And impatient, Nora kicks the sheets away and, hooking her leg around his hip, pushes his boxers down and frees his cock. He groans against her mouth, a sweet and rough sound, a reverent sound. 

One hand comes down to hold her against him, rough palm sliding across the back of her thigh and up and up, and Nora shudders against him as Jake runs his fingers through the wetness that’s building between her legs. 

He still has his other hand on the back of her neck, pad of his thumb swiping across her thrumming pulse, and hell, Nora almost wants to reach up and pull his hand around, urge him to spread those broad fingers across her collarbone, across her throat and – 

Another time.

She breaks the kiss and breathes, “Turn over,” against his mouth. 

And Jake – damn him – does this thing with his fingers that makes her brain go blank for a solid five seconds. Like Nora’s been put on airplane mode.

A grin dimples his cheeks as Jake looks down at her, lids low, lips parted just enough to show his teeth. “Now, isn’t that my line, sweetheart?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, holding back something halfway between a laugh and a moan. “Just… get on your back.” 

It’s actually obscene how effortlessly Jake flips them.

He reaches for her again, moving to pull her forward and settle between her open legs, hand around his hard cock, but Nora plants her hands on his stupidly broad shoulders and pushes him back down. 

He could so easily resist her, but Jake lets her lead.

He looks up at her from the pillows with a familiar gleam in his eyes. “What’re you up to, sweetheart?” 

“You know…” Nora murmurs against his neck. “I had something I wanted to do last night.” 

She kisses down his neck, across his shoulders – his beautiful shoulders – and down the center of his chest, memorizing the golden skin and hard muscle in the blue morning. He really is so goddamn handsome. 

His gaze is molten, melted gemstones. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

She moves down his abdomen, admiring the way Jake’s muscles shudder under the soft press of her lips. She notices Jake is holding his breath, and Nora smirks. Good. She wants him a little uneven. 

She looks up at him from under her lashes. “You wouldn’t let me suck your cock.” 

“I was being a gentleman,” Jake argues.

“Well, in that case, allow me to thank you.” 

Nora runs her hand over his cock, stroking him once, twice, and puts her mouth around him, and Jake makes a choked sound, breathing in sudden and sharp, a fragile sound that quickly fades into a broken groan.

“Christ, Nora…” Jake groans, reaching down, his large hand settling on the back of her head, like Jake needs something to ground himself, fingers threading through her hair. 

She hums around him in response, and Jake lets out a breathless, “Fuck,” that’s as flattering as a compliment.

It’s all moans and groans and soft breaths and Nora sweetheart Nora Jesus Christ until Nora looks up at him and murmurs coyly, “Come for me, cowboy,” and half a breath later, Jake finishes in her mouth. 

She swallows with a smug grin, and Jake swears again, his cheeks darkening.

He drapes an arm over his face and lets out a string of breathless swears that make Nora laugh.

“Are you okay?” Nora asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stretches out next to him as Jake catches his breath.

“I think I might be dead,” Jake mumbles from under his arm, voice muffled, “but good news, I’m definitely in heaven.” He lifts his arm slightly and looks at her sidelong, slanted green eyes full of suggestion. “You wanna be my plus one?” 

Her laugh splits into a gasp as Jake slips a hand between her legs.

The coffee is cold when Nora reaches for it again, finding her breath between sips, resting her head on his flushed, sweat-misted chest, but she can’t bring herself to care. She drinks every single drop.

Saturday comes in a blink, and Nora drags Jake to the farmers market in Little Italy.

Or rather, Nora gets dressed in the morning, trading his oversized button-down for a white shirt and a pair of overall shorts, and starts saying, “So I’m thinking about going to the farmers market if you want…” and Jake immediately grabs his keys, a horseshoe shaped bottle opener dangling from the keychain. 

She loves to visit the local markets of new cities as a way to get to know them.

In San Diego, Nora has made a habit of going to the Little Italy Mercato every other weekend to stock up on fresh produce and browse the local art that’s for sale, a whole spread of gorgeous art prints, ceramics, and glassware. 

A few weeks back, Nora found a handmade pitcher the color of blue bottle-glass and started filling it with fresh farm-grown flowers ever since. A bright spot of color on her bedroom sill. 

It should feel weird that Jake’s there – stepping into this Saturday morning ritual that’s only ever been hers – but it’s actually nice, really nice. 

He holds her hand as Nora walks around the street, wandering an aimless zig-zag between the stands, doubling back for the ones that catch her eye.

Her reusable bag grows heavier on her shoulder, slowly filling with fresh fruits and vegetables and even, a heart-shaped bottle of raspberry wine from a Temecula winery, and Nora’s shoulder begins to ache. She moves the bag to her hand and rolls out the minor discomfort in the muscle.

While Nora is distracted at the flower stand, Jake pulls the bag from her loose fingers and swings it over his opposite shoulder and links their hands again.

At first, Nora doesn’t even notice. She is busy sliding her credit card back into her wallet and clicking the no-receipt button on the iPad screen, but the older woman who is wrapping the flowers for her doesn’t miss a thing. She makes enough fuss for the both of them.

“What a nice young man.” 

Nora almost snorts. She really wants to laugh, but doesn’t want to accidentally offend the nice woman who has no idea of the effect those words will have on the man behind her. Jake nudges Nora’s hip, biting back a grin, and collects the expertly-wrapped bouquet from the vendor. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jake drawls with a dimpled smile so sugar-sweet that Nora could spoon it into a bottle and use it to sweeten her coffee in the morning. Asshole. 

She looks at him sideways, and Jake is already looking at her, a victorious lift to his mouth, like You see? See the sweet old lady who thinks I’m nice?

As Nora wades back into the crowd, a little flushed, Jake leans down and says, “Hear that? I’m a nice young man,” right against her ear.

Now, Nora does laugh.

“Debatable,” she says.

He laughs. His breath is warm on the side of her neck, and Nora feels his lips brush against her skin, against her hair, for the briefest moment. Shorter even, barely even a blink.

It’s a cloudless morning, but Nora holds back a shiver.

I could kiss him, she absently realizes. She wouldn’t have to do anything more than turn her head, maybe raise her chin, and she would be kissing him. She can just do that now. 

She slows at the realization, but Jake is smiling, sun-bright, and asks, “You hungry?” 

She feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the summer breeze, the late morning sun on her freckling shoulders and cheeks. She basks in the feeling, in the buzz of a beautiful Saturday morning that’s brought half of San Diego out into the sunshine. 

Her stomach grumbles, and Nora nods.

“Come on, I know just the place,” Jake says. 

His hand slips out of hers to find the small of her back as Jake leads her out of the crowd.

Back on Coronado Island, Jake drives along Orange Ave for a while before pulling into the parking lot of a cute diner called Starboard Side. 

This must be the place Jake mentioned on the Fourth, Nora realizes, where he wanted to take her on a date. 

She is smiling to herself when Jake opens the blue door for her. 

It’s the very definition of charming. Sun-soaked and eclectic with deep blue wallpaper on one end of the diner – covered in a nautical pattern of anchors, ships, and ocean waves – and wood paneling on the other, painted a bright sunflower yellow. 

She steps around a cluster of people who are waiting around the made-to-order coffee counter, either waiting for their order or waiting for one of the blue stools along the counter to be available, and Jake leads her to a booth in the corner.

“This is the best booth in here. It’s got the best window,” Jake says firmly and also in a way that makes her feel like he is waiting for her to agree with him, like a puppy waiting to be patted on the head. Like Jake picked out the best booth in the diner to impress her.

It’s equal parts endearing and ridiculous, which somehow makes it all the more endearing. 

Smiling, Nora slides in across from him, the sun-bleached vinyl under her legs warm against her bare skin. “It’s beautiful. Do you come here a lot?”  

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Jake answers, “since I was first at Top Gun. It’s the perfect amount of miles from the base for a morning run so I’d run here and back and carb load in between. Do you like pancakes or waffles?” 

“Who do you think I am? Pancakes, of course,” Nora says, and Jake’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“They’ve got really good pancakes.” 

He slides a laminated menu across the checkered table and points to one of the dishes in the Starboard Combos section, and as Nora follows along with his recommendation, walking her through his go-to orders, her hair slips into her face.

It’s been everywhere all morning, a little wild from the warmth of the day, a little windswept from the sea salt breeze coming off the ocean, frizzing and curling around her shoulders. She almost got fed up and braided it on the drive here, but all morning, Jake has been playing with the loose strands of blonde hair, absentmindedly reaching over and running it between his fingers on the Coronado Bridge, brushing it back from her face in the market check-out line when Nora’s hands were too full to do it herself. 

He’d been doing it in bed too, curling a strand around his finger and complimenting the smell of her shampoo.

Every easy and casual touch sends a little thrill dancing through her stomach so Nora left it down.

She sweeps it over her shoulder and studies the menu.

A smiling waitress comes by to grab their orders and flits over to collect a stack of dirty dishes from the next table over, a spiral notepad tucked into the band of her brightly colored apron. She returns a few minutes later to set down their coffees and is gone again.

It’s just them now. Just them again. 

She stirs the coffee with a metal spoon, oversized ice cubes clinking gently against the sides of the wide-mouth jar. She licks the sugar from the spoon and sets it back down on a paper napkin and watches him.

He rests his cheek on his open palm, curving his other hand around the chipped handle of the baby blue diner mug and watches her back. 

He ordered his coffee with cream and sugar and his eggs sunny side up, and Nora snatches up those little shining details like a magpie. She adds them to the picture of him in her mind.

He likes his coffee a little sweet. He likes pancakes. He likes her.

A golden beam of sunlight slants through the large window at their side, the best window in the whole diner. It’s almost noon, and in the afternoon light, Jake looks relaxed and thoughtful, edges softened, all dimples and laugh lines.

She notices a small hole in the collar of his shirt – barely even noticeable – and Nora latches onto that small imperfection like a lifeline, proof that Jake isn’t something Nora dreamed up. He’s real, heart-achingly so.

“So…” Nora says.

“So…” Jake echoes.

So…

So, what does this mean?

So, what do people talk about on first dates that feel like fifth, sixth, seventh dates?

So so so.

“So,” Nora says again. A complete sentence. She rests her chin on her interlaced fingers, mimicking his posture, half leaned forward, shoulders relaxed. “I have a question for you, Texas.” 

His lips quirk. “Yeah? What kind of question?” 

She dips her chin, lips pursed against a smile. “A very important one.” 

A dimple springs up in his cheek as Jake drawls, “Hit me, Hollywood,” in a voice full of Texas.

“What is…” Nora reaches for her coffee. Draws out the suspense. “…your favorite movie?” 

The corner of his mouth kicks up, and Nora narrows her eyes.

“Careful now. There are wrong answers here.”

“I’m not worried, sweetheart,” Jake replies with a casual sip of coffee, sprawling posture matching his words. “That’s an easy one. It’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Robert Redford and Paul Newman. Got anything harder for me?” 

Asshole, Nora thinks with affection.

A cowboy movie for a cowboy. Of course.

And Nora lets out an approving, “Good movie,” instead of damn. 

Because maybe, just maybe if Jake had god awful taste in movies – like, I respect you less as a person now bad – Nora could pour sand over the sparks that kick to life in her chest whenever Jake’s arm so much as brushes against hers. Damn damn damn.

And Jake’s smile is a little smug, a little knowing. “You like that I like good movies, don’t you? It kinda turns you on.” 

“I’m not answering that,” Nora says, which might as well be an answer, and Jake’s grin sharpens.

She pointedly ignores him, cheeks warm, and sips her coffee. “Is there a story there? Or are you really that much of a cowboy?” 

He makes a noncommittal sound, not ignoring the question, not answering either.

This is a date, not an interview, Nora reminds herself. She doesn’t push.

He brings the mug to his lips and asks, “What about you? What’s yours?” 

“Oh, I – ” Nora makes a face. “I don’t know if I have one.” 

Shaking his head, Jake shoots her a disbelieving look. “You’re not getting out of this one, Hollywood, not a chance. You have to have one.” 

Nora laughs. “I don’t know. It’s all just so subjective. I like a lot of movies for a lot of different reasons.” She gestures to him. “I mean, don’t you? Doesn’t everyone?” 

“Sure,” Jake says slowly, “but you must have a favorite.” 

“That’s what I’m saying. A movie can be a favorite for any number of reasons, like, if you see a movie at the exact right time or maybe, with the exact right person or both, and it’s almost like the movie found you and not the other way around.” 

A half-smile forms on his face as Jake listens to her.

“It’s hard to pick one favorite. How do you compare that – that raw emotional experience – with a movie that’s objectively very good from a craft perspective?” 

“You tell me, sweetheart,” and Jake chuckles when Nora gives him a look. “Alright, what about two movies?” 

“Two?” 

“Yeah.” He holds up two fingers. “Pick two favorites.” 

Two favorites. She can probably do two.

Thinking for a moment, Nora says, “When Harry Met Sally. One, because it’s amazing movie and the best rom-com of our time, obviously.”

She waits expectantly until Jake echoes, obviously, with a smile.

“Two, because I watched it in high school with my mom. I was supposed to go to this pool party that a girl in my grade was throwing for her birthday, but I got super sick, and I was so upset. It was like, all I’d been looking forward to that week. My mom canceled her plans and stayed in with me.” She smiles at the memory. “We spent the whole night on the couch, eating pizza and watching a Meg Ryan marathon on cable. It’s been a favorite of mine ever since.” 

Gaze warm, Jake absorbs this with a nod. “What’s your second favorite?” 

“Ocean’s Eleven,” Nora answers without hesitation. “I was obsessed with George Clooney when I was a kid. I once wrote him a letter and asked him to be my step-dad. He never got back to me, unfortunately.” 

His laugh lights up his whole face. “God, of course you did. How’d your mom feel about that?” 

“She would’ve gotten on board. It’s George Clooney,” Nora says simply, like it’s obvious. 

His foot brushes against hers underneath the table, his ankle slotting into the space between hers, and something about it feels so intimate that Nora almost shivers.

After a moment, Jake offers, “I saw Butch and Sundance with my dad.” 

An answer to a question Nora didn’t ask out loud. 

Surprised, Nora pauses. “Your dad?” 

A nod as Jake runs his hand over his nape. “Austin had this retro movie theater that used to play old movies on Saturday and Sunday mornings for real cheap, like five bucks, maybe even less back then. My football practice got rained out one weekend, and for once, my dad wasn’t working so we went to see Butch and Sundance. It’s probably the best afternoon I ever had with him.” A fraction of the  seriousness washes from his face as Jake winks and adds, “And I’m that much of a cowboy, sweetheart. You should see my Stetson collection back home.” 

A charmed smile pulls at her mouth, and Nora chooses her words carefully. “You’ve never mentioned your dad before.” 

One of his shoulders rises and falls. “We’re not close. He was kind of an asshole even then, always on me about every little mistake I’d make during games, every A-minus that should’ve been an A. He only got meaner as I got older.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “My parents split up when I was in high school. He was a real dick to my mom during the divorce, so I don’t see him unless I have to now.” 

“My dad’s an asshole too,” Nora says. “George Clooney would’ve been much better.” 

Jake laughs, and Nora smiles, kind of proud of herself.

The waitress comes back with their food, and Nora slides the plate of blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs in front of her. She carefully unrolls her knife and fork and sets the napkin across her lap. She doesn’t want any crushed blueberry stains on these overalls. 

An unladylike sound almost escapes her mouth at her first bite, and Nora closes her mouth around the sound. 

“You were right about the pancakes.” 

“Of course I was.” 

Nora rolls her eyes, and Jake chuckles.

Washing it down with a sip of coffee, Nora says, “You never told me your second favorite movie.” 

Jake breaks off a piece of whole-wheat toast and dips it in yellow egg yolk. He pops it in his mouth and grinning around the bite, replies, “You already know my second favorite.” 

“I do?” She sets her fork down, already sticky with maple syrup.

He nods, not giving her any hints, waiting for her to catch up with him, to keep up. 

She wracks her brain for any movie Nora had ever heard Jake mention. She can’t think of a single one. She's about to fold her cards and ask him to tell her until – 

“Oh my god. You’re full of shit.” 

“I’m not,” Jake says, amused.

She stares at him, mouth open slightly. “You can’t be serious. Your favorite movies are Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, one of the best Westerns of all time, which has been preserved by the Library of Congress for being culturally significant, and – ”  

“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” Jake finishes with a grin. He cocks his head. “What can I say? I love McConaughey.” 

His smile splits wide open when Nora bursts out laughing.

After, when Nora is leaving the diner, full of good food, Jake walks ahead of her to check the parking meter, and watching him, Nora has the most disorienting urge to walk over and wrap her arms around him. Press her cheek into the wrinkle of soft heather gray fabric between his shoulder blades. Inhale the smell of his cologne like Nora’s done it a million times before.

This is new, Nora reminds herself. It’s so new.

Except when Jake glances over his shoulder and looks for her, green eyes darting down to run over her bare legs, and smiles, wide and affectionate like he didn’t just spend almost two hours across from her, like he could spend all day looking at her and never get sick of it; nothing about it feels new.

It feels like Nora’s already waist deep, right in the middle of something vast and all-consuming, something bottomless. 

And when Jake extends a hand behind him, reaching for her, eyes as green as dew-covered grass, Nora steps into the daylight and links her fingers with his, filling in the gaps, somehow it’s the most natural thing in the whole world.

Two more weeks pass, and Nora’s with Jake more than she’s not.

He sleeps over so often that Nora clears a spot on the bathroom counter for him to leave a spare toothbrush, and likewise, Jake starts to keep her favorite brands of cold brew and creamer in his fridge. 

Coffee in bed becomes something of a weekend routine.

Once, in his apartment, Jake brings her coffee in a Lone Star State mug, which looks like one of those souvenir mugs you might find in an airport. It’s covered in a patchwork of orange and light blue doodles: a cowboy hat, a horse, a Sheriff’s star.

“Beth bought it for me when I left for my first deployment,” Jake explains when Nora asks him about the mug, running her fingers over the delicate outlines. “So I’d have something to remind me of home.” 

They go on a second date. A third. A fourth. 

He finds a dine-in movie theater in La Jolla that’s doing a 90’s Rom Com series all summer and takes her to a 35mm showing of Clueless, listening attentively as Nora explains the difference between digital and film projection in excruciating detail on the drive there, a smile on his face.

On the mornings that Jake doesn’t stay the night, Nora orders an extra coffee – with cream and sugar – from her favorite coffee shops and meets him on the base a half hour earlier than the rest of the Daggers. She kisses him in the quiet of the Ready Room until 8:00 AM rolls around. 

It’s all meaningful looks and stolen kisses; late night drives with the windows down, the wind in her hair, his hand on her thigh; rolls of film, not yet developed. It’s something for them, something good. 

They keep it under the radar in front of the Daggers.

She’s not worried about them finding out, but Captain Mitchell is an extension of the Daggers, and Nora would really like to keep Aunt Charlie’s ex-boyfriend in the dark about her sex life for as long as possible. Forever, even. 

Also, she still has a month left in her contract, and while she’s pretty sure the Naval magazine wouldn’t fire her for sleeping with one of the film subjects in a documentary like this one, she’s not so sure that she wants to put it to the test.

So, for now, under the radar it is. 

After the Fourth of July, Javy officially gets his orders to report to Maverick's squadron. He goes back to Lemoore to wrap up some loose ends with his old C.O., and Jake meets him there the next weekend to drive a U-Haul back down.

And Nora emails the magazine and lets them know that the documentary will have one more Dagger. 

Nora has more than enough time to weave him into the narrative of the film, and anyway, Javy is an official member of the squadron now. He is as much part of the story of the squadron as the other Daggers. 

Plus, Nora hasn’t forgotten how excited Javy was about the film. It’ll be seamless, her version of rolling out the red carpet for him.

On his second day, Nora pulls him aside between drills and sits him down in front of the camera.

It’s a good interview, which doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. He’s a lot like Jake in that way, effortlessly funny and charismatic with a glowing movie star smile. Her cheeks hurt from smiling by the end of the interview, completely and thoroughly charmed. 

After, Nora walks back to the Ready Room with him, and Javy asks, “How was that?” 

“Super good,” she tells him. He holds the door open for her, like a gentleman, and with a smile, Nora crosses the threshold ahead of him, looking at him over her shoulder. “No, but really, it was great. You’re a natural.” 

On the couch, Jake grumbles, “I thought I was a natural,” and Nora swats at him on her way past.

Everyone gathers at the Jake’s apartment later that night to eat some pizza and watch a movie.

Nora is curled up on the opposite end of the couch as Jake with an unsuspecting Bob between them. At one point, Jake looks around the room and stretches his arm casually over the back of the couch, and Nora feels him fiddling with the end of her braid.

She hides her smile in her next sip of white wine.

She is peacefully watching the movie, drinking the wine and sharing a bowl of extra-butter popcorn with Bob when Natasha comes back from the bathroom and plops down on the carpet again with a smirk on her face.

“Hangman.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s nice of you to host and all, but next time, if you’re going to leave your bedroom door open, can you tell your girlfriend not to leave her underwear on the floor?” 

Nora chokes.

A popcorn kernel shoots into her airway, and Nora coughs into her wine.

Jake subtly drops his arm behind the couch, letting go of her hair.

Looking down at Natasha, Jake raises his brows, like oh, who, me?, and smiles a familiar cat-like smile, unbothered and calm. “Sure, Phoenix. I’ll pass along the message.” 

It’s immediately obvious that Natasha expected him to say anything but that.

She gapes at him, and meanwhile, Nora wishes it was possible to elbow Jake through Bob.

She curls further into the armrest and swallows a mouthful of wine that’s almost too much, wine dribbling out of the side of her mouth and onto her shirt. 

What happened to under the radar?

And when did Nora leave his apartment without her underwear? 

Is she wearing underwear now?

She pats her hip under the guise of smoothing out a wrinkle in her sweat shorts. All clear.

Natasha spends the last 30 minutes of Ocean’s Eleven grilling him – and when Jake smiles that infuriating plastic smile and doesn’t reveal anything, pivoting to Javy – about whether Jake does, in fact, have a girlfriend while Nora pretends to be engrossed in the movie and not eavesdropping. 

“Wow, so Danny gets the money and the girl in the end. Good for him,” Nora says.

Bob gives her an odd look. “Haven’t you seen this movie before?” 

She reaches for her wine again as a diversion, only to find the glass empty. Goddammit. 

When Natasha is still in interrogation mode during the credits, Nora gathers the plates from the living room and escapes to the kitchen, hoping to hide in there until Natasha has even given up or gotten bored.

And knowing her, the latter is far more likely than the former.

Her peace ends about 30 seconds later when Bradley follows her.

He leans against the counter and unrolls the bag of cheese balls that Nora just clipped shut. Tosses one into his mouth. He grins at her knowingly, and Nora narrows her eyes at him in warning.

Don’t say a damn word. 

Still, Bradley observes, “You followed my advice, Rogers.” 

He’s not loud, but Bradley’s not exactly quiet by nature.

She sends a nervous glance into the other room and hisses, “We’re not doing this right now.” 

She dumps the crumbs and uneaten pizza crusts into the garbage and stacks the dishes next to the sink. Turns on the sink to give them a little more privacy because if Nora knows him, Bradley has never left well enough alone in his life.

“Fine.” He knocks back a handful of cheese balls like a shot of vodka and dusts his hands off in a shower of orange crumbs. Nora looks between him and the roll of paper towels at his elbow with a scrunched brow. He doesn’t seem to notice and barrels on, “But listen, as a friend, can I ask you for something?” 

“What?” Nora deadpans.

“Can I have like a 10 minute warning before you tell Hangman we slept together? I’d like to protect the goods.” 

He gestures to his face, but Nora has a feeling Bradley also wants to protect something else.

She stifles a laugh. “He’s not gonna punch you for something that happened five years ago.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Except I do know that because I already told him.” She points to the counter behind him. “Can you hand me that bowl?” 

He pauses mid-crunch and doesn’t move. “You told him?” 

She sighs and reaches around him for the chip bowl herself. “Yes, Bradshaw, I told him.” 

“And Hangman didn’t punch me?” 

“Guess not.” 

“I feel like I should be offended.” 

She stares at him, incredulous. “Did you want him to punch you?” 

“That’s not the point, Nora,” Bradley says, exasperated, like Nora is the one who’s being ridiculous here. “I can’t believe you told him without telling me. How’d he take it?” 

“He didn’t care,” Nora says. She squirts dish soap onto a sponge and scrubs the potato chip grease from the bowl. “He actually thought it was funny.” 

She suspected that Javy might’ve said something to his best friend about their conversation at the roller rink, and Nora didn’t want any lingering suspicions to turn into something bigger than the truth, something that might affect Jake or Bradley in their already high-risk jobs. 

So Nora told him.

He seemed surprised at first.

And then, Jake laughed.

He laughed so hard that Nora hit him with a pillow to get him to stop.

“You and Bradshaw?” Jake chuckled. “You’re so out of his league, sweetheart. Jesus.” 

“We were both drunk, okay?” Nora exclaimed. She felt a certain amount of protectiveness over her 24-year-old self and her weakness for men with big arms and sad eyes. Really, who could blame her? “He was older and hot and sad and – Would you stop laughing at me?” 

“Funny,” Bradley repeats flatly. 

Her lips twitch. “He asked if I’d always been passionate about volunteering with the elderly.” 

A cheese ball rolls down his chest and under the fridge, and Nora bites the inside of her cheek.

Bradley purses his lips. “Now I feel like I should punch him.” 

Eventually, Natasha decides that Jake must be messing with her – “Hangman couldn’t possibly be dating someone. He can never shut up. We’d all know about her.” – and Nora manages to make it out of the night unscathed with the rest of the Daggers none-the-wiser.

(Except Javy, who gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder on his way out.)

A week later, Nora is working late in the Ready Room. 

She is leaning on her elbow with god-awful computer posture – one knee pulled up on the chair, a mist of sweat on her brow from the heat – and Jake pops in to the room to let her know that the Daggers are headed to the Hard Deck for an after-work drink.

“You gonna be much longer?” Jake asks. “Want me to wait for you?” 

He sets his chin on her shoulder, watching her fingers move across the keyboard, kissing a spot underneath her ear that usually makes her brain go back, usually makes her sigh and melt into him, but Nora stays strong.

It’s just this one last thing. 

She blows out a grounding several-seconds-long breath to keep herself focused. 

“I’m almost done,” Nora replies evenly, impressively evenly, actually, “so don’t distract me.” 

His lips pull into a grin against the side of her neck.

For his part, Jake doesn’t say anything else. He gives her space, leaning against the window, and watches her in silence. 

She saves one last file, and once the external hard drive is properly ejected, Nora slams the laptop shut. She spins around to look at him, her elbows on the back of the chair, and Jake has his arms folded across his chest, looking effortless and handsome and effortlessly handsome in his black shirt.

Her lip catches between her teeth.

“Hi,” Nora breathes.

Expression soft, Jake says back, “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“How was your day? Good?” 

He nods. “You?” 

She does the same, a dip of her chin.

Evening sun pierces through the open blinds, drenching the room in a copper hue and making it at least five degrees warmer, if not more, and Nora looks him over in the glow. Drinks him in like an Old Fashioned. Her favorite drink.

They’ve been talking a lot about those lately. Favorites. 

Favorite movie. Favorite song. Favorite time of day.

When Harry Met Sally. Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac. That moment right before sunset when the whole sky and ocean turns pink.

She’s starting to realize Jake might be one of her favorites too.

She motions him closer, crooking her finger, and Jake bends indulgently, eyes bright.

She reaches for him. Coasts her palm along the slope of his chin, the cut-glass curve of his cheek, the prickle of stubble on his strong jawline. 

She kisses him on the cheek and rests her lips there. Mumbles against his skin, “You could use a shave, cowboy.” 

She feels him smile, feels the muscles in his face stretching and working.

“You don’t like the stubble, sweetheart?” 

Nora actually does like the stubble. He looks a little more rugged, a little more like a cowboy. She can imagine him on a ranch in Texas, a sunburn on his broad shoulders, riding horses in his real-leather cowboy boots and his real-denim jeans, tipping his Stetson at her with a wink and a broad grin on his ride. She might like it a little too much.

“Well,” Nora drawls, “I didn’t say that.” 

As Nora pulls back with a grin of her own, Jake catches her chin between his index and thumb and kisses her.

It’s such a good kiss that for a moment, Nora lets herself forget everything else.

She lets herself forget their surroundings; let herself forget the afternoon she spent making a list of gaps in the footage because she has less than fourteen days to fill them in, less than fourteen days left here.

She lets herself forget the rising number of unanswered emails in her inbox and her one-way plane ticket back to New York at the end of the month. 

She lets herself forget anything that isn’t Jake’s hands on her hips, urging her to her feet and pushing her back against the table, hands sneaking under the hem of her shirt, and Nora’s hands in his hair, tousled from the wind and a little damp from his post-flight shower, smelling like soap and jet fuel. 

She loses herself in him, in this.

A door creaks open, and she doesn’t even notice.

“Are you still here, Nora? Phoenix wanted me to ask if…” 

All of the air rushes out of Bob mid-sentence. 

He makes a noise like a punctured balloon – a kind of stunned Oh! sound – and quickly shuts the door again.

Nora breaks away from the kiss, but Bob’s long gone now, picture frames rattling in his wake. 

“Oh… Oh my god.” Nora puts her hands over her face and lets out a panicked laugh into her palms. “What are the odds I could ask him not to tell anyone?” 

“Slim to none,” Jake replies helpfully. “He’s probably already told Phoenix by now.” 

“No way. It’s been like 30 seconds. How….” She grabs her phone, and not four seconds later, an incoming call from Natasha pops up on the screen. She presses decline with a startled sound and drops her phone back on the desk, like it’s a snake that bit her.

What the hell? Are Bob and Natasha telepathically linked?

Jake laughs. He looks far too smug for Nora’s liking.

She squints up at him. “And what exactly are you smiling about? I could get fired.” 

She’s not really going to get fired, but she is feeling dramatic enough to say it anyway.

“You’re not gonna get fired,” Jake fires back without missing a beat. He hooks a finger in her belt loop and pulls her closer. “And I’m smiling because as much as I’ve liked having you all to myself these past few weeks…” A deliberate kiss against the column of her throat as Jake slides his palm up the same path. A breathy sigh. “... I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be happy to not have to sneak around anymore. Now, I’ll be able to kiss you anytime I want.” 

“Is that a Sweet Home Alabama refer– oh?” 

He cuts her off with another kiss, leg sliding between hers and up, his hand around the front of her throat.

It’s a long while before Nora packs up.

She’s only been at the Hard Deck for a few minutes when Bob comes over, looking sheepish, and apologizes with an Old Fashioned in hand.

“I’m sorry, Nora, I should’ve knocked,” Bob says, his shoulders rounded, contrite. “And I’m sorry I immediately told Phoenix.” A pause, and Bob’s cheeks redden a little. “And Fanboy and Payback and also, Rooster and Coyote, but both of them already knew.” 

Nora laughs. “Jesus, Bob, I didn’t realize you were such a gossip.” 

His blush deepens. “I’m sorry. I really thought everyone knew but me, but I guess Rooster and Coyote were the only ones.” 

“It’s okay. We weren’t being very discreet,” Nora admits. She accepts the Old Fashioned with a forgiving squeeze of his arm. “Is Natasha mad? Like on a scale of 1 to Witness Protection?” 

He pulls a face. “I think, more than anything, Phoenix is more mad she wasn’t the first one to figure it out. She’s also pissed Rooster knew and didn’t tell her.” 

“I’ll let him take the heat for this one,” Nora says conspiratorially. 

Bob smiles. “Probably a smart move.” 

She kills the next half-hour and change at the pool table with Jake.

He’s apparently taken not sneaking around anymore to mean have his hands on her at all times. He stands too close and slips a hand into the back pocket of her jeans while Nora is trying to take her turn. Cheater.

Natasha comes over in the middle of a game, nursing a Blue Moon.

She stands at Nora’s side and looks down at the game. “I guess I should’ve known,” she says in the matter-of-fact tone of someone who has processed their surprise. “He’s always staring at you lately. You were either hooking up or in desperate need of a restraining order.” 

“Jury’s still out on the restraining order,” Nora replies dryly and smiles when an eavesdropping Jake looks up sharply. He meets her gaze and shakes his head, a smirk hanging from the corner of his mouth. 

A wrinkle between her brows, Natasha asks, “Is it pretty casual? Or are you guys like, dating now?” 

“No,” Nora answers while at the exact same time, Jake calls, “Yes.” 

A swooping feeling fills her stomach.

They haven’t used that word yet. Dating.

Dating has weight. Implications that Nora isn’t prepared to deal with right now.

Like, if they’re dating, what happens when she leaves? 

And yet, foolishly, Nora really likes the sound of it.

She wrinkles her nose but doesn’t correct him, and Jake grins, like he’s won something.

Natasha observes this interaction with vague fascination.

“I’ll let you two figure that one out.” Natasha hoists herself onto a barstool, legs dangling, and nods to Jake. “I’ve got the next game with you, Nora. Hangman’s been hogging you over here.” 

She and Natasha play a couple of games – first alone and then, against an overconfident pair of ensigns fresh from the Naval academy who wander over to hit on them. They win 40 bucks each off of them and send them packing.

And when Jake wraps his arms around her shoulders from behind, grinning lips pressed against her cheek, Nora spins around and kisses him on the mouth and doesn’t give a damn who sees. 

On the last Friday of the month, Nora sends off the last few files and pieces of footage and organizes a wrap party for the documentary. 

She loves this part of the filmmaking process – after weeks, months of work, a moment of pause and celebration and achievement. It’s such a singular and special experience to create something from start to finish, and Nora wants the Naval aviators have the chance to share in that moment with her. See what the last eight weeks have been for. 

Captain Mitchell ends the day a few hours early and gathers the Naval aviators in the room where Nora first introduced herself to them all of those weeks ago.

A sharp sense of deja vu washes over her as Nora finds herself at the front of the room once again, eight weeks older. She’s not looking out on a group of half-acquaintances, practical strangers, watching her with caution and curiosity. These are her friends. She sees nothing but excitement and anticipation in their eyes.

It’s always a bittersweet feeling, and Nora pushes down the overwhelm that rises in her chest, sticking to the sides of her throat. She swallows hard.

Bradley cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Speech! Speech! Speech!” 

She exhales a laugh, relaxing. “I do have a little speech. More of an introduction, actually.” She links her fingers and holds them in front of her stomach to give herself something to do with her hands. “Making something like this is never easy. It’s almost always disruptive, but I felt so welcome here. You made it feel easy.” 

She continues, “I’m only contracted as the filmmaker so I’m not doing the final edit of the film, but I didn’t want to send it off into post-production without showing you something that represents your hard work and dedication. You’ve volunteered a lot of your time to this project. It’s as much your achievement as mine.” She plugs in her laptop and pulls up the video and smiles. “I have a few minutes of footage for you.” 

A chorus of whoops and cheers, and Nora presses the play button. 

Text appears on the black screen as Nora quietly sits down.

On March 3, 1969, the UNITED STATES NAVY established an elite school for the top one percent of its pilots. Its purpose was to teach the LOST ART OF AERIAL COMBAT and to ensure that the handful of men (and now women) who graduated were the BEST FIGHTER PILOTS IN THE WORLD. They succeeded.

The Navy calls it Fighter Weapons School. You might know it better as TOP GUN.

A video of Captain Mitchell fades in, and Bradley claps loudly and shouts, “Let’s go, Mav!” 

Natasha shushes him – and maybe punches him in the shoulder because Bradley lets out a pained groan.

“These men and women,” Captain Mitchell says on the screen. “This squadron. There’s never been a squadron like this one in the history of the Naval aviation.” He fades to voice-over over a rapid-fire reel of in-air footage: Jets cut through the blue skies at impossible speeds, perform incredible high-speed maneuvers, again and again and again. A black screen as Captain Mitchell declares, “These are the best fighter pilots on the planet.” 

A small smile dances on Nora’s lips, anticipating.

What follows is a straight-forward but effective pattern.

Each Dagger appears on the screen and says their call sign, and Nora clipped something from their interview – a good anecdote, a particularly memorable quote – with footage of them in the air or b-roll of them on the base.

On the screen, Jake – Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, reads the lower-third – flashes a 1000-watt smile to the side of the camera, and Nora smiles despite herself. He was looking at her. She remembers it so vividly, sitting there, pretending not to be charmed by him, pretending not to want him.

Next to her, Jake leans over and whispers, “You remember when you told me you didn’t like me after this?” 

“Shut up,” Nora whispers back, smiling.

He grows closer, lips brushing her ear. “Now, why would I? We both know how much you love to shut me up, sweetheart.” 

A rose pink blush spreads across her cheeks, and Jake chuckles.

Behind him, Natasha kicks his chair. “Zip it, Hangman. Stop flirting during my big moment.” 

And Natasha’s JUST loud enough that Captain Mitchell hears.

He looks over with a frown. His gaze snags on where Hangman’s arm hangs ever-so-casually over the side of his chair, his pinky finger brushing against the side of Nora’s hand. 

Pete Mitchell huffs out an amused exhale and shakes his head and thinks about all of the improbably and impossible ways that history seems to repeat itself. He looks over his shoulder and spots a familiar figure, slipping into the back of the room unnoticed. He nods to them and directs his attention back to the screen. 

A short round of applause breaks out at the end of the video, and Nora beams.

She does a little half-bow at Natasha’s insistence. 

“Thank you. You can stop now,” Nora laughs. She collects her laptop from the podium and holds it against her chest. “A military base isn’t the best place for a real wrap party, but Penny’s been kind enough to host us at her house tonight so I’ll see you all there, but while I’m here and still on the clock, any last questions?” 

A beat of silence. 

A familiar voice rings out from the back of the room.

“Can I ask one?” 

Shock burns down the length of her spine, a sparked fuse of a stick of dynamite, and Nora straightens. 

“What the fuck?” spills out of her mouth. She gapes. “Charlie?” 

Standing in front of the red-and-blue Fighter Weapons School emblem, a leather bomber around her shoulders, a pair of aviator sunglasses in her graying curls, Charlie looks like one of her old photo albums come to life. A wide smile stretches across her face, making her look three decades younger. 

What? How? And again, what?

“Last I checked,” Charlie says with a smooth smile. She nods to Captain Mitchell. “Maverick.” 

“Charlie.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “Good to see you again.” 

Nora is mostly definitely surprised. Stunned. “But… Charlie, what’re you doing here?” 

Charlie leans against the back wall, arms crossed, effortlessly cool.

“Pete here was kind enough to let me know about the wrap party, and I thought, what the hell? Maybe I should take one of those vacation days the Pentagon is always on me about.” Her expression softens as Charlie takes her in. “It’s good to see you, sweetie.” 

Charlie’s here. She’s here.

Nora blinks rapidly.

And promptly bursts into tears. 

Half an hour later, Nora is sitting at a high top in a secluded corner of the hotel bar where Charlie is staying. 

She orders an Old Fashioned from the waiter, and Charlie orders a glass of Pinot Noir and swirls the maroon wine around in her glass like a seasoned professional. Nora’s never really understood the point of doing that – something about letting the wine breathe – but it does make Charlie look pretty sophisticated.

Then again, with her red lips and her Grace Kelly curls, Charlie always looks pretty sophisticated. 

She sips her wine, lipstick un-smudged, and studies Nora over the glass. 

Nora prepares herself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

Something along the lines of, So what happened? Did you lose your phone? or maybe, Why did you start crying in the middle of the Naval base like a certified head case? Both of which are fair enough questions. 

Bob was the first one to recover from his alarm and procured a packet of Kleenex from one of the pockets of his flight suit. He offered her one with a sympathetic smile, and Nora blew her nose with a grateful nod. 

To his credit, Captain Mitchell snapped into action and quickly ushered the rest of the Daggers out of the room.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Nora heard Captain Mitchell say as Charlie wrapped her in a hug. His voice grew a little sterner, a little harder. “You too, Hangman. Let’s go.” 

She opened her wet eyes, and Captain Mitchell had his hand on Jake’s shoulder, but Jake was looking at her, concern plain on his face, his lips downturned. 

She gave him a watery smile, and Jake’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

He was still the last one out of the room. 

Now, Charlie looks her over and comments brightly, “You’ve got some color in your cheeks. Are you spending a lot of time on the beach?” 

She blinks. That’s… not a question Nora was expecting.

“They put me up in an apartment right on the beach, and the Daggers like to go down to North Beach and play volleyball and football, so I hang out with them sometimes.” 

“You play football?” Charlie asks, skeptical and amused.

“I read.” 

“Ah. Of course. Anything good?” 

What is happening right now? “Yeah, sure, I guess.” 

“Good.” 

Charlie drinks her wine and doesn’t ask anything else.

Nora stares at her. “Charlie?”

“Hm?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” 

“No.” 

She almost laughs. “No?” 

“No,” Charlie repeats simply. She flags down the waiter and points to the appetizers on the Happy Hour menu. “Excuse me. Could we get an order of the whipped ricotta and then, the truffle parmesan fries? You can charge it to my room. Thanks, hon.”  

Nora stares at her aunt like she’s been body snatched, and Charlie sighs. 

“Listen,” Charlie starts. “You haven’t called me in weeks so clearly, whatever you’ve got going on is something you’re not ready to share with me right away, and if I know you at all – and I like to think I do – I know I’ll get absolutely nowhere if I push you.” She picks up her glass and swirls it again. “So, we’ll get a couple of drinks and split some appetizers, and when you’re ready, you can tell me what’s going on.” 

They do exactly that.

Nora orders a second drink and spreads honey-drizzled ricotta across pieces of baguette and fills Charlie in on the last eight weeks, every minuscule and probably uninteresting detail about the documentary and the squadron. She does, however, gloss over a few crucial details about Jake, as is her right as guaranteed by the Fifth amendment. She’s also not quite sure how to explain it herself. 

And eventually, when her drink is down to ice and the bread down to crumbs, Nora tells her aunt what’s going on. 

And Charlie listens.

She listens to everything.

Every doubt and fear. Every uncertainty that’s been weighing Nora down for the past year and a half, making her feel like she’s caught in a bear trap, like she can’t move, like she can’t breathe. 

Admitting all of these big and all-consuming feelings to Charlie is scary and freeing in equal measures, but in the end, where there was once a pit in her stomach, she feels relief. She feels one breath closer to the surface. 

When Nora is done, her mouth is dried out. She chugs half a glass of water.

And almost spits it all back out when Charlie’s first words are: “So why don’t you quit?” 

“What?” Nora asks, more of a stunned syllable than a question.

“If you don’t want to do it anymore,” Charlie says plainly, “don’t.” 

Her brows are high on her forehead as Nora asks, bewildered, “So what? Give up?” 

“I didn’t say give up,” Charlie sighs, and it brings Nora back to her teen years when Charlie would accuse her of being difficult on purpose. “I said quit.” 

“They feel like the same thing.” 

“They’re not.” 

She bites her lip and looks over Charlie’s shoulder and out of the window. 

“Isn’t it like…” Nora blows out a breath. “If I quit now, isn’t it like I’m flushing six years of my life down the drain?” 

Charlie shrugs. “You still did a lot in those six years. Changing your mind doesn’t take away from any of those accomplishments, but now, maybe it’s time for you to do something else, something you like more. Start over.” 

Nora sits back. “You say it like it’s simple. Easy.” 

“It might not be easy. It most likely won’t be, but it is that simple, yes.” 

Words catch in her throat, and when Nora says it out loud, her voice sounds small. “I’m scared.” 

Her aunt’s face softens. She reaches across the table and cups Nora’s hand.

“You’re allowed to be scared. Everyone’s scared.” 

She blows out a shaky breath to keep herself from crying again, but a slight crack in her voice gives her away. Damn. “Yeah? When’s the last time you were scared you couldn’t do something?” 

God. She regrets the words almost immediately. 

She sounds childish, petulant, but right now, Nora feels like the 16-year-old who snuck Charlie’s red lipstick from her make-up pouch and got busted because she accidentally put it back uncapped and ruined the inside of the bag. Or like the 21-year-old who ordered an Old Fashioned for her first legal drink because Charlie used to drink them at home and hated it so much that Nora wouldn’t drink another for four more years. 

Like all Nora ever wants to be is someone that Charlie can be proud of.

All of the sudden, Charlie looks very far away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than when your mom died. She made being a parent look so easy, and I got to be the cool Aunt Charlie on the sidelines, and then, she was gone, and I was so scared I’d fuck up and undo everything.” 

Nora’s eyes burn. “Charlie, I never… You never said anything.” 

“Of course not,” Charlie dismisses with a shake of her head, curls bouncing. “You were still a kid. You were grieving. You needed stability, and I knew I had to do my best because sometimes, you’re scared and you do it anyway.” 

“Fail with your whole heart,” Nora quotes softly, and Charlie squeezes her hand.

“See I could’ve never come up with something like that, but god, your mom…” Charlie wipes at her eyes with a cloth napkin and smiles. “She was born to be writer. When I got my first interview with the Pentagon, I had less than 24-hours notice. I was living in New York at the time, and I’d need to hop on a train and hope I could find a hotel for the night when I got down there."

"Honestly, I thought about not going, but your mom sat me down and said, ‘Charlotte,’” and Charlie straightens her spine and does her best impression of her sister, “‘You get your bony ass to Grand Central, and I’ll call every damn hotel in DC and find you a room. You got the interview, and now, all you have to do is follow through and take the leap.” 

“And you did,” Nora finishes. “You did the interview, got the job, and the rest is history.” 

“I did. I followed her advice. I decided that if I was going to fail, I should do it bravely.” Charlie squeezes her hand once more and lets it go. “It’s your turn now, sweetie.” 

Nora goes to the bathroom to clean up her mascara and when she comes back, Charlie is signing the check.

She checks her watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. Do you want to head over to Penny’s?” 

“Give me one second.” Nora reaches for her purse and pulls out her phone. “I have to call someone back.” 

Penny Benjamin lives in a beautiful house in La Jolla that looks like something out of Architectural Digest magazine. 

A classic California bungalow with off-white siding and wide blue-trim windows and a garden wrapping around the side, summer green dotted with pinks and yellows and reds; on an elegant cliffside, overlooking the Pacific. 

It’s a good half hour from San Diego so when Nora and Charlie arrive, the street is lined with cars.

Last week, Nora asked Admiral Simpson for a full list of everyone who’d been on the base during the making of the documentary and forwarded the names to Penny for the wrap party. When Admiral Simpson asked her why she needed them and she explained – she wanted anyone who’d so much as stood on the tarmac while she’d been filming to be included in the celebration – she could’ve sworn he looked a little impressed. 

Still, Nora is surprised to see him in the garden, chatting with Admiral Bates with a beer in his hand, a pretty woman next to him who must be his wife. 

“I’m gonna go say hi to Warlock and Cyclone,” Charlie says, patting Nora’s shoulder, and Nora nods and watches her go.

She doesn’t see Penny anywhere so Nora goes into the house and finds her in the kitchen. She gives her a quick hug and hands over a bottle of Prosecco – which Charlie had insisted on stopping for on the drive because Charlie couldn’t possibly show up to her ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s house without an expensive bottle of something. 

“What am I?” Charlie asked. “Some kind of asshole?

“Oh, Nora,” Penny gasps, hand fluttering over her heart. “This is your party. You didn’t need to bring me something.” 

“Oh please. Charlie’s outside. It’s from both of us,” Nora waves her off as Penny admires the bottle. It was the prettiest one in the store. “Thank you so much for doing this by the way. Your house is so beautiful.” 

Now, Penny’s the one to wave her off. “No, no, I was happy to do it. We’ll all miss having you around, even Pete. He probably won’t say it himself, but I’ll say it for him.” Nora smiles widely, and Penny shoos her out of the kitchen. “I’ll open this up and bring it out, but you get your butt outside and enjoy the party.” 

Obliging, Nora makes her way back outside. 

A makeshift bar is in the middle of the garden, and Nora finds her aunt pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Come on,” Nora nudges. “You can meet some of my friends.” 

They make the rounds around the garden. She introduces Charlie to Natasha, who looks as starstruck as Nora has ever seen her. 

Shaking her hand firmly, Natasha asks, excited, “You were Maverick’s instruction at Top Gun, right?” 

“One of them,” Charlie answers coolly.

“You knew Viper then? And Iceman?” 

“I did.” 

“So cool,” Natasha breathes, and Bob nudges her with a small, side smile.

“Charlie,” Bradley calls out and rushes over to give her a big hug, lifting her kitten heels off the ground. It’s been a few years since Bradley last saw Charlie so Nora’s not surprised that Bradley and Charlie have a lot of catching up to do. She’s happy to listen and chime in every so often. 

Awhile later, Bradley leaves to grab another plate of food, and gaze sweeping across the garden, Charlie turns to Nora and asks, unexpectedly, “Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” 

Nora manages not to blush. She raises her brows. “I would if I had one.” 

“Really?” Charlie asks, like, Is that the story you’re going with? “Then, who’s that handsome man over there making moon eyes at you?”

Shit.

Nora looks over, and sure enough, even in the middle of a conversation with Javy, Mickey, and Reuben, Jake doesn’t seem to be paying one damn bit of attention to anything coming out of their mouths. His eyes are on her. Always on her. 

She bites back a smile. And beckons him over.

He crosses the garden in a few long strides and after Nora introduces him (“This is my aunt, Charlie Blackwood.”), Jake greets her with a nod and an extended hand. “Jake Seresin, ma’am.” 

“Jake,” Charlie repeats with recognition. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Finally? Nora frowns slightly. She’s never mentioned him before this afternoon.

His lips part in a wide, charming smile. “Likewise, ma’am.” 

Charlie looks amused. “You don’t have to keep calling me ma’am.” 

“He’s from Texas,” Nora offers like an explanation, a little too quickly, and Charlie’s arched brow makes her cheeks grow warm. She avoids her eyes, squinting at the horizon and pretending to be fascinated by the gulls over the beach. 

Charlie’s not fooled. She smirks and asks, “Texas, huh? What part?” 

“Austin,” Jake replies. It’s a visible effort not to add ma’am at the end. 

“You don’t say. Did Nora ever tell you that my husband John went to UT Austin?” 

A spark lights up his eyes, and Jake seems to be doing fine on his own so Nora leaves him alone to grab another drink in the midst of an in-depth discussion of the Texas Longhorns. She spots Ethan and Chris on her way back and gets pulled into a conversation with them, saying goodbye and wishing them luck in their next projects in case Nora misses them later.

When Nora returns, Jake and Charlie are still talking. She must like him.

Jake smiles at Nora and in his brown sugar voice, says, “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of the evening with your niece, ma’am. She’s pretty spectacular.” 

She could kick him. Or kiss him. Or both. 

“She is,” Charlie agrees. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.” 

She could kick both of them. 

When Jake is out of earshot, Charlie comments, “He’s very charming.” 

Nora almost laughs. “I know.” 

“He likes you.” 

She does laugh now. “Believe me, I know.” 

“He’s the one who called me,” Charlie adds casually, and Nora whirls on her.

“What? You said Captain Mitchell called you.” 

Charlie shakes her head, smiling, a knowing smile. “Pete was the one who forwarded me the invite, but Jake called me.” A chuckle. “He called me ma’am on the phone too.” 

She smiles despite herself because of course.

“What’d Jake say? What made you come?” Nora asks.

“He said that you needed me and you probably wouldn’t call me and tell me that outright, but you were having a hard time.” Charlie looks at her sidelong, lips curled at the ends, a dimple in her cheek. “He knows you pretty well, your not-boyfriend.” 

Nora looks for him again. 

She finds him on the other side of the garden, laughing at something Bradley is saying, hair a golden halo in the summer evening sun. He called Charlie. She never asked, never needed to ask. He just… knew.

And Nora falls a little bit in love with him right then and there; in the same way a little bit of rain falls on your window at the beginning of a mid-August storm. 

A preview before an inevitable downpour. 

Evening begins to blend into night, and Nora sits on the steps of the porch to watch the sunset.

It’s a good vantage point. She can see everyone and everything.

Bob brought a deck of cards and now, the Daggers are playing a game of Bullshit on a massive picnic blanket that Penny brought outside for them, and Penny’s daughter Amelia sits with them, giggling when Bradley loses and pretends to stomp off. 

Nora watches as Charlie goes over to Captain Mitchell and gently puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Ice. He was a good man.” 

Captain Mitchell nods, his mouth a line, emotion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, Charlie.” 

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Nora looks away.

He gave her privacy earlier. She’ll return the favor.

A step creaks behind her, and Nora dips her head back to see Jake.

“Hi cowboy,” Nora greets, and Jake grins down at her.

He drops onto the step next to her, arm stretched behind her. 

“How’d it go with Charlie?” Jake asks.

“Good,” Nora says. She rests her chin on her palm, her elbow on her knee, and studies him closely. “She told me that you called her. How’d you even get her number?” 

“Bradshaw,” Jake replies. He meets her gaze and holds it, green on blue, sparkling like the ocean. “Seemed like, maybe you needed her.” 

Her chest aches, and Nora says softly, “Thank you.” 

His wide palm spreads across her leg, fingertips dangling to brush against the inside of her thigh. “How long’s she staying?” 

“A week. She changed her flight. She’s flying back to New York with me, instead of D.C.” 

Silence falls like an anchor, plummeting to the ocean floor. A muscle works in his jaw, like Jake’s chewing on his next words. “What happens now?”

For her? For them?

She doesn’t have all the answers, but Nora at least has this.

“How do you feel about long distance?” Nora asks, watching him carefully.

A smile flickers on his face as Jake realizes what Nora is asking. 

“California to New York? I can probably swing a few flights, cash in some miles.” 

She sets her hand over his, fiddling with his fingers. “That’s sweet, but I was actually thinking more like, North Island to here.” 

“Here?” He looks confused, adorably so, and Nora holds back a smile.

“Turns out that Charlie has some empty-nester friends here from her Top Gun days. They’re looking to rent out their guest house for the rest of the year. It’s not far from here actually, within walking distance of the beach.” She can feel her heart pounding like Nora’s running a marathon as Jake slowly start to understand. “I turned down the offer, Jake. I’m moving back to California.” 

She called Jenna from the hotel bar. She was a little bit annoyed with Nora, understandably.

Her first words were, “Are you kidding me? You waited until now to tell me this?” 

But after a few minutes of Nora’s apologetic I know, I’m sorry, I know, Jenna was ultimately supportive.

“Damn, Nora. This is a real loss for our industry, but I’m happy for you. If you never need a connection in Hollywood, call me. I know people who know people.” 

And one day, Nora might take her up on that, but right now, Nora needs a break. A real one. And California feels like the right place for her to take one. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it  here until she came back.

“You’re staying,” Jake repeats slowly, like Jake’s afraid to believe her.

She reassures him with a nod. “I still have a storage unit back in New York so I have to go back, and I have a few things left at Charlie’s, but Charlie’s coming to help me clean it out and move what I need. And…” Nora drifts off and for once, the uncertainty doesn’t seem so scary. It’s wide open and hopeful. 

Jake wipes his hand down his face and sets his hand on his chest, right above his pounding heart, looking utterly relieved. “You’re… god, Hollywood, you’re gonna give a man a heart attack someday.” 

“You love it,” Nora teases.

He lifts his chin with his knuckle, holding her gaze. “I really, really do.” 

And when Jake kisses her, it feels like maybe he means something else.

Cheeks warm, Nora looks out at the horizon, and it’s that perfect time between day and night when the whole ocean is a watercolor of pale pink and purple. She kisses the carved dimple in his cheek and leans into his strong shoulder, and Jake tucks her under his chin, rubbing his thumb across her palm, over her heart line.

Breathing in the smell of the ocean and him, Nora closes her eyes and catches her breath.

end note: charlie, my beloved. i didn't mean for this to be so long, but i hope you enjoyed 🩵 likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all.

want to be tagged in the epilogue? fill out this form!

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

What to Expect from the New Sassenach Member of Staff.

The decision to recruit an additional staff member always this new staff member has a responsible role to play too.

Ashley Hearn met new people recently, so she gave publicly her resume an introduction that no one asked for but here she goes anyway. You know her on IG by @spiritswithash despite her name being Ashley, some might call her - Ash, Smashley, Shley, and the list goes on.

She’s 36, but mentally She’s a 26-year-old -her words- (There is no room for debate, she has given evidence on this point) She’s a drinks devotee, (along SH’s path) workout fanatic (that remains to be seen), paddleboard enthusiast, and travel addicted, She was a math teacher in a public school and also coached volleyball and basketball.

Although she's not a professional photographer, she picked up her first camera in 2020 taking photos of friends in the bar industry, different spirits, and cocktails. Even though you see her drink a ton of gin whisky, and cocktails, She worked for Jägermeister the popular German Herbal Liqueur brand in the US.

As she said, She has been a jack of all trades for Jägermeister. In the 1980s, Jägermeister introduced the concept of the "Jägerette," who was essentially the embodiment of the Jägermeister spirit. As part of the brand's strategy to appeal to young party-goers, these attractive "shot girls" in distinct Jägermeister uniforms were tasked with visiting bars and distributing drinks to increase awareness of the brand. This initiative has since become a tradition in the Jägermeister market.

If that is the concept she has for The Sassenach market, It will be a tireless party mission, with outfits different and a program adapted to the respective party crowd at her friend’s bars.

Later on, as a PR and Culture Manager, she organised events. This opportunity in the Jägermeister gave her a start in the industry particularly enjoying an ice-cold shot. Remember that Jägermeister is best served straight from the freezer at -18⁰C.

However, she lacks the experience needed as a marketing manager within the spirits industry, as it is so competitive. In the meantime, she has been after SH until to get what she wanted to join Sassenach Spirits’ team.

If anyone is not sure about her interests: she has more interests than you can imagine, but not naturally, they are all planned. It seems like a good time to see her “friend' from the 90s, Chrissy Beaudette Tinelli probably knows Ashley's interests. Or not? 🤔

This means that her position in the SH business is essential for making herself known. She has clear ideas about what she wants to pursue with SH, not the brand itself. Is it fair to describe the situation as "ambitious" if you don't know how an ambitious person acts to achieve their goals? You're looking at one.

She travelled to Scotland around Tartan Day in April this year and then signed up for Hyrox America (NYC) held on June 1st, 2024, on Pier 76 in Hudson River Park to compete in Hyrox women's doubles. Who knows if she is interested in MPC? 💁‍♀️ She does everything she can to promote herself in front of SH, and since SH has lately been losing his head over several things, this decision could be one of them.

There are no individuals here for business meetings. This hire lacks good ideas, a portfolio of contacts, or a solid promotional plan for Sassenach spirits. She only has experience with one spirits brand, which is not sufficient for the whisky, gin, or tequila market. In Scotland, no one knows Miss Hearn from working closely with marketing colleagues.

Perhaps, She has a design on the top of her head quite different from her Sassenach duties like bringing water to the boss while he signs his bottles of whisky or gin and organising rows of SH’s fans, her job will be like Chrissy a sales promoter, she illustrates Sassenach drinks uses, offer free tastings and hand out flyers. She also approaches passers in a trade show area with a dedicated display where potential customers will see the Sassenach products, but it seems her idea in mind is quite different and this will be an impossible dream.

Looks like she has already started her job at the Bar Convent Brooklyn, (BCB) an international bar and beverage trade show in Industry City, NY at the beginning of last week.

Marketing managers represent the marketing team to cross-functional groups including product management, sales, and customer service. So, on her first day as Market Manager at Industry City, which groups did she collaborate with to create an offering message for Sassenach’s products? Additionally, what new channels did she identify to reach new customers in Brooklyn, New York?

Or is she just taking photos of Sassenach bottles for that job? SH already has a photographer with a free tourist guide included for that purpose in Scotland. Why are women around SH in this business so annoying?

The figurehead of the Sassenach brand is SH. The brand's success rests on him. Miss Hearn is not involved in public relations, but rather focuses on marketing and growing the company's sales by reaching customers. If Chrissy, who is backed by her family a beverage alcohol importer, and distributor, in New York not reach expectations, what can be expected from an unknown person in the alcoholic drinks market?

Ashley indicated her affiliation with Sassenach Spirit on her identification pass. She talks a lot about her position, and she seems to think it's very important.🙄 It appears that BCB included the promotion of the “Outlander Cocktails” book by James Shy Freeman and Rebeccah Marsters and the Foreword by Diana Gabaldon.

“Don’t mix business" is very appropriate in a trade show. Mixing business with a professional career can lead to conflicts of interest. One should maintain a clear boundary between work and personal business, as it can be beneficial for both. However, SH relies heavily on Outlander. How he’s going to cope once the series ends. What will happen to his business when his popularity ends and all fly the coop? 📉

Also, with OL ending, there are only a few months left until SH's popularity fades away. After that, she will have only her imagination. Photography will continue to pursue their Midsummer Night's Dream in Glencoe, Scotland.🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

“Outlander Cocktails” book by James Shy Freeman and Rebeccah Marsters and the Foreword by Diana Gabaldon.

Definitely in SH’s business, There is no worse blind person than the one who does not want to see.🤫

Posted 18th June 2024

[1000-directions]

Good stuff 10-8-24

Today was our seattle day!!!!! We went to pikes place market and had coffee and walked around the pier and then walked to climate pledge arena and I got to watch a kraken hockey game in the actual kraken arena with kraken fans!!!!!!! That was very cool and awesome!!!!!!!! They did not win (lolol they actually blew a two goal lead, that’s kraken hockey baby!!!!!!!!!) but I got the hear the goal song twice and it was so exciting. And my partner doesn’t really care about the kraken but they said that my excitement made them excited and they had a great time too :)))) also we had a good alcohol and pizza and there was free pumpkin ice cream mmmmm. AND I GOT TO SEE @whentherewerebicycles AND MEET HER LITTLE BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When we got back to the hotel parking lot, my partner very casually told me that I’m the love of their life. They’ve never said that before. No one has ever said that to me before. I am so fucking lucky to have this person I love who sees me and cares about me and wants to be with me forever. I never saw this coming

[colourme-feral]

First Note of Love IRL (5/??)

First Note of Love: Neil holds a one day tour of Kaohsiung for his fans

IRL: Hamasen Railway Cultural Park, No. 32號, Gushan 1st Rd, Gushan District, Kaohsiung City, Taiwan 804

IRL: Love River, No. 16, Hedong Rd, Qianjin DistrictKaohsiung City, Taiwan 801

*The actual river is a lot longer, but this is one of the spots that appears in the show.

IRL: Central Park (MRT Station), No. 11, Zhongshan 1st Rd, Qianjin District, Kaohsiung City, Taiwan 800

IRL: Pier-2 Art Center, 803, Taiwan, Kaohsiung City, Yancheng District

[goodluckclove]

Blind Trust personality quiz answers

in case you want to see a psychological semi-roast of the other three dudes compared to what you got.

Each result is way longer than it needed to be.

You Are Edgar Gallows!

You're tired and probably repressing a good fraction of yourself. You have no goddamned clue what's going on most of the time, but you know that if you ask a question someone's going to yell at you - and that's definitely true and not an anxious delusion.

You were in therapy for years so you know how to recognize things like that. Granted, you haven't been in a session in half a decade but that's only because you (are telling yourself that you) don't have anything new to talk about with a therapist!

You work hard. Probably harder than you have to, but it gets results. You're scrappy and you don't care if you have to work your way up from the gutter, again and again. It stops feel like fighting and scrambling when that's all you do, all the time.

And you're pretty good at what you do - that's what people say. It's hard to really absorb, though.

Your heart is a lot bigger than what you're comfortable admitting. When you love someone you love them with everything you have, even if on the outside that looks like scowling at their jokes and calling them out on their bullshit. You hope they know. You're afraid to put it in direct words, so you can't do much more than hope.

You were a lonely child and even though you're an adult you're still a lonely child. You try not to think about that.

Favorite Bird: Lesser Goldfinch. They seem nice. I like their colors.

You are Katy Nadine Delaney!

You are Katy Nadine Delaney, but anyone who uses your middle name is a fucking narc. You've been told before that you're a Boston 10 but a New Orleans 7, but the guys back home would reverse those numbers because every horny pick-up-artist is the same type of asshole with different specifics.

The people who get close with tend to have a moment of surprise when they realize you're only presentable and stylish when you absolutely have to be. Your shit is messy, yeah, but you have a system. The slang you use is both outdated and surprisingly up-to-date, because you keep up with the times. You can tell everything you need to know about a person based solely on how they indicated laughter through text.

You've lived through a lot of what you might affectionately call rebrands, if you were comfortable talking about it in the first place. The you ten years ago would not recognize the you of today. Would they like you? You don't need to think about that at all, actually. Those are questions saved for when you're alone again after partying too hard, right before you make yourself a nightcap to avoid having to answer them.

You're hiding. Hiding so well no one else seems to notice but you. It's really hard to present the sliver of yourself that's eccentric in a way that's still acceptable.

But fuck it it's fine. Whatever. #VapeLife

Favorite Bird: Great Black-Backed Gull. Those guys will steal the corn dog right out of your hand if you're in Fan Pier Park. Plus, Great's in the goddamned name, man.

You are Tenzin Onyliogwu!

You are precise. You like to learn things and get answers. You never really went to college in any traditional sense of the word - it's funny the decision paralysis that can set in when so many people talk about your potential - but you consider yourself a natural academic. A scientist of sorts. It could be said it's in your genes.

People think you're cold sometimes. You don't think that, but so many have said it before that you imagine it must be true in some weird, ghostly sense. And that's kind of sad if you dwell on it for too long. But there are a few people who either don't see it the same way, or they do and don't consider it a roadblock in loving you.

You're deeply loyal once someone has earned it. A protector that actually knows how to protect, thank you very much. It's gotten you in trouble before. But you've been silent before while watching someone you love in pain (You were a child). You spent more than enough time doing nothing in the face of cruelty (You were a CHILD), and these days if you think there's injustice you make an effort to make things right.

Unless there's a crowd. Or if it's really loud and bright. Or if you had to make a lot of phone calls that day. You might do it even with all of that, but it'll be considerably harder.

Favorite Bird: Rock Firefinch. It was discovered in Central Nigeria in the late 90s. Mom stopped publishing papers by then, but when she found out it was the happiest I'd seen her in a long time.

You are Scott Skylark Kaufner!

You are a dreamer who heard about people who have died for their ideals and immediately decided that fate was fine by you.

You consider yourself an archetype, though you never tell people, because even in your head you're vaguely aware how it denies you a good amount of your humanity.

But then you start thinking about humanity and what qualifies a person to have any to start with, and if you go that route the rest of your day is shot so it's best to just carry on.

You're deep in your head most of the time. Simultaneously, however, you're so disconnected to your body it feels like you're watching yourself in one of those top-down video games you used to watch people play growing up.People in school spoke about the Hero's journey and they make it sound like it's some great, important thing, but it's actually the worst. More than that, you have a feeling the whole Gift of the Goddess thing is actually a lie, because you've been volleyed between Abyss and Atonement for so long.

Unfortunately, you're stubborn. Unlucky for you and everyone around you, you're the spokesperson for the Sunk Cost Fallacy. You keep a promise, even though at this point you don't even remember what that promise was. 

But that doesn't change your convictions. You keep a promise.

Favorite Bird: Probably the American Robin. It used to be the Skylark, obviously. But I haven't seen one in a long time. Robins are everywhere, though. I'm not sure why. It doesn't matter - I'm happy for the company.

[salubriwrites-blog]

The Amnesia Game Pt 2: Silent Auction

Here is a link to Pt1: Homecoming

Good morning and happy Monday! We are so back. Continuing with my experimenting to see if FFs get more movement on ao3 vs tumblr. Enjoy and stay hydrated ^^

“We’ve never seen that woman before in our lives,” Elias said stuffily, pulling the jacket he’d worn for the interview off his shoulders. Back in the dressing room, he was waiting to see if the dressing crew would return to help him into something worthy of this auctioned meet and greet. Nearly slamming the door behind him, Reca found himself almost crawling to lay on the couch after his brush with the enigmatic fan on set. All the while, Mira was speaking to him. Damn creature wouldn’t shut up as she jumped to sit on top of his chest after he had collapsed on the chaise lounge. 

“I don’t know her,” he insisted, though the frog was staring at him in that peculiar way she often did when something was amiss. It had been as he suspected, in that small brush they had underneath the ghost light of an empty stage, with only the dormant lights and set as their witness. At the sight of her, all of his anxieties, that pain he’d been feeling all morning, dissipated. As if she had caught them all like butterflies in a net, he felt cured. Why? 

Sitting up, Reca listened to Mira while reaching for the water pitcher that was now cold with condensation. “No, I don’t regret leaving her like that. She’s just a fan, you heard it yourself. Now let me rest, this damn headache is killing me… yes I still have it.” He lied with a snap, just to get his assistant director to quiet down. 

A short lived repose, just as he was sinking down into the cushions and the dark room was beginning to soothe him, a knock.

“Mr. Reca? May we come in?” The voice of his staff called out, waiting for his permission. “Are you comfortable with this outfit for your meeting with the auction winner? Anything we can fix for you?” After the ensemble retouched his makeup and hair, and dressed him in a coat that felt familiar to him, one of the artists escorted Reca to the private studio lounge.

The IPC Studio was four stories tall, he anxiously counted the floors as the elevator climbed the heights. Keeping his hands behind his back to hide his clenched fist, Reca glanced down at Owlbert who was yammering on and on. “... Yes, this was a silent auction to provide aid for Sigonia-IV, we raised well over five million credits. Your activity fetched the second highest price, as a matter of fact!” 

“How wonderful,” Elias said through gritted teeth, watching as the elevator doors split open. No one knew that he was afraid of heights, it was a fear that he kept close to his chest. His knees felt too light to support the rest of his body as he clenched a fist behind him. To his relief it was indoors, with floor to ceiling windows that revealed everything outside without anyone being able to see within. IPC’s Studio and Entertainment Headquarters was situated within the center of Pier Point’s recreation district. It was an authentic oasis in the midst of the space station’s faux nature. Overhead the ceilings of the dome were computer generated imagery to look like clouds and stars, flora in the parks were grown in a lab and were coated with artificial scents. Topped off with an ambiance sound that played babbling rivers, it was as fake as it gets. Here at least, the plants didn’t bloom and sleep on a timed schedule, nor did they have that tell tale artificial acridness. It was charming though, the furniture and other decor was similar to the rest of the building. Its geometric, zigzagging massing accentuated the neon lights attempting to reflect onto the industrial facades of apartments and office mega complexes. 

“We’ll be bringing her in shortly, make yourself comfortable. We’ll have a third party present too just in case things get too intense. You never know with fans like these, who spend millions of credits for an opportunity like this.” Owlbert added lightheartedly, as if a crazed fan was the real danger.

Once the door closed on him and Reca was left alone, he immediately marched toward the bar to inspect its selection. Perhaps alcohol would help assuage some of his trepidation about this meet and greet he didn’t remember offering himself for. It seemed wildly out of character, even for several million credits he wouldn’t show his face. Nor was he allowed to show his face in such an intimate setting. The dark liquid went down easily as he turned from the bar to stare out the tall windows. TIlting his head, he looked skyward to the several stories of apartment complexes and office buildings that reached for the artificial skyline of Pier Point. How could anyone live in a place like this? Surrounded by concrete comforts and iron skies?

Behind him the elevator was whirring with life, and Reca took that time to find the best place to put Mira next. Together they decided on the shelf behind the bar, where she could see the cars flying past the window as the light passed away outside. He could imagine a lovely warm filtering to this moment, maybe he’d rewrite the dialogue to make it a heated confrontation for his next film. 

As the monotone elevator bell came closer to the lounge, he next looked for where to pose himself, opting for standing to face the window. Breathing deep, the man inhaled confidence and waited until he heard Owlbert’s familiar voice ushering the fan inside. 

“... Mr. Reca, allow me to introduce to you Ms… oh dear I seem to have forgotten,” the host muttered, and something in Elias’ stomach dropped when a familiar voice giggled. 

“You may know me as Black Swan.”

Turning around too fast, the alcohol in his gut began to disagree with Reca as he whirled to stare at her. “It’s you” he said, a little too honest in his surprise as Black Swan’s grin only widened at him. 

“It’s me.” Black Swan replied, quietly watching him splutter. 

“You’re the...” he began, one brow raising as he tried to reconcile the elegant figure in front of him with the idea of a “fan.” There she was, arms crossed casually over her conservative outfit, long hair loosened from its confinement. It tumbled down her shoulders like lattice work, and those bright eyes seemed to mock Elias. In full lighting, she was - in a word - breathtaking. He mimicked her pose and tried to remember his manners and not stare too deeply. “Lucky fan.”

“Lucky me,” she said smoothly, stepping deeper into the lounge and away from Owlbert. 

“Seems you two are already acquainted,” the host chimed in, stepping to sit at the bar as Black Swan moved to approach Mr. Reca.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to chase autographs,” the director said, trying to come off nonchalantly as her shadow overtook him again. 

“I’m not, I’m just your… number one fan.” The lilt in her voice as she eyeballed the empty cup he held at his side suggested she knew more. “Would I have to pay extra for you to make me a drink, by chance?”

“Not at all, what’s your pleasure?” He asked, already walking to stand behind the bar as she pivoted to watch him walk. 

“Mr. Reca, this is meant to be a dry meeting,” Owlbert was starting to say, when something spectacular happened. 

“Oh come now, Owlbert,” Reca swatted away his concern with  a flippant wrist motion. “This is an exceptional occasion, which calls for an exception to the rules.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” Ms. Swan chimed in, and Owlbert sighed seeing that he was beat two to one. 

Seeing that the host wasn’t going to leave them alone, Reca reached deep into his chest to find that dominating tone. The power of suggestion, of rewriting a little moment in the host’s mind. “Besides, Owlbert,” he began, and Black Swan turned to watch intrigued as the show host stared at the mention of his name. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? A meeting, perhaps?”

Winking at the fan, they both watched as Owlbert reached for his pocket watch and started before jumping down from his stool. “You’re absolutely right, I’m afraid I must leave you two for the time being!” 

Before either of them could bid him goodbye, the show host was already in the elevator and the doors were closing on him.

“Your powers of persuasion are noteworthy,” she grinned while slipping into the now vacant stool, eyeballing the empty glass in Reca’s hand. “I’m a gin and tonic kind of girl.” 

How long was the meet and greet supposed to last? Reca didn’t remember, it didn’t matter, because even a whole day would not have been fulfilling for him. From the bar, the pair drifted to sit across from each other by one of the high reaching windows, drawing comparisons of their home planets and Pier Point. 

“Penacony,” she purred, holding her empty glass by the lips and dangling her arm over the chair. Quietly Reca got the hint and finished his own drink in kind. “I suppose that makes sense, you have a natural sense of showmanship that would only come from the Planet of Festivities.” 

“I will perceive that as a compliment,” Elias said teasingly, pushing his own empty cup to sit comfortably in the middle of the table beside him. They’d only had two drinks each, but the adrenaline of their successful conversation and the pangs of an empty stomach made the man’s head spin and his heart hunger for more. When was the last time he had felt a connection such as this? The young lady’s demeanor was enigmatic but inviting. Standoffish yet he felt like an exception. A push and pull of social oxymorons that made the Memokeeper wary. More than any of that though, there was an underlying sense of… contentment. That didn’t feel like the right word, but there was no other way to explain how her presence soothed his previous feelings from all that morning. The ache of waking up that morning, the thrum of lights and sounds assaulting his senses, spending the day in her orbit had replaced all of that with peace. 

“What’s on your mind, dear director?” Black Swan’s lilt interrupted his musing, her eyes followed his gaze  to look for what was bothering him. 

“I can’t help but feel… oh, it’s nothing.” He decided, waving her inquisitive stare off. “A thought occurred to me that you wouldn’t be interested in.” 

“You’re wrong, Mr. Reca,” the woman said, leaning forward to put her glass on the table and then steepling her fingers. “I’m quite interested to hear your thoughts. You're dynamic and alluring, I’m under the impression that you don’t get to be heard often.”

Not a preposterous idea, in his opinion he had been quite guarded for the last couple hours as he didn’t want to scare this woman away. They had been getting along famously, and he felt at ease in her presence. He didn’t want to jeopardize those truths. Instead Mr. Reca laughed and deflected her. “I’m a director, Ms. Swan. I have no shortage of people to listen to me.” 

“True,” she nodded sagely, and those eyes bore down on him as she smiled coyly in that way that made him think she knew more. “Though they are paid to listen to you. I gleaned that you don’t have many people who genuinely want to hear your intimate thoughts.”

“You paid to listen to me,” Reca shot back. 

“Touche,” she smiled, reaching for her glass and frowning when it was empty. “Your mixology skills are on par with your persuasion and wit.”

“Why are you really here, Ms. Swan? We’ve been here for several hours now, and you haven’t asked me a single question about my career.” 

Smiling coyly again, Black Swan only shook the empty martini glass at Elias, following him back to the bar. She didn’t speak until they toasted and drank again, he admired that she could hold her liquor. “You caught me,” was how she began, cheeks brightening a shade of pink that made her hair pop. “I’ve been trying to get you to open up in hopes that we may extend our time together. That perhaps if I show my more inquisitive side, you’ll invite me to see more of you.”

Ah ha, Reca thought as he smiled against the lip of his glass. “I’m flattered, Ms. Swan, but…” Before he could think of a way to turn her down, she was asserting herself.

“But… is there already a Mrs. Reca?” Black Swan had been in the process of reaching out to touch him, but held her fingers dramatically in midair. 

“No, my ambition keeps me from having entanglements. I do not wish to be perceived as the man who uses his status to get what he wants, be it power or flesh.” He added, watching warily to see how her expression would reflect on that information. 

“How noble,” she hummed, resting her hand on the bar, just out of his reach. He wouldn’t have to do much to diminish that gap. “Well, maybe I’m just reaching then, because I felt that we were really making a connection.” 

Staring intently at her fingers, Reca reflected back on the hours he had unwittingly allowed to pass. He didn’t feel like he had been leading her on, he genuinely enjoyed Black Swan’s company.  Did he want to see more of her? Obviously, she was a beautiful woman and a compelling presence, who wouldn’t want to see all of her? It wasn’t appropriate though, he knew that as he held her stare, both of them waiting to see who would flinch first. She was tipsy, as was he, and though he should have walked away from this conversation, that felt like the alcohol talking. He would need a clearer mind before he told her to shove off, and a clear mind would surely come with something that soaked up the alcohol.

“Would you like to take this meet and greet somewhere else then? Like say, to dinner?”

Her smile bowed wide, and it felt like Reca’s own chest was widening in response to her elation. It was infectious, he couldn’t help himself from smiling back. Blaming the alcohol was the easiest way through this situation. If Elias were sober he would not be taking her hand delicately and ushering her to the elevator, nearly forgetting about Mira in the process.

“Tell me more about your home,” she asked, passing the hip flask to Reca while she lay back on the building’s rooftop. Instead of doing what she asked, Elias became entranced at how her hair flared out on the ground like cracks in a glacier. Gods, she was breathtaking. When the silence grew too long, Black Swan opened one eye to catch him in the act of his gawking.

 This was their last night in Pier Point, Reca had already extended his stay on the planet an extra week just to visit all of her favorite restaurants, lounges, and sights. This place, like all the places she’d brought him so far, boasted emotions and ambiance as marvelous as she. However, also like all the others, bore a catch: it was up a perilous climb on a rickety ladder along one of the tallest buildings in Pier Point. 

Black Swan had suggested this place after learning about his fear of heights, challenging him with promises of a reward should he conquer this tower. Even as the building loomed higher and higher, a giant of awesome size against the endless darkness of Pier Point’s artificial night sky, Reca had successfully told himself it wasn’t going to be that bad. Instead of focusing on the stomach dropping height, he hinged his focus on her. Black Swan had chosen a rather inappropriate outfit for the evening, trading her usual skin tight pants for a lustrous skirt that revealed her leg-torso ratio. The only sensible thing about this outfit was her shoes, which were fit to scale a service ladder that hadn’t been inspected in years.

“You’re nervous,” she observed as they walked side by side through the city center. 

“Not at all!” He lied with flair, while Black Swan cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“You haven’t stopped talking since you picked me up, you’re trying to distract yourself. It’s okay to be nervous, it means that you care.” That was true, he realized as he was forced to examine his behavior for the last ten minutes. Those were the first words she spoke since Reca came for her, she allowed him to fill the air around them in an attempt to dispel his fears. Gesticulating wildly and animated, Elias found everything but where they were going  interesting, and had something to say about the small bakery they passed, or the musician playing for credits on the corner. Trying to find somewhere else to be, to deter her from the final destination. Ms. Swan wasn’t going to be swayed though, and looped her arm in his to keep the man on track.

On the backside of the building was the fire escape ladder, a cliche set up of iron bars billowed like a sheet of paper in the fan powered breeze. Reca had volunteered to go first, noting Ms. Swan’s outfit, but she eagerly pushed ahead of him, throwing back a carefree smile for him to hold. “I’ll lead the way, just focus on me and don’t look down.” 

Doing as instructed, he kept his eyes focused on her ankles and sensible shoes as she moved deftly up the rungs. This must have been her plan the whole time, as Reca gripped to the ladder until his knuckles whitened and his breath shortened. On the ascent, her skirt began to inch its way up her thighs, and Elias found it very easy to focus on her. At first it looked like Ms. Swan was wearing neutral toned lingerie that blended with the creamy complexion of her skin. However with each exaggerated lunge she did to find purchase on the next rung, Reca began to question if she was wearing anything underneath that skirt as he caught flashes of invitingly soft curves.

 She only stopped once to see if he was still following, smiling at his flushed expression. 

“Enjoying the view?” She asked innocently, running a hand over her skirt in a feigned attempt to protect her modesty. All that did was pull the hem back more, revealing more of her unblemished thighs. 

“It’s splendid,” he breathed, hardly able to tear his eyes off of her. “Do you mind if we go a little slower?”

“I suppose,” Black Swan pretended to sound exasperated, but only slowed her tempo to a seductive dance that made Elias wish this climb would last forever. It really was about the journey, not the destination. The switch of her hips as she shifted her weight and thighs rubbing together, left him with the awful temptation to force Mira’s eyes to zoom in on her. By the time they reached the top, she shimmied the rest of the way up and leaned down to hoist him up. Bending over to do so, Reca realized that even the blouse she wore was strategically loose. Collar hanging, he caught yet another glimpse to peer down her cleavage, her unholstered breasts dragged down by gravity to help him out of the ladder as well. If this was the reward she mentioned, Reca would go on a climbing tour of every tower and mountain he could get his hands on. At the top of the climb, she smoothed down her skirt properly, spying out of the corner of her eye as Reca adjusted his own trousers similarly.

With all of Pier Point unraveled before them, Black Swan held the crook of his elbow as they walked gingerly toward the edge of the rooftop vista. Now that they were actually here, the gripping sense of adrenaline brought the Memokeeper to heel. His vision became pinpointed and the world spun as he realized he could look down on the rooftops of all the other buildings. She didn’t tug him along though, she let him hold onto her to steady himself before taking inching steps that barely moved them at all. Now that they had come all this way, there was nothing left to do but move forward.

“There is no rush, one step at a time.” She soothed him, patiently moving at his pace. 

“May I focus on you again?” Elias asked, his chest squeezing with excitement at Ms. Swan’s reaction. Her eyes glinted with gleeful recognition and she gave her consent by focusing on him in kind. Neither of them spoke as they moved toward the edge of the skyscraper, entranced in one another’s eyes until she compelled him to sit. They didn’t make it totally to the ledge, stopping at the guard rail that corralled the ventilation system. She was braver than he, letting her legs dangle over the lip of the building while he sat back far enough from the ledge that he could stretch and his feet wouldn't be near the edge. 

Which led to now, Black Swan laying on her back, feeling the effects of the drink she had slipped in her purse. Meanwhile, Elias couldn’t give less of a fuck about the city skyline and its fake sky. Not when a real star was within arm’s length, posing like a constellation she lit up the artificial skies with her natural light. A constellation for the meek and lost to follow. Not him, though. All he felt loss over was a loss for words as she caught him staring again. 

“Still enjoying the view?” She teased again.

“It is magnificent,” he rasped with his sights set on her, casting the flask aside to lay back too, tucking his arm behind his head.  She knew that his eyes were on her, yet she kept her focus trained on the satellites that could be mistaken for stars. Her profile against the night was sharp, but when Black Swan finally did turn to face him, she softened.

“So, what is home like for you?” The woman asked again, rolling on her side and propping her head up so that she lingered over him. It intrigued him that she always had to tower over him, not that he minded either. Her silhouette was as powerful as the building they had just scaled, and if he could find a way to brave her heights like this, he’d be unstoppable. 

“It is not something that is easily explained,” he started, running a hand over his face to try and smooth away the fluster. Expectantly, she smiled at his hesitance. “It's a far cry from Pier Point, or Penacony, or any of the Xianzhous. Nature and technology interlace beautifully, far removed from intergalactic politics.” 

“Sounds lovely.” Black Swan mused, running her hand down her side and smoothing out her skirt. “Lonely too.”

“It is,” he breathed and out of the corner of his eye she nodded for him to continue. “The Garden is isolated from much of what happens in the world, and because of its idyllic way of life, unless you actively leave you can forget there is anywhere else. Many of my neighbors don’t even remember their lives before they came to the Garden.”

As he spoke she hummed, as if tasting his metaphors, riding the waves of his cadence as her hand drifted across the concrete ground to try and touch him. Noticing it, Reca clenched his own hand tight wondering if he was reading too much into her gesture. No, he certainly was not. Every day for a week they were bumping into each other. None of their encounters to date had been coincidence. He’d sought her out, and Black Swan had been making herself easy to find.

“Are you sure you should be telling me all of this?” She asked suddenly, speaking slyly as though she already knew the answer. “I’ve been around for quite a while, but I’ve never heard of a planet in the Asdama system called the Garden, much less one like what you’re describing.” 

“Truthfully? No,” Reca blurted, too tipsy to feel ashamed. “I’m making an exception because, well I know how strange it sounds, but I feel like I know you well. Well enough to know that you won’t go shouting about my home from the rooftops. Well enough to maybe share it with you.” 

Catching her attention, Black Swan’s expression changed as he carried on. It wasn’t quite soft, but there was something in the crook of her eyebrows, something eager to reveal itself now that this conversation was rising.

“These last few nights have been meaningful to me, and I’d wager that you feel the same.”

Black Swan’s lips curled and he swore that as she stretched and shifted, she pulled herself closer to him. Their knees couldn’t touch just a few minutes before, it couldn’t be his imagination. 

“How bold of you to say,” she grinned, ever wider as he mimicked her, and soon their feet were able to lace around each other. “Not wrong, though. Something about you feels… familiar.” 

Closer now, the heat of her belly radiating through her shirt boiled some of the alcohol out of Reca’s system as he no longer imagined the sparkle in her eye. “It does,” he agreed, wondering if she was feeling as reckless as he. “Though I can confidently add that we’ve never done this before. I would never be able to forget someone like you.” 

Her smile rose like music that was captured by the artificial sunset as she pushed him to lay on his back, purple hair crafting a royal curtain that veiled their faces. Her lips tasted like gin and quicksilver, mercurial on his tongue as they both inhaled deeply at the euphoria. 

“Is that supposed to be an incentive that I do something memorable?” She asked teasingly, already moving herself to straddle on top of Elias, letting his hands guide her barely clad hips to lay against him. 

“You don’t have to do anything of the sort,” Reca whispered, pulling her back into his gravity. “You are quite unforgettable as you are.” Looping her arms around his head, she made a halo of her hands and played with Elias’ hair as they kissed. Meanwhile his hands snaked up and down her back, playing her spine like the vertebrae were strings. They were a beautiful song on that rooftop, sighing and squirming just subtle enough to express a want for more. Her beautiful body rising and falling like a crescendo, Black Swan tactically ground and rotated her hips to dig against him. It would have been an insult if his body didn’t react to her seduction, though Reca recognized the irrationality of his response. This was only a first kiss, a tender epiphany, why was just the simplest touch setting him on fire? Never in the past had Reca been so inappropriate, but she noticed and didn’t seem to mind. With another sensual circulation against him, her lips fell off of his and landed against his jaw. 

“Someone’s excited.”

“I don’t have a defense,” Reca gasped, fingers moving of their own accord to twist into her hair as she nipped at his neck. That had an effect on him, and without her mouth to stifle him, a tilted moan was knocked out of him. “You are quite memorable.” 

Back and forth they took turns exhaling their sighs and grunts into the air, and try as he may, he could not get the same reaction out of Black Swan. It had taken her no effort at all to make his body tighten, adjusting his legs and hips to let her ride back and forth along his groin. 

Once they had calmed down they went back to sharing the flask of gin, exchanging intoxicated kisses and making up constellations. Laying with her head against his chest, Ms. Swan hummed along to his racing heart. It wasn’t possible for him to truly relax now, spending more time staring openly at her profile than at the fake night sky. 

“Did you mean it?” She asked suddenly, tracing the details of his coat, starting at his chest and trailing her finger down his belly. He watched her nail swirl and stop just short of his belt, Reca’s muscles tightened and twitched beneath her, and she smiled at the reflex. “About inviting me to The Garden?” 

Absolutely not! The Garden of Recollection was not a place that was open to just anyone. Only memetic entities were welcome through its gates, and if Elias were to sneak just anyone inside-

She wasn’t just anyone, he told himself, grabbing the hem of her skirt and pulling it down her hips as a cold breeze passed. In just a matter of weeks this thief named Black Swan had stolen his mind, and in its place she left only thoughts of when he’d get to see her next. He couldn’t think a damn thought without wishing that she was there. Stroking the hair from her shoulders, Elias took a deep breath and waited for the dread that he was making a bad decision to set in. 

“Of course! I’d love for you to see the plaza, and the auroras at night out by the mirror lake are not of this world.” With that, still waiting for that tugging of his conscience that would scream and clap its hands together at Reca. 

Wake up you fool! It would shout, waving in front of his face as he watched Black Swan’s face glimmer with wonder at his descriptions of his home. You could get the both of you killed for bringing an outsider into the Garden!

It didn’t though. Instead his heart fluttered and his stomach ached at the utter excitement of seeing her again. Somewhere that wasn’t as dreadful and banal as this corporate penal colony. 

[sourbat]

Kloktober Day 1: OTP

Happy Kloktober. I'm here to start it off with the OTP.

Summary: The final day at Camp Rock-A-Roonie, and Toki can’t get his mind off his camp counselor 

Tags/warnings: one-sided magtok pining

Read below, or read on Ao3 here!

It was the final evening at Camp Rock-a-Roonie. Last night’s concert had gone without too many complications, and after Dethklok’s arrival, DVD sales of the camper’s concert were the highest they’d ever been. Most of the attendees had long since packed their musical instruments, and those who weren’t already on their way out were busy congregating with their families, eating hot dogs or chili burgers, or making the most of the remaining sunlight to catch the last of the warm rays or cool lake water. A few fans had tried making it their life’s goal to locate and get autographs from Dethklok, but aside from Toki Wartooth, most of the members had disappeared, having driven off in their tour band overnight before anyone could capitalize on the situation. 

Toki remained behind to complete the rest of his camping experience at Rock-A-Roonie. As with his usual escapades, the guys didn’t quite comprehend his reasons for wanting to stay behind, certainly not after learning about the bullying that took place throughout the weekend. Nathan had just the mind to drag Toki into the tour bus upon seeing Magnus Hammersmith, but Pickles ultimately allowed it, figuring once Toki had it out of his system, they could all move one from this stupid camp.  

With the sun beginning to set, Toki could easily conclude that he had tired of the camp. After singing a few several dozen guitars and posing with campers for photos, he was eager to call one of his servants forward and demand for them to call forth the Dethbus. The only reason he hadn’t was for one simple reason: he had yet to speak with Magnus.

After last night’s crazy events, Toki was consumed with the idea of befriending Dethklok’s ex-member. The man had selected him to be in his pretend band, protected him from Ludwig and his no-good punk friends the entire weekend, and even saved his life. It wasn't something Toki would ever forget. It was normal for everyone to be peachy with him, the famous Toki Wartooth, but Magnus had looked after him even before he removed his disguise, and once he revealed his true identity, Magnus refrained from being too clingy or uncouth. Quite the opposite, Magnus remained his usual stoic self; only now, Toki would catch him sharing a knowing smile whenever they made brief contact. What exactly it meant, Toki was still unsure. Perhaps Magnus was just as surprised as everyone else to know Toki was more than a beginning guitarist, or maybe the smile was his way of letting Toki know he wasn’t going to drool over him and ask stupid questions? Whatever the smile meant, the occasional friendly stare wasn't enough a form of communication, and with the sky darkening, Toki was increasingly more anxious to locate the old guitarist before the camp officially closed for the summer. 

He sat by the pier, watching families gather in the parking lot before driving off the campsite, and Toki counted each one off, until all that were left were a few sparse vehicles in an otherwise vacant lot. One of the klokateers approached and informed him that Nathan and the others were waiting for his word to pick him up. 

“It’s getting late, Sire.”

“Tells them I needs five more minutes.” Toki murmured out his answer as his eyes narrowed and honed on someone exiting one of the finer cabins. He studied the figure, squinting past the golden rays that were obstructing his view, and could just make out the round curves of Magnus’ guitar case. Toki brought his knees closer to his chest, and he nervously began chewing the flesh of his inner cheek as he monitored Magnus’ smooth movements. The man looked so cool just walking. Something about the bounce of his hair, the streaks of silver hairs or his belt buckle that glowed under the orange sky, the sharp contours of his face and distinct outline of his nose, and even the way his heels hit the grass,  made both Toki extra eager to speak with Magnus, but also terribly nervous. What could he possibly say to a man so confident, who had everything in the world? Silently, Toki followed Magnus’ stride, until he saw him slow and stop at an old, beat-up car. With swift movements, he unlocked and began stowing his guitar into the backseat, and Toki realized that his dreamy staring was eating away at previous time. 

He leapt from the wooden deck, pushing through his servants and picking up his pace to reach the campsite’s open field. From afar, he saw Magnus close the door to his old car to return to his cabin. So there was still time! Toki maneuvered over the deconstructing stage, jumping over pieces of metal and fixtures in order to reach the empting lot. He ran, pushing fellow campers and fans alike, until he reached the old clunker. Minutes later, he saw Magnus returning to drop off more of his personal items, and judging by the stuffed suitcase, Toki had reached him just in time. 

“Oh, hey Magnus.” Toki stopped to bring his hands down to his knees. In his hurry, he hadn’t any time to relax, much less think of something to say to the older man. One look at Magnus, and the heat from his running over failed to annoy him in comparison to the sudden rush of nervousness. 

“Hey, Toki.” Magnus’ voice welcomed him as he continued to regain control of his breathing and thoughts. Even the way he talked was cool! Upbeat, but also commandeering and…kinda gravely? 

Toki swallowed a few deep breaths, then, after wiping a fine line of sweat from his brown, bounced up and approached the man as he raised a hand and unlocked his car with his car keys. “S-sups? You, uhh, good?” 

Toki watched Magnus place his suitcase down. A warm smile spread across the older man, capturing Tokis attention and threatening to remove the line-up of casual conversation starters his mind had hastily devised. “Yeah, I’m alright,” Magnus replied, his complexion and composure calm and undisturbed. It made Toki jealous. “I’m actually just about to hit the road,” Magnus continued, pointing his thumb to the old car behind him. “I’m surprised you haven’t left yet.” 

“Oh noes,” Toki said, snapping upright. His neck warmed and the palms of his hands began to shake and itch with sweat. Unsure of what to do with them, Toki placed his hands on the side of Magnus’ car. “I wanted to gets to hangs with all the friends I made before I leaves.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Magnus tossed his suitcase into a messy trunk partially filled with old clothes, crumpled paper and plastic bags. Toki blinked as a wave of dusty air struck his face. He swallowed another thick ball of air as Magnus slammed the trunk shut. His faded denim jacket caught some of the flying dirt and sand, but most of it continued to rise and settle across his bare chest where, once it was noticed by Toki, was impossible to ignore. Even when Toki finally managed to drag his stare from the older man’s chest, there were other things that distracted him. The long, bristly beard. The slight dent on Magnus’ belt buckle. His one rich, brown eye. 

How did such a neat guy end up getting kicked out of Dethklok? Until last night, Toki never paid much attention to the band’s history. Pickles and Nathan had their fair share of warnings, but surely whatever went on between the men couldn't have been too serious. otherwise, they wouldn't have let Toki remain behind, right? Did any of it really matter? 

“Something wrong, dude?” 

Toki caught Magnus peering at him with an odd expression. “Huh?”

Magnus pointed. “You keep staring.” 

A blush exploded across Toki’s face and ears. “Sorries. I just… I was wonderings…”

“Yeah?” 

Had his stares been that obvious? The thought made Toki want to drown himself in the lake, but Magnus’ funny smirk and the way he stood in front of him, holding himself high as he leaned against his car with his arms crossed, kept Toki’s shaking legs glued in place. 

A cool, evening breeze swept past them, and the chilly air helped soothe Toki’s nerves. That, and that knowing smile returning to Magnus. 

“I knows we just mets and alls,” Toki started, and to his surprise, Magnus nodded along to his trembling words, “But since we got along so wells dis weekend, and since you saved my lives–thanks again, by the ways.” 

“No problem, Toki.” 

“W-well.” Toki dug his heels into the dirt before stiffly shoving a hand into his pocket. He shakingly pulled out his phone which, once it was freed, gained a significant amount of weight in his unsteady hand.  “I was wonderinks if you’s maybe wanted to hang outs some times?” 

Toki heard the cracks in his voice and inwardly winced. In front of him, Magnus was unchanged and difficult to read. Doubt hurried its way into his head, and Toki frantically searched for a way to better interest the older musician. Then, before he could process the thought, he added, “It doesn't haves to be with just Toki; I can brings Dethkloks along, too! We cans all hangs out togethers, if you prefers.” 

Magnus’ curious stare broke into a smirk. Toki’s legs wobbled at the prospects of his offering possiblying being rejected. Because why on earth would an old rocker want  to hang out with someone like him? Magnus probably had better things to do than spend his afternoon hanging out with someone as silly and easy to pick on as himself. 

“You know what?” Magnus rubbed the bridge of his nose with a finger and thumb, then chuckled. “I’d be down for that…but I don’t know about inviting the others.”

“Huh?” 

Magnus drew closer. The ends of Toki’s eyes strained as his stare widened at the incoming figure that appeared so giant before him. 

“Not to worry you, or stir up any drama,” he continued, and because they were so close and Magnus was so tall, all Toki could do was lock his eyes with the lips forming each word, until they broke into a low chuckle. “Well, call me presumptuous, but I personally think you and I would have more ... fun if it were just the two of us. Agreed?” 

Toki was sure he had just about had a heart attack at the suggestion. 

Just the two of them? So, Magnus liked him back? He thought he was equally cool and worthy of being friends with, possibly more? A ticklish sensation bubbled up from Toki’s stomach, into his throat. He saw his vision blur a moment, then saw Magnus’ warm smile reenter this foggy mind. Just like last night, Toki thought, and he had to bite his tongue to keep him from laughing or getting too excited in front of Magnus. 

Last night, his mind returned again. Something special definitely happened last night. 

“Well?” Magnus then asked, and he opened his palm in front of Toki. 

“Oh? Oh!” Toki saw his moment opening before him, and as he outstretched his clammy hands, he fumbled and nearly caused his phone to slip from his shaky grip, but he still managed to keep it long enough before placing it into Magnus’ palm. 

Toki swallowed the second he felt their fingers collide during the transfer, and held his breath as he watched Magnus punch in his number. Another cool breeze flew between them, but Toki could hardly sense it through the gathering heat around his face and chest. When did it get so warm, he fretted, but his worries vanished when he suddenly felt the back of  Magnus’s steady hand brush against his face. 

Then, his Dethphone returned into view, and with his mind at a blank, Toki picked the dangling phone before him back into his trembling hands.

A rush of cool air blanketed his face once Magnus broke contact. “See you soon, buddy.” 

Still at a blank, Toki brought a hand to his cheek, feeling Magnus’ gentle imprint seep from flesh to flesh, and reignited the butterflies in his stomach. “Uhm, see you’s,” he said back, his voice now harboring the shakiness that had controlled  his limbs. Thankfully, Magnus didn’t hear it, and had returned to packing the rest of his belongings into the car. 

If it weren’t for that knowing grin of his, Toki might have assumed everything had happened in his head. But it happened, and Magnus confirmed it one last time as he stared out the window and flashed Toki one last playful smirk before driving off. 

Toki smiled, and remained so long after the dust trail in front of him began to disperse, and the sun set into the trees, leaving behind only the glow of his phone’s screen swaying excitedly in his hands. Once he lost sight of Magnus’ car, he lifted his phone and, with a bashful flash of his teeth, stared at the recently added contact on the screen. 

The Dethbus made its return about ten minutes later, picking up a stupidly happy Toki before making its own dissent into the woods. 

Sometime during their drive down the highway, Pickles caught him, still starry-eyed and wearing the cheekiest smile, and commented, “What’s got you all giddy?”

Without tearing his eyes from the screen, Toki answered, “Nothinks.” 

He couldn't explain it, but he knew this was the start of something very special.