#i LOVE how after the ascension he's just like ���yeah that was the best night of my life”

[vorestarr]

that dialogue where you talk to Astarion after killing Lorroakan with Dame Aylin has stuck with me, so I finally looked up all the dialogue trees for that conversation, and. well. it's a lot.

the conversation starts with Astarion saying he expected her to be overjoyed, but instead she seemed tired. the first reply for the player is to suggest maybe vengeance isn't all it's cracked up to be, which Astarion dismisses, because of course he does. he's been dreaming of revenge for so long, he couldn't possibly entertain the idea that it won't feel incredible.

but the parts of the dialogue I'm most interested in are the response trees depending on whether Cazador is alive or not, and whether Astarion has ascended or not.

if Cazador is still alive, this is what Astarion says when you ask him how he expects to feel after killing him (black bar in image is to cut out the dialogue from a different tree and just show the relevant nodes):

he has to believe that he'll feel amazing after killing Cazador, that's what's kept him going through all of this.

and then, the really fascinating parts to me, are the ways he responds if Cazador is dead and he's ascended or not (tree 18-352 is what he says if he's ascended. tree 70-329-382 is what he says if he didn't ascend):

i love these moments for showing his different states of mind with ascension or not.

post ascension, he's never been better. it's all worth it, it has to be. he's focused on how good it felt to hurt the man who hurt him, steal his power and take back some of what was taken from him, of getting everything he wanted for 200 years.

for unascended Astarion, he's now got to grapple with the "now what?" post-revenge -- Cazador is dead, but Astarion is still a vampire, and everything Cazador did to him hasn't gone away, and now what does he have to drive him forward? he's lost and ungrounded and has so much to figure out about himself and the future.

i've mentioned this before but i think the thing that separates the two Astarion paths is that ascended Astarion knows how to be what he is - a hedonistic vampire lord. it's what he's known for centuries. spawn Astarion without Cazador doesn't know how to be what he is, and is forced to learn a different way to be.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

I hate those Daenerys is going to sacrifice herself/die theories so much it genuinely makes me tweak and I have never been the type of person to get upset at all over fiction or any type of media, but this irks me so bad because not only is Daenerys my absolute favorite character of all time, it’s upsetting how the female character is always the one who has to die for others sakes and never achieve anything for herself. Yes, it’s her destiny as AA to fight the Others, but that doesn’t mean that she has to die doing it. Like, seriously, after we got F&B and saw how many Targaryen women struggled with misogyny and being passed over for the throne, it feels upsetting to me if the one who is supposed to break the wheel will never have a chance to do so. I do love Bran but I do not see him fit to sit on the throne, not to mention how young he is and will be at the series end unless George does a massive timeskip, and after the whole world is in shambles after the Long Night, who is more fitting to sit on the throne and help mend things and lead the people forward? A well experienced ruler and fighter who will bring along a new age of change, or a child with no such experience? Perhaps it’s just me being salty but I just really want the best for my favorite character who I believe deserves to have her shot at having a home and being able to rule and change the world together with the other characters. Especially after the end of GoT, which no I don’t ever believe that George will go that route, but with how everything happened in the show, it looked like Westeros was a completely and utter mess and there was nobody capable left to pick up the pieces, Bran’s ascension to the throne was so random too and didn’t even feel satisfying or like a good conclusion (not that those two incapable idiots could ever produce a satisfying ending, but yeah). What are your thoughts on this? I just feel sad that fellow Dany fans are literally enthusiastically waiting for her death in the upcoming books as if there isn’t a better destiny for her :( The female character who managed to rise to power and become a ruler in her own right dying or giving that up to the men in order to “settle down” leaves such a bad taste in my mouth and doesn’t look like the subversion George has done with her character at all.

I definitely agree with you anon, Dany dying/sacrificing herself really doesn't seem to fit with her story. Yes, Dany certainly would be willing to die to save the world, but that doesn't seem to be where GRRM is writing her.

Dany's story is saturated with life; which is pretty ironic since she's been called "Daughter of Death". She's closely tied to themes of fertility (mother of dragons, helloo), rebirth (Azor Ahai, entering the pyre), and survival/endurance.

Dany's story shares very little similarities to characters who have been set up for death. For example, Robb. Dany may share some superficial similarities to Robb, but the signs of Robb's impending death are not shared at all. GRRM always sets up the deaths of his major characters from their introductions. That hasn't happened with Dany; if anything we see a set up to her surviving.

You're so right about how people are foaming at the mouth for Dany's death. Her dying after everything she's been through and everything she stands for is just...no. It feels so gross and has some really concerning undertones.

The woman who actually fought for change and made a massive upheaval in the status quo, who genuinely cares for all her people, who understands the responsibility of ruling, who demonstrates incredible wisdom, who only wants to make the world better dying for the sake of the story is just wow.

[darkling-books]

The Offering

Summary:

Vessel, a character tormented by his inner pain and trauma, seeks solace in sleep, personified as a deity. Despite his suffering becoming increasingly visible to his bandmates, Vessel struggles to communicate his feelings, even to his closest friend, III. After a particularly distressing encounter with the 'voice of sleep', Vessel and III decide to forego band practice, opting for silence and comfort instead.

Notes:

dipping my toes into the world of Sleep Token - This is probably going to end up being pretty dark but for now, enjoy some loving cuddles and angst.

The Offering  

Chapter 1

ao3 link

Sleep is a deity that lives inside us all, they are a mirror of our emotional connection to the world around us. Our pain, trauma, love, healing. What they are not is a healer, a helper, a friend. They reflect your inner subconscious. They only have the power we give to them; they represent the worst and the best parts of who we are as humans.

Vessel had been within sleeps grasp for as long as he could remember, he worshipped the deity that had promised him salvation, hoping that one day his insufferable pain would vanish, that his trauma would be healed.  Although Vessel’s pain was much more apparent now, not only to himself, but to his fellow band mates.  it plagued him, his black cloud of pain...  It was constantly in his skyline.   

Vessel was sat in the dark, his mind unable to rest, his head swimming in the dreams that had just plagued him.   

“Do you think it will ever stop? Do you think it will ever go away…”  Vessel spoke out into the night, his head in his hands as the sweat from his nightmares oozed out from his pores.   

“Soon proselyte… first you must show your true strength... you must prove that your ascension will be worth it” a voice answered him. It echoed through the room, reaching only Vessel's mind. His heart began racing and his palms grew sweaty as he heard the voice of sleep.  

“You answer me now?!” Vessel shouted   

“I cried for help, over and over... you've ignored me... FOR MONTHS. All I want is for the pain to go away…I'll do anything you ask. Please, Sleep. Help me...”. Vessel's voice breaking as he confesses his desperation to the deity. His tears spilling down his face as the room fell to silence.   

The darkness held it’s claws closer to Vessel's throat longer than he admitted to his band mates, he was never one to make them worry, he wanted them to look up to him, to follow him like he follows sleep, but his lack of rest was becoming visible, his irritation showing.  

The day light crawled through the curtains and so did the tap to vessels door.   

“Yeah…” Vessel rolled over to face the door, still lying in bed... His brain not once finding peace.   

III walked into the room “Hey Ves, are you okay? We’ve got to practise this afternoon”.   

“I’m fine, I just… I don't know” he shook his head burying it into his arms.   

“Hey, it’s okay. We understand. This is all new for all of us… you have a lot on your plate… we are in this together” III said as he slid onto the bed next to Vessel enveloping him into his long arms.   

Vessel leaned into III letting his arms wrap around him, taking in his sweet scent of his shampoo. Strawberries.  He felt safe here, in the arms of someone who loved him, who kind of understood his traitorous path. III was always more than a good friend, he was his go to person.  III pattered Vessel with kisses, as vessel felt the tears beginning to fall. The tiniest sob making its way out of his mouth as III pulled him in tighter.   

“You don’t have to pretend with me Ves, I got you” III said III softly, trying to encourage his friend to bare his soul to him.  

Vessel didn’t reply, he didn’t say a word... He didn’t like to look weak, even to the people he loved… no explanation was offered for how he was feeling. As always Vessel closed himself off, even to his band mates.  He just sat quietly wrapped around III, the room quickly falling back to silence as they held each other.  III placed a kiss on Vessel’s forehead, as he sat back on the bed, pulling vessel and the blanket with him.   

“Maybe we should call off band practice today…Stay in bed… you don’t seem yourself” he whispered.  

Vessel just nodded his continual silence, leaving his opinions out of it, he knew full that band practise was important, but today... After hearing sleep talk to him last night... He just wanted to be in silence, to hear that voice reply over and over in his head. He was sure he was going to lose his mind.  

“I tell you what, I’ll get the others.... let’s get cozy and watch something shall we? What about pizza? ” III said to Vessel hoping for a more reasonable answer.  

“Okay...” Vessel agreed, always the quiet type. III smiled. Vessel may only have just agreed with his idea, but it made it his day that his friend was opting to spend time with them overspending time alone.  

“Okay, okay, okay.... wait here. I’ll go get everything ready. It’s going to be amazing Ves.” III kissed Vessel on the forehead and got to his feet like a dangly puppy dog that hadn't grown into his overgrown legs yet.  

Vessel sat in silence, alone once again in his room. The quietness only brought his thoughts back to sleep, his mind racing as if sleep was still inside his head, poking around... Prodding at his life force from the inside. His mind flashing memories of his past that he had long tried to leave behind him, he wrapped the blanket III had left around him. The smell of his strawberry shampoo still lingering, bringing him comfort while he was alone. If his band mates only knew just how much he needed them, they were his inner circle, his protection from himself. The only people who knew who the real Vessel was. The world would never get to meet him, not really... Not truly, they see his mask. A mere projection of what they want to see. They never see the true person he is, and that's how Vessel liked it. He wanted to spread the message of sleep, spread words of hope... spread the feeling of pain that he had felt within himself through his stories. Not to heal others pain, no... but a way to heal his own. It was selfish in a way, a way for him to get over his own trauma that haunted him, a reflection that could heal him and bring him closer to his deity...  

“VES, VES, you coming out? We've picked a movie...” III shouted.  

Vessel lifted his head out of his arms, where he had tucked himself up in thought. He unwrapped himself slowly, each limb creaking and cracking as if he was older than the deity he serves. Keeping III’s blanket firmly wrapped around him as he stood.  

“Coming... Coming...” He shouted back to III.  

He walked out of his bedroom and into the living room, II, III and IV already sat around on a mismatch of blankets and pillows that III had laid out for them. It looked like a small fort had taken over the living room with the tv as its centre piece. III had made a little cozy den for them all to hang out in, III was forever the one that made sure the others were looked after and he never ceased to surprise Vessel with how kind and caring he was. Vessel just stood at the door, looking at them... their gazes drifting to Vessel, shiny smiles firmly adorned their faces. He smiled back, a welcomed smile from the torture of his own mind.  

“WELL, come on... were waiting for you....” II tapping the spot between him and III with a laugh, as Vessel just stood looking at them all, as if it was a picture he didn't want to lose.  

Vessel laughed back, an awkward smile appearing. He climbed over a pile of legs and arms, finding the perfect spot between all three of his band mates. Sitting down with crossed legs. It took only a moment before they were all interlocked, tangled in a sweet form of comfort. Each touching the other. Each knowing that through the pain and trauma... they always had each other.  

Notes:

Find me on Socials: Tumblr: @m0rbidmacabre X: @M0rbid_Macabre Instagram: @morbid.macabre Facebook: Morbid Macabre

[halloweensuittruffles]

Hihi!

I asked something but I feel liked it wasn't detailed if you know what I mean so yeah

Anyway

Could you do tagora❤reader where reader sleeps over tagora's hive and then something unexpected happens? Tagora is a huge comfort character I would love if you wrote this! /nf

Have a good day/night :))

(My requests are not open I am getting to the last ones I have in my inbox, thank you! ❤️This is the last one in my inbox and these will be closed for a few months, I promise they’ll be open again soon ;3)

Hihi sweetie!! Ofc I can! Fufufu unexpected you say? I have the purrrrfect idea >:)) I hope you like it!!

Tagora x ❤️ Reader

It was pretty often that you and Gorgor spent time together when he’s not working. Ever sense you met after he almost killed you with alternian money (caegars!) debt, you two have been inseparable! Alien and Troll! Best friends! …right?

Anyway, you were sitting on a troll word couch waiting for Tagora in the kitchen. He was making a big bowl of popcorn for the both of you to share for a movie marathon. They were prod casting….well you didn’t know what it was exactly as you were still learning Alternian alphabet but the teal had told you it was about a group of legislacerators who were at least trying to be- despite none of them being teals. Not that you have to be a teal to be one (Tagora made sure to specify this)

It’s just a common place teals go when they go through grubschool. It seemed interesting to you! And you were excited to learn about trolls and their well “alien” world to you!

You had brought human candy yourself to share with the popcorn, Tagora was surprised how you even got it- you’re not sure yourself!

Finally the man of the hour did return to you in the living block holding one of those plastic blue bowls full of popcorn. Thankfully (from your knowledge) this popcorn looks mostly “normal” just a few kernels being orange and purple shades more then you’re used to but eh! You knew your friend here wouldn’t poison you without a monologue prepared so there’s nothing to worry there-

You smiled taking the bowl from the teal so he could sit on the couch, he was in his favorite teal tinted white fluffy bath robe. You had one on too! In your (insert your favorite color)

“It didn’t start already did it?*_____” Tagora asked moving his hair some off his neck

“Nono! Still some ads..something about uh…being a laughsassin or something after.. ascension?” Your face kinda scrunched trying to recall to which Tagora cackled at your confusion

“Ahaha! They’re playing those again, The Condence always wants more jesters in her army. And I don’t mean purples I mean any fool, she’ll take anyone at this point. However I can see the appeal of a laughsassin, being the one to deploy the setting stone for battle can get any troll hungry for power jumping in for it. *_________”

Oh the fish lady! You’ve done your best to stay clear of her, thankfully your friends and peers haven’t spilled you to her.

Especially Tagora- you don’t mean to put your friend in a bad light just, Alternian currency always have had a soft spot with him and if there was ever a chance your ass was found by that anglerfish Queen you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Tagora was the first to send you in for the bounty.

But let’s not think about that! The show finally started playing and you both got comfy. The opening song started playing as you reached for a hand of popcorn before stopping- seems Tagora had the same idea as both your hands came in contact over the bowl. Usually this would be no biggie but for some reason you felt your heart in your throat. The teal seemed to have the same reaction as you both looked from your hands to at eachother.

Tagora had a somewhat look of surprised bewilderment. You shared the same expression not really sure where to go from here..you mean..Gorgor he’s- well- he makes your heartbeat ring in your ears and your stomach twist in knots- but would Tagora want that too? He knew you knew about his pitched infatuation crush with Galekh but both of them were too scared to pursue true feelings yet. Would he be the same with..your red feelings?-

NO! Nono! No more being scared! No more being afraid! You have one life, live it!

With that, you gulped some gently guiding Tagora’s hand away from the bowl with your own (trying your best to maintain yourself). The teal’s confusion continued as he watched your every move.

“Gor…I uh-“ you started but feel short and tried to start again

“..W-Well? Go on you’ve got all night here *_______” Tagora joked but you could hear the nervousness in his voice.

Here we go…

You leaned your face closer to him, really feeling the heat grow in your cheeks. The teal seemed to start getting your gestures, his eyes closed slightly leaning closer to you as well.

“I really- I’m really glad we can spend so much time together and- you make me really happy”

“Really?*______” The teal seemed genuinely surprised by your words, you meant every word of it!

“Yes! Yes I- you’ve been so great and I’ve loved every time we get to hang out I- I want, I want to be able to do that more with you”

You had been avoiding eye contact with him the whole time you mumbled but you tried to sneak a peek at his face. Tagora had small red hearts in his pupils, they were actually visible! You had seen spades in his eyes before but..was he feeling the same way? Did he-

“So do I…..*______” Tagora mumbled, his face now a deep teal color and his forehead pressed softly against yours.

My lord-

You smiled nervously returning the gesture of your foreheads “Tagora I love you- I love you so much and I- I want to ask you to be-“

“Matesprits..? *_____” The teal smiled, a big genuine smile up to you. Not his snake lawyer smile, his true joy filled smile!

You were over the moon, you nodded repeatedly happily hug tackling Tagora. Thankfully he returned to sentiment, grinning wide hugging you tightly to him. You pecked basically 200 kisses on the teals cheeks and the teal’s grin only grew bigger.

The show was already half way through at this point but you cares! ;3

[seasonsbloom]

bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you’re not so sure anymore.

wc ; 23k; yes you read that right you can’t be more confused than me idk either and i wrote it in six days

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of previous character death, explicit sexual activity (Explicit sexual content (oral f and m receiving, p in v, like one sentence about choking but not rlly, some dom/sub elements, a little bit of degradation and praise kink), age gap, inexperienced reader, more angst, sappiness, feelings so many feelings all the feelings

note ; i don’t know what to say, this is literally INSANE i’m feeling INSANE this was a fever dream i wrote 8k words today none of this makes sense but it’s OVER IT’S DONE IT’S FINISHED anyways this isn’t proofread but i love you all besties and girlies and babes pls don’t hate it

also this would never have been possible without sol aka desertsagecelestial the best lines in this whole thing are credit to her sol i love you hand in marriage NOW

Hangman doesn’t lose.

And people call him cocky, arrogant, conceited… but the thing is, it’s the truth. He’s not exaggerating. He just really is that good.

When Hangman wants something, he gets it. Promotions, missions, girls, difficult to obtain first editions of Spiderman comic books… Hangman figures out a way.

Of course, it wasn’t always like that. Back when Jake was younger, when he was the invisible kid at the back of the class who nobody wanted to play with, he had to fight tooth and nail for everything. When his father said he’d never amount to anything, it took Jake years to push back, to say no, you’re wrong. But he did, eventually, joined the Navy, graduated top of his class at Top Gun, became someone people knew, someone people looked at, someone who wanted to be seen.

So Hangman doesn’t lose because Jake learned how to fight.

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

Jake rips his helmet off, ears still ringing with the roaring of the engine, heart still hammering the way it always does after a landing. He’s half adrenaline, the highest of high, half jitters. Head still firmly stuck in the clouds. Only this time, there’s the unfamiliar, bitter taste of failure on his tongue. 

He doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or surprised.

Captain Mitchell, having climbed out of his own plane, approaches with a frown. Just a few steps away, by the entrance to the hangar, where the Californian sun is flooding the asphalt with golden light, a throng of the other pilots has formed.

If Jake even sees Rooster, he might start throwing punches. He’s toeing a precarious line here - ascension or plummeting.

“What was that?” Maverick wants to know, fiddling with his helmet’s clasp. “You flew straight into my line of fire, Hangman.”

So, yeah, maybe Jake just got shot down in less than a minute. So, yeah, maybe he made a rookie mistake. So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really bad day.

“I still maintain that he got dumped last night,” Coyote says. There’s no malice to the words, but Jake wouldn’t be surprised if he and Payback had some money running on this.

“I did not get dumped,” Jake growls for what feels like the fiftieth time. Seriously, his tongue is starting to go numb.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, “you totally got dumped.”

Now that might be actual malice. Phoenix decided last night that whatever had happened between you and Jake was clearly his fault, and she was therefore firmly and squarely on your side.

In Jake’s opinion, there are several things wrong with that assessment.

First of all, there shouldn’t even be any sides. It’s not like your circle of friends has to pick teams in a divorce. Secondly, even though she constantly complains about him, he’s known Phoenix for years. She met you less than a month ago. Shouldn’t she be in his corner? And then lastly and most importantly… Jake has no idea what the hell he did wrong.

It’s all pretty unfair.

“I told you that I didn’t get dumped,” Jake repeats, forming the words slowly and carefully in the hopes that they will sound more convincing than he knows them to be. “We weren’t dating.”

And he can’t explain it, that clenching in his stomach, that lump in his throat. He can’t explain any of it, except that it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar, in a way that’s unwelcome.

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

That’s Rooster, definitely. Jake tilts his head back towards the high, high ceilings of the hangar to avoid catching the other pilots’ eyes. 

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

“Wow, you know Shakespeare?” Phoenix says immediately. “I didn’t know you could read, Bagman.”

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

“Hangman,” he says, and something about his voice is severe enough that Jake snaps to attention. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

He’s one hundred percent playing for time here. Sue him. He needs to come up with an excuse.

“Did you mess up because you were thinking about a girl?”

And the thing is, Jake wants to say no. He wants to say, No, Sir, I had a bad night. He wants to say No, Sir, the sun was in my eye. He wants to say, No, Sir, I was dodging a bird strike.

But every word turns to vapor on his tongue. He can’t get anything out.

And so he just stands there, blinking like an idiot at his instructor.

Because the truth is, Jake can’t for the life of him remember what he was thinking about as he went up on the plane. Considering you’ve been on his mind pretty much non-stop since you met, and it’s only gotten worse since you stormed up to him at the Hard Deck last night, it’s not unlikely that he really was knee-deep in a train of thought revolving around you.

You’ve been haunting him. A specter squeezing into the cockpit with him. A ghost sneaking into his bed. Riding shotgun in his car.

You’re everywhere, at the bottom of each glass, soaring in the skies, under his skin, in his bloodstream. He can’t shake you.

There’s real disappointment on Maverick’s face, and Jake’s stomach drops. The older man sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys…” he says softly. “This isn’t a joke. Up there, you can’t be distracted, not by girls or boys or anything juvenile like that. You can’t be distracted by anything. This is life or death. Death, do you get that? I won’t have it. And this goes for all of you.”

He makes sure to let his pointing finger wander over all of them before he storms off, the door slamming behind him.

An awkward silence spreads among them, punctured only by the shuffling of feet and somebody clearing their throat.

“Well,” Rooster says finally, slapping Jake on the back with enough force it almost buckles his knees as he makes for the door. “Thanks for that, Hangman.”

Jake should probably say something, but his mind is wandering again. He’s thinking of you, standing in a sea of broken glass, Mojito staining the front of your shirt, eyes shuttered and forlorn in a way he hadn’t seen before… 

He gets the feeling now.

“Jesus,” Coyote says, stepping up beside Jake. “The way Captain Mitchell is talking, you’d think he isn’t hooking up with Penny on the down-low.”

Something about Coyote’s voice tells Jake he feels bad for him. He doesn’t like the idea of that, not one bit, but he also can’t really find it within himself to do something about it right now.

“Mitchell and Penny are hooking up?” Jake asks, genuinely surprised.

Bob, passing by them, frowns. “Hangman, you really aren’t very perceptive, are you?”

It’s so out of character that for a moment, Jake considers if he’s somehow managed to go through a black hole and ended up smack dab in a parallel universe where Bob, of all people, goes around insulting others. Where Jake, eternal bachelor, famed ladies’ man, messes up flight maneuvers because he’s too busy thinking about a girl.

“Did… did Bob just shade you?” Coyote asks.

For a moment, Jake seriously considers hitting his head against a wall.

So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really, really, really horrible day. So much for never losing.

+

Something’s off.

First of all, Penny’s never invited you to dinner. Second of all, this is decidedly not the kind of establishment you were expecting.

Penny seems like a burger and fries in her car sort of girl. Maybe a few bottles of beer or a couple of milkshakes to wash it all down. The little restaurant twinkling golden on the beachfront is entirely out of character. 

Narrow round tables are covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, fairy lights are strung to the rafters, and behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, boats bob up and down on the waves. It’s a tiny place, cramped but charming. Upbeat Jazz plays from invisible speakers, and a smiling waitress leads you past what seems to be only couples on anniversary dates.

“Here you go,” she says as she seats you at your table, right at the glass front, and hands you each a menu. “I’ll come to take you guys’ order in a minute.”

You sit in the plush chair, frowning. Penny is perusing the menu like nothing’s wrong.

“Oooh, Lasagna al Forno… that sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Penny,” you interrupt, not even opening your own menu. “What’s going on?”

Penny barely glances up at you. “You needed to get out of the house, sweetie.”

And she’s not wrong. You spent the last week since your… altercation with Hangman curled up in your bed, letting the anxiety eat away at you. The walls of your room closing in on you, the weight on your chest pushing you down until it practically molded you to the mattress.

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound empty even to your ears.

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

“No, you’re not,” she says, voice firm. “You’re miserable.”

When you ended things with Hangman, you didn’t think much about whether you were making the right decision. You just wanted out. You wanted it to end, so scared of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if you dipped even deeper into that pool. So scared that it might start meaning more than what it already did, that you would put your heart on something that was bound to end anyways.

Because guys like Hangman… handsome guys, confident guys, guys that hang around bars with toothpicks in their mouths… guys like that break you apart without a second thought.

And you’re already broken enough.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate and finally open your menu, staring at the entrées without seeing a thing. “I’m glad things are over between Hangman and me. It’s better this way.”

Penny is quiet for a moment, then she says, “Sweetie, you need to talk to him.”

“No, I do not,” you answer immediately. This is not the first time you’ve had this conversation. “What could I possibly have to talk to him about?”

“Oh, just… maybe you could explain to him just why you decided to break both your hearts, I don’t know.”

You purse your lips. “Penny. Hangman doesn’t care. He said so himself. This didn’t mean anything to him.”

And it’s so stupid. But his words replay in your mind like a broken record, like an endless loop, again and again. This was nothing. The cold upward turn of his mouth as he said it. Calm, collected. Unfazed.

You’re an idiot. You spent a few weeks flirting with a guy who wanted to get into your pants, and you made it into something it never was - made it big, made it important, made it matter, when really, to him, it had only ever been a game from the very beginning.

And now he’s off, somewhere, flying his planes, living bigger than you ever will, dreaming better, and you’re left on the ground, scrambling to pick up the pieces of yourself.

It’s pathetic.

But Penny looks at you from across the edge of her menu and says, “Pete says he’s been fucking up majorly during training. He’s distracted.”

It gives you pause for a moment and your heart - that stupid, incorrigible thing that never learns, never lets go, that latches onto everything - stutters in your chest.

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

Penny jerks her head. “This wasn’t nothing to him.”

The smiling waitress returns with a notepad, and Penny orders lasagna and a bottle of wine. You settle for some kind of risotto, mainly because it’s the first thing your eyes land on.

After she’s left, you take a deep breath.

“It…” You hesitate. It’s so difficult to say it, to admit it, but you think if you don’t get the words out now, you never will. “It didn’t, Penny. I’m not… I’m not really someone people remember. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just me. This didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.”

And Penny’s face softens. All her irritation of the past few weeks, the constant nagging when you came over for the tutoring session, the stream of texts asking you to come over for drinks, when she knocked on your door earlier, uninvited, and forced you into the shower, into a dress, into her car, it all just melts away. There’s nothing there now, not even pity, nothing there but genuine, real compassion, and you think you’re going to cry right here, in the middle of this restaurant…

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, reaching across the table to cup both your hands in hers. “You’re worth so much more than you think. When will you finally realize that?”

And it’s like this: since your mother’s death, you’ve just been so horribly, achingly lonely. The sort of loneliness that goes bone deep, that burrows into your bloodstream. You’ve drifted through the world unmoored, untethered, not belonging anywhere. Sure, you met people, but they disappeared from your life as quickly as they entered it. You let yourself become invisible, see-through like cellophane.

But with Penny, it’s like she sees you. Really sees you. In a way you don’t think anybody except your mother ever did, right down to your insecurities and flaws.

And somehow, with Hangman, it was the same. He saw something there with you, saw what you needed and what you wanted before you even really knew it yourself. And you don’t know if that’s just something about him, something he can do with any girl, or if it’s something special, if he understood you, all you know is that it terrified you half to death.

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

It’s a good thing the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine and a bread basket because you’re pretty sure you would have started sobbing otherwise.

You think you’re going to thank Penny, eat your food, try and enjoy the evening, and then maybe crawl into bed at the end of the night and cry a little more. Just… make the best of it.

But Penny glances over your shoulder, and something mischievous passes over her features. Suddenly, you feel a little sick.

She rises from her seat, and by the time you’ve glanced over your shoulder, they’re already at your table.

“Hi, Pete,” Penny says, grinning. “Hi, Hangman.”

You’re doing your very, very best not to look at him. Your stomach is turning. Perspiration builds up lightning-quick on the inside of your palms.

“Hi, Penny,” the older pilot you’ve never talked to but have seen hanging around the bar several times echoes, giving her a soft smile. He greets you by name, and you’re so stunned, so excruciatingly uncomfortable, that you can’t even react.

Pete manhandles Hangman into Penny’s vacated chair with two hands on his shoulders, and then you don’t really have a choice but to stare at him. He’s right there, in your line of sight.

Hangman looks as shocked as you feel, but there’s something else, too. He’s still handsome, of course, still tanned and blond and perfect, but something seems to have shifted. His hair is just a little less tidy, the bags beneath his eyes a little more pronounced. For the first time ever, you see him in civilian clothes - a t-shirt and jeans, something softer around the edges that makes your insides clench.

All initial instincts of flight bleed right out of you. It’s half hope, half fear, that keeps you rooted to your chair.

“You said this was a lesson,” Hangman says to his superior, looking, for lack of a better word, desolate.

“It is,” Pete answers, patting his shoulder before withdrawing.

And Penny says, “Listen, I know the owner. If you guys leave before finishing your dinner, there’ll be hell to pay.”

She points at Hangman. “I know your boss.”

Then she points at you. “I am your boss.”

And that’s final. Penny has a way of getting what she wants.

Before she leaves, she leans down to hug you and whispers softly, “Sweetie, you don’t need to go out of this evening dating him. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. But I think he deserves an explanation, at the very least.”

She draws back, smiles at the two of you as if she’s just performed some great, benevolent act, and then disappears with Captain Mitchell.

You half expect Hangman to get up and leave the moment the two are out of earshot. You half expect yourself to do the same.

But you both stay where you are, at that table, actively avoiding the other’s eyes.

The waitress comes to drop off your food. Hangman pours both of you a glass of wine and then downs his in one go.

Finally, he sighs like he just lost some internal fight and says, “I can’t believe they totally just parent-trapped us.”

“Parent-trapped?” you repeat, a little dumbly.

“Yeah, like… tried to set us up. You know, like in the cinematic milestone with Lindsey Lohan?”

You nod.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The gears in your head are turning on overdrive. You feel near frantic with nerves.

“Personally,” you say, your mouth moving before you’re really aware that you’re speaking, “my favorite bad matchmaker is Emma Woodhouse.”

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him. 

“You don’t know Emma? By Jane Austen?”

“Jane Austen?” Hangman takes a sip of his water. “Is that the one with the Pride & Prepaid something? Where everybody goes to each other’s houses and just talks for hours?”

You’re going to have an aneurism. 

“Emma,” you say, now having trouble controlling your voice, “is one of the greatest pieces of literary fiction ever created. And you mean Pride & Prejudice.”

“Really?” He leans back and looks at you. “So what’s it about, then?”

“Well,” you launch into an explanation, jumping at the chance not just to fill this horrible silence but also to talk about one of your favorite books, and the words just seem to flow from you now, “Emma Woodhouse is this really pretty, really rich young Lady, yeah? And she decides that she’s not gonna get married, so instead, she tries to find a husband for her poor friend Harriet. So she wants to set her up with Mr. Elton, only it turns out Mr. Elton is actually into Emma, and at some point, they’re alone in a carriage, and he proposes marriage to her, and it’s super awkward, but then Emma thinks she’s in love with Frank Churchill who also turns out to not be for her and in the end, she realizes she’s really been in love with Mr. Knightley all along, who’s like a really close family friend, only now Harriet might be in love with Mr. Knightley, too, and they have a bit of a falling out and….”

Much too late, you stop yourself. The embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles all the stronger.

Hangman is looking at you with a somewhat dazed expression. You can’t believe you just said all that.

You drag your fork through the mess on your plate, cheeks hot, and round it off by saying, “Anyway, it’s really about Emma realizing the errors of her ways and becoming more considerate of others, and it’s a commentary on class and privilege and all. It’s pretty good.”

“Okay,” Hangman says, and you have never wanted the powers of teleportation more than you do at this moment.

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

After another moment, Hangman says, “That just sounds like the plot of Clueless.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“You… you know Clueless?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises nearly to touch his hairline. “Do I know Clueless?” he repeats. “Is Cher Horowitz one of the best cinematic characters ever created? Of course, I know Clueless, I’m not a barbarian.”

You stare at him until a big blop of risotto rice lands on the tablecloth.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, moving to mop the spilled food up with your napkin. “Clueless is like, one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Yeah?” He grins, seemingly relaxing just a little bit. “Mine too. So, did Jane Austen steal the plot?”

You can’t help it - it punches a laugh out of you.

“No, it… Clueless was based on Emma. The novel came out like… 180 years earlier, I think.”

“Right.” Hangman nods. “Well, if it inspired Clueless, it must be a pretty good book then.”

You’re almost sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had without Hangman trying to get into your pants. It also might be the longest conversation you’ve ever had about your interests without someone shutting you down.

You’re developing a headache.

“Listen,” Hangman says suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. Something in his face has gone serious. “I understand what happened. I was pushing for something you didn’t want, and I pushed too hard, and you put a stop to it. That’s fine. It’s good, really. I respect it.”

And that’s not it at all. But you don’t know how to tell him that he’s got it all wrong, that it’s not that you didn’t want it. It’s that you wanted it too much. Wanted him so much it felt dangerously close to falling for him. Wanted him so much you knew you were giving him the power not just to see you, but to leave you.

He takes a deep breath.

“That doesn’t mean we have to avoid each other. Let’s just… let’s just be friends, okay?”

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

“Friends,” Hangman confirms. He’s nodding his head.

Penny told you to explain it to him, made it seem like an imperative, but as you sit there, you realize she was wrong. You realize it doesn’t matter. Not to him, at least. Those words in the bar cross your mind again. It was nothing. His indifference to all that emotion you carry everywhere you go.

And you’re so angry with him, even if you know that you’re the one who brought this down on you, you’re the one who decided to end it. So angry you want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until that mask he carries finally slips off, until you get to see what lies beneath that.

Because the truth is, beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, you’ve spent the past week thinking of him. In bed, in the shower, at the gas station. And you missed him, even if that doesn’t make any sense.

And if you don’t tell him the truth, if you just let him believe his sexual advances were just a little too much for you instead of revealing the real depth of your feelings… well, then maybe you can at least preserve the last shreds of your dignity.

Besides… maybe, you think, it’s better to get any piece of him than nothing at all. Better to be friends than never to see him again. At least this way, you’d be safe.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice sounds far away. “Yeah, friends. Okay.”

Hangman smiles, and it’s a real, genuine smile as opposed to his usual smirks. His eyes go all crinkly, and you clutch your fork tighter.

And after that, it’s… nice. You find out, to your own horror, that you actually do like Hangman. He’s funny and witty, and when he isn’t trying to fuck you, you realize you actually have things in common.

Together, you empty the bottle of wine and have another glass each, finish your meals, and share a plate of tiramisu that seems to melt on your tongue.

You squabble about the bill, but finally, Jake concedes and lets you pay, even though he looks like he’s about to start muttering in anger.

You like it. It kind of feels like finally being on even ground after weeks of fighting an uphill battle.

When you step out of the restaurant, leaving the Jazz and the smell of pasta behind, you pause. It’s a bit of an unsettling realization to come to, but you don’t want the night to end.

Hangman stops a pace or two behind you, tipping his head back into the breeze.

He looks younger like this, out of his uniform, with a blush painted on his cheeks by the wine, with the wind tousling his hair. All his edges blurred into something almost gentle. Boyish.

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

Jake, you think, and something deep inside of you aches. Jake.

Smiling, he turns to you. “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t trust your own voice, so you just nod.

“Alright.” He starts towards his car, then immediately stops. “Actually… do you mind taking a walk on the beach? I think I should sober up a little more.”

No, you don’t mind one bit, and that’s the danger of it all.

“Fine,” you agree. You mean for it to be clipped, but instead, it comes out like a squeak.

Jake, who doesn’t seem to notice your tone, smiles and leads the way down a trodden path that takes you by the restaurant’s trash cans and then onto the sand of the beach.

It’s colder here, enough that you wrap your arms around your torso to leech off your own body warmth.

Jake is already halfway out of his jacket before you begin protesting.

“Come on,” he says. “I know you don’t believe it, but my mother actually did raise me to be a gentleman. I keep telling you.”

So you let him drape the jacket over your shoulders, and suddenly you’re enveloped in his scent, and your mouth is dry, and your stomach clenches.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

You walk along the beach for a while in perfect silence. The wind dances through your hair, the air smells crisp and fresh and salty, and the waves roll in from the sea, white foam that nearly licks at your feet.

It’s peaceful. Serene. It’s dangerous because it feels so much like a date, and you want to hold Jake’s hand so bad, and he’s almost devastatingly handsome in this light, but you ignore it. Look straight ahead and pretend you’re not feeling it.

Finally, Jake stops and sits down in the sand. Hesitantly, you follow his example, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” Jake asks, staring out at the waves.

You frown. “Seriously?”

“What? That’s a normal question people ask their friends.”

You don’t know about that, but you do answer, “I don’t know. I don’t really remember?”

“Not at all?”

You pause. It’s almost too easy to be truthful with him, and with a start, you realize that you trust him.

God, you must be an idiot.

“I used to…” You clear your throat. “Well, there was this house on my street back in Seattle. A house with a blue door. I used to dream about buying it one day and living there with my husband, and my kids, and our dog.”

You half expect him to laugh at you, call you childish or naive, or a romantic. But he doesn’t. He just listens, face utterly void of judgment, and your stomach swoops.

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “But it was the first real dream of my life. I don’t know if you ever really grow out of those.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, you probably don’t, right?” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he continues, “Mine was becoming spiderman. Honestly, I’d still give my right arm for it.”

And it actually makes you laugh. An honest, genuine sound that echoes across the beach.

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night. 

“I like that sound,” he says softly. “Do it again.”

To cover up the feeling rising up in you - something you’d describe as bashfulness, if that wasn’t so disgustingly ridiculous, something that warms you inside out - you feign nonchalance, say, “Well, tell me something funny, then.”

“Something funny, yeah?” He leans back in the sand with a sigh as you nod, balancing his weight on his elbows, and turns his head up at the night sky like he’ll find inspiration up there. “I thought Star Wars was real for like… an embarrassingly long time.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like, full on.” He nods, face almost solemn. “I looked Han Solo up in history books and shit, I got so confused when I couldn’t find him. I was just like, do people know about this, like, they have to know about this, like about little green Yoda guys and….”

You can’t help it. You start dissolving into laughter halfway through, and Jake looks up at you, grinning.

“Are you serious?” you ask through your laughter. The thought of little Jake thumbing through history books frantically as he searches for Han Solo - who you just know was his childhood idol - is almost too much.

He shrugs. “That’ll be my secret. Did make you laugh, though.”

“Yeah, you did,” you admit, and then you let yourself fall into the sand beside him. It’s cool, grains catching in your hair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll spend the rest of your week trying to get them out again, but it’s worth it for the view. 

The night sky stretches endless above you. You’re close enough to the sea and far enough from San Diego that the light pollution has bled out here, that you can see the stars twinkling up there. A million miles away, yet so close you think you could pluck one if you just stretched out your arm.

“Maybe I should be a teacher,” you say, and then freeze up. Because, what the fuck? Where did that come from?

You’ve never even thought about that, but it just burst out of you, like something you’ve been carrying in your chest your whole life.

Awash in the surprise, you can do nothing but blink for a while.

“A teacher?” Jake repeats. “What subject?”

“English,” you say immediately. Okay, well. Guess we’re having epiphanies about ourselves then. “It’s just that… well, I… I like tutoring Amelia. It’s my favorite time of the week, I think. And I… I love all those books other people are forced to read. I even like Catcher in the Rye, can you believe it?”

“Even Catcher in the Rye?” Jake says, mocking you by letting out a scandalized gasp and slapping a hand over his mouth. You laugh and shove at his shoulder. 

Grinning, he says, “I think you’d be a great teacher.”

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I think you’d be great at anything you put your mind to, really. But I saw you talk about that book earlier… it’s like you were glowing. You love that. People are always best when they do what they love.”

It’s unexpectedly wise. It knocks the wind right out of you.

You need to take a moment to collect yourself, avoid the intent gaze of his eyes that makes it feel almost like he knows you.

“Have you always wanted to be a pilot, then?” you ask.

Jake shrugs, a movement you feel more than see, his arm moving up where he’s pressed against yours, shoulder digging a deeper furrow into the sand.

“Maybe. I guess.” You think he won’t say anything else, but after another moment, he goes on, “My father is a general, you know? It’s sort of a family tradition.”

You didn’t know that, but it sort of makes sense. Another shade to color Jake Seresin in with.

“He must be really proud of you,” you say, thinking of your own father, who hasn’t called in months.

Jake is quiet for so long that you glance over to check that he hasn’t fallen asleep. His eyes are open, though, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

“Not really,” he says, finally. “My father always thought I was a disappointment. I remember one time in middle school, there was this boy… He was a real bully. He liked to slam me into lockers, and one time he broke my nose. My dad just said it was my own fault for not fighting back.”

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Nothing I do ever really… is enough for him.”

There’s something in his voice you never thought Jake capable of: defeat.

Your chest aches with it.

“Not even when you graduated Top Gun?” you ask carefully. “You were top of your class, right?”

Jake shrugs again. “He didn’t come to the ceremony. Mom said he was sick, but… I don’t think that’s true.” He exhales, and it’s a shaky, fragile sound. “Sometimes… sometimes I think he’d only ever be proud of me if I got shot down. If I died in combat or something.”

Your reaction is visceral. Heart plummeting, stopping, arm jerking against him.

“Don’t…” you begin, then shake your head vehemently. “Don’t say that, please.”

He glances at you, looking almost surprised at your outburst.

“It’s not…” You hesitate. “It’s not worth it. Not if he doesn’t recognize it already.”

“Recognize what?” 

And Jake won’t take his eyes away from you. You feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“That you’re… that you’re a good pilot.”

You swallow, immediately embarrassed by your own words. You can’t even look him in the eyes.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never even seen me fly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and mean every word, “I know.”

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

It doesn’t say half of the things you want to tell him, at the same time as it reveals much more than you want it to.

And you remember: It was nothing. Shrugging off everything he made you feel. Laughing as if nothing had happened. Telling you without as many words that you were just another conquest, just another girl in a line of girls, nothing special about you, nothing important, nothing relevant.

You want to hate him, yet something about Jake makes it impossible. Something about him keeps drawing you back. Even after everything that’s happened, wanting him is like a bad habit you can’t shake.

You can’t explain that.

But Jake reaches out to you and slots his fingers into the spaces between your own. Squeezes once.

Your fear got in your way. Even now, it chokes all words from you.

But that’s fine. You think, somehow, Jake understands anyway.

He’s quiet for a while and then says, “Why are you here, then? In Fightertown, I mean.”

It’s a good question, one you don’t know how to answer. 

Finally, you say, “My mother died.” 

And then you freeze. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, and suddenly it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. 

Haltingly, almost shell-shocked by it, you continue, “And it… it made me realize that I’d built my whole life around her. And when she was gone… well, that life was gone, too. Like that dream about the house with the blue door… It didn’t seem to matter anymore. So I just left. I just… drove until I got to Fightertown, and then I decided to stay because… I don’t know. There was nowhere else to go, anyway.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and you concentrate hard to blink them away.

“And do you like it here?”

You’re so grateful. You’re so grateful he doesn’t tell you that he’s sorry about your mother, that he doesn’t judge you for not having had a life apart from her. That he doesn’t ask about your father or your friends. So grateful that somehow, again, he seems to understand what you need: Not the past, but the present.

“Yeah,” you say and are surprised to find you’re telling the truth. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

Then you glance at him. “Unless the most obnoxious naval aviator in the history of the world almost knocks you over in a bar, of course.”

Jake laughs, a carefree, bellowing sound that has you feeling a little bit like you’re soaring.

“Only because you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he says, winking at you.

And it’s toeing the line. Not really friendly, not really platonic, but so Hangman, so Jake, that you don’t even mind.

You smile back, and then you turn your eyes up to that sky, to those stars, and listen to the whisper of the waves, holding tight to Jake’s hand.

+

The thing about fear is that it’s not a one-time situation. Overcoming it once doesn’t get rid of it - it just goes stagnant for a while, lulls you into a false sense of security, and then it pounces again.

So walking into the Hard Deck is a little easier, but the rest of it is just as hard. Reassuring yourself that you’re wanted here, that you’re not intruding, that nobody will look at you weirdly.

Hangman and Phoenix invited you. Separately, you tell yourself. You know the owner. You’re gonna be okay.

You can’t spot any familiar faces when you finally get the courage to make it from the front porch into the actual bar. It’s all just strangers mingling.

Mostly looking for a little bit of liquid courage and something to occupy your time with until the others arrive, you make your way to the bar and flag down one of the unfamiliar bartenders to order a cocktail.

After, you turn to people watch. They’re everywhere, laughing and flirting, people lining up shots in neat rows on bar tops, people knocking back shots, people playing darts and pools and footsie, people laughing with their friends or at their friends. It’s almost shocking, all that display of life. It makes you think of yourself, alone in your room for days, weeks, years. How much did you miss?

“Can I buy you another?”

The guy is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice. Not Hangman-level handsome, but… that’s not the sort of thoughts you should be having anyway. Curls, kind eyes, a dimple on his cheek. Cute. The kind of guy you might have stared at in the supermarket a few months ago, would have lost your mind over if he had smiled at you in the frozen foods section.

“Oh,” you say as he slides up to you, folding and bracing his arms on the tabletop. “Uhm…”

“No strings attached,” he promises, holding up his hands like he wants you to check that he’s not carrying any weapons. “You just looked lonely.”

You laugh, feeling a little bit out of your depth. “Did I really?”

He nods, eyes twinkling, and says, “Yep. I could tell all the way from the other end of the bar.”

That’s probably not a good sign, you think. Gotta start working on my poker face.

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the guy introduces himself, offering you a hand.

This feels a lot like a precipice.

Part of you knows you should give in. Let this guy buy you a drink, let him flirt with you, let him take you home. Get an ego boost and have a nice time. This, you think, was what Penny meant all the time she talked about getting the sexual frustration out of your system. 

Not whatever the fuck that twisted thing you and Hangman had going on was. Definitely not that, because it didn’t get a single thing out of your system. In fact, it only ended up injecting more into your system. More worries, more insecurities, more pain.

And it’s over, you know it is. He listened when you asked him to stop, and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not interested in you, that you were less than a fling, that you were just a possibility that never came true. That you were nothing. And yet… you’re not ready to let it go. To let go of whatever sliver of hope you’ve held onto.

But then you think of Jake at the restaurant, how easily he’d brushed it all off, how he’d said friends. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not really. He’d just wanted to get it out of the way. And he’s so confident, so sure of what he wants, and if he wanted you… then he would have gone after you by now.

You know he would have.

So you smile and say, “Are you a naval aviator?”

Jason seems surprised by that, but he nods his head. “Yes, Ma’am. Just graduated Top Gun a few weeks ago.”

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

Jason laughs. “Not the reaction I usually get. Are you not a big fan of pilots, then?”

“Not particularly,” you say. “I don’t think they’re good for my mental health. Or the environment.” 

And then he laughs, and his dimple distracts you, and it’s light and not heavy, and it feels simple in a way you’ve been missing.

So you let him buy you a drink. And you let him flirt with you. And you try, try, try your best to forget about the anxiety gnawing at your bones, about the voice telling you it’s wrong, about everything that’s holding you back.

You just want to be normal. You just want to have fun. You just want to be free of the ghosts haunting you.

And in a way, it’s easy. Jason isn’t aggressive like Jake was, isn’t so handsome it seems like a miracle he’s even looking at you. He’s nice and funny and a little bit boring, and that’s good, boring is good because boring is normal, it’s trivial, it’s safe.

Hesitantly, you place a hand on Jason’s arm and bask in the way it feels when he smiles at you.

And then the intrusive thought comes, unbidden, unstoppable, bleak: If Jake were here…

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

+

Jake is having an aneurism.

That’s the only logical explanation for any of this. He feels like somebody is peeling his skin off like he’s an orange.

“Yo, Hangman!” 

A hand starts wiping up and down through the air right in front of him rapidly, and Jake blinks against the blur of colors it leaves on his vision.

“There you are, dude,” Payback says, laughing. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake mutters, turning back to his friends. “You’re just not that interesting, Payback.”

Way less interesting than that scene unfolding near the bar, at least. But also decidedly less prone to provoke Jake into committing arson, so probably the safer choice.

“What are you looking at anyway?” Payback inquires, getting on his tippy-toes to look across everybody else’s heads.

Jake just manages to catch him by a shoulder and force him in the opposite direction. The last thing he needs is to get shit for this, too. He’s already got enough to deal with by just trying to untangle the thicket of his own emotions.

“I’m looking for Bob. We shouldn’t leave minors unaccompanied,” he lies, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel into his voice.

From where she is leaning against the vintage Pacman machine, Phoenix gives him a look like she isn’t buying anything that he’s putting down. But she doesn’t point it out, and Jake sort of feels like weeping in gratitude.

He takes a seat at the table next to Coyote and starts playing with the label on his beer bottle, mainly so he doesn’t feel the urge to start looking for you in the mess of the crowd again. The paper is soaked through by the condensation, crumbling into tiny balls that stick between his fingers when he rubs too hard.

“So, day after tomorrow, huh?” Fanboy says. “Gonna know our fate. You nervous, Hangman?”

The worst part is, Hangman - Hangman, of all people, whose life for the past ten years has revolved around little more than the Navy, than his plane, than his performance up in the air - has pretty much forgotten that the day after tomorrow they’d announce who was about to go on the mission that could potentially become the most important of his career. It’s just that there are much more imminent, pressing things happening right here, right now. Like some dude chatting you up with what are probably the sleaziest lines you’ve ever heard just a few steps away.

He clears his throat. “Why would I be nervous?” he asks, but it lacks his usual edge. “I’m going anyways, no question about it.”

“I don’t know,” Rooster interjects. “You’ve been flying sort of shitty the past week.”

Jake’s fingers clench around the neck of the bottle.

“No shittier than you, Bradshaw. You fly like you’re trying to let senior citizens pass through traffic.”

Payback frowns. “You okay, Hang? That barely made any sense.”

Truthfully, Jake is so distracted he can’t even concentrate enough to come up with something that’ll really piss Rooster off. Not when you’re right there, and he’s not the one making you laugh. Not when he asked you to be friends while really all he can think about is you underneath him with that glazed look in your eyes he’s put there once before, you moaning his name, you in his shirt, you with your mouth wrapped around his…

“Hangman!” That’s Phoenix, now sitting next to Rooster, looking like she’s about an inch from slapping him over the head with her beer bottle. “I asked you a question.”

“Huh?”

Everybody’s staring at him. He’s still trying not to look at the bar.

“I said,” Phoenix repeats, speaking deliberately slow like she’s scared he won’t understand otherwise, “that I don’t want to see any physical fights. So we’re all going to accept the decision tomorrow. Get it, Bagman?”

He shrugs. Right now, he’s so decidedly uninterested in who goes on that mission he can’t imagine even getting upset about it.

“Fine by me,” he mutters and moves to take a sip of his beer. Only, when he tips his head back, it brings the bar right into his line of sight.

And there you are, sitting almost in the exact same spot you were the very first night he approached you. Back in one of those dresses, the ones that drive him insane, the ones playing much more prominent roles in his late-night fantasies than he’d ever like to admit. Legs crossed primly and tucked to the side, all that smooth, soft skin, and Jake can’t stop himself, can’t not imagine getting to run his mouth down the line of that leg, can’t not imagine taking that dress off you, can’t not imagine making you whimper for him, again and again and…

A pale hand lands on the small of your back, just half an inch from where the dress drops low to expose that skin he was just thinking about, and Jake feels like somebody sucker-punched him.

“Okay, somebody switch seats with me right now,” he says, and his voice has climbed to unprecedented heights. It just bursts out of him.

It startles Bob so much he almost drops his beer. Liquid goes sloshing all over Coyote’s lap, who yelps, jumps up, and dumps half his whiskey over Payback in the process. In the ensuing mayhem, everybody seems to forget about the culprit.

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

She looks at him with the sort of knowing, accusatory eyes that make him think he should be on his knees begging for forgiveness or something.

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

And then a hand ghosts over his shoulder, fingernails painted a delicate pink, and for a second, he hopes, thinks he’s going to turn around and find you there, smiling at him, eyes shining, but it’s a different face that greets him. His heart, soaring for a moment, plummets to the ground.

He’s seen the girl around the bar a few times before. She’s pretty. The type he’d go for usually, the kind of pretty thing he’d fuck and leave and never think about again.

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes the corners of her painted mouth curl up like the lower half of a heart. “I’ve seen you around. Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s the sort of straightforward behavior he prefers usually. Hangman has never been much for playing it coy, for insecurity. He likes someone who goes after what they want, who knows what they want. At least he’s always thought he did.

For a second, he can see it: a little bit of flirting, some coy touches, letting her take him home, getting his rocks off, then disappearing forever.

But his heart just isn’t in it. The whole thing feels empty. Useless. Wrong.

So he shrugs her hand off, gives her a polite smile, and says, “Maybe some other time.”

The girl is drunk enough that she doesn’t care much, just shrugs and saunters off to find someone more accepting of her advances.

When Jake turns to face his friends again, Coyote is gaping at him with his mouth hanging open.

“What?” Jake asks, for the first time in his life actually uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s receiving.

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

“Cause you just…” Payback looks seriously concerned. “You just turned down a pretty girl, man. Are you feeling okay?”

And that’s when Jake realizes what just happened. With a dawning sort of horror, he sets his bottle down on the table and stares at the condensation rings, the crumpled napkins, the half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His head is spinning.

So, like… what the fuck?

Since Jake finally got to move out of his parent’s house, since he got out from under the gaze of his father - always judging, always finding him lacking - since he joined the Navy and found out that he’s one of the most talented pilots they’ve ever had, he’s had a pretty good idea of who he is.

Arrogant, sure. Cocky, even. Abrasive, at times, calculated, cunning. But with enough skill to back all of it up a hundred times. He knows he’s handsome, knows he can get any girl he wants, and he enjoys that. Basks in it. Based half his personality on it.

So Hangman knows who he is. Knew it perfectly well, right up until the moment he met you.

And just like that, he’s going not just after an inexperienced girl but a girl who might not even like him, and he keeps telling himself it’s just about the chase, just because you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and there’s something exciting about getting someone who doesn’t make it easy, but it’s starting to sound like a bad excuse, because then why did he ask you to be friends just so he could stay close to you, why did he tell you things he’s never told a soul, why did he feel like the earth was shattering beneath him when you said he was a good pilot? Why can’t he stop thinking of you?

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?” 

Even Rooster sounds genuinely concerned, but Jake doesn’t hear him. Not really, at least.

Because up at the bar, the guy has leaned in even closer, leaned all the way into your space (and Jake just knows he stinks of beer and sweat, and his palms are probably damp where he’s groping your waist), and is whispering something into your ear and you’re giggling, and Jake sees full-on, deep, deep scarlet.

He’s out of his seat before he can register it, halfway through the bar before he remembers moving. Elbowing people out of the way and probably spilling more than one drink in his path. He doesn’t care. In fact, he doesn’t even notice.

All his attention is laser-focused on you and all the places that dirtbag is touching you.

“Alright,” he says much too forcefully when he finally reaches the bar and slaps his hands onto the countertop with a noise so loud it almost has you jumping out of your seat. “I think I told Penny all her drinks are on my tab. Like perpetually. Eternally. Whatever, pick one.”

The poor, unassuming bartender stares at him. “I… Who are you, Sir, like I…?”

Jake ignores him. He turns to face you and the douchebag, both of you staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Now he’s a little concerned his smile might look like a serial killer about to woo his newest victim.

“Uhm,” you say slowly, glancing at the guy behind you, “Hangman….”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupts before you can even get out a complete sentence, “I told you you can call me Jake.”

You pause. Then you start again, “Jake….”

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He leans around you, offering a hand. “I’m Hangman.”

The guy blinks. “Yeah, hi. Jason. Nice to meet you.”

Jake nods, shakes his hand, then turns to you. Bends down to press a kiss to your cheek, lingers for too long. Draws back and basks in the stunned look on your face, the wide eyes, just for a moment.

“You sleep well after last night?” he asks. “You must have been exhausted.”

And he’s laying it on thick, he knows he is. Leaves his hand resting on your shoulder for too long, lets his thumb stroke over your collarbone in a slow, drawn-out movement just for the hell of it.

He can’t explain it. It’s just… it’s just that he can’t forget the guy’s hands all over you. It’s just that he can’t forget your face last night, bathed in the moonlight, your laughter that made him think his chest was caving in. It’s just that he feels if somebody else makes you laugh like that, he may never be happy again.

“I don’t…” You blink up at him, face almost entirely blank. “What?”

One of his hands lands on your thigh, just above the knee, half on the fabric of your dress, half on the warm skin of your leg. And it’s pushing it, he knows that, but it’s not like he decided to touch you. It’s more of an instinct, a reassurance to himself. You’re there. You haven’t left.

Not yet, anyway.

He can see the way Jason looks at you. He knows that look, knows exactly what he wants to do, and it lights a fire inside of him, something pathetic and possessive and uncalled for.

And all he can think is: That guy won’t treat you right, I can do it better, I know what you like, I know it, I see it, I know you…

But apart from his own ego, apart from the cocky part of him that knows he’s got you pegged, knows he could set you off and have you coming on his tongue, his fingers, his cock quicker than you could make sense of, there’s something else there too. A strange, unfamiliar protectiveness. Something that makes him think: What if this guy hurts you?

Not because you’re fragile, not because you don’t know yourself, but because Jake knows you. Has seen you. 

Knows this runs deeper than anything else, even if he doesn’t know what that means. Even if it scares him shitless.

He can’t let some other guy take you home. He just can’t.

“Hangman,” Jason says, leaning across you and giving Jake a small, almost shy smile. “Man, you’re a legend.”

“I…” Jake was prepared to hit him with something else bordering on rude, but this throws him for a loop. “What?”

“At Top Gun. Everybody talks about you all the time. It’s an honor to meet you.” 

The guy’s eyes are positively glowing, his cheeks ruddy with alcohol and excitement. Jake, who was hellbent on hating him, suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

“I’m sorry, by the way.” The guy - boy, some spiteful part of Jake things - gestures in your general direction. For a second, Jake feels indignant on your behalf before he realizes he’s the one responsible for this. “I didn’t realize this was your girl. Backing up right away. Sorry.”

With raised hands, he disappears into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the sea of uniforms.

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

You’ve slid half out of your seat, gathering your bag from where you’ve draped it over the back of the chair by the strap.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to help you but withdrawing his hands immediately when you whirl to face him.

There’s something on your face, something he’s never seen before, and with his stomach dropping down to his knees, he wonders suddenly and belatedly if he may have miscalculated severely.

That night at the bar, when you’d walked up to him and told him to leave you alone, it had been a little like somebody had pulled the ground right from beneath his feet. Like that magic trick with the tablecloth, only this one had been bad and botched and bungled, all the china and the glasses and the cutlery falling and smashing.

And yet the way you’d looked at him… He could have sworn you weren’t telling the truth. 

Jake isn’t dumb, fuck what Phoenix says, and he’s been with enough girls to recognize desire when he sees it. So he was almost entirely sure you were lying when you told him to leave you alone.

But then… what if that had just been his own hope? Building nothing into something. Wanting you to want him the same way he wants you.

In the end, what he thought you wanted didn’t matter. All he had to go off were your words, and those were clear enough. The choice needed to be yours, or it meant nothing.

And Jake was a lot - bastard, asshole, fuckboy - but he wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want. Never.

So he’d let up. He’d listened to you. He’d tried to pull back. Even as it had hurt him in a way he could not explain. Even as it had broken him apart.

And then Maverick and Penny had to meddle, and he’d gotten to know you in a way he hadn’t planned for at all. Had learned that he didn’t just want you, he liked you. Wanted to keep listening to you as you rambled on and on in intelligible loops about books you liked. Wanted to read them, wanted to talk to you about them. Wanted to make those dreams come true: buy you that house with the blue door, give you that dog.

He can’t understand it. He can’t explain it. All he knows is he wants to be close to you.

But with the way you’re looking at him right now, pure, unadulterated anger on your face, he realizes you might not feel the same way at all.

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused. “What did I do?”

This is not his day at all. Or his week. In fact, he’s not sure it has been his month.

You frown at him for a moment, completely silent, and it unsettles Jake in a way he can’t explain. 

He’s always known who he is, has been so sure of it, but now, with you… It’s like you make him question everything.

“I’m going home,” you say, pushing past him and heading for the door.

He’s too dazed to move for a moment, and then he’s chasing after you, trying to recapture his earlier speed but failing. It’s gotten even more crowded in here, every available inch of space occupied with sweaty bodies. He calls your name, but you don’t turn.

By the time he catches up to you, you’re out in the parking lot.

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

You whirl on him with a murderous expression on your face. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Don’t call me that,” you say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Since you first met, the two of you have been exchanging sharp remarks. You have teased, you have taunted, you have circled around each other like wild cats around prey. Always toeing the line between flirting and fighting. Always toeing the line between foreplay and sparring. A tightrope act.

But this tips the scales decidedly. There’s nothing coquettish about it, nothing good-natured. The words have teeth, have fangs, have claws. They sink into his heart with perfect precision.

“I…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was…” He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. Tries to grin but thinks it might end up as more of a grimace. “I was saying hello.”

You shake your head before he’s finished his sentence. “No, you weren’t. You were ruining my night. You always… you always have to ruin my nights.”

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

“I just…” Jake realizes he might have to explain this to you. Or at least attempt to, since he doesn’t even know what his explanation would be. “That’s not a good guy.”

You glance back at the bar, and an incredulous expression spreads across your face. 

“That?” you repeat, voice rising. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

“So? I wasn’t… I wasn’t about to marry him.”

Jake’s chest feels tight. He’s breathless when he asks, “What were you going to do with him, then?”

“I was…” You shake your head suddenly, breaking off halfway through the sentence, changing course. “That’s none of your business!”

“Yeah, it is!” he protests, but he knows he’s in the wrong. Still, he can’t stop himself. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Oh my god!” You throw your hands into the air, and he’s never seen you so upset. Everything that came before now seems only like a crude imitation. This, though… this is true, genuine anger. “Stop it. He’s… he’s just a cocky pilot, you’re not that different….”

Somehow, the comparison has Jake clenching his teeth. He amends, “He’s not good for you, then.”

For a moment, your face goes slack, and he knows he’s just said the wrong thing.

“That is notyour decision,” you say, voice suddenly quiet and all the more dangerous for it. “That’s no one’s decision but my own.”

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that. 

You’ll always make your own choices. He hasn’t had a shred of an illusion to the opposite even for a moment, hasn’t even wanted it any other way. You will always go your own way.

You’re so much stronger than you realize. Going on after losing your mother. Giving up a whole life. Starting over a million miles away without family, without friends, without anything but yourself.

It’s what he admires. It’s what drives him insane.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says because it’s the truth. “You’re my friend.”

Something on your face shatters. 

“Friend,” you whisper dispassionately. “Sure.”

You rub your hand over your face, and suddenly you look so tired. All he wants is to wrap you in his arms, tug you closer, take you home. Make sure you’re okay.

“Hangman,” you say softly, almost gently. “I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can be your friend.”

And it’s fear coursing through him. Naked, unmistakable fear.

If he can’t see you again, what will he do? This new Jake, the one who’s unsure about everything unless he’s right next to you, that new Jake… what will he do?

How can he go back to how he used to be when it’s like slipping into a costume that doesn’t fit anymore?

“My name is Jake,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he needs to hear you say it. “I want you to call me Jake.”

“Stop it!” Your voice is louder again, an edge of desperation creeping into it. “Everybody else calls you Hangman, who cares if I….”

“You’re not everybody else!” It just… slips out. And then it’s out in the open, and he can’t believe he said it, doesn’t know where it came from, only knows that it’s the truth. “Not to me.”

You’re staring at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers tangled in the straps of your bag.

And you’re so beautiful, even in this empty parking lot, even in the unflattering light of the street lamps. Even with the sweat pooling at your hairline and the anger in your eyes.

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

But he’s shaking his head. He let you go once, but now… now he has to… he has to…

“You’re special,” he says, even as you’re shaking your head. “You are to me, sweetheart, you are, you….”

“You said it meant nothing,” you blurt out, then shut your mouth with an audible click of your teeth as if you wish you could clamp the words back in somehow.

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

You take a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and then you say, “That night when I told you to leave me alone. You told Coyote that this… thing between us. That it was nothing.”

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

“I… I did?” he asks, words slow, sluggish, like he’s thrusting them forward through the mud.

Your face falls. You say, voice almost a whisper, “You don’t even remember, do you?”

He wants to say no, I do, of course, I do. He wants to protest.

But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s lie to you.

Truth is, he doesn’t know at all what he said. The moments after your confrontation in the bar are shrouded in a fog of confusion for him. He was just trying to make sense of what you’d said, untangle the mess of his mind. He was just trying to save face.

It’s not nothing, he should tell you. It was never nothing.

But then, if it’s not nothing… what is it? This thing between us, you’d called it.

Jake doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t even understand why he can’t just let you go the way he usually does. He could just turn around, go back inside, find some other pretty girl, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

I think of you when I go to sleep and when I’m touching myself, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I carry you with me up into the plane, into the sky, into the clouds. I want to sit with you in bars and in restaurants and on beaches. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want, I want, I want…

There’s pain on your face, something raw, something real.

Jake can’t breathe.

“I’m leaving,” you say, and then you just stand there for a moment, looking at him almost like you expect him to say something.

He seems to have lost all ability to speak. You purse your lips, your eyes waterlogged, and then you turn on your heel and walk to the car.

Jake stands in the gravel of the parking lot until the headlights of your car have faded into the dark of the night. Then he trots back into the bar blindly, finds their now mostly deserted table at the back, and slumps into a chair.

He feels empty.

Phoenix’s face appears in his vision after what could have been five minutes or five hours, almost comically large.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Jake says, but his voice sounds like a stranger’s.

Immediately, Phoenix squats down to look at him better. “What?”

He points at his chest, where it feels like a tiger is on a rampage. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My chest.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Phoenix, I think I fucked up. Like… big time.”

Her face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. She asks, a tinge of panic edging into her voice, “Did you drink too much? Hangman?”

He shakes his head. “I think I hurt her. I don’t know, I… I think I fucked it up.”

She searches his face for a moment, and then she’s straightening up, taking Hangman by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. Her grip is like a vice around his wrist, and he yelps.

“Alright,” she says, “you’re coming with me. Now.”

Jake would have protested, but the look Phoenix gives him shuts him right up. If there’s anybody he’s ever met capable of coldblooded homicide, it’s Natasha Trace.

So he lets himself be tugged into the last corner not yet wholly occupied by people past the halfway point to intoxication.

Phoenix lets go of his wrist in favor of stemming her hands into her hips. He’s pretty sure he’ll find bruises on his skin come morning.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Jake asks, even though he has a pretty sure idea where this is going.

“Don’t… meddle, okay. You had your chance, you blew it. Let her move on.”

“It’s not…” He struggles. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Phoenix repeats. God, she really is capable of violence, he knows it, and she’s not far from resorting to it. “Are you stupid, Hangman?”

He opens his mouth, but she’s already plowing on.

“Friends don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip their clothes off and go at it in crowded bars, Jacob.”

Jacob. The last time somebody called him that was when his mom caught him trying to sneak out of the window at sixteen to go see a band with his first girlfriend. He got grounded for three weeks.

Somehow, he thinks Phoenix won’t be that merciful.

“Like… obviously you have some kind of feelings for her, but….”

He doesn’t even hear the rest of what she says. Her mouth keeps moving, but none of her words reach his ears. All he can hear is a high, whistling noise cutting clean through his eardrums.

“Hold on,” he interrupts, “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Phoenix pauses for a moment, staring at him like he’s trying to convince her the earth is flat.

“Jake,” she says - not Hangman, not Bagman, not even Jacob, and hoooh boy, he’s in for it now - slowly, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says.

Phoenix blinks. Takes a moment. Another. Then she says, almost carefully, “Jake, you can’t be that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

It’s not the first time she’s called him stupid, but it might be the first time she actually means it.

And Jake would protest, only he feels pretty stupid right about now, too.

“Please…” She touches her forehead like she has a headache and exhales loudly, slowly. “Please tell me you’re not honestly stupid enough not to know.”

“Know what?” Jake asks, and he’s never felt less like himself.

He’s in control of things. He takes risks gladly, but they’re always calculated. Things don’t just… fly under his radar.

But right now, he feels like he missed something profound.

Phoenix looks at him with what could be either pity or actual hatred.

“Jake,” she says, enunciating each word with perfect precision, “you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” he says, almost automatically, and he’s so dizzy.

Phoenix waves his words away with a quick jerk of her hand. 

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone, Jake,” she tells him. “When you’re with her, how do you feel?”

“I feel…” And he can’t believe he’s talking about this, but in a way, it makes sense. Maybe Phoenix is the only person he could ever tell this. Phoenix, who has always seen through him and all his bravado. “When I’m with her, it’s like… like I can just be myself, you know? And I want… I want to know her. Everything about her, even the bad things, but I want her to know me, too. Not just Hangman but… Jake. And I want to… I just want to be with her all the time. I want to tell her about, like, everything, even the little things that I’d never tell somebody else, and I…. When I’m with her, it doesn’t feel like I need to prove anything. It’s like I can just be. I’ve never… never felt that before.”

His voice trails off.

The irritation has bled out of Phoenix’s face, making way for something softer, smoother, something almost tender. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Bagman,” she says, voice halfway to affectionate, “you know what that means.”

For a few moments, he just breathes.

And yeah, he does. In a way, maybe he’s known for a while now, at least since the set-up, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. That it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. That it’s so much more than nothing. That it’s so much, it scares him.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t instantaneous. It crept up on him. You permeated his life in stages, and now you’re everywhere.

At first, he just thought you were pretty, thought he could get into your pants and out of your life in the span of a night. But you gave as good as you got, kept pushing back, and suddenly it was like a personal quest to get you to give in. You looked up at him on the beach behind the Hard Deck through eyes as scared as they were determined, and something shifted. Not profound yet, not significant, but the first domino to drop in a long, long, long line.

And somewhere, at some moment, he could no longer pinpoint, the game he’d played had ended, and he hadn’t even noticed. The last domino had toppled.

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

“I’m in love with her?” he says, almost a question with how his voice rises towards the tail-end of the sentence.

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him. 

“Oh God,” he says. “Then I… then I really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agrees through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I think you really did.”

+

It’s the hottest day of the year, and the aircon at the gas station breaks down.

The heat is unbearable. You stripped off your employee vest hours ago, but it barely helps. The single fan you found in the back oscillates stale air through the room.

You’re counting down the minutes until the end of your shift, until you can drive aimless circles through town just to bask in the cool of your car. Until you can drown in your own self-pity and another family-size serving of pasta and the dark thoughts swirling around you like storm clouds.

Your boss has disappeared into the back room, and it’s only five more minutes until you’re off, so you trek towards the cold drinks section and wonder if you should spend the few extra dollars on an iced tea. When the bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer, you’re still standing undecided in front of the opened fridge, letting cool air caress your face.

Phoenix is in civilian clothes, her hair released from its tight bun for the first time. It falls in glossy waves down to her shoulder blades as she smiles at you warmly.

“Hi.”

“Oh.” The sight of her makes something in your stomach clench uncomfortably. Couldn’t she have come in five minutes later? You’d have been gone by then. “Hi…”

“Penny said you’d be here.”

You blink. “You… were you looking for me?”

Phoenix nods and steps up to the register to look at the cheap sunglasses on display.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says casually.

The fear of it all creeps up on you, and then it envelopes you. You’ve been trying and failing to push it to the very back corners of your mind for the past day, keeping your hands busy in hopes it would keep your head idle. Pretending you weren’t constantly replaying last night in your head - the bar, the parking lot, the anger, and the ridiculousness of it all. Jake saying you’re special, and then not even remembering the moment he’d broken your heart. Looking helpless in a way you’d never seen before.

In the rearview mirror, growing rapidly smaller and further until he disappeared completely, Jake looked almost like a little child.

“You and Hangman had a fight,” Phoenix says, and it’s not even a question. Just a statement.

“Yeah,” you agree because it doesn’t feel like there’s much sense in arguing. And no reason to, either.

Phoenix nods and watches as you round the counter. For some reason, you feel it’s not a bad idea to get some distance between you and her for this conversation. The counter is like a barrier.

“Hangman is…” Phoenix hesitates. “Hangman is an idiot.”

“No, he isn’t.” The words are out before you can stop them, and then frustration almost makes you bite your tongue. “He… he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you hate him.”

You swallow, look away. Shrug your shoulders. “No, I… I don’t know.”

None of this matters. After last night, you’re never going to see him again.

For a long, long while, Phoenix is silent. And then she says, “He’s in love with you.”

And it should be earth-shattering, world-stops-spinning, music-stars-playing. But they’re just words.

Your heart is racing.

“He…” You shake your head. It’s a cliff, the plummet beneath you, your fingers gripping the edge for dear life. You want to believe her so very, very badly, but your common sense tells you it can’t be true. “He barely knows me.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, chuckling, then shakes her head. “I know, but… you have to understand… This is something special. I mean, this is Hangman we’re talking about… he doesn’t open up to people.”

You think about sitting side by side out on the beach. Sharing secrets before you let the waves carry them out to sea. Spilling your heart into his hands and trusting him with it. Realizing, suddenly, that he had done the same.

“I think…” Phoenix’s voice has gone very gentle. “I think you’re very similar. You and him.”

A week ago, you would have laughed at her. Just five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed her. And now…

You fall.

When you think about it, it’s not so far-fetched. Jake, up in those clouds. You, down on the ground. In the end, you’re both lonely. In the end, you’re both afraid.

“Anyway.” She smiles at you and pushes off the register. “I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Something inside you stumbles. 

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

“Yeah, we’re shipping out tomorrow morning.”

“Shipping…” Suddenly, it takes tremendous effort to breathe. “What?”

Phoenix pauses, furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t Jake tell you? About the mission?”

“What mission?”

Phoenix groans, shaking her head. “See, I told you. He really is an idiot.”

+

Jake looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. The dark bags beneath his eyes have bloomed into purplish bruising overnight, and he blinks at you almost owlishly.

 “Why weren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That’s the first thing you say to him, and it’s not at all what you were planning in the car on the way here. It slips out the moment you see him, and your voice isn’t firm or strong at all, it’s a small, fragile thing. A teacup teetering on the edge of a moving tray, about to shatter.

He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “How did you get here?”

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

Jake has rented a place on the second floor of a modern apartment complex off base. It’s so much nicer than the house you’re living in, with stairs that don’t creak, no mildew in the hallway, and locks that look like they actually work.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and you sound out of breath. It’s not even because of the stairs you just took two steps at a time. “Why weren’t you?”

Jake exhales audibly, nods once, and opens the door wider. “You wanna come inside?”

Only now do you notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung almost as low as his swim trunks were that day on the beach. Hastily, you snap your eyes away, head already spinning.

You push past him and into the apartment, careful not to touch any of his skin. Who knows what other unhinged things that might drive you to do?

His apartment is neat, tidy, clean, but that doesn’t surprise you much. It’s also obviously a rental, lacking any personal touches except for a few shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door and his Top Gun diploma and plaque displayed on a dresser. Of course Jake travels with those, you think, almost grinning. He’d never miss out on a chance to show off.

There’s an aircon blasting somewhere, and you almost crumble to your feet with gratitude.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, heading towards what you suppose to be the kitchen. “I have… water? I’d offer to make you a Mojito, but I don’t think I have any limes. Or any rum. Or any mint, so…”

“Can you…” You falter and watch as he pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the wood. “Can you just explain it to me?”

His shoulders lift and lower with his breaths. After a moment that feels endless, he turns to face you.

“Explain it to you?”

You nod. “Why you didn’t tell me. Why you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, unperturbed, but there’s something affective to the movement, something almost performative.

“After last night… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re shaking your head, jaw clenching. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? That you’re about to go on some, some… stupid top-secret mission, that you might die, that….”

He interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t matter. I’m not…”

“Of course it matters!” Your voice is shaking. “It matters! It changes… everything.”

He squints at you. “How could it change anything?”

“It… it changes things because….” You stumble, try to find the words that elude you. “Because I thought we’d have more time.”

“More time?” Something about his voice is almost hopeful. “I thought you… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He’s right. You didn’t. At least you thought you didn’t. You thought the best thing you could possibly ever do for yourself, for him, was to stay as far away from Jake Seresin as possible. In a change-your-name-and-leave-the-country kind of way.

And then Phoenix walked into that gas station, and losing him had suddenly seemed so real, had gone from a distant fever dream to reality, and you didn’t have much choice anymore. All you wanted was to see him again. All you wanted was for him to call you sweetheart, smile and flirt and tease. Even if it drove you crazy. Even if it was the last time.

“Hangman…” You shake your head, correct yourself, “Jake, I… Do you like me?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you knocked at his door, and something in his expression changes. Without hesitation, without a slither of doubt in his words, he says, “Of course. Of course, I like you.”

You have to sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from jumping several paces ahead. In your chest, your heart speeds up.

“And not just…” you pause, the word carnally already on your tongue. “It’s not that you just want to fuck me?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “No. Not at all. Yeah, sure, that’s what it was about in the beginning, but then… I just… It started changing, and I’d never felt that, and I… I think I got scared.”

“You got scared?” you ask, not unaware of the note of disbelief in your voice. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jake could ever be scared. Someone so confident, so brilliant.

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s a glimpse of the Jake you know, the one who drives you to the brink of insanity, “I’ll take that shock as a compliment.”

It’s a white-hot relief to find that he can still joke with you. That not all of the relationship you’ve built has washed away in the torrent of the last few weeks. 

“It’s just…” You look for a way to explain it. “I don’t know. You just always seemed like you had everything figured out.”

That makes him laugh, and you stare at his face scrunching up, his eyes shining. He says, “I’ve got nothing figured out. I haven’t even figured out what to eat for dinner tonight.”

You laugh. Even through all of it, he can still make you laugh. Even though nothing is resolved, even though you don’t understand any of it, he can always, always make you laugh. Even when you don’t want to. Even back when you still swore you hated him.

Jake settles down, and something darker crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is almost hesitant.

“I’ve never… I’ve just never done something like this?”

“Like this?” you ask softly. 

Neither of you has ever defined this thing between you. You’re scared now, scared he has a different idea about it. Maybe you don’t want to hear his answer, want to live just a moment longer in this fantasy where Phoenix is right, where he likes you, where he wants you the same way you want him.

Carnally, romantically, wholly. Just… all of him. The good, the bad, the worst. The parts that drive you insane with anger and the ones that drive you insane with lust. The way he can break you apart and put you back together.

If he calls you his friend again now, if he says it was nothing… You don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know that you won’t just break apart.

“Like this,” Jake repeats. “Something real.”

And your heart soars.

“Real?” you whisper, voice so quiet you think he can’t possibly have heard it.

Jake nods. “Real.”

“So it…” You trail off, shake your head, try again, “So it wasn’t nothing?”

He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And there’s none of his bravado, none of his cockiness. The armor is discarded, the mask is off, and there’s just Jake beneath it, not some hotshot pilot who’s got it all figured out, but a man, one who’s a dumbass at times and broken in so many ways and just as scared as you are.

You’ve never felt the way you feel about him before. Not once in your life.

“No,” he says, “it was never nothing to me. I’m sorry I said that. I know I hurt you, and it’s not an excuse, but I just… I just said it because I got scared. Because you dumped me, and honestly, I was hurt, and I liked you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had all of these doubts, and I didn’t understand it, but… It was never nothing, sweetheart. It was… everything.”

He shrugs, something on his face that tells you he’s embarrassed by his own earnestness, uncomfortable with it, but your ears are ringing with that word. You can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face - broad and genuine and a relief after all these days in that prison of your room. Like stepping into the light after all the darkness. Like setting foot into airconditioned climates after hours out in the Californian heat.

And Jake smiles back, like a reflex, like a magnet. If you move, I move.

He’s made a step, and now it’s your turn.

So gather all your courage, that slithery, dodgy thing that’s been eluding you for months, and you grab it by the neck and thrust it forward, say, “Jake, I think I’m in love with you.”

His face goes completely blank, and with a sudden, horrid lurch, you think that maybe you’ve miscalculated, maybe it’s too much, maybe…

You backpedal, “I know it’s way too early, and I don’t really know you, and maybe in a month I find out you don’t like peanut butter, and I can never speak to you again, but this has never happened to me before, Jake, and I’m terrified, I’m so scared, but I just know I wanna be with you, I wanna figure it out together, and I hope you feel the same way, because, because I… I think I…”

“I like peanut butter,” Jake interrupts you. When you blink at him through the haze your rambling has plunged you into, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The sort of grin you have never seen him give to anyone but you.

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

“In fact,” he says, moving closer to you, “I love peanut butter.”

“Yeah?” 

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, as you tip your face up, as your heart pounds, as your vision blurs, “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

And you don’t want to start crying, but you can’t help it. They just well up, like all those emotions you’ve been swallowing down for months now, longer than you’ve known him really, have finally ballooned into something too big for your body to hold, looking for any way out.

Jake frowns, wiping at a teardrop from your cheek like he’s trying to get an annoying stain off his laptop screen. Only like… a little gentler.

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

You laugh, a water, bubbling sound. “No, it’s… it’s not… it’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, looking down at you with his eyebrows raised way too high for it to be anything than exaggerated. “I confess my love, and you think it’s fine? Jesus, romance really is dead.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already, Bagman, or I’m gonna strangle you, I swear I will, I’m not….”

You don’t get to finish.

Kissing Jake isn’t at all like you imagined. He’s soft but firm, and yet you can tell, underneath it all, that he’s almost nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know at all how to proceed now that it’s actually real. That it means something.

All that cockiness melted away.

It’s so strange, but suddenly you realize that maybe, just for a moment, you’re going to have to take over. So you wrap your arms around his waist, draw him closer, draw him in, open your mouth beneath his and sigh into it all.

Jake comes willingly, follows your pace easily, smoothly, casually. The way he does everything. Ready to take anything you throw his way.

Finally, something inside of you seems to whisper. There’s an ache, a yearning, something that swells inside of you, grows bigger and stronger by the minute. You’ve never wanted someone this bad. It’s finally happening.

All that waiting, all that wishing and hoping and dreaming… It was worth it, you think. All of it.

His hands are warm on your cheeks, and they feel large, in a way that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are a little chapped, but he tastes sweet as if he’s been eating chocolate. He angles your face back a little more, his tongue running along the seam of your mouth, his fingers clenching into your hair, and your heart seizes as you think, suddenly, how close you came to losing this, to never having it at all, to missing out on it, and it’s so… it’s so…

You pull back when the intrusive thought inserts itself into the moment, when the anxiety makes your bones itch, look at him and say in a voice that seems to come from miles, worlds, universes away, “You’re not going to die, are you?”

It’s all you can think about - your mother fading away, flowers raining on an open grave, and being alone, alone, alone…

But Jake just smiles, rubs his thumb once along the line of your cheekbone, and says, “And miss out on getting to kiss you, sweetheart? Not a chance.”

And you haven’t belonged anywhere in so long. Have been so lonely, so broken, for so long you thought you’d never feel any different again. But here, right now, with him solid before you, with the knowledge that it’s real, it’s true, it’s not a game, and it’s not in your head, it doesn’t feel so horrible.

Because Jake knows you. Not just the pretty parts, but the ugly ones too.

How you push people away. How your fear paralyzes you sometimes, makes you mean and closed-off, and makes you lie. To him, to yourself, to everyone.

Jake has seen it, and he’s wanted you regardless.

And maybe that’s just it… how he can calm that anxiety with a word. Not banish it, not erase it, but silence that nagging, gnawing, horrible voice you’ve carried with you for so long. Make it bearable.

You’re going to die if you don’t have him. And yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but who cares? If the past few weeks have shown anything, it’s that you and Jake aren’t just good with the dramatics… you excel at them.

“I did it,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret the words, clamp your mouth shut and feel the blood rush up into your cheeks.

Jake draws back a little to get a better look at you. “Done what?”

And you could kiss him for taking it all in stride. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

Actually, you could kiss him just for… well, existing. But his ego is big enough already; he really doesn’t need to know all that.

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly. 

“Care to be a little more specific, sweetheart?” he says gently. “I think we’ve established I don’t have the best memory.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers going to trace a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, and there’s just so much of him, so much golden skin and so much muscle and so much confidence, and you’re going to fall apart, you know you are, you’re not going to survive this. “I touched myself. The way you asked.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, an exhale, but you know he heard you. Because the reaction is visceral - fingers tightening where they have slid from your face to your waist, chest undulating with the sharp intake of breath, shoulders stiffening.

Nerves make it impossible to look at him. What if he doesn’t like it, what if…

But, as always, somehow, Jake seems to know what you need. Seems to understand without ever having to say it that now, you want this to be something else. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, fingers hooking beneath your chin and turning it upwards, “look at me.”

And you do. It’s not like you have a choice, your body reacting before your mind even registers the words.

Right now, you think, Jake could tell you to jump off a bridge, and you’d go find the nearest one for a dive.

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, hodded, an intent shining in them that scares you as much as it excites you.

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

You nod, too scared your voice might fail you to try and use it.

“So, are you ready to answer my question, then?”

You know what he means right away, which is just a testament to your memory being decidedly better than his.

Instantly, the words ghost through your mind again, wrap around you like vapor. Have you been a good girl?

“I don’t…” You clear your throat as Jake steps even closer, walks you backward until your back hits the wall, until his hips are inches from yours, until he’s crowding against you like he wants to climb into your skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s so close now, and it’s different, the whole air is different. Charged now, darker. Hot even with the aircon running.

Maybe you’re going to faint. You feel like you’re going to faint.

“I think,” Jake says, voice lowered into a mumble, “you know exactly what I mean.”

He braces both hands on the wall by your head and cages you in. It’s so reminiscent of the night out behind the shack that you would have laughed if you hadn’t been scared to move even a muscle.

Not trusting your voice, you just shake your head. And it’s an act because by now, even you have understood that that’s half the fun in this game of power Jake and you have been playing from the very moment. But you also just want to hear him say it again, have been dreaming of those words on his lips for weeks now.

Jake hums, and his breath washes over your face. There’s barely an inch between the two of you now - you can’t even think anymore.

“I know you’re smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiles, just for a moment, and it’s sweet, a little dopey, and so decidedly out of place that you realize he knows just as well as you do that you’re pretending. That he appreciates it as much as you do.

“Alright,” he whispers finally, leans closer to run his mouth over the arch of your jaw, lips barely a whisper of a touch as you strain into it, breath catching in your throat. “Sweetheart… have you been a good girl for me?”

It’s the rasp in his voice and those words and the agonizing whisper of separation between your bodies. It’s the lack and the promise and that tight, hot coil of want that writhes in the pit of your stomach.

With a gasp, you clench your thighs together in search of relief.

“I don’t know,” you say because, truthfully, you don’t. You don’t even know your own name anymore.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

“Yes,” you say, immediately, voice almost a whine, head spinning, “yes, Jake, I’ve been a good girl for you.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, entirely unaffected, face blank as he moves to card a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you think about?”

He asks it almost casually like he’s asking about the weather or your shopping list and not just which sexual fantasies you got out of the spank bank the last time you got off.

“I…” And his hand begins tracing a long, long line from your cheekbone down to your mouth, dragging across your jaw and onto your jugular. And there, just once, he presses his thumb into your pulse point. It’s the barest hint of pressure, the illusion of the rest of his fingers wrapping around your throat, but your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. 

It draws the truth right out of you.

“You,” you gasp, “I thought about you.”

Jake acknowledges it with a nod, but there’s something to be said about his eyes flicking to your mouth, about the hand still braced against the wall by your head clenching.

“What part of me?”

You want to answer, but he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your throat where his hand had been just a moment ago, and for a second, you lose all ability to speak.

“I… Your mouth?”

“My mouth?” Jake repeats, words muffled against your skin.

Pressed flat against the wall, unable to move, with your heart pounding a patter against your ribcage, you can do nothing but nod. “Yeah.”

Jake hums, and the sound vibrates through your body. By now, you must be soaking through the front of your shorts, you think.

“And where did I put it?” he asks softly, drawing back to look at you.

And there’s such… hunger on his face, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slack, and it’s going to kill you, death on impact, you’re not going to make it.

But that’s fine. What a way to go, anyway.

“On… on me,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, and it’s so… mean. You like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls. “Be specific.”

“I don’t know.” 

It’s all you can say. Who cares what you thought about that night? He’s here right now, so can’t you just do it for real instead of talking about your fantasy like this?

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “You’re not that dumb.”

And it could be crossing a line - should cross a line, maybe. You never would have thought it possible that you could be into something like this, but you are. It sets you off in a way you wouldn’t have expected, makes you weak in the knees and dizzy, and you want him on you, want him everywhere, want him more than you’ve ever wanted him before.

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

When it came down to the wire, you know you’re the one with the finger on the lever anyway. The moment you say no, stop, he’ll listen. So you’ve always been the one with the final decision.

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

“I…” You have to close your eyes, swallow against the lump in your throat. “You put it between my legs.”

He squints.

“Here?” he asks, and his hand lands on the inside of your thigh, about two inches off from where you want him.

It startles you enough that you jump, a sound of surprise falling from your mouth. And then he applies pressure, squeezes the meat of your thigh once, and you’re moaning, eyes widening with the sensation of it all.

Jake grins.

Bastard, you think, but then that thought goes out the window too, disappears in the fog that has descended on you.

“You imagined my mouth here?”

You shake your head, whimper, tip your face back and open your mouth like you can compel him to kiss you just like that.

“Be a good girl and tell me, yeah?” he whispers, but there’s something strained to his voice, something glazed to his eyes.

“No, I…” But you can’t say it. Not like this. It’s still too much, and it frustrates you, makes your eyes burn, makes your breath hitch into a gasp like you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You whimper, “Jake.”

“Shh,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then finally, because in the end, he always does, Jake takes pity on you.

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

The sound that escapes you is pathetic, barely more than a whimper, and before you know it, you’re nodding as you slump against him.

“Tell me,” he says into your ear, hand still on your thigh, mouth still against your cheek, his breaths fast and loud, “I want her you say it.”

And if you weren’t sandwiched between him and the wall, if he weren’t holding you up, you know your legs would have given out.

“You…” You swallow and take a deep breath, stell yourself, say, “You put your mouth on my pussy.”

And he groans, a loud, sudden sound that seems to burst from him unbidden like he just couldn’t hold it back. 

You’re almost stunned by it, by the discovery that he’s just as affected by all this as you are, that he wants you, too, and it does your head in, makes the world spin, makes you clutch at him a little tighter.

“You like that?” he asks, something almost frantic to his words now. “Having your pussy eaten? Does that get you off, having a tongue in your tight little cunt?”

You can’t help it. You mewl, drop your head into the crook of his neck, and wish you could stay there. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, feel it soaking through the fabric. Every move has the seam of your denim shorts pressing against your cunt, sends shocks of lightning through you, but it���s not enough, not enough, never enough.

Your heart is beating in your throat, and the embarrassment takes a moment to set in amidst the chaos of your sensations, but it comes. Eventually, the way it always does.

“I…” You falter, squeeze your eyes shut, push your face further into his neck, so grateful he can’t see you, and then you whisper, as if speaking it out loud could somehow make it more real, “I’ve never… you know… no one’s ever….” 

Instantaneously, Jake’s fingers tighten against your thigh, and then they tangle in your hair, and he pulls your head back with enough force that you can feel it, that it travels in shock waves through your scalp, all the way down to your toes.

He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Honey,” he says, and there’s something serious to the word beneath all that desire.

And you have trouble concentrating because honey, he called me honey, and your chest is so full of that feeling you only get with him, the one that makes you feel that everything will be alright, that nothing will hurt you, that you’ll be just fine.

“Honey,” he repeats, “do you trust me?”

And you don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Not even for an instant.

“Yes,” you say, and mean it. Mean it like you’ve never meant anything.

And Jake smiles, smooths your hair back, rubs his nose against yours. And then he said, “Would you let me? Would you let me put my mouth on you, would you let me eat your pussy until your legs are shaking? Would you trust me with that, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl?”

You’re going to disintegrate. It can’t be possible for one person to want another so much. It just can’t be possible.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

He makes a choked sound, and then he steps back suddenly, tugging you with him by your wrists, and you stumble against his chest, let him guide you through the apartment blindly. It’s a wonder your knees don’t give in as you stumble against him like a fawn, as he pulls you like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” you ask, head spinning in rapid circles. Like you just got off a merry-go-round.

“I’m not going to eat you out against a wall for the first time,” Jake says.

And it would be almost romantic if it weren’t so filthy, such a quick turn-around that it could give you whiplash.

“Oh.” You blink as he pulls you into his bedroom. “I thought the wall was sort of hot.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

But then he turns, lets go of your wrists, leans down to press a quick, soft kiss to your mouth that leaves you chasing after him.

Affectionately, he brushes his fingers over your cheek and says, “I’ll do it right, honey, I promise I’ll make it so good, you’ll wonder how you ever went without it. I’ll have you coming for days.”

The thing is… you don’t even doubt it.

Jake has always been able to back up all that talk. It’s one of the things you hate about him. It’s one of the things you love about him.

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

It’s so much harder when he makes you do things because that’s when the anxiety gets behind the wheel, when the doubt creeps in. But in the end, that strange instinct to listen to him, to trust him, always wins out.

You pull your shirt over your head, and you can’t look at him.

“Shorts, too,” he orders and then, almost like an afterthought, adds, “and your bra.”

Your hands are shaking so hard that you struggle with the clasp of the bra, the button on the shorts, but finally, you free yourself of both, and then you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked except for a pair of panties so wet you think you’re probably gonna have to throw them out come morning, and you’re shaking even though you feel like you’re burning up, like a fever in your blood, like a yearning in your bones.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and you want to cover yourself, but you can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there as you feel his eyes on you like hot irons, as you stare at the cologne bottles on the dresser.

What if he doesn’t like me? you think, mouth dry. What if I’m ugly.

And then Jake says, “Sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re going to cry.

“Now get on the bed and spread your legs so I can get my mouth on that gorgeous cunt.”

You’re going to have a stroke, and then you’re going to cry.

You do as he says, scooting backward on the mattress until you’re far enough up the bed to put your head on one of the pillows. Jake’s sheets are a dark blue, soft cotton, and they smell like him, like his cologne. Cinnamon and spice. The scent wraps around you, envelopes you. You clench around nothing.

If this is what his smell alone does to you, how are you going to survive his mouth on you?

The mattress dips under his weight, but you can’t look at him, keep your head on the ceiling instead. It’s all too much. It’s not nearly enough.

And then his face appears above you, and his smile is almost goofy as he leans to kiss you once, twice, three times. They’re just soft pecks, but you open your mouth and pull him down to you until you’re chest to chest, until you can feel the weight of him.

He slides his tongue into your mouth with a groan, pulls you closer with a hand on your hip. And it’s skin to skin, his palm hot and heavy, and you want him all over you, want to cover yourself in him, every inch. It’s very wet, very warm, too much spit in both your mouths, but you don’t even care, not when his teeth nip at your lower lip, when he pants against you, when it makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart right here, right now.

Finally, you get your hands on him too, on all that skin, let them run across his chest because you’re so drunk on the feeling of it all you forget even to think if you’re allowed to do this. His heart is racing beneath your palm, just as quick as yours is, and that’s a reassuring thought, that he’s affected by it all too.

Jake does something with his tongue, something that has your insides twisting, clenching like a fist, and you moan into his mouth, wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up, desperate for some kind of friction, of relief, not above humping him if that’s what it takes.

You feel it immediately - Jake is rock hard against your center, against the quick but firm pressure of your cunt, and it makes you squeak the exact moment it makes him choke.

“Jesus,” he grunts, fingers wrapping around your wrists and pushing them back into the pillow, pulling you off him and forcing you down into the mattress with a force as gentle as it is firm. “Stop distracting me, sweetheart.”

He draws back until he kneels between your legs, looming above you. All the lamps are off, but the blinds aren’t drawn, and moonlight spills like liquid mercury across the bedroom floor, across his skin. Inevitably, you think of that night out on the beach behind the Hard Deck, the light tangled in his hair, a study in blue.

“I think I remember telling you to spread these,” he says casually, tapping a single finger against your kneecap.

You want to tease him, want to say something about how his memory seems to be working pretty well of a sudden, but your brain won’t cooperate.

Instead, you do as you’re told, even as you feel like it might kill you, and spread your legs further.

Immediately, Jake’s eyes go to what lies between them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice gone husky, “you’re so wet, honey.”

If you look at him, you think your heart is going to fail, so you just keep your eyes on the ceiling. Unlike your own, it’s completely free of water stains, and that’s just about the last coherent thought you have.

Jake leans forward, maneuvering around until his chest is pressed to the mattress, one hand on your thigh, the other spread on the sheets, and then his mouth is on you.

And okay. No more teasing then. Straight to business.

Over the fabric of your panties, his tongue moves against your center, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes, open your mouth even as no sound escapes. He just mouths at you for a moment, inhales deeply like he’s trying to smell you, and the thought sets you off, has you clenching your teeth, curling your toes. Then he presses a kiss to your clit through your cotton, and you’re seeing stars. 

“Oh,” you say, and he laughs, moves away to hook his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties, pulls them off unceremoniously, helps you lift your hips. They become another piece of fabric added to the pile of your clothes when he throws them over his shoulder without looking, eyes focused only on your center.

And then he leans forward, and you’re bracing yourself, steeling yourself, but nothing could ever have prepared you for the first stroke of his tongue through your folds. It has your hips rising, hed rearing back into the pillow, mouth shaping a word that never escapes it.

Jake’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and he moans once, and then he really goes for it. Burying his whole face in it, opening his mouth like he wants to devour you, tongue wet and wide and hot on your cunt, teeth just grazing your clit as he licks broad stripes from your hole up to the apex. He sets a leisured, moderate pace like he’s got all the time in the world, but you’re pretty sure yours is running out. Five more minutes of this, and you’re a goner, and it’s all too much but not enough, and you want to get away at the same time that you want him closer, and your head is spinning, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening in the sheets.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you all but keen, fingers flying to his hair, his shoulders, your stomach. You can’t settle, can’t stop jerking, have no control over your own body anymore. All over the place, all over him, mind a mess and heart a mess and body a mess, and you can’t believe nobody’s ever done this to you before, and how have you ever lived without the feeling of Jake’s mouth on your pussy and you’re going to rip your own heart out and…

And then he catches your wrists in one hand, forcing you to look at him where he’s barely lifted his head from between your thighs. And you freeze, all the world narrowing down to nothing but his face, his voice, just him, right there with you.

He says, “I got you. I’m taking care of you, pretty girl.”

Above the sheets, by your hips, he laces his fingers through yours.

When his mouth meets your cunt again, there’s no restraint left. He fucks his tongue inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling back, your legs straining to spread even further, to the point of pain when your muscles protest, but you need him closer, deeper, harder, and you’re so empty, aching with it. The only thing grounding you are his hands, the only point of you that seems connected to reality as the rest goes floating into space, reduced to nothing but a conduit for pleasure, for want, for yearning.

His tongue goes from your hole to your clit, one hand untangling from your death grip so he can slide a finger into you. He’s gentle about it, careful almost, but there’s no point, you’re so wet he goes without resistance, not an ounce of tension in any of your muscles. You couldn’t tense up if you tried, everything gone liquid and loose and lax. 

And it’s good, so good, so…

Jake pulls off you for a moment, breath panting and hot against you, just to check, “Did you do this too? When you thought about me, did you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

And it takes you a moment because you can’t remember if you have a mouth, can’t remember how to use it, and when you finally do, anyways, your voice is like a foreign sound, something from a different planet.

“I… tried, but it… I can’t… angle’s all wrong, it doesn’t….” He crooks his finger, and you sob, moment of dubious coherency gone, and then there’s only one word left in you. “Jake.”

And he grins, always so cocky, always so sure, adds a second finger, and buries his face into your cunt again. You keen.

It’s so wet, all of it. Your pussy and his tongue and his fingers fucking through it, fucking in with squelching sounds that should be embarrassing but make you burn hotter instead, your bodies slick with sweat, and you’re pretty sure there’s saliva dripping from your mouth, but you can’t stop it, can’t help it, can’t do anything but hold on and take it. Everything he’s giving you.

And you remember your ex trying to finger you in that bedroom covered in Twilight posters, eons ago, nothing but discomfort and awkwardness, and god, if this is what it should have been like that you want a refund, you think you’re owed compensation from the universe because that’s not fair, people were feeling this while you were telling yourself five minutes of rutting against your own finger on your clit was enough to satisfy you?

“You taste so good,” Jake groans into your cunt, “could eat this pretty pussy all day. Could stay right here forever, with my tongue in my gorgeous girl.”

And it’s almost scary, the way it builds, how high it goes, how tight it winds you. The precipice gapes below you.

“Jake,” you whimper, gasp, thrash, “Jake, wait, I’m gonna….”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, voice vibrating down into the darkest parts of you. “I’m here, honey, you can let go now, come on, sweetheart, I wanna see, I wanna taste….”

And you’re crying, cheeks and chin and neck wet with the tears, and you feel pathetic, but you can’t help it, free hand going to tangle in his hair, holding where you want him as he moves his fingers just so, grazing something inside you, tongue circling around your clit with just enough speed, just enough pressure.

“Please,” you sob, terrified he’s going to change up, and it’s going to get away from you, terrified he’ll stop. “Please. Please.”

It becomes a mantra, a litany, and then he squeezes your hand and plunges his fingers deep, curls them, and you’re toppling over that edge, hurtling, spinning, falling.

It’s bone-deep. It curls around you, it breaks you apart. A rope snapping. A coil unraveling.

You feel it everywhere, in your core and your toes and your fingers. A tightening and then the breathless, heart-stopping release of it all racing through you. It has you arching off the mattress, fingers tightening in his hair, legs trembling with tremors you can’t control, howling his name.

It seems to go on forever, his fingers fucking you through it, his tongue stroking you through it, and there’s nothing in your head, nothing but that blinding, strung-out pleasure.

Jake just keeps going until you push his head away with force, overstimulated to the point that pain shoots up like tiny pinpricks. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open.

“I don’t know who those guys who didn’t eat your pussy were, sweetheart,” he says from between your legs, mouth still slick with you, eyes still dark, voice still breathless, hands still on your thighs, “but they must have been the biggest idiots in the history of mankind to miss out on that.”

You can’t answer. You’re afraid you might never be able to speak ever again.

Jake crawls up the bed until he can stretch out beside you, and finally, you can close your legs, draw them up to almost to your stomach and angle them away. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, more exhausted than you’ve ever been.

“You okay, honey?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss you. You can’t even reciprocate, just stare at him.

“Uhm,” you say.

He laughs at you, and if you could move your arms, you’d hit him. As is, you just blink at him, dazed, confused, still caught up in the intensity of it.

“That good, huh?” He grins like the cat that got the cream and wraps an arm around you, pulls you against him. There’s something reassuring to the feel of him, the slight damp of his skin and the solid muscle against the mush of yourself.

And then, voice suddenly so much softer, he says, “You did so well, honey. My best girl.”

Maybe you shouldn’t like it so much, but you can’t help but beam, cling to him.

“Next time,” he says, voice back to the levity of his pride, “I think you should sit on my face.”

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

“Your… face?” you repeat, hesitantly, unsure if you’ve misheard.

Shameless, he nods. 

“Don’t worry about suffocating me or any of that shit, it’d be an honorable way to go down.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, and then you laugh, and he laughs with you, and it’s like somebody poured liquid sunlight into your chest.

But then you shift against him, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly you’re not just aware that you’re lying in a puddle of what is essentially your own slick and Jake’s spit, that you’re still completely naked, but even more pressingly that he’s still hard.

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Jake, who has stilled your movement with a hand on your hip, clears his throat. He has a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… go to the bathroom.”

And he means it, is about to get out of bed when you hold onto him, wrap yourself around him like an octopus, shove your face into his chest, so you don’t have to look at him as you say, “No, I… I want it.”

Jake freezes.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t have to….”

“I want to,” you interrupt. And it’s clumsy rather than sexy, but you reach for his sweatpants, palm at him through the fabric, breath catching when you notice the dark stain of pre-cum on the front. “I want you inside of me.”

It’s so much more forward than you’ve ever been, so out of character, but it feels good to be honest, to tell the truth, to articulate what you’ve been dreaming of for months.

Jake groans loudly as you begin to rub at his length, drops back against the mattress without any protest.

“You want it?” he asks, searching your face as if he’s looking for any trace of a lie, of hesitancy.

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

Jake clenches his eyes shut for a moment, exhales a shaky breath, and then he nods, leans over to open a drawer on his nightstand, and gets out a condom.

And he’s saying, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart, but you barely hear him.

Because there it is, right on his nightstand. Front cover up, a gas station receipt shoved as a bookmark between the pages about a quarter into it.

Emma by Jane Austen.

“You… you’re reading it?” you say, interrupting whatever other filth was pouring from it, and Jake blinks, follows your gaze, pauses.

And then he has the audacity to blush. 

“Well,” he says, “you said it was your favorite, and I wanted to… I don’t usually read much, so it’s… a lot, but I think I get it, why you like it I mean, and….”

You pull him into a kiss, and you pour all of yourself into it. All the gratitude and the longing and the love. Everything you feel for him, right there, condensed into the slide of your mouth over his.

When you pull away, his eyes have gone dark again.

“I like you,” he says, and it should be bumbling, awkward, but it’s beautiful instead. “So much.”

You giggle. 

“I like you too,” you say.

From the first moment, Jake and you were planets circling each other. And now, finally, you’ve locked into orbit.

Jake rolls over you, kisses you again, only it’s even filthier this time, reminiscent of what he did between your legs, and within moments it’s gathering in your stomach again, growing once more, and you’re wet and wanting and pliant beneath him.

He pulls back to finally get rid of his sweatpants - how weird that he was still wearing them this whole time, you think - moves to roll on the condom, and you look down at his cock, open your mouth and… falter.

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming. 

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off. 

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon. 

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

[agarafile]

A Candle In The Sun (Empires SMP)

Summary: Princesses make candles together

Read on AO3

— 

Dawn’s working hours were always the same, starting at six in the morning and finishing at six in the afternoon, not a minute more or less. Even the tavern workers abided by this, the lanterns being blown out as the sunsets. Gem, after her unusual ascension to the throne, knew this better than everyone: there was just no shop, person or bee on the streets during late nights, and she made sure to keep that tradition alive. 

 And that’s why Katherine is at her village house’s doorstep, still on her monster hunter attire.

“I can’t believe you are forcing me to do this.” Katherine says in the middle of a yawn. Her battle axe is loosely being held in her fist, her other hand on the straps of the bundle that she put on her back. 

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Katherine.” Gem rolled her eyes, giggling as Katherine pinched the bridge of her nose “If I am not mistaken, you offered to help with the candle-making today.”

“Yeah, but… this early?”

“It’s the best time to start getting productive!” Gem nodded, starting the path to Dawn’s candle shop “Once we enter the first hour or so, we’ll be on a roll, you’ll see!”

“I am not even used to waking up before the terce.” Katherine remarked, following her “Just so you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Gem smirked “With your monster hunting and all…” 

“I can hear your smile from here, Gem!” Katherine laughed, “My monster hunting business is better than ever, if my board is any indication.”

“Didn’t someone put Pirate Joe in there?” Gem pushed open the door, waiting for Katherine to pass through before closing it behind them “Did that ever get sorted out?”

“Oh, I wish. I’m convinced he put the request there himself to make sure I am thinking about him” Katherine settled the bundle on one of the counters, as Gem laughed,

“Would he even try to that extent?”

“He’s been trying so hard that I don’t doubt it.”

Gem hummed, starting the fire in the stone stove and taking the bee wax pots from the cabinets, starting the melting process.

“You are lucky GlimmerGrove had so many spiders yesterday.” Katherine continued, taking the string out of the bundle “I would have gathered some from the spawner, but it was a nice way to make sure we could have some extra.”

“Really?” Gem looked over her shoulder to see Katherine nod. She turned back to the task at hand and opened the barrel of water nearby, filling the bottom one of the heating pots with water and taking the wax to fill the rest of it. “That busy of a night?”

“Oh, not at all, actually!” Gem could hear shears periodically, probably from Katherine cutting the string “Besides the spiders, there were just some zombies. Very slow night, really.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Gem stirring the wax and Katherine preparing the string. In quiet hours like this, Gem let her mind wander. Dawn is lively and busy already, the sound of villagers running around outside. If she tried hard enough, she could maybe hear the vendors selling their products, the faint and distant music of the tavern and, even, the buzzing of the bees. And yet, right now, she prefers to stay nowhere else but here.

Which was unusual, to say the least. Since her coronation, Gem has been running around from all corners of Dawn, trying to make sure the citizens are being heard and the kingdom is flourishing. She has no previous experience on how a royal should act or look, but winging it seems to be doing the job for now. And she loves Dawn. Loves the people that she’s seen ever since she was a little girl, the small traditions, the simple yet full of live streets, even the usual bee stings had its charm to her.

But, being here with Katherine was new. Thrilling, even. Katherine is the only other ruler who is also a princess, and although she was intimidated by the other long royal lineage, Katherine was nothing but nice and kind. Their first meeting was unusual, and Gem can’t really say she was awake enough to remember exactly how it went. But she surely remembers Katherine in a leather short dress, battle axe held high in the air, laughing as she cut through zombies and creepers. In her opinion, Katherine looked radiant, her brightness at the moment rivaling the one of the sun.

And, now, here they are: working together, Katherine’s not-so-secretive-secret show openly in the shop.

This partnership was Gem’s idea, really. Even if after Sausage’s ball the two of them promised to keep in touch, Gem grew anxious. Katherine was a princess since birth, she surely had other royal contacts, who certainly were more dignified than peasant-turned-princess Gem, who had no clue about what she was doing. The alliance was a quick idea, Katherine could provide the string and Gem would provide the wax, both could share the profits. And their contact would remain.

Gem looked down at her wax, thinking the plain wax wasn’t really fitting today. She turned to Katherine, lowering the fire a bit as to not burn the mixture, and-

Oh.

Katherine was looking down at the counter, untangling some of the string who, somehow, became a jumbled mess. Her hair was full of dust and dirt from the rough night she had, the bandit mask was pulled down to her neck, hanging loosely and making the frown on her face visible. None of this was really new to Gem, she was aware of how messy hunting could get and that Katherine was easily frustrated with small but bothersome tasks. 

Yet, as the sun streamed in through the window, enhancing Katherine's form, Gem thought she had never seen no one as beautiful her whole life. 

She inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling  out of breath. Katherine turned to her, frown still in her face, and tilted her head.

“Gem? Is everything alright?”

Gem blinked, nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, uh…” she looked around at the mixture and then faced Katherine again “I was just going to ask you to get some dye from the cabinet for me”

“Oh! Sure, of course!” Katherine smiled, immediately turning to be cabinet “Any preferences? I know you really like the yellow and orange candles.”

Gem blushed, opening the chest that held the candles for sale.

“I’m not really looking for Dawn’s candles today.” she rummaged for a bit “Maybe some pink? These are pretty low on our stock.”

“Ooh, yes!” Katherine brought the dyes over to Gem “These are gonna look so pretty!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gem laughed, still a bit embarrassed. “We do make some pretty great candles, if I do say so myself.”

Katherine laughed as well, handing Gem the dyes. Gem went to take them, but Katherine didn’t let go of them.

“Uh… Katherine?”

“Gem.” Katherine said, eyes fixed on her hands “How long have I been in my monster hunter attire?”

Gem blinked, and thought for a second. She looked out of the window, noticing the sun was still reaching the second hour.

“I’d say an hour or so.”

“Gem!” Katherine said, a panicked tone behind her voice “I’ve been transformed since I got here?!”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Gem had to stifle her laughter at the face Katherine made, eyes wide and mouth on a thin line.

Katherine almost threw the dyes onto Gem, and as soon as she made sure Gem caught them, she went to the other side of the room to detransform. At this, Gem couldn’t help but laugh, the situation so casual to her.

Dawn’s working hours are always the same, but Gem when the sun shines through the windows as she laughs, she thinks that traditions can be blessings.

[tragcdysewn]

below the cut is a lil update for all my muses and how they’re doing with all this, which also doubles as a starter call! by default, i will be keeping all pre plot drop threads chill and taking any new starter requests as we’ll just do two threads, but if you want to transition anything feel free to dm me! i’m feeling feral so no caps, just tell me who you want the starters for and from!

abigail mckinnon

girl is Stressed™️ lmao. she’s working on finding a way out and is shooting off any spell she can think of. another random attack with her family involved? nope girl is throwing fists **open to injury/death/etc

adora

thank god she smuggled in the she-ra sword, bam bam we’re chopping heads and she’s having a bit of a fun time though she’s absolutely freaking out

ahsoka tano

she! is! tired! she wants to rest let her know PEACE lmao. she’s fighting and protecting anyone she can but she is not fucking happy about it **open to injury/death/etc

allana solo

allana is way too drunk to be dealing with this shit, they were already struggling with her dad being around and now this? fuck no

alphonse elric

look can he do alchemy without needing the circle? yes. is it his first instinct at this point? no not at all he’s been body slamming every problem for years give him a gun **open to injury/death/etc

ariana dumbledore

nope. absolutely not she is not a fighter she is doing the bare minimum to keep her ass alive and that is it

bela dimitrescu

umm.... she’s having fun. will probably eat some people alongside dracula this is literally her ideal night especially with both her sisters here now? perfect

bellatrix black

she’ll be protecting herself and voldemort and rhiannon and that’s about it why would she??? help the muggles??? hard pass lmao

beru lars

give her a gun!! she deserves it and will blow wolfman’s head off no hesitation!!! but until she gets one she is hiding

cassie lang

is absolutely in full hero mode doing what she can to help people, though this is so not what she’s used to so we’ll see how she does

darcy lewis

hiding under a table. she’s a normal person who does not bring weapons to formal events someone help her please

davina claire

fighting vampires and werewolves is p normal for her and magic makes it v easy she’s doing fine

elphaba thropp

she is not good at combat magic but will absolutely try to hit someone with a chair if she thinks it might manage to help **open to injury/death/etc

feng xin

...is a bow good against the fishman?? we’ll find out lmao i’m thinking he will be physically pulled from after his own ascension even if he doesn’t remember it but he doesn’t know all that so he’s just shooting

feyre archeron

this isn’t really that bad by her standards and she will be just looking for her kids and taking out anything that gets in her way lmao

hallie parker

should be hiding, is definitely filming all the insanity because she has negative levels of self preservation

howl jenkins pendragon

*insert ‘has anyone seen my son’ gif here* howl is full panic mode where the fuck are their wife and child???? 

james potter

man JUST got his memories back and wanted one nice night come on bro he deserves better than this shit but unfortunately will be protecting people because he’s incapable of not doing that

james witherdale

he is back to being fully aware so um good luck to anyone who runs into him and victoria tonight lol

jeyne westerling

she can throw a punch and that is about it she’s just gonna be helping get people into safe rooms and looking for a way out

jin zixuan

he definitely brought a bow man doesn’t trust anything to be cool and chill especially now he doesn’t have his sword? he is doing his best

korra

she’s not happy about this but she’s good at it so like she’ll do it ig?? would love one night where she doesn’t have to be the avatar thank you

lan wangji

...yeah he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, he’ll be protecting people and panicking wondering where the hell his family is at **open to injury/death/etc

lumine 

when in doubt, blame childe. i’m kidding. maybe. she will be doing her best to keep people safe though

lyanna stark

like... she wants to be fighting but this is so out of her wheelhouse that she is going to leave it to people who know what they’re doing lmao

marinette dupain-cheng

she literally can not leave to transform so she’s fully stuck with no powers and i honestly do not know how she’ll deal with that

mj jones 

when in doubt, start swinging at shit until you get somewhere safe. that is her whole plan got help her

mobei-jun 

absolutely tried to portal out and ditch pretty much everyone but like... the demons and qinghua and was pissed when it didn’t work but like he’ll commit murders i guess

mya stone 

nope. hard no she didn’t sign up for this she is hiding in the bathroom immediately 

nie mingjue

...i don’t wanna say he’s happy about this but like... he’s kind of hype he gets to fight shit again to be totally honest **open to injury/death/etc

renesmee cullen

yikes this is not their speed at all! she’ll do what she can to get people to safety but they’re not going to be out here swooping in to save the day

rose weasley

might do a bit of fighting but she really just does not enjoy it and is not good at it as she should be to manage this kind of scenario

sheev palpatine

will be playing the part of good guy politician to a t, helping out where he can to get people to safety and reassure everyone that they’re figuring out a solution

shen qingqiu

this man is so so drunk please help him. he is armed. he will attempt to fight. he will absolutely not do well honestly he’s so lucky he’s got people protecting him he’d be so dead otherwise

thanatos

they canonically turn situations like this into a dumbass game so catch them floating around laughing as they kill shit

ty lee

will try to fight but realize very quickly she is out of her depth and just focus on getting people out

wanda maximoff

she figured something was gonna go wrong, it’s like half the reason she showed up and she will be in scarlet witch mode protecting anyone she can

wen qing 

she has her sword, and can use it, but ultimately they are a doctor and this is not at all their area of expertise catch her swinging blindly **open to injury/death/etc

xiao lanhua

girl is RUNNING she is canonically terrible in a dangerous situation she will just be screaming and getting the hell out **open to injury/death/etc

yor forger

officially she is a mild mannered sweet little house wife but also um don’t threaten her husband and her kid thorn princess mode is on lmao

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

I've never met ANYONE who actually likes the Chibnall era. Would you seriously say that it's objectively good?

Brace yourself for unpopular (albeit positive) opinions.

Objectively? I don't know, I tend to feel like media is very much subjective and down to opinion. But on the whole...yeah. I'm gonna say yeah. I think the Chibnall era thus far is every bit as good as the Moffat Era and Davies Era were. It actually blows my mind to see the fandom come together and almost universally agree that the show has gone downhill. It's part of the reason why I kind of stepped away from the Doctor Who fandom because there's something very demoralizing about re-watching clips from Season 12 and seeing literally every comment just talk about how the show is ruined. And if I re-watch old clips, very often I come across comments that talk about how the show "used to" be good, and should have ended with Twelve, etc. I know a little reluctance toward the new Doctor can be part of the transition process, but normally the fans are over it by now.

Things haven't really changed.

I've been re-watching Twelve's era, and found a new appreciation for him. But I re-watched Thirteen's era right beforehand, and you know what? It holds up. Season 11 is remarkably strong. I can't think of a single "bad" episode in that season. It focuses on the characters, and thus it doesn't have nearly as strong ambitions, compared to one of the Moffat seasons, which were clever but often convoluted. They couldn't always stick the landing. (Looking at you, Season 6) But every has it's good parts and it's bad. The same man who wrote The Wedding of River Song and betrayed the entire season's storyline in the process...also wrote The Doctor Falls, which is probably my favorite final episode of any season ever. The Chibnall Era is the same way. The Tsuranga Conundrum isn't really a bad episode, it's just kind of forgettable, apart from the Pting. But then it is immediately followed up by Demons of the Punjab, which is an exceptional story in every way. I want the Thijurians to return for Thirteen's regeneration, I'm saying it.

My point being that even if there are episodes you can't stand in the new era, is that really exclusive to Chibnall? All the way back in Season 1, they had The Long Game, which I remember disliking, but it was sandwiched between Dalek and Father's Day, which are in my opinion, the two best episodes of that season. A lot of people don't like Orphan 55, for example. But it's followed up by Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror. Does anyone really dislike that episode? You're valid if you do, but I think it's really good. Ask me about any episode in the Chibnall Era, and I'll find something to like about it. (Except maybe Arachnids in the UK...and that one's not even bad, just kind of weak.) Because like I said, there is good and bad in every season...and I do think that the fandom has overblown how "bad" the Chibnall Era is...though that may be in part because I think this era is generally good? Incredible companions, solid episodes, a great Doctor, and hey...this era actually made the Daleks scary again. That is impressive. Even most of the hated episodes, like Orphan 55 as I mentioned...I enjoy them.

I stand by that. I think this era is great. If anything, I don't like that they reduced how many episodes we get, because some of these stories, like The Witchfinders and It Takes You Away especially Fugitive of The Judoon, are just begging to be two-parters. Spyfall is the only real two-parter we've had, in my opinion (Ascension of the Cybermen and The Timeless Children feel like two separate stories to me) and the episode was much stronger for having the extra time. If I have one genuine criticism with the Chibnall Era as a whole, it is the stark contrast between Seasons 11 and 12. I love Season 11, I thought it was beautiful. I like it far more than most people. I also truly enjoyed Season 12. But they are worlds apart, with Season 11 feeling so standalone and Season 12 picking up with a big storyline that really hadn't been hinted at all in the previous outing. The tone is also different, with The Doctor and "the fam" having a distance between them that seems to have developed offscreen in between seasons. It was as though Chibnall wanted to give everyone a breather from big overarching plots after the Moffat Era, but then after one season he decided "break's over" because he wanted to tell his story. And that's okay! It is. But it's jarring. Anyway, let's talk about Chibnall's storyline. You know where this is going.

"That" episode.

I meant what I said before. There isn't a single episode that I actively hate as much as say, Listen. Now let's get very controversial, because I know what y'all are thinking. "Not even The Timeless Children?" And I'll just get this out of the way right now: I don't think The Timeless Children, or it's twist, ruins Doctor Who. I don't think it gets anywhere close. I mentioned before that I was demoralized reading the comments on a clip of Doctor Who...to no one's surprise, it was this episode. Now, I may just be biased...after all, I didn't even hate Hell Bent. But while I have my criticisms of Season 12, The Doctor's revised backstory accounts for exactly none of them. You want to know what really bothers me? That we had a seven season buildup to Gallifrey's rescue, a nine season buildup to it's return...only for the show to do nothing with it, and then just destroy it again a couple of seasons later. As someone who loved The Day of The Doctor, I'm mad about that. Among other reasons, destroying Gallifrey is the kind of card you can really only play once.

So no, I don't think The Timeless Children is perfect. The Doctor had a seven season character arc culminating in them learning the lesson that using The Moment would be wrong, and that it was never okay to do something like that. To hear her even consider using The Death Particle, that "Or, a solution" line in response to Ryan appropriately reacting in horror? Yeah, that upset me. I don't like that Gallifrey is gone again, and even if The Doctor wasn't the one to do it, she almost did, and she left someone else to do it in her stead. That bothers me more than The Timeless Child ever could. That being said...the Timeless Child doesn't bother me. Seriously, it blows my mind that people act like this twist ruins Doctor Who. It...really doesn't, guys.

It does not insult the legacy of William Hartnell. He is still The First Doctor. It's not like there isn't a precedent for secret incarnations from The Doctor's past. We didn't start calling Christopher Eccleston The Tenth Doctor after we found out about John Hurt. Nothing can change The First Doctor's status or take it away, nor do I think Chibnall is trying. He is doing what I've actually wanted Doctor Who to do for a while. Give us a story about The Doctor's childhood. (Listen doesn't count, I don't care, that was all kinds of bad.) Let me ask you, what does this really change? I've seen people complain about the revision of The Doctor's history...but there's a precedent for that too. We could play bingo with how many times Clara fundamentally altered or influenced the show's history. She is the reason he started traveling, the reason he chose his Tardis, and the reason he saved Gallifrey. Why doesn't that bother people, if this does?

I also understand it if people dislike this change because they feel as though it makes The Doctor a kind of chosen one, compared to them having just been an average person who wanted to make a difference. I get that. However, this is down to interpretation, and there are so many ways to interpret The Doctor. Some people love it when The Doctor goes dark, other people cannot stand it and view it as out of character. Some people love it when The Doctor is heroic and badass, when they save the day...others would prefer that they take the backseat, teaching the humans how to save the day themselves. "The man who makes people better." And which interpretation you get, where it falls on the spectrum...it will vary from writer to writer. Moffat loved to make everything about The Doctor, and Davies frequently compared him to an angel or a god. This is not the first time that the show has portrayed The Doctor as a godlike being. It's not even close to the first time. And honestly? I don't think this makes The Doctor special or supernatural. I think it makes them a victim, nothing more. A victim of child abuse.

People also disliked this episode for removing the mystery behind The Doctor...but I fail to see how it did that? There are so. Many. Questions. That this finale opens up. Where did The Doctor come from? How and why did they get to our universe? What exactly is The Division? What went down between them and The Doctor? Where is Tecteun? (No, she's not Rassilon...) As the Masters asks, "What did they do to you, Doctor? How many lives have you had?" Amid all of the comments that made me sad, I did see a great one about how the original creator of Doctor Who actually didn't like it when they introduced the Timelords, because she felt that it boxed the show in and removed the mystery behind The Doctor, and how "She would have loved this episode." I agree with that. (Still salty that they destroyed Gallifrey though...) You know, I am genuinely interested in this story and where it's going to go, especially with the sixtieth anniversary approaching. But it depresses me that they might scale it back now, after how much the fandom has risen up against it. Not that I'm saying the fans shouldn't be happy, but...it's clear that a story is trying to be told here, and I think it should have that chance.

To each their own, of course. But I will never understand why this era is so hated.

[lady-ragnvindr]

So while playing Genshin, and reading a comic about Diluc and Childe wanting to rip each other's throat because they like the traveler on Twitter, I had the idea of writing on how my team acts with each other and on what's their relationship.

So to begin, my team is based on Diluc, Childe, Kaeya (yes my boy came back from a long expedition and kicked Beidou out, sorry bae) and Bennett/Diona. So in total, 3 husbandos, and 2(3) children and ofc the traveler.

Now I recently have been trying to get ascension items for Diluc and Childe to ascend them to Lvl. 90, since I'm dangerously close to AR 50 (sadly). So whenever I go on my way to get Diluc's lamp flower (forgot the name, but it's a blue like flower.. very pretty) Childe is the one collecting them, while Diluc is the one picking up Childe's starconchs, reason I do this is because I imagine those two bickering.

"That's the wrong flower fatui scum" (glares)

"That's the wrong sea shell...... comrade" (glares harder)

(snickering in the background)

Now while those two are at it, Kaeya, Diona and Bennett are the ones trying to keep them from fighting each other (mostly Bennett). Kaeya and Diona formed a bond with each other, even tho Diona doesn't like it when Keaya drinks, since it kinda reminds her of her dad...(to understand, gotta go listen to Dionas lines whenever you unlock her friendship) but besides that, those two grew kinda close, always trying to bet between Diluc and Childe, on who will snap first.

Bennett on the other hand, grew close to both Diluc and Childe (shocking) why? Well Diluc has been kind of a mentor for my boy, giving him tips here and their and also being the one to spar practice with him and also being kind enough to hunt and share some of his ascension materials, Childe treats him like his younger brother, if Bennett is having a hard day, or Bennett's bad luck gets him, Childe is the first to put a smile on that boys face.

Now, for the children, Bennett and Diona get along but not as close friends, just as simple friends, they play around when not fighting and sometimes when Diona wants to cook something for the team, Bennett is their to give a hand.

Childe and Kaeya, for me, is kind of an interesting relationship, they both have secrets and if I'm not lying, i bet those two know that two of them are quite similar and Diluc knows that, anytime those two are together, Diluc is on the shadows, watching and listening. Obviously he still cares for his brother, but his relationship with him has been damaged so the trust is broken between those two. And the reason on spying on Childe is quite obvious.

Nowwwww ...let's start with the interesting part, the relationship between the traveler and the team.

So I will base this on which character I got first on my team, Kaeya.

Kaeya and the traveler have a kind of double the power, double the trouble relationship. Those two have been close ever since Kaeya joined her. Some would say that they are a couple, but they aren't, they are more like...... friends with benefits. Listen, listen, that man has been in my team for the longest, and yk he is a very handsome man (his personality is the best, love his little comments here and their) and gives me sub vibes, (well everyone besides the children give me sub vibes) so for me, my traveler ( who i visualize her someone tall, strong and with a badass vibe) and Kaeya are very veryyyyyyy close.

Now Diona, was the second to join. My traveler friended them right of the bat, those two are worst then Kaeya and her. But it's not to say that Kaeya also joins them when causing trouble. Beidou, who was my main dps before the two 5*, was the one keeping them on a leash.....until she also joins.

Childe, was the 3rd to join, now on how he join, well I wanted to make a little story, after the first meeting, he tries to get on her good side, always trying to bring her a smile, at first it was because of his job as a Harbinger but a change was happening and he knew it. They end up creating a business like bond, for her at least, he on the other hand, slowly but surely started to fall for her. Maybe it was her strong will, maybe it was on how gentle she could be when attending to his wounds or on how fearless she was when giving him an earful for being reckless. But a bond that fragile was bound to brake, and obviously the fighting happens. After the fight those two were two broken souls. When everything was save and secure, the traveler met his little brother and y'all know the story with that. But throughout the mission, Tartaglia and my traveler slowly started to rebuild their bond, but she was still cautious, and he...well he fell even harder. So after his family's mission, he offered to go with the traveler not as a fatui but as a friend and she agreed.

And finally Diluc. The traveler and her team came back to Monsdtat and the first stop was on Angels Share, and luckily Diluc was the one taking the orders. So when a Captain, a cat and a foreigner along with a tired traveler barged in through the door was quite a surprised. The traveler sat down, slammed her fist on the table and with a glare so piercing that Diluc had to do a double take, said, "Give me the best wine ya got and after that, you and I will talk" And so he did what she asked, gave her the best wine, and quickly took her to the back of the tavern, without being noticed, not even the Captain or Fatui knew for those two were too tired and drank everything on site, Diona was sleeping on Kaeya's lap who was giving a glare to anyone who disturbed him. Back to Diluc and my traveler......they were at it (😐 sorry not sorry, listen that mofo took his sweet time to get home, gotta take my anger out) gotta say that my traveler was railing Diluc (let's say she pulled out a strap on out of her inventory) making him whine and whimper at the way she was pulling his hair and thrusting her hips into him, all while bending him over or pushing him against the wall......(he deserves it) don't worry he gave consent. And it all started after she drank her wine, giving Diluc a glare who was about to question her when she stopped him by kissing him and ...... 🤯. But yeah by the end of the night, Diluc couldn't walk but was willing to go with the traveler the next day when she offered him to go with her. So he joins, and while giving Kaeya a nod and a side glance, he gave a glare at the fatui who had an arm around the (his) traveler, while Kaeya gave him a knowing look after noticing the way he walked (and the bite marks on his neck). Diona was beyond pissed but she couldn't care when she was on top of Kaeya's shoulders and sleeping on top of him, his hair is fluffy. On the end of the day, Diluc was either red bcz of his anger towards the fatui or whenever the traveler teased him, either whispering dirty things or touching him. Childe noticed and made it his life mission to disturb them when possible, Kaeya and Diona are just in the back enjoying the show (Kaeya who understands what's going on, Diona on wanting the fatui to beat the red hair for she was too short to do it herself)

Anyways, that's how my team works on a daily basis. Sorry for the long rant, was bored. Thx for listening to my ted talk.

[dancingkirby]

Shipping

I’m sorry, but it had to be done.  Do y’all think this would work better as a Short Story, or just a oneshot on its own?  

DAY 1

To celebrate the tenth anniversary of his ascension to the throne, Zuzu and Mai were off on a world tour.  Azula had been left in charge of ruling the country.  While Azula was glad that he was finally realizing that she wasn’t always thinking about world domination all the time, so far her regency had been extremely boring.  Now, she was more than halfway through it, and absolutely nothing of note had happened.  

Today had started out like all the others.  She hadn’t slept great the night before because of the high winds that had battered Capital Island, and they hadn’t ebbed down very much by morning.  She’d had trouble getting her hair to stay in its topknot while training.  But the morning council meeting had proven as tedious as ever.  Azula was paying the exact minimum amount of attention required as the ministers droned on about tax brackets; most of her brain was occupied on what she would have for lunch that day.  Noodles were always nice, but she’d had them for two days in a row now. Anytime she ate any food on multiple consecutive days, there was always the risk of speculation among the courtiers that she might be pregnant.  Never mind that she hadn’t even done any sex acts that could result in pregnancy for years…

The door to the meeting hall abruptly swung open.  An out-of-breath messenger stood in the doorway, blushing deeply as nearly twenty pairs of annoyed eyes scrutinized him.  

“You do realize that you are intruding on a confidential council meeting, correct?” Azula inquired of him.  

“I’m t-terribly sorry, P-princess,” the messenger managed to get out.  “But I was told that this needed your immediate attention.” Could it be…that something interesting was about to occur for a change?

“All right. What is it?” she asked.  At her hand motion, the messenger climbed up to the dais and whispered in Azula’s ear.

“Okay.  I’ll be right there.  We will continue this meeting at a time to be determined later,” Azula stated.

So here she was on a tugboat, looking at the enormous cargo ship that had somehow gotten wedged into the Strait of Azulon.   Azula turned to the old salt who was leading efforts to remove it and said, “Explain.”

“That ship is called the Agni-Given, Princess,” the man said somewhat stiltedly; it appeared that he was trying to rein in a sailor’s natural tendency to use copious foul language.  “It’s one of the largest cargo ships in the world.  Today, it was passing through the strait when the high winds pushed it off-course and into a sandbar.  It also got tangled in some old nets from the Gates. We’ve been trying out dam…darndest to free it, but no luck.”

Azula took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly out of her nose.  “And what have these initial attempts included?”

 “We attached every tugboat in the harbor to it to try to pull it out, but it didn’t work, Princess. That fu…freaking thing is stuck deep into a sandbar.  Next step would be to try to dig it out.”

“Explain how that would be accomplished.”

“Yes…well…”–the old man paused–“We ain’t sure yet, to be honest.  The problem is that the place where the bow is stuck is seventy feet underwater.  All of the excavating machines available were built for use on land.  We was thinking of trying to get some of those new forklifts, try to extend their reach, and bring them out on boats, but…that would take time.”

“Forklifts?  Is that the best you could come up with?” Azula demanded.  She found herself imitating her brother’s famed nose-bridge pinch.  This would not do at all.  She needed an ingenue, someone who could design a whole new kind of machine if need be. And she thought she knew exactly where to find one.  

 DAY 2

It had been the end of a long day, without much progress being made.  Azula was just about to demand that the larger, more comfortable boat they’d made ready for her today take her back to the harbor when, at long last, the other ship that she had been awaiting arrived.  After this watercraft was tethered to hers, a figure came running down the gangplank, arms outstretched.  

“Azula!” Sokka exclaimed.  “How’s it going?  We haven’t seen each other in forever…hey!” His attempts at embracing her had been thwarted by the princess grabbing his shirt at arm’s length.  

“Not in public, remember?!” she hissed.  Then, just as formally as if he were any old dignitary, she added in normal tones, “Councilman Sokka.  It is good to see you here.  I trust that your journey here was uneventful?”

“Yeah, except we had to go around the long way because of…well…that,” Sokka replied, gesturing at the still firmly-entrenched Agni-Given.  “So how do you want me to assist, O Princess?” He did a little bow, and could not quite manage to keep a straight face.  

“Watch it,” Azula reprimanded again.  Whenever they encountered each other, she always needed to remind him that their relationship was a melding of intellects and occasionally flesh; romance had absolutely no place in it.  

“I recall that you designed a vehicle that could travel underwater,” she explained.  “Would it be possible to modify this concept and attach equipment for shoveling?  Or perhaps even the capacity for finer manipulation to untangle the net remnants?”

Sokka took a few moments to consider as he beheld the enormous ship.  Finally, he replied, “Yeah, I think that’d be possible.  It’ll take a while to draw up plans and get everything built, though.”

“Very well,” Azula told him.  “I suppose we shall have to simply endure each other’s company for a little longer.”

“’Endure?’  Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Sokka gave a wink that was obviously meant to be seductive, but in fact only made him look ridiculous.  Azula elbowed him in the ribs.

They did, in fact, end up fucking that night, after Sokka had eaten what seemed to be about half of the palace’s food supply for dinner.  They hadn’t seen each other in more than three years, and Azula was scrupulous about taking her contraceptive tea, so why not?

Sokka tried to kiss Azula after, but she didn’t let him.

DAY 3

Zuko had sent a message asking if he should cut his celebratory tour short and come home to help with this problem, but Azula quickly scribbled out a reply that they had everything under control.  

Today was the day that Sokka would first meet with the team of engineers assigned to resolve this problem.  

“And I’m sure that all of you will give him the respect that he deserves,” Azula told them in the most pleasant voice she could manage.  Some of them were obviously pissy about being forced to consult with a man who was half most of their ages.  Well, too bad.  Anyone who tried to ignore him would be upbraided with the utmost harshness personally by her.

DAY 10          

The manufacturing process had begun.  Sokka informed her that he had dubbed this new invention the “shovelmarine.”  He did not attempt to conceal his sheer glee at this horrible pun.  Azula threw a pillow at him.  

While the two of them worked by day and screwed by night, things were starting to get out of hand in the Harbor District.  The plight of the Agni-Given had captured the imagination of the public, and kiosks had sprouted all over the piers selling miniature models of the grounded ship. It seemed that every single street musician in the city had composed his or her own ballad about the situation.  Fan magazines had been established simply for the purpose of publishing the flood of stories and art that the more creatively-minded citizens had concocted.  Azula had gotten a hand on one of these volumes, and her favorite story was a somewhat graphic recounting of a speculated liaison between the Agni-Given and the statue of her grandfather.  Apparently, the statue was the dominant partner in this relationship…just as it should be.

This magazine had also included a drawing depicting her own activities with Sokka.  She knew that she should be furious about this; that the culprit should be tracked down and executed, but she found it just too amusing.  The picture was even surprisingly accurate, except that Azula had not actually handcuffed Sokka to her bedpost.  They had improvised with the sash from her nightrobe instead.  

DAY 16

“Okay, lets see what these shovelmarines can do!” Sokka said as the contraptions touched the open ocean for the first time.  The two of them watched from the boat that was by now almost as familiar to Azula as her own suite of rooms at the palace were.  

As it turned out, the shovelmarines (Azula had grudgingly accepted this terrible name) could do quite a bit.  Over the next several days, they worked steadily at the problem.  Finally, three weeks to the day after the Agni-Given had first gotten stuck, it once again floated freely, although it would be have to be drydocked to repair all the damage.  

In his excitement, Sokka had tried to kiss Azula.  She had initially resisted, but he had used his ultimate weapon: polar bear dog eyes.

“All right, but only once.  And on the cheek,” she cautioned him.  

DAY 25

Sokka had departed two days ago, and Azula hoped that he wouldn’t try to send love letters or anything stupid like that.  He should know how it worked by now.  Whenever they happened to meet, they would rekindle their affair for the duration of the visit, and then they went their separate ways until their next encounter. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, but it would be fun while it lasted.  

And today…Zuzu and Mai made their triumphant return from their tour.

“Wow,” said Zuko as the two of them stood at the harbor, observing as the last of the debris was carried away.  “You and Sokka took care of that whole mess all on your own!  Thank you, Azula.”  At this point, he obviously knew from experience not to make any comments about her relationship with the nonbender.

“Why do you sound so surprised, brother?” Azula asked, turning toward him and raising an eyebrow. “It’s almost like I am, in fact, a competent ruler and don’t spend all of my days dreaming of bloodshed and destruction!  Who would have ever guessed?”

“That’s not what…” Zuko began, but he could say no more as Azula caught him by surprise, got him in a headlock, and began inflicting a merciless noogie on him.  

“Admit it, Zuko,” she crowed.  “I’m awesome!”

“Okay, I surrender!” he squeaked out.  “You’re awesome.”

She released him. “There.  That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?  Now let’s go get some ice cream.”

And so they did.

[iwantitiwriteit]

Love Lockdown - Part 2

Big Girl With a Brave Face

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: You brace yourself for your FaceTime with Chris.

Warnings: Angst, Pandemic backdrop, Profanity

Notes: More heart strumming feels! Read the previous part! Gonna try and put these up on Monday’s starting next week 8/10, along with In My Feelings Monday™, when my asks will be open for all your romantic musings! Let’s get sweet and sappy y’all! I know you wanna 🥰 

The sun shines down, a crisp wind whisking by you every so often; applause for your hard work in the garden. You found a circadian rhythm. Grasp, pull, dump. Grasp, pull, dump. It afforded you an opportunity to get lost in thought… and memory. 

You just don’t get it, do you?

Baby, I want to!

Why didn’t you say anything?

Would it have mattered?

I think we can both agree we need the space…

We need to talk…

I love you.

I love you too.

“Are you okay Aunty?” Iris’ innocent voice drifts into your trance but doesn’t break it completely.

You absentmindedly respond. “Uh huh. Why do you ask?”

“Probably ‘cos you're pulling at those weeds so ferociously I think you might’ve got a few good plants,” Ines answers for her younger sister, the teenage ‘tude snapping you to reality.

You assess your handiwork and sure enough, in your pile of weeds, some good plants lie there with them, undeservedly plucked from the earth. “Oh, my bad,” you sheepishly apologize.

“It’s okay. The only difference between a weed and a flower is judgment. Here,” Ines shuffles over to your spot. 

“Ines, you’re wise beyond your years, you know that?” You stand up, placing your palms on your lower back, arching and stretching in a moment of respite. Looking over your nieces tending to the greenery you botched, their youthful vigor bring a genuine smile to your face. Those have been few and far in between these days. 

“I know, right? Could you tell my mom for me?” she kids, making you laugh. “It couldn’t have been that long since it was you and Mama doing this,” Ines smirks at you briefly before refocusing on rerooting.

You chuckle, “Ha! Feels like a lifetime ago. But, yeah, it really hasn’t been that long. Guess I just kinda lost touch.”

“Do you miss it? Do you miss being here?” Iris asks. 

“Umm… honestly?” The both of them look up at you, eyes wide and expectant. “I thought I didn’t. L.A. can be blinding in that way. But now that I’m here, I feel a little more… myself. Not to mention that I’ve missed you girls soo much! C’mere!”

A niece under each arm, hugging your middle tightly, you can feel how much they’ve missed you as well. You want to be a better aunt to them. Your love for your family is as expansive as the family farm you marvel at in front of you. Acres of green going beyond the quaint garden near the house, with the barn just behind the rustic office and rec building where the farmers are currently gathered for lunch just a few feet away. But your feelings were much like half your sister’s employees as of late; they didn’t show, especially in crisis.

Through one of the windows, you catch sight of a familiar profile; hand to his temple pressing deep into his smooth, mahogany skin, thick, dark brows knitted together in concentration, plump lips puckered as he writes furiously, occasionally taking a bite of his sandwich. He must feel your eyes because he looks up to meet them, breaking focus from his working lunch. The hand that was to his temple is now raised for a tentative wave, just as the corner of his mouth is raised for a beautiful, sweet smile. 

Your shoulders tense, your wave is curt, and your smile is barely there. You avert your eyes not wanting to see the effect of your abrupt actions. 

“I know Keith is glad you’re back, too.” You look down to see Iris looking up at you, her 10 year old face contorted into her best suggestive look. 

Ines rolls her eyes at her sister’s antics, “Oh, stop it! She’s already got the most perfect, dreamy boyfriend, remember?”

“Well, I’ve never met him. Have you? How do we know if he’s even real?”

“She’s got a point. Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“If he thinks he's too good to come down south, meet your family, let me tell you something Aunty, that’s not the kind of man you should be with.”

“I don’t think Aunty had ‘take dating advice from a child’ on her quarantine to-do list. Maybe he’s just busy; he is a movie star— correction— a superhero! Superhero equals stable income, stable income means husband material. Simple math.”

“Well, Keith has a stable and would never be too busy for her!”

“Keith runs a stable… a horse stable. Not exactly a selling point, right Aunty?”

“Aunty, tell her she’s wrong!”

The girls get to bickering and you wipe your forehead, not too sure if it’s from the heat or the interrogation you’re enduring. You check your watch. 1:39 pm.

“Shit!” Your exclamation silences your nieces as they whip their heads towards you. “Sorry ladies,” you offer an apologetic smile for the obscenity. “I, uh, gotta get ready for a call. Let’s turn it in early, yeah?” They race in the house without a second thought, and you trail behind them.

You remove your shoes in the mud room, then stalk down the hall toward the main part of the house. You wave to your sister as you pass her home office where she’s pacing, busy on the phone, swamped in paperwork. She waves you over with a confused face and shrugs as she sees her girls buzzing around.

You go to lean in the door jamb of her office as she asks, “What brings y’all inside so early? Wasn’t expecting you to be back in for another couple hours.”

“I have that FaceTime call at 2 I gotta get ready for, remember?”

“Right, right… remind me again. It’s for a writing gig?” she asks, sifting through her mountain of papers, as distracted as she was this morning when you told her your afternoon plans.

“Uh, no. It’s um, with… Chris,” your voice trails off with each word.

Your sister whips her head around, interest now piqued. “Really? That’s good, right?”

You shrug and sigh, indifference in your expression, “It’s, y'know… whatever, Mina.”

Wilhelmina furrows her brows, “What’s wrong?” Before you could contemplate an excuse, she puts a finger up to you, “Yes, thank you, I’m trying to get in touch with…” she answers to the person on the other line.

Your watch buzzes with your 15 minute reminder for your FaceTime with Chris. “I gotta go,” you tell your sister, before turning to head upstairs. The ascension to the second level feels like a death march, the impending doom of your relationship finally setting in. Each step feels increasingly weighted. Once at the top of the staircase, you pinch the bridge of your nose as if that will alleviate your anxieties. 

“Let’s get you ready,” Wilhelmina’s maternal voice drifts to you as she comes up the stairs, melting your nerves a little. She shoots you a pity smile before ushering you into your guest room, where you make a B-line for the bathroom.

You take your time and delicately wash away the grime and sweat from your face. It’s like a Neutrogena commercial, the way you come up from the sink, staring yourself in the mirror. You take note of the creases in your forehead caused by your tense brows, the pain in your eyes, your overall sullen expression. And this feeling. This feeling is like being suspended mid-air, knowing the dreadful drop was any minute now.

You know very well who is in control of the drop. You just don’t know when you gave up that control to him. The only thing you can do now is go with grace. In an effort to have some sense of control, you did what anyone in your situation would do: You turned to Google.

“what to do when your boyfriend is about to break up with you” is what you typed into the search engine this morning. You felt like a teenager. Young and dumb. Like you’d never been in a relationship before. Like you’d never been broken up with before. None of this is new. And yet, it is. You hadn’t been here before. You hadn’t known this feeling before.

The feeling of knowing the one to make the dreadful drop happen is the same one that you love more than you knew was even possible, and damn did it hurt like hell. But could it have hurt more than knowing you’re the one that brought him to this point? Especially when you know these deep feelings are requited? The love is requited.

Who knows. You just file these feelings away for later in the hopes that it’ll inspire your pen. Right now it’s time to put on a brave face. You’ve gotten so good at it.

“So, what brought this on?” Wilhelmina inquiries after a few minutes of you lollygagging in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, umm… well, he called last night. It was the first time we talked since—”

“You got here.” 

“Yeah, but who’s counting,” your deadpan earns you a disapproving look from your sister. You’ve learned to ignore it. You check the time. 5 til. “Ugh, I don’t have time to pretty myself up. Breakups are ugly anyways; guess I’ll have to be, too,” you joke, leaving Whilelmina bewildered.

“Wait, what? You’re dumping him? I know it’s tough, trust me, I get it, but—”

“No... he’s gonna dump me,” you correct her.

“What would make you think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe cos he said ‘we need to talk… for real’,” you mock his deep voice; it’s how you read his text last night in your head, “and we all know what that means…”

“Hold up, it doesn’t necessarily mean that!”

“C’mon Mina! It’s textbook breakup prep!”

“Maybe for a teenager, but he’s a grown ass man. If he says he wants to talk, he probably just wants to talk.”

“Yeah, about dumping you…” Ines mumbles under her breath from the doorway. Wilhelmina stares daggers into her mouthy daughter, and she shrinks away to mind her business.

You continue to get ready, mainly focusing on laying your edges before finding a new shirt. “So, why would he suggest we quarantine separately knowing we had issues we were working on?” you debate your sister.

“Because like he said: you need some space. Totally normal for maintaining a healthy relationship.”

“Is it though? Cos when I say “I need space”, I’m thinking about making an exit. And that’s on a good, non-pandemic day. Hell, our issues alone would make me bow out. Now you add this stressful shit on top?”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Her simple question makes you stop in tracks, your brave face wavering for just a moment. “B-Because— it doesn’t matter. He’s ending things with me, in,” you check the time, “3 minutes. And I don’t blame him! I’ve been a mess lately! An emotional wreck lately! You should’ve heard me last night, it was gross!”

Wilhelmina starts to chuckle at your dramatics, but you can tell she’s laughing at you, not with you. “What’s so funny?”

“Sweetheart, you’d have to show emotions to be an emotional wreck. I think you skipped a few steps.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes as you peel off your sweaty shirt and toss it in the laundry basket. You take your wash cloth to dab your underarms before putting on a nicer top. A proper shower will have to wait til later.

“I’ll have you know that I do, in fact, have emotions. I just channel them into my writing, to avoid sapping them all over any- and everyone… like some people I know,” you quirk your brow and tilt your head in Wilhelmina‘s direction.

“Girl, whatever! From what you told me, Chris is as much a romantic as I am, maybe even more so. You don’t hate it as much as you let on. Just admit it.”

You slowly turn away from Wilhelmina to primp yourself in the full length mirror. She follows you, glaring at you in hopes she will break you down. You decide to throw her a bone.

“Last night, I told him how we should’ve been together right now. There was even a quiver in my voice because I do really, really miss him. It was all so, so...” Your sister’s hands are clutching her chest, eyes glazed like she was watching a romcom. She’d finally gotten through to you. “… so pathetic.” Or so she’d thought. The sound of frustration that came from her amused you greatly, your eyes now glazed from crying of laughter. 

“See, that’s what the hell I'm talking about! If he brings emotion— vulnerability— out of you, why do you resist? He’s worth keeping around, sis. I would think you: an artist, a writer for god’s sakes, would find some value in that.”

You stare straight ahead, fixing imaginary stray curls in your hair, and avoiding eye contact with Wilhelmina. She awaits your response, brows raised, neck craned toward you, hands below her chest with palms up, as if to say ‘Sooo...???’. You wondered how long she’d stay like that before you said something. “Are you done?”

Your sister sighs, and it’s quickly followed by ringing from your laptop. You both look in its direction, then at each other. The moment you’d been bracing for all day is here. You hesitantly move towards the chair at your desk where your laptop is sat. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Wilhelmina says before excusing herself. You almost didn’t want her to go. But you’ve got to be a big girl with a brave face.

“One last thing?” you twist in your chair to look at her in your doorway, “I know who made you believe that big girls don’t cry, but it’s bullshit. It’s good to feel. It’s okay to show it sometimes, too. Especially with the ones who showed and proved they won’t judge you for it,” she motions to your still ringing computer before closing your door.

You turn back to your desk, swallowing thickly. Here goes. You answer the call and Chris’ smiling face fills your screen. That beautiful face that’s worth doing right by.

“Hey baby! For a second there, I thought you wouldn’t answer,” he nervously chuckles. 

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He senses your apprehension. Even through a screen, he’s perceptive. Chris starts to small talk, rambling about work and the weather, intending to ease your guard down before getting to the tough stuff. But it’s absolutely painful pretending to be strangers. 

“Chris?”

“Yes honey?”

“I don’t wanna do this with you.”

Part 3

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Operation Overlord

Dad, Mum, and Evelyn,

I never know what to write to you before going into another battle and this one is no different. By the time you receive this letter, Operation Overlord will be long into fruition. It’s 4am right now and no one can sleep…we’re all up and anxious. I miss you three so much right now, it’s unbelievable. I’m not going to pretend I’m not scared out of my wits but I also don’t want to worry you. It’s been four years…what’s just one more day, right? Nothing we haven’t been dealing with between the Battle of Britain and the fights in Malta. I just miss home – so much so that I’m tired of even complaining about being away for so long. I’m just so, so tired of all of this fighting and this hostility and this world we’re forced to live in. We’re going to be flying right into enemy controlled territory in two hours…flying right into Hitler’s grasp and ready and willing to look death in the face.

Nothing’s guaranteed anymore; that’s one thing that I’ve learned these past few years. I don’t expect this to be a goodbye letter and I pray that it won’t be, but it very well might be. Just know that I’m grateful for you, the life you have given me, and I hope the three of you know how much I cherish and love you. I have our family photograph tucked in my uniform pocket. You’re already with me.

All my love, always,

Charles Christian

June 6, 1944 – RAF Deanland Base, 0545hr

The flight prep was oddly quiet that morning. The ground crew worked to finish the routine checks of the planes with the pilots following for a second look over, the officers taking attendance as pairs of pilots arrived from the bunkhouses, and everything was getting set. Charlie and Richie hadn’t slept much the night before, taking up their time writing a letter home before they were called through the lightening sky towards the runway. The Spitfires and a few Hurricanes were lined up at the ready, each painted in thick black and white stripes around the wings and Richie ran his hand over the dried paint that coated their deep green jet.

He glanced up at the hand that was held out to him, Charlie standing on the wing and offering a lift up to join him. Richie sent his best friend a small smile and let him pull him up as well and they walked the few steps carefully towards the cockpit. They tugged their helmets on in perfect silence as the ground crew helped them get their parachutes intact and helped to shuffle them into their seats. Richie fell with a strained sigh into his spot behind Charlie and he found it hard to set his goggles on with how terribly his hands were shaking.

Their commanding officer climbed up on the wing to make sure they were accounted for, eyeing their crisp unforms and brand-new plane they were in, “Seavey and Besson.”

“Yessir.” they both answered in unison.

“Looking good, men. Few more minutes and we’ll head for takeoff once we get word from the Air Marshall.”

Charlie and Richie offered a salute to him as he moved onto the next plane in the lineup. Charlie checked his watch, signaling ten minutes before takeoff. He sighed and drummed his fingers against his knees anxiously.

Richard’s hand weaseling its way between his seat and the window had Charlie cracking a small smile and he reached back to give his best friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze as they shared a formal handshake.

“Kings of the Clouds, Charlie.” Richard said.

“That we are, Richie.”

At promptly 0600, each refueled Spitfire was lined up at the runway and ready to head for France, propellors whirling and the base filled with the steady familiar drone of engines. The control tower soon gave the go-ahead and one by one, the jets took off into the sky. It was still mostly dark at the first glimpse of the clouds and Charlie and Richie found their prior assigned spot between two other planes, making their way steadily out of England, leaving their unaware families behind.

The two best friends stayed quiet for a bit, just gathering their thoughts and processing what they might be flying right into. They stayed low in order to be able to see the incoming targets along the heavily fortified coast as well as the first glimpse of the British and American navies and armies below them making their way along the calm water. 156 000 clueless men ready to stare death in the face.

“Charlie.”

“Yeah, Richie?”

“Look at the sunrise.”

Charlie looked slightly to the left out of the front window to see the orange pink smudges of the rising sun along the distant horizon. He smiled lightly, “Sure is beautiful.”

The calm and the quiet before the storm.

But the storm came quickly.

Down on the water, the army was mowed down like sitting ducks by the Germans on the higher ground, barely even able to step out of the ships before they were shot back by machine gun fire and shells. The ring of bullets flying could nearly be heard by the men in the sky but their resistance came a few moments later.

“Alright, Richie?” Charles asked as they spotted the incoming Germany air force.

“Yeah…alright, Charlie.” Richard answered shakily, slowly shifting his hands to the controls. “Aim it?”

Charlie took a moment to find a target and locked it in, “Landed.”

“Let’s go.” Richie breathed.

The battle seemed to break out all in unison as the air was filled with machine gun fire and the roar of propellors. They couldn’t worry about the men on the beaches with the enemy right in the air with them but after four years, Richard and Charles worked more than well together.

“Take it up, Charlie. Too many around us. Let’s dive them.” Richie said loudly over the noise, keeping his eye out as Charlie pulled them up closer to the clouds before sweeping around and they shot a nice clean curve of bullets along a streak of German jets. One was a direct hit and exploded right in mid air.

“Holy shit! That’s the stuff, Richie!” Charlie laughed as they pulled up again.

They turned around to head back around towards the beaches, sharing orders and supporting solid fire to help their other squadron members when they needed it. They were truly the kings of the clouds. But the Germans put up a solid fight and they weren’t making themselves easy targets, making the RAF’s job much more difficult.

“I can’t land this guy, Rich. Gimmie another.” Charlie said after yet another failed attempt of targeting one of the Luftwaffe. “We’re going to waste all our ammo on this one guy.”

“One’s on our tail. We gotta loose him first.” Richard said quickly.

“Alright, pull up.” Charlie said, easily using the Spitfire’s most well-known quality of easy ascension and it pulled them right up towards the clouds before curving around to try and retaliate.

“He’s still there. Might have to flip backwards.” Richard suggested quickly.

The fire of machine guns had them flinching, especially as their plane was hit, the clanging of the bullets on the metal really shaking them into gear. Charlie didn’t even wait before pulling right back and flipping them upside down over the German plane to try and get out of the line of fire. That only worked for so long because the other pilot anticipated that move and met them halfway with another sheet of bullets.

“Can someone give us some damn backup?” Charlie asked loudly to no one in particular as they tried to sweet around to get a few shots at the enemy.

“Just get him gone, Charlie!” Richard encouraged, gripping tighter onto the joystick as the plane rattled with another round of shots from the opposing jet.

Charlie tasted something salty and it was only then that he realised he was sweating, thick drops trickling down his temples and cheeks and onto his lips. The sweat of pure fear and it was disgustingly salty. There felt like no way out and they were nearly flying in circles. Charlie tried to turn them around back onto the enemy but they were hit from the side by a second jet, igniting their right wing into a burst of flames.

“Bleeding fucking Christ!” Richie shrieked, raw fear apparent in his voice, “Charlie, what do we do?!”

Charles couldn’t even answer as the next wave of bullets nearly knocked their propellor clean off and in mere seconds, they were nose diving towards the cost of France, unable to steer the plane nearly at all. They were going to crash.

“Parachutes, Richard! Now!” Charlie screamed, throwing off his belt and forced open the top window of the cockpit, the hot air from the flames tumbling into the tiny space.

Richard struggled to unclasp his belt with his hands shaking and his clammy palms slipping over the metal buckle and it was hard to concentrate on anything else but his loud heartbeat in his ears. “Charlie-”

The ground was coming closer and closer by the millisecond and they didn’t even have time to jump it if they had wanted to…there wasn’t enough distance.

“Brace for it, Richie!” Charlie ordered loudly, throwing his arms over his head helplessly as their plane crashed nose first into the cold French soil.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx​ @hopinglimelight​ @jonahlovescoffee​ @hiya-its-amber​ @chanelwonders​

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

A Piece of You Part 7

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Former Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Manipulation towards the end, but the rest of it, not so much. 

Author’s Note: Here we go! Here is the next part and I hope you guys enjoy this one! I would go more into detail about a few things, but it gives away a few things. So yeah... Enjoy!

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

Bracing herself, she turned her hands over, palms up. The moment she did, her eyes shut tightly, and she tried not to scream in anger. The last thing she wanted was to wake up Henrik. Just as her memories and dream had shown, the same marking had been on her left wrist.

It wasn't just a dream, and Y/N now knew that.

The soft knock at the door had made Y/N jump in her spot. She hadn't been expecting it. And with the way she was on edge from the last several moments, she couldn't get her racing heart to calm down even for a second.

Slowly getting out of bed, she walked over to the door. With one last attempt to get her heart to calm down, she opened the door. Elijah stood on the other side, a look of worry on his face.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly as he took in her appearance.

After Y/N had fallen asleep last night, Elijah made sure to stay the night once more. He and Henrik had some time to themselves as they got to know each other a little better. And as it began to grow late, Elijah sent his son into the room to go to bed. This morning, he was already awake when he heard the sudden change in Y/N's heartbeat. When it hadn't returned to normal after she had woken up, he knew something was wrong.

She looked over at Henrik for a moment before looking back at Elijah. She motioned for him to let her out, and she softly closed the door behind her the moment he had.

A shuddered breath left her lips as she walked over to the armchair. There were so many thoughts going through her head now. None of them wanted to ease up on her as she sat down. She hadn't even noticed that Elijah had walked over to her and knelt in front of her.

"What is it?" Elijah asked, causing her to jump slightly. That worried him even more. Y/N had always been ready for anything, and this moment, he had never seen her so scared.

She shook her head slightly before looking up at him. "My family knows." The words were fast and low. But thanks to Elijah's abilities, he had been able to hear it just fine.

"How?" He asked as he watched her reactions.

"Nightmare." This time her voice was slightly calmer. "At first, I had hoped it was just a dream, but then I saw this." She said as she showed him her wrist.  The new mark had still been growing darker by the second. "Henrik will have one on his wrist as well."

"What is it?" He asked as his fingers ran over the marking on her wrist.

"Henrik turns five next week." She said softly. "The invitations for the awakening have just been sent."

Elijah needed no explanation. Y/N had told him the stories of what the awakening had meant. He tried racking his brain for any solution to this. But only one came to mind. "We leave New Orleans."

Y/N shook her head. "It wouldn't matter. This marking means they'll find Henrik wherever he is." It hurt to even think about it. "They will come, and they will try to awaken Henrik."

"We'll stop them." Elijah promised. He wasn't sure how, but he wouldn't stop trying.

"Lucia is the one that sent the invitations." She said as she looked him in the eye. "The only one that can stop her doesn't have the capability yet."

That name had almost been long forgotten by Elijah. The last time he had heard that name, it had come from Y/N as he had pulled her away to safety. The day he saved Y/N from her family, Lucia was the one they couldn't rescue in time.

A month after the girls had turned 20, the Y/L/N family held the next family get-together. Lucia and Y/N had been the only two who were awakened when they were five years old. Where there was an Awakening, there would be an Ascension to follow.

The Ascension meant they would become one with the darkness that had been forced into their lives at such a young age. With the Ascension completed, the coven would be unstoppable. But the damage that would be done to the girls in the process meant losing their humanity.

Y/N wanted nothing to do with it. Elijah learned that one night, while Y/N had been at Rousseau's. She had been asking a few of the New Orleans witches for help to stop it. But because she had been a Y/L/N witch, they weren't about to go to war with a coven that could destroy them.

That night, the Mikaelsons had intervened halfway through the spell. But some of the damage had already been done. Lucia had Ascended, and Y/N had enough darkness in her that she was almost unrecognizable. But because she hadn't ascended, Elijah was able to pull her to safety. His siblings managed to kill a majority of the coven, Y/N's parents included, before it became too much to handle.

Elijah shook his head, already knowing what could be going through Y/N's head. "We can find another way. We'll have Freya, even Hope, help, but I will not let you decide that is the best way to handle this."

"It'd be a last resort." She said with a slight nod of her head. "I'd prefer giving Lucia someone that would complete the Ascension than awaken darkness in Henrik."

"You fought to keep your humanity intact for years. I won't let you lose what's left of it." Elijah would fight her on this. No matter what it would come down to, he wouldn't let her lose herself.

A sad smile pulled at her lips. "Henrik is my humanity." Before Elijah could continue his argument, Henrik came running out of the room.

"Momma! I woke up with this." Henrik said as he came to their side and held out his wrist for them to see. Just as Y/N had known, Henrik had a matching mark.

Elijah allowed space between himself and Y/N as she pulled Henrik into her lap. They both knew they needed to tell Henrik what was coming. Taking a deep breath, Y/N tried to find the right words to say to him.

"I have one too." She said softly as she showed him the mark on her wrist.   His small fingers moved along the mark on her wrist. "It's a -kind of like an invitation to a party."

His eyes widened at that. "Like the one Tess had?" There was excitement in his voice.

Y/N chuckled, and she could see the smile pulling at Elijah's lips. There was so much innocence in their son. It was the very reason why she would do anything to keep him safe from that world of darkness she had known.

"Not that fun, though." She ran her hand through Henrik's hair. "This one comes from magic. My family is the one that sent it."

Henrik's face fell. "Aren't they bad?"

Y/N nodded her head. "I had one of my nightmares last night." The moment the words left her lips, she could see the worry grow on Henrik. "We don't have to leave this time." She promised. "But it means that my family is coming here because your birthday is next week."

"I'll be five." He said in understanding. "It's why we moved a lot."

It hurt Elijah to hear this conversation come so naturally for Henrik. Not only had Y/N been looking over her shoulder, Henrik knew why she did. It didn't matter if they had been together or separate as they had been, this was inevitable.

"I know. But if we can make it past your birthday, we won't ever have to worry about my family again." If Henrik didn't complete the awakening, he would never have to worry about the darker magic invading his life.

"Do I have to do the awakening?" He asked, looking between them. Both Elijah and Y/N shook their heads.

"Your dad and I, we're going to do whatever we can to stop Lucia from trying." Y/N promised. It was a promise she planned to keep. No matter what she had to do to keep it.

"Henrik," Elijah began. "May I have a moment with your mother? There are a few things I would like to discuss with her.

Y/N's eyebrow rose at the words. But Henrik nodded his approval on it before looking over at Y/N. "Can I go through the book and find a spell we can learn?"

"Of course, my love." Y/N gave him a smile. "Freya will be over in a few hours for our next lesson."

"Okay." Henrik scooted off Y/N's lap and headed straight for the room.

The moment the door closed, Elijah looked over at Y/N. "I would like it if you two would move into the compound." As Y/N started to shake her head, he continued. "At least until after his birthday. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I wasn't here to help protect him."

"Then stay here." She said softly. "I want to say yes, believe me, I do. To have your family there to help us, I want that. But I don't feel like it is safe enough. There are too many ways someone could get in."

"We'll seal the whole thing off." He gently took hold of her hand. "No one besides family. You and Freya can place whatever it is you need to feel safe around the compound. I know that we would feel better if Henrik is in a safe place, with a family that will do anything to protect him."

Elijah didn't want to leave them here in the hotel anymore. Not with the threat of the Y/L/N family coming. He wanted both of them close and safe. While Elijah could help protect them there, if there was even a moment that he left, he was afraid he wouldn't make it to them in time.

Y/N sighed softly as she thought about it. Elijah had a point. She would feel better if they were all together. It was proven that Henrik needed both of his parents. Y/N couldn't ask for all of the Mikaelsons to stay in the hotel suite. There wasn't enough room for all of them.

The compound had room, Y/N knew that. If she and Freya were able to utilize the same protection spells she had in place, there was no reason to believe they wouldn't work out at the compound. As long as Henrik felt safe, that was all that mattered.

Y/N nodded. "Okay, we'll go."

_______

Like any other night in New Orleans, the bar was packed. Hayley was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. She needed some time to herself after arguing with Jackson tonight.

To be fair, Jackson had been right. While Hayley didn't understand why she had to stay away, Jackson had. Jackson knew that if the roles had been reversed and Hope could sense Y/N would somehow hurt her, Hayley would have never allowed her Y/N to get close.

That hadn't been the case. Hope loved having Y/N around. May it have been that Y/N was a witch that could help train Hope or the fact that Y/N had just been a lovable person, Hope loved her.  Hayley didn't share the same affection as everyone else, that was obvious.

"You look like you're having a bad night." The woman's voice had caught Hayley's attention. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the woman lean her back against the counter, her eyes scanning the crowd.

Hayley rolled her eyes as she lifted the glass to her lips. "What gave that away?"

"For one, your husband isn't joining you in the festivities." The woman's words had caused Hayley to place the glass down and turn towards the woman. "Secondly, from what I can tell, the only family you really know has turned their backs on you because of a child."

"Who the hell are you?" Hayley asked. The woman knew too much already, and Hayley didn't even know who she was.

"I would say I was a friend, but I'm not the friendly type." The woman said with a shrug as she looked over at Hayley. "But between us girls, we have a common goal."

Hayley scoffed. "I highly doubt that. "

"What if I told you there was a way to get Y/N to leave the city and take her son with her?" There was a smirk on the woman's lips as the words passed them.

"Why would you want them to leave?" An eyebrow raised on Hayley's face. While it was intriguing that the woman had the idea, Hayley wasn't on board.

"They are family." The woman said with another shrug. "We are having a little get-together in a few days. The more sentimental family members haven't met her son yet. While it would be a nice gesture to have her come, I doubt she'd go willingly. "

A laugh passed Hayley's lips. "I hope you aren't trying to ask me to try and convince her. We don't even get along."

"No, but you can get passed those boundary spells." The words alone had sent a red flag in Hayley.

"You've been watching them," Hayley noted. "that's how you knew I was able to get in."

"I didn't need to." A devilish smirk pulled at her lips. "You gave me that information. Willingly, I might add." She tapped the tip of her fingers against her temple. "Some thoughts are easier to access after a few drinks." There was a smug look that appeared on her face. "I also thought you'd like to know that Y/N would be moving into your old room, as we speak. A place filled with so many memories of you being there with Elijah before you agreed to mary Jackson. Such a shame they are about to be replaced by my cousin and her child."

"I think you need to leave." Hayley said through clenched teeth.

The woman shrugged. "Suit yourself. I was just trying to get my cousin to come back home." She pushed herself off of the bar. "But if you would rather her stay here and make a life here with the very family you were once a part of, I won't waste my time."

Hayley had watched as the woman began to walk off. While every part of her knew that she should have just let her go, there was another part that couldn't do it. Sighing, she turned in her seat. "Wait."

A smirk grew on the woman's lips before she turned back around. "Something told me you'd see it my way." She lifted her hand out for Hayley to take. "I'm Lucia."

Always & Forever Tag:

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[throwaninkpot]

RotT reactions part 2!

costis, what are you doing here, shouldn't you be in roa? shouldn't you be with kamet? costis, where's kamet? what happened to him? tell me!

"who really owns anything?" eugenides, you utter meme.

if tattoos a custom in eddis, does. .....does helen have tattoos? oh my word, please tell me helen has tattoos, she would look so cool.

so, so, so, horrible invasion, giant army, logistics of war. it's very terrible and interesting, but where kamet? where my boy? is he okay? costis just LEFT him behind, bc he had to get word back to attolia, I don't blame him, I love him. but is kamet okay????????????????????

rip to all the cottage fic people probably wrote about the two having a chill time in roa. (idk, I haven't checked.) megan said we can't have nice things.

"find yourselves another king" uhhhhhhh, gen?

gen said no more king, now only Thief and Hot Consort To The Sexy Queen.

awww, sophos gave him a book of poetry for his birthday. I love sophos.

"attolia says she leaves with you" *spends several long minutes clutching at my chest repeatedly as I am Overwhelmed*

you know the quote in koa about a careful dance of shafow and unsubstance but under it all, a real marriage of two people? that's literally this. the queen is surely calculated her possible responses to gen, amd this is either a Pointed Message to gen or to the barons, and I'm still not sure what gen is up to actually, but also. she loves him, guys. they're in love. "she leaves with you". they're in love.

"I asked her to leave with me on our wedding night" of course he did.

"except me, I can do anything I want" :'D

they're too soft. I cannot.

go, costis! save your boy!

..........is this where I formally apologize for rolling my eyes back in 2016 when people shipped teleus/relius? I genuinely did not see this coming.

megan said okay, we've been on our best behavior, it's been 25 years, she will sprinkle in a little canon queerness. and then upended a flour sack of it on us.

"he had to bend to keep his lips on hers until she reached the ground" they're too cute, this is illegal.

oh, now THAT'S some soap opera level nonsense. how awkward was it for gen and helen knowing his father was a spurned lover of her mother

sometimes soldiers. I am eating this stuff up.

they get no apology. h*ck the pents. maybe they should have chosen an ambassador that didn't force himself upon women.

"where sounis's father positively beamed with approval at his son, eddis's minister of war glowered. the high king, slumped in his seat, catching his father's glare, slumped even further." it be like that.

ten to one. oof, oof, oof.

okay, the solution is, one of gen's sisters should beat up cleon and therespides.

gen. you were the one paying him. I don't know why I'm ever surprised by the tangled schemes you wrap yourself up in.

every scene that the four monarchs are together, just having a good time and loving each other and sounding so much like the young people they are, every time, it makes me happy.

the fandom tried to figure out at what age boys left the dorms in Eddis, didn't we? I think we settled on 12 or 13. gen killed someone before he was 13. hachi machi.

he called him "my brother sounis". awww.

"without cheating" is that what we're calling godly visits now

eugenides will give me a heart attack, I swear.

they call it return of the thief bc this is the most like himself gen has acted since the crenellations in KoA.

(fitting that this is the book with a neuroduvergent pov, bc I have never happy stimmed more in my life than during the chase scene.)

when he starts windmilling, now I am afraid. oh please, megan, don't let him be hurt.

thank the gods.

helen wearing an eddisian uniform. heck yeah! gnc helen rights continue!

"it was the last lighthearted moment for a long time" :(

they're leaving the city, and I'm suddenly remember the comment from back in book of pheris 1 about an attack by a tomb. am afraid.

it's loving the magus o' clock. he treats pheris so well.

irenides baby......2!!!!

"I don't understand" you and me both, sophos.

"I think they have to show their worst selves sometimes in order to be sure that even at their worst they are loved" I need a minute.

I love tactics and logistics, but I wish I could picture this my head. the map doesn't actually help me figure out where the forces are in perspective.

megan really wasn't exaggerating when she said eugenides's first reaction to seeing an elephant is "I want to steal one."

"he muscled up his other arm and said he would destroy the Medes single-handed" these books are giving me a stroke. megan, that pun was beautiful.

"I have found Kamet!" I'm going to be sick. he had better be okay. he was supposed to be free of nahuseresh.

nasty man had better be lying. my kamet had better be okay.

oh, costis. okay, okay, alright.

why is cleon's death so sombering. I think it's bc I just reread "Thief!", and met him as a teenager in that. I think it's bc it says he's one of three cousins that died that day, and gen already lost so many cousins during the war in QoA. I loved the country of eddis when I was first reading these books and forever after that, bc it's so full. there's a very communal child-rearing system and gen has these packs of cousins, even if most of them spent their childhood bullying him, I loved the idea of having so much family around you. he's running out of family.

oh. I went back to reading from writing that, and. stenides. oh.

I said I wanted gen's siblings, but not like this.

well, here's some cairns. presumably the tombs pheris's foreshadowed earlier. here we go, something bad is going to happen.

Something Bad Happened.

oh, no, Hilarion. D:

*tiffany haddish voice* NOMENUS??? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS. I PUT YOU ON MY BINGO.

the man at the cairn. the god on the battlefield that megan referenced? but eugenides called him a dead man. so not a god. so, did he recognize him as someone he knew to be dead?

"my cousins know not to trust my tears" once again, gen's hail mary is the fact he's a little snipe.

he says he needs a heavier rain, and the gods deliver.

f in chat for nomenus. he was a snake, but still.

"and by my oath to my god, now and for my life, Thief of Eddis." YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, Philo. :(

rip to Legarus and his Awesome Beauty.

they want to kill gen in The Thief? eddis's council wanted to kill him? I'm reeling from all the backstory this book is revealing.

not quite how I had the apotheosis pictured, and yet. *sufjan steven's ascension plays in the background*

"I say it three times, Fordad. It will be so. It will be so. It will be so." holy heck.

someone get in here and analyze that for biblical symbolism.

HE CALLED DOWN LIGHTNING. HOLY

narration only calls him eugenides in that scene with the lightning. significant.

"feeling the tremor in it, he opened his arms to catch the king as he fell." he has fallen and been caught by his god and fallen and been caught by his dad.

I think we'll call the interregnum an interlude into the underworld, if not a journey into.

oh, gods, relius.

for a former spymaster, he sure trusted too easily.

he could have had his farm in the gede valley, but he stayed to help irene and gen. oh, relius, relius.

sejanus has a saving grace afterall.

dite and sejanus protecting each other, and pretending to hate each other so that sejanus at least can be on good terms with their father, that all clicks into place when you know about their older brother who they probably loved just as much.

crying crying crying over Sejanus and Pheris.

the minster of war. D:

at least nahuseresh is dead.

gen lay down to sleep by his father's corpse.

the patrimony divided in three. a triangle.

sophos/helen baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love that gen, knowing his cousin and also being a little sneak who notices everything, figured out helen was pregnant before sophos even did.

f for sejanus. he wasn't as bad as he seemed, and not nearly as bad as he almost was.

oh, xenophon died, too. he of the wooden cannons and receiver of the infamous "I love stupid plans" line.

why is everyone dead. :(

"they're at the pickets, both of them" oh, thank you, jesus. TWO PEOPLE WHO AREN'T DEAD. MY BOYS.

she dreams of Eddis empty. there's no words for the relief I feel.

twinssss!!

and yet they don't tell us the name!!!!! what was the MoW's name??? what is their son's name??? megan!!!!!!

gen holding his daughter for the first time and offering to pitch her off a roof. I don't even have words.

hector. hector. hector hector hector.

rooftop dance!!!!!!!!!!!

HE'S OKAY. RELIUS IS OKAY.

(you couldn't give us one costis and kamet dance? no, it's fine.)

peace. peace. peace.

crying.

[hamonsurveysoverdrive]

Amore

ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP

What is your partner's name? Justin. How long have you been together? About 3.5 years. Who asked who out? I did. What was your first date? A hookah lounge. How did you meet? Through my best friend, Needles, at the bar. Do you have the same friends? A lot of them. What is your anniversary? September 11. What was your last argument about? Magic the Gathering lmaoooo What do you like to do together? Watch movies/anime, talk, hang out at the bar, etc. Name three physical traits you like about them: His high cheek bones, his beard, his tattoos. Name three personality traits you like about them: He's funny, loyal, and loving. When did you see them last? Last night/this morning. Do you share the same beliefs and political opinions? Mostly. Have you gone all the way? Yes lol Are you married or do you plan on marrying them? One day. What kind of music do they like? He listens to everything, but his go to is death metal. Do you play any games together? Yeah, all the time. He's currently teaching MTG, but we also play Ascension, Battleship, Uno, whatever really. What do they call you? Babe or Autumn. Do you have kids together or do you plan on having kids one day? No thanks. Do you live together? Not yet. Do their parents like you? His mom does. I only met his dad once, and it was after not seeing him for eleven years, so I'm sure he was preoccupied with more stuff than whether or not he liked me. Do your parents like them? From what I know, yes. What is the best date you've had together? Either our museum day when we went to three different museums in one day, or the first time we went to Piccolo Mondo. When is their birthday? October 19. Is your relationship status on Facebook? Yes. Do you have a song, and what is it if so? We do not. Have you spent the night together? Yepp, lots of times. Are you in love? Yes. Why are you together? Because we love each other and make each other happy. Have you ever broken up and gotten back together? Yes, once. What kind of vehicle do they drive? A pickup truck. Do they have any tattoos or piercings? Yes to both. Why do they like you? Idk. I make him laugh, I love and support him, I'm loyal. I'm good in bed lol Do they make you laugh a lot? All the time. What was your last date? Cafe Acapulco. Do they have any bad habits? Yes. Have you been on vacation together? Not yet. What's the last thing you celebrated together, and what did you? Valentine's Day. We went to our favorite Italian restaurant and then the bar. Do you like their perfume/cologne? Yes. Describe their looks: He's 6', thicc, muscular arms, long brown hair, big beard, wears glasses, he's tan, tattooed, has one ear pierced, perfect teeth, full lips, a little bit of chest hair. Describe their personality: He's funny, sweet, loving, stubborn, intelligent, loyal, short-tempered, impatient, athletic, anxious, sarcastic, boisterous OR quiet (depending on his mood), creative. Describe their dress style: Kinda gothy, but not overly. Wears mostly all red and black. Kind of athletic goth if that makes sense, which I'm aware it doesn't lol Do the two of you look compatible or do you like mismatched together? We look compatible. How many times have they made you cry? A lot, but I'm a giant baby and I cry at everything. This includes happy tears lol. Have you been to any concerts together, and if so, which ones? Just local shows. What are both of your zodiac signs? I'm a Scorpio, he's a Libra. Are they your best friend? Yes. Have either of you ever cheated? Nope. Do you trust them? Yes. Do you dislike any of their friends? Only one. Do they dislike any of yours? Only one lol What's their middle name? M. What's the best present they've ever given you? Probably the necklace with the dead spider, or the set of Harry Potter blu-rays. Or the Alfred Hitchcock Pop figure. What do you call them? Babe or Justin. Are you affectionate with each other? Yes. When did they last say they loved you? The other night.

[cherry-holland]

Amor Prohibido - Chapter 1

Pairing: Mob!Harrison Osterfield x Mob!Latina!reader

Warnings: some violence in the beginning, mild language, just overall Latina sass, and Haz being a cocky lil shit 🙃

A/n: WELL HELLO YALL. I know it’s been a minute since I’ve said I was gonna finish this 🙃 but this time of year has been really hectic for me, and I haven’t had the time to finish it like I wanted to. BUT, it is finished, and here for y’all!!! Huuuuuge s/o goes to @the-southernbelle for helping me with getting this to be a coherent piece, and @beautifullydisconnected and @osterfield-holland-andcompany for being just fucking gems 🥺 enjoy the first chapter! 🤗

You heard the door slam open, and various different voices shouting in Spanish and English, blending into one. Your mom held onto your hand tightly while the other held a shiny pistol, shielding your tiny frame.

“Mama, what’s going on?” You asked, lip quivering in fear.

“Shhh, mija, it’s gonna be okay. Just keep quiet, mi amor,” your mom whispered, running her free hand through your hair.

You nodded as you tried to keep your mind off of the chaos happening upstairs. Unfortunately, it was impossible to do so because of the ferocity of everything going on above you. You snuggled closer into your mom’s chest, covering your ears to aid in easing your nerves, but when gunshots rang out, you gasped softly, your tiny ears not used to the sound being so close to you.

There was one particular loud bang that shook you and your mother to the core, and then...

silence.

“Mama, is it safe to leave yet?” You asked after a long string of silence, looking up into her eyes.

“I’m guessing so, mija. Just be quiet and stay close by me,” she replied, and you noticed a flash of fear and anxiousness cross her eyes for a split second before her gaze grew back to the same look of bravery and boldness you knew her to wear.

You two quietly crept up the stairs from the panic room, and immediately you smelled the gunshot residue that thickly hung in the air. Once you reached the top, you saw a pool of red on the floor, and your eyes widened.

“Close your eyes for me, mi princesa? And tell me your dream from last night, the one with the unicornios and the Maceta de oro?” Your mom said calmly as she surveyed the scene in front of her, squeezing your hand that she was holding in reassurance.

“Okay, mama,” you chirped, “but what’s that red stuff on the floor?”

“Oh, just some paint. I think your papa got into a little bit of a mess this time, there’s paint everywhere,” she whispered. “Now, go ahead and tell me the story.”

You nodded and rambled on about your dream, until you heard a blood-curdling scream from your mother. Your eyes flew open to find your father on the floor, surrounded by a massive puddle of red, similar to the one you saw when you exited the panic room. He had these odd little holes in his chest that were covered in crimson, that same crimson trickling down his unmovable body. A chill ran up your spine at the sight, but you had no clue why.

“Mama, why isn’t papa breathing?” You asked, examining the sight in front of you.

Your mother turned to look at you with the same fear and anxious look, but with an overwhelming sense of sadness that was flooding out of her flawless face. Sobs wracked her body as she saw your face change from innocence to understanding, her heart slowly breaking at the realization that her precious little girl is no longer going to have a normal childhood after all of this.

“Mija, papa is gone.”

“Y/n!”

You snapped out of your thoughts at the shrill sound of your sister, Marisol, calling out to you, causing you to groan and roll your eyes.

“Yes, Sol, what do you want?” You snarled, running your hands through your hair, ruby red nails peeking through your thick strands.

“Well, I wanted to go over with you just a couple of things for tonight,” Marisol responded sternly, igniting your annoyed mood.

An exasperated sigh left your lips as you looked up from your once-clean desk to face your right-hand woman. Her dark brown hair was perfectly curled and half-pulled back in a bun, the loose strands shining in the morning sunlight. Her black button-down top was rolled at the sleeves, black dress pants crisp and clean. Her bright red lips were a stark contrast to her olive skin, pursed as she waited for you to continue her daily update.

“Alright, go ahead,” you grumbled, leaning back into the sleek, black leather chair, crossing your arms over the long-sleeved red dress top you were wearing.

Marisol nodded as she continued, “First, we have the girls coming in at six to get ready for tonight. Second, that shipment of Bacardi is on schedule for this afternoon at twelve. And…”

You quipped a very nearly polished eyebrow at her, impatiently waiting for her to continue. “And what else, Marisol?”

Marisol cleared her throat, her hardened expression weakening before she replied, “The Osterfields will be in attendance.”

You rolled your eyes yet again as you placed your hands on your desk, folding them timidly. You’d heard about this other mob family that originated from London, and how they didn’t play well with other families. How they practically ran them out of the city, forcing them to either disbandon or flee from London and into the countryside. How their tactics were borderline sinister, and how they would stop at nothing to get what they want.

Unfortunately for them, you were not one to just give up.

Your family moved from New York to London after the huge success of your father’s underground strip club. Your father started the club when you were little, using it as a front to sell the most expensive drugs to the variety of dealers that surrounded the tri-state area. It went undetected for years, his connections with the NYPD being the massive benefactor to the success and longevity of the club and his deals.

However, the success came to a halt when your father was brutally murdered in your family home, with several of your uncles becoming casualties. Forgetting that day was nearly impossible since it was on replay all of the time, remembering the somber look on your mother’s face when she saw you father’s body, her clutching onto her swollen belly as she caressed your father’s face before his body was taken away by the coroner.

After that day, you were groomed to be the next boss of the family. Your mother took over most of it until you were 16, and since then you were running all operations - the club, the deals, etcetera. No one dared to speak out against your ascension to power out of respect for your father, and seeing how you dealt with the business--you had equally earned their respect. Just like your dad, you showed no mercy to those who try and cross you - if anything, you were less forgiving.

“Well, alright. If they want to scope us out and see what we’re made of, let’s give them a show, shall we, Sol?” You smirked, folding your hands neatly across your lap with a wicked glint in your eye.

“Y/n, need I remind you to not cause so much trouble tonight. We’ve only just got here to London, and we have yet to get these cops on our side,” Marisol warned. “So don’t do anything wild, loca.”

You let out a sharp laugh as you leapt out of your chair. “Sol, you know I show our camaradas the best time, don’t you worry.”

Marisol pursed her lips at your comment as you made your way out of the brightly lit office, the open windows streaming with golden light. “Alright, but no funny business.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you turned on the heel of your red-bottomed stilettos mid-walk with a quirked brow and a devilish smirk as you made your way to your room to get ready for the evening, thoughts brewing for what was to come.

~

The flashing red lights and the booming bass of the bachata music that was flowing from the speakers of the club was fueling your excitement as you and your hijas arrived. You were thankful there was a line out the door that wrapped around the block, filled with posh Brits who wanted a fun night out at the new and intriguing club. Posh Brits with money to blow - you favorite kind of people.

You always loved being able to christen a new club opening - club goers anxiously waiting outside to see what kind of concoction they are in store for, the girls twirling around on the poles with wads of cash peeking from their underwear, the feeling of everyone not being able to pry their eyes away from you. The various mobsters you had come in contact with within the past eight years always acted the same - they saw you were a woman, and thought they could run you over or intimidate you. Unfortunately for them, they all found out quickly you were not to be messed with. It usually starts with a mild form of violence, a nip of the ear there and nearly strangling them to death there, but what really gets them is when you say who you are, and whose daughter you are. Your family name was not one to be messed with, and everyone knew it.

Entering in the club, you smoothed down the red, leather bodycon dress, long hair sashaying in the wind as you made your way through the massive crowd of people. Marisol was close behind you, her navy blue, off-the-shoulder bandage dress looking nearly purple under the vivid lights that illuminated the dance floor. You looked around to see everyone’s eyes glued to you and your ladies, and a wicked grin crept onto your face.

Got them right where I want them.

You made it to your secluded corner of the club, the bouncer unhooking the burgundy velvet rope to let you and your crew in. You took a seat on the cool white leather of the lounge chair as you immediately began discussing business with Marisol and the women that encompassed your circle when you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You look up from your girls with a furrowed brow. Who the fuck would interrupt me like that? You thought as your eyes land on the culprit.

His dark blonde hair was neatly styled, the curls gently resting atop his head. Your eyes traveled down to his icy blue eyes, which were bearing a quizzical yet stern expression that could send even the toughest mobster shaking in their Italian leather shoes. He was wearing a cerulean three-piece suit with a crisp white button down, and the blue made his sparkling eyes stand out.

“My, my, my, what an honor it is to meet the Y/n Rivera,” The man draws with his accent thickening the tense air. “Really, it is an honor that you and your family are here. Never had such royalty in these streets before.”

You give the man in front of you a skeptical look as you get up from your seat, sauntering over to him with your infamous poker face painted on. “So you must be Harrison Osterfield, then. Never took you for a charmer.”

Harrison chuckled, looking down at the floor as his jaw goes slightly slack, a cocky expression encompassing his face. “In the flesh, darling.”

You pursed your lips and jutted your head towards the two men that were behind him, one with slicked back, dark brown curls, and the other with wild, auburn curls. “Who the fuck are they?”

“These are my right-hand men. Miss Rivera, this is Tom,” he gestured to the brunette on his right, “and this is Harry,” he turned his head towards the boy with the auburn hair. “Been with me from the start - they go where I go.”

The two men gave you a simple smile in response. You nodded your head with fake enthusiasm, and you stared at him unamused, waiting for him to continue on. “So, Mr. Osterfield, what is it that you’re here for?”

Harrison’s mouth twitched into a wicked smirk as he turned to Tom and Harry, and set his eyes back on yours. “What do you think I’m here for, Miss Rivera?”

“Well, I know how your operation works, Mr. Osterfield. You come in, intimidate the competition with your wit and confidence, and you think you can get anything you want with a snap of your fingers,” you demonstrated by pressing your fingers together, the snap echoing throughout the room, even with the loud music playing.

“But let me get things straight. You may have been the one to run these streets here, but now that I am here, this no longer applies. I am not one to be fucked with, do you understand? Not with your boyish charm, your looks, your money, or anything. Nothing you will ever say or do will ever get me to back down or even consider working with your family,” you snarled, getting up in the mobster’s face, which was red with anger. “So, Harrison, enjoy the fucking party. And if you ever try to pull this fucking shit again, your head will be on my silver platter. Understood?”

Everyone around the two of you was silent. Harrison’s henchmen were close behind him, chests puffed out and ready to defend their leader. Marisol was also beside you with the rest of your familia, guns out just waiting to be used. You studied Harrison’s pissed off expression, but you noticed that there was something else that he was hiding within the look he was giving you. Something almost… soft.

Harrison broke the silence as the anger immediately washed off his face, his smug look taking over. “Oh, darling, you’ll need me someday, I just know it. Because, like it or not, I know these streets like the back of my hand. And you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

He turned to face Tom and Harry, who were silently glaring at your family to give them a knowing look, the two backing off with a nod. “We will be in touch, y/n.”

You watched the three men walk away, your nails making half-crescent marks in the palm of your hands. Your temper was through the roof at this point, steam nearly coming out of your ears. Your blood boiling, and it felt like it was about to overflow in your body. Harrison Osterfield was not about to get off that easily.

And you were going to make damn sure that he would regret testing you.

Tagging some mutuals whom I love 🤗 @farfromhaz @peterpxrxer @eeyore101247 @angelhaz11 @hoforhaz @hollandraul @heyhihellowhatsup0