#i am loosing my god damn mind i do not want to do anything everything is so hard why is everyone so pressuring

[larryjohnsoncosplayonthursday]

last

for realsies

[luvyeni]

Could you do hyunjin x thick curvy reader 🥴❤️

( hyunjin is straight up an ass man in this one and I’m here for it all 🤌🏽 ) love ya! ❤️❤️

DISTRACTED; HWANG HYUNJIN

pairings. artist!hyunjin x thick!reader

wc. 1.2k (this was supposed to be 300, 400 maybe)

warnings. praise kink, oral (f receiving), doggystyle, dirty talk

Hyunjin wanted to paint you, but when you walk out in his button up... he gets a bit distracted.

i do in fact believe hyunjin is 100% a ass typa man 👌🏼!

—

When felix introduced you to him, he was obsessed, all he wanted to was paint you.

Your soft features so sweet and kind and your body— boobs that he could tell just by looking at were soft to the touch, little belly that would poke out so cutely and plush thighs and ass, you were a mix of cute and sexy.

God he was loosing his mind, he needed to paint you...

He needed you...

He begged felix to ask you to be a model for his newest art work, and much to his excitement you said yes.

He couldn't wait.

You walked up to hyunjin's apartment door, nervous to knock on the door.

"Just knock the door." your bestfriends voice spoke through the phone.

"Felix, i'm scared." you weren't scared of hyunjin himself, you were scared of how you acted around him, like a high school girl nervously talking to her crush.

"You know he finds you attractive right? he's been waiting for this day for the past week, just knock on the damn door, before i call him and tell him your standing outside his door like a psycho." and with that he hung up.

"So rude." you sighed, slowly putting your hand up to the door, about to knock, but the door opened.

"oh." you jumped back, startled and he grabbed your arm stopping you from falling. "You okay?" His smile like honey.

"Y-yes."

"Felix told me you were out here, and you were nervous about coming in." you swore felix hated you sometimes.

"I-i'm not nervous." he smiled, moving back so you could come in. "I won't bite, you can come in." You slowly walked into the apartment, taking your shoes off.

"Do you want something to drink, before we get started?" His eyes grazed over your body, as he made his way into room, sitting in the seat across from you.

"No, im fine thank you." He smiled , he could tell you were nervous, you could barely keep eye contact with him.

He thought you were so cute.

"＿＿, why are you so nervous?" He stood up, sitting closer to you. "No." You quickly said, and he smiled again. "Did felix tell you what the project was?" His eyes traveled down your body.

It was a nude painting, yes you were aware what it was. You weren't necessarily insecure about your body, but being nude in front hyunjin made your heart fall to your ass.

"Y-yeah."

"Before we continue, I need you to verbally say you want this, i want this to be a safe space for you." You could tell he was serious. "I-i want this, i swear im fine."

"Good girl." and just like that, he was back to making you feel like a giddy school girl. "You can go get ready in my room while I set up everything."

He was so excited, he was finally getting to paint the girl that captivated his mind for the past few months, he had the entire thing planned out in his head.

"I didn't want to come out fully naked, and i didn't bring a towel, i hope you don't mind that i took a shirt from you."

"That's fin-" he was speechless...

You were wearing his button up from the other night—and you weren't wearing anything underneath it.

His cock began to hardened in his pants, two buttons, buttoned right under your boobs so it covered everything... god he wished it didn't.

He couldn't wait, he needed you now.

"＿＿." His voice deepening, sending shivers down your spine. "You look so fucking good." He eyed your entire body up an down.

The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to pounce on you right then and there.

"H-hyunjin." He couldn't help it, it's like his body was moving on his own, and before you could react, his lips we're on yours.

"Princess what are you doing to me? why am i so addicted to you." He kissed your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"W-what d-do you mean?" He groaned at your cluelessness, it was so cute.

"I can't get you off my mind, your pretty face, how cute you are when you get nervous around me- fuck your beautiful body, and i thought i'd be able to control myself around you like this, but seeing you in my shirt, i can't stand it, i need to fuck you."

you moaned as he grabbed your tit through the shirt, running his finger over your nipple. "Such pretty tits, i knew they'd be soft, i want to fuck these next time." hyunjin knew this wasn't gonna be the last time.

"Hyunjin, p-please do s-something." He backed you up, until you could feel the couch hit the back of your knees.

"Lay down, ass up." He took his clothes off, throwing them somewhere, tugging at his cock at the sight of your body as you got into position.

"such a nice ass." He spread your cheeks, mouth watering at the slick that coated your plush thighs. "Fuck, so wet princess, i got you really worked up huh?"

"Hyunjin!" You let out a pornographic moan as he licked a stripe up your slit. "I knew it." He began to eat you like a starved man.

The lewd noises he was making, turned you both on.

"oh my god!" you squealed as he rubbed your clit as tongue prodding at your hole. "fuck! hyunjin, im gonna cum, please i'm gonna cum." tears wielding in your eyes.

"go ahead, cum on my tongue for me."

His words alone sent you straight over the edge, your thighs shaking as you came.

"Good girl, so sweet." he lifted your half spent body up, kissing you, his plump lips wet from spit and your essence.

You turned back around, and he grabbed your hip, pushing his hardening cock against your ass. "you feel that love? that's how hard you make me." he grabbed his cock, rubbing it against you.

"P-please f-fuck me." you wiggled your hip. "so eager" he positioned his tip at your entrance, groaning as he stretched you out, both of you moaning in pleasure.

"So fucking tight, you're barely letting me in." you whined, fucking yourself down on him. "Your ass if fucking perfect." He slapped your ass, watching it juggle.

"hyunjin, shit!" you screamed as he began to pound in and out of you. "such a cute face, who knew you were such a freak, but you're fucking yourself on me."

"fuck, if you keep clenching around me like this, im gonna cum inside your pussy, do you want me to do that? hmm, fill this pretty pussy up?" You could barely form any words as he fucked into you as rough fast pace.

"H-hyune, i'm-i'm gonna cum." He reach over kissing your neck as his hand reached in between your legs, rubbing your clit.

"Me too- fuck!- cum." You let out a scream as you came, body falling limp on the couch.

"fuck!" He pulled out jerking off releasing on your back. "Shit."

"You okay princess?" you nodded breathless. "I'm fine."

"Don't move let me get something so we can get you cleaned up." He put his clothes back on, letting you rest while he cleaned you up.

While he cleaned you up, he couldn't help but take in your fucked out state, eyes still glossed over, laying on your stomach, ass poking out a little under his shirt...

absolutely beautiful, he had to paint this, this was his new project. "Wait princess don't move."

"Huh?" you questioned. "Why not." You watched him get up. "I want this to be my painting."

"I want to paint you just like this."

©️LUVYENI

[iloveundertaesooomuch]

Some advice from AU Calebs!

Heck yeah I did it! Finally i finished ONE of the HUNDREDS AU crossover ideas I have in my head!! Crossovers are fun guys!! (I apologise for a bad english in advance. Writing this it a rush.)

"It's ok to ask for help." (A Reverse Of Feathers And Mud by @jess-the-vampire)

I couldn't make a crossover meme without the legend. Sorry, not sorry. He is such a sad lad but tries to stay positive and be happy for his family uydfykudsutsudskudsluds (*dies*). I have to admitt, Caleb's dad energy is too strong for me to handle without wanting a hug him. No wonder! He was THE grandpa for centuries straight without a break. At least Caleb gets his whole family together in the end. Comics with him and either Hunter and Philip or Luz and Eda make me run in cirles around the room aaaa.

"You are not a burden." (Brother's Keeper by @idoodlestuffsometimes)

Damn, you definetly created one of the darkest AU in the fandom. Each time I re-read AU related posts I scream my lungs out because it is so angsty and so great. I am genuinely scared of your Belos ngl, because.. this man didnt loose anything and he still proceeds to do all that stuff. Enconter with him has 0 survival rate.

POOR CALEB! At least in the world of memes he had an opportunity to flee the captivity twice (the bald head and the car). This man had no moment of mental rest for centuries oh my God. One of my friends wants to fight his brother personally to protec Caleb at all cost sksksk. Well, at least Hunter will always have an actually loving relative! And if the happy ending is going to be canon, I think the future looks great, especially knowing how much pain all your characters go through currently. (And I think both Caleb and Hunter would need the "you are not a burdain" affirmations. At least some form of support in their situation.)

You said in the latest ask-answer that BK!Caleb was supposed to have white streaks in his hair so I attempted to add them. Hope they look fine! Colors for the outfit I got from Belos, so they would match, I guess???

"Murder is okay." (Loose Strings by @oldmanpip)

My bro, brother, friend... Despite you being not to involved on the discord server, my brain is still rotting with your great awesome AUs. And I know you know that. Your Caleb is really loose in all sences of that word and I love that. Wonder if your AUs will ever be available to the public. Because oh boy oh boy they deserve to be recognised. (Loose Caleb is such a conservative grandpa who never did anything wrong, wdym?)

"Your feelings matter." (Pip In Time by @celestialscribbler)

Honestly? Man, your comic is the reason I got invested in Witteclaw couple at all. Even if the "Pip in time" is not their story, but you wrote their teen romance so sweetly. Those two melted my heart... I scream each time I re-read your comic for 100th time. Just WOAH my brain goes brrr! And Caleb as a character is also written really really well. I love him so much. He is such good brother but MAN HE NEEDS A BREAK FROM BEING AN ADULT! BOY! Insirt crying and heart emojis here.

(PS: hope you still care about your health!)

My thoughts:

I have been drawing this for more than a month I think? And the only reason for that is my university. I hope to actually get an ADHD diagnosis because something is clearly wrong with me. But thats not the point.

There are so many ideas in my head. Goofy and not. The only problem is that I have less and less ability to do what I want lately. I wish I could bring them all to life, but at the same I dont know if anyone will be interested. Would AU crossovers look too self-indulgent? Or nah? Idk. (Just Grimwalker-Isle already has so much potential for stupid ridiculous fun I am runnin on coffee juice.)

Litteraly my mind is plagued with different fun plots and possibilities I am going crazy. But I also have A TON of WIPs that I need to finish. Perhaps I will attempt to manage everything at once, but, no promises.

Wish me luck on my exams!

[parkerdrabbles]

The Corruption Of Hermione Granger - Prologue

Pairing: Draco x Hermione

Summary:

Draco

I am tired of Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's little Princess, acting like she does no wrong. Acting as if she doesn't want the bloody shit banged out of her. So, I devised a plan - a plan she will have no issue getting that little nose stuck right into. My plan is to not only expose that she has deep, dark fantasies just like the rest of us at Hogwarts, that she's not all pure and innocent, but also to corrupt her. Break her. Someone has to. And God be damned, it will be me. I hate her, but God, I can't resist her either. And that scares me.

Hermione

With everything going on, I just want to focus on my studies, keep my head down. I want things to feel as normal as they possibly can be. Only, when I end up falling for none other than one of Draco Malfoy's traps, a book full of things that make me blush whenever I think of them, now that he has trapped me, he won't let me go so easily. I hate him, but I can't resist him, either. And that scares me.

Warnings: sexual content, oral sex, anal sex, spanking, choking, use of food in a sexual manner, just lots of smutty stuff

Authors Note: This is a multi part mini smut series that just came to my mind one day, if this does well, I will write more :)

Draco

•••

The plan is brilliant.

Perfect, really.

The bait will surely draw her in - one of those erotic romance novels I stole from my mum’s bedroom - it was so bloody easy to snag too, she won’t miss it - and there is no way that nosy little Mudblood would be able to resist opening it.

I have left the book, The Dark Knight it’s called, in her favorite spot to read; at the very back of the library, in the Restricted Section of course, in the last isle, where she spends hours and hours drowning in countless other worlds she wishes to visit, pathetic really, or studying for her tests until she is so exhausted, that her eyes droop shut and she is suddenly constantly trying to keep herself awake.

She has a habit of getting that nose into places it doesn’t belong, so she will have no problem getting it stuck right into my trap.

I want to expose her to the whole of Hogwarts – I want them to see that their little, innocent, Gryffindor princess is anything but. I want them to know the nasty desires that float around in her brain, and when I’m done with her, I want her to so corrupted that it shines so bright, it’s blinding.

That’s right.

I want to corrupt Hermione Granger.

Once and for all; someone needs to.

And I will have a bloody fun time doing it.

•••

Hermione

•••

I could have sworn that book hasn’t been there the last 347,000 times I’ve visited this place.

I eye the colorful book tucked cozy against the window, squinting to make out the cover.

It has beautiful binding, and on the front is a fiery redheaded woman, with her legs wrapped around the torso of a knight, his armored fingers tangling in her loose curls.

No, that definitely wasn’t there before.

Curiously, I approach the book, my wand held out in front of me, bathing my surroundings in pale blue light.

Once I get to the book, I just stare at it.

Who could have left this here?

I look to my left, then to my right, reach out to grab the book, but hesitate, pivoting back a step.

For God’s sake, Hermione. Just pick up the bloody book.

I look around once more, before picking up the book, running my fingers over the marred pages.

There are romance books in the restricted section, however, none quite as beautiful and as interesting as this.

I walk toward my usual spot and slide to the floor, holding my wand up to read the title.

The Dark Knight.

I flip open to the first page, and it’s a moving photo of the redhead and the Knight, talking animatedly in a beautiful courtyard.

I read the first few pages, completely leaving Hogwarts behind, falling into this world with the redhead and the Knight.

I was devouring the book, until I turned a page and what I saw made a blush make it’s way from my cheeks down to my neck.

It was a moving image of the two, arms wrapped around each other, tongues in each others mouths, both seeming desperate for more.

Of course I have seen people kissing before; both in books, and movies on the television back home, but none had ever been this…what’s the word?

Sexual?

I quickly closed the book and backed away, blushing madly.

Don’t be an idiot, just read it!

I slowly open the book again, and when I turn the page, my blush only deepens. Now the knight has her pressed against the wall, peppering kisses down her fragile throat, his helmet off.

Slight moans can be heard coming from both the Knight and the woman, and I bite my lip, half because I feel a tingling in my lower abdomen I have felt all but a few times, and half because I’m praying that nobody can hear what’s coming out of the book.

I utter a silencing charm

I quickly turn the page, and even more is happening.

Now, the woman is bent over his knee, his hand guiding her dress up over her ankles and her curvy hips and ass.

I sigh, the feeling in my abdomen sinking lower and lower, and the next page is where I come undone.

The redhead is on her knees, staring up at the knight with stars in her eyes, unzipping his pants.

Oh, my fuck.

I lean back against the book shelf, spreading my legs, propping the book up opposite me, leaving my wand on the floor to illuminate the pages.

I push my blue nightgown up over my white panties, seeing the arousal starting to peek through the fabric.

Only one thought runs through my mind right now.

I need more. I need more.

I flip the page and the woman is bobbing her head, sucking the Knight’s cock, his head facing toward the ceiling in pleasure.

My fingers travel down to my breast and I squeeze, trembling with need. My other hand snakes down to my panties, where I begin to rub my sensitive clit.

My face screws up with pleasure, and I can’t help the small moan that escapes my lips. I quickly cover my mouth and look around.

Silence and darkness surround me.

Once I am sure nobody is around, I turn the page, and the knight has one of the woman’s breasts in his mouth, his hand rubbing her wet, bare sex.

I desperately push my panties to the side, and begin rubbing vigorously, my head falling back against the shelf behind me.

“Yes, yes, please,” I beg to no one in particular.

Now, he has her bent over, positioning his cock at her entrance.

Stars explode behind my eyes as I continue to rub myself, eyes squeezed shut.

Oh my God, I’m so close.

And then, the sound of something being knocked over in the distance makes the blood freeze in my veins.

For a second, I just sit there, listening, then I spring into action, putting my wand out and picking up the book.

There are slight footsteps, and they are getting closer.

I quickly shove the book back against the window where it came from, pull my robes around me, and silently run through the isles, hoping, praying, that I won’t be caught.

The footsteps are getting louder, closer.

I crouch behind one of the tables, hugging my legs to my chest, willing whoever it is to just leave.

Please go away, please go away.

The footsteps stop for a few seconds, and I hold my breath, heart racing in my chest.

Then, finally, the footsteps go back the way they came, echoing off the walls, back into the distance.

Nobody has to tell me twice to get the bloody hell out of here.

And, with that, I run for the door, out into the halls, disappearing into the darkness.

Draco

•••

I watch from the shadows as Hermione runs out the door, robes flying out behind her, that skimpy little nightgown rising up the length of her legs, and smirk.

It worked.

She took the bait.

I grin at the thought of Gryffindor’s little innocent Princess getting off in the back of the library, legs spread, cheeks flushed red.

My cock hardens at the thought – the thought of her coming back for more.

And she will. I know that much. I know how stubborn and insistent she is, when she is on a mission, she doesn’t stop until the mission is complete.

And, I think her next trip, she just might get an unexpected visitor.

I take one last glance over at The Dark Knight, before sliding my hands into my pockets and walking out.

I can’t wait to expose that Granger is just as sexually frustrated and aroused as the rest of us, how she is anything but innocent – she rubbed herself in the bloody library for christ’s sake.

It's either I expose her, or I corrupt her – teach her a lesson.

It’s one or the other, and you best bloody believe it will be the second option.

[mayhemscorner]

Opposites

König x f!reader

Summary: She was so confident in public, she didn’t need the battlefield to get riled up and show her true colors. She actually froze in the line in the line of fire, and König could finally be her protector

(A/N: this is not my usual content but I need to write this for… personal pleasure) 

warnings: violence, blood, swearing, slightly OOC 

“This is bullshit, a plan like this will get us killed!” Y/N spews across the table, jabbing a finger deeply in to Ghost’s chest.

“Bullshit or not, it’s the plan. And we’re carrying through with it. Follow orders, or go home kid.” Ghost sneers, slapping her finger away.

“I don’t know what kind of stick is shoved so far up your ass that makes you act like this, but it better be long enough to use as an excuse for your idiocy.” Y/N barks back aggressively, turning away from the table to finish cleaning and reassembling her gun. König fidgets nervously at the edge of the makeshift table. Y/N was right, it was a suicide mission after all. But no one else had the balls to go against Ghosts orders. So the best he could do is keep a look out and protect the others, after all it was what he was best at.

“Everyone off to bed. We head out before daylight. Enjoy the lick of sleep you might be lucky enough to get.” Ghost grumbles out in finality, stalking towards the door and slamming it behind him. Everyone awkwardly shuffled around like mindless zombies, already worn and tired from lack of sleep and stress.

“Gotta stir the pot, don’t you love?” Soap chuckles out, roughing up Y/N’s already unkempt hair as he sidles up to her. The yearning for a hot shower only adds to the stress of the mission, let alone Ghost trying to prove a point. But Soap, he adds a bit of relief if only he would mind his personal space. Y/N hunches forward, swatting Soaps hand away, lasered in on finishing her gun. 

Soap only chides more, hoping to get at least a smile. 

“Enough already, damnit!” Y/N snaps around with lethal precision, knocking a dirt covered boot on the back of Soaps knee, sending him tumbling forward. 

“Hey, I was only joking around… Trying to get a grin from ya. What’s got you in a bend?” Soap coughs out, wiping away the annoying sand that plumes upwards anytime anyone does as much as look the wrong direction. Y/N wipes a frustrated tear that had welled up unannounced, causing König to jolt with anxiety and grip the table in front of him, ready to defend. Conflict between the two currently fighting was rare, almost non existent unless one stole the last tea sachet without buying another box. And here they were, in front of him and in each others faces, seconds from a screaming match or attempted homicide. 

“Do you want to die out there? I don’t! I might be the only one left in my family but I still have a dog waiting for me at home. A warm bed and distance between me and this sorry excuse of a unit! How am I supposed to have your back if we’re walking straight in to suicide, Johnny? We’re supposed to be the best there is and just willingly go in to our deaths when there’s other options? You’re weak for not saying anything. I look a damn fool being the only one defending our lives before they’re even jeopardized, god damnit!” Y/N raises her voice with every sentence, words sharper than any blade the unit carried, and gripping tighter and tighter at Soap’s collar. 

“And what makes you think Ghost would lead us to death? What are you even doing questioning his plans, he’s in the position he’s in for a god damn reason! If you didn’t shit on everything he did, maybe you’d see the sense in his words. You’re too conceited. Because if he was wrong about ANYTHING, we’d all have been dead long ago. Pull your head out of your ass and start acting your position, Y/N.” Soap spits back, grabbing at her vest and jostling her to the side. 

That one move caused all hell to break loose, the two of them grappling on the floor and throwing stray punches. Any passerby would think the two were siblings, and they practically were with how long they’ve known each other. But this fight was personal, the two foaming at the mouth in built up rage from the stressful mission at hand, and the both of them seen each other as the easiest form of taking their aggressions out. 

König chuckles at first, hoping it would die down after a few good punches, waiting to hear the two laugh and hug it out… but it didn’t come. The screaming only continued, things being knocked over from tables as they pushed and knocked each other over. 

König seen enough when Soap pinned her to the ground with a knife at her throat, the other hand still gripped tightly on her vest,” and to think you ‘excelled’ in hand to hand combat. Bullshit! You ca-“

“Enough.” König growls, effortlessly pulling Soap off of Y/N, but being gentle enough to set him upright on his feet.

Seeing only Königs eyes was a scary thing to Soap, he couldn’t tell if he was tired or upset, but he could definitely read the malice in his squinted eyes. 

“You’ve duked it out long enough, it’s time to get some rest, both of you.” König continues, kneeling down to offer a hand to Y/N, only to have it slapped away. The twinge in his chest at the cold gesture hurt more than a gunshot wound. The woman who never needed defended still wouldn’t accept the hand he’s outstretched to her and only her multiple times, was once again rejected. König is frozen, hand still outstretched as she crawls up from the floor, muttering a goodnight as she body checks Soap on her way out.

The three involved in the altercation didn’t get a wink of sleep, but all were prepared. Y/N was stalking to the kettle on the stove, only stopping to stare at Soap. He only raises an eyebrow in anticipation, waiting to see if she was going to throw an apology or her hands.

“I’m sorry, Johnny. And I mean it. I’m not going to die having the closest thing to home mad at me.” She mutters out quietly, shifting between her feet to keep her tired mind preoccupied. 

“I’m sorry too. You’re still an asshole.” Soap remarks, tousling her hair once again before pulling Y/N in for a quick hug.

“And you’re still a Dick.” She quips back, sipping at the scalding hot tea around his back. 

“We’ll be fine. Have some hope for crying out loud.” Soap whispers as Ghost walks in, causing the two to separate and stand in line.

König sidles up behind Y/N, hand resting on her shoulder as Ghost quickly sets the plan in place. A quick squeeze for reassurance, mainly for himself. If at any point he thought this mission could go wrong, he’d tell her how he felt… or he wouldn’t. He loses his words every time, maybe facing a close call would coax it out of him… wait. Did she just squeeze his hand back with her tiny paw? König risks a glance down, seeing her hand resting gently on top of his. Hers looked so fragile placed atop his, save for the scars littering her knuckles and fresh bruises from hours ago. Soap steals a glance at the scene, noticing Königs bewildered eyes and Y/N’s almost nonexistent smirk, winking at her as Ghost turns to head out. Johnny receives a kind punch to the gut from her free hand in reply. 

“Yeah, I deserved that one.” He heaves, gripping the doorway as he walks out in front of the two that remained. 

“You ready big guy?” Y/N asks, dropping her hand to her side, convincing herself to move forward.

“Y-yeah. Always ready.” König stammers out, following behind. Her heart thumps quickly at the catch in his voice, but quickly denies it’s over her. He must be nervous for what lies ahead. The battlefield was no place for a love story, and Y/N was almost certain König was just nice with everyone. But König was never nervous on getting to the action. It’s where he felt most comfortable. Better than wandering aimlessly in a market square, embarrassed when civilians gawked at his height, pointing him out discreetly to their companions. He couldn’t help his height, regardless how much he hated being singled out in those situations. In the unit he’s adjusted to everyone being unsurprised when his head smacked against the door frame or bumped in to a light fixture. His unit didn’t laugh or stare, König actually appreciated that they all couldn’t care less. 

The shield of night sent a flutter against Y/N’s chest, but now wasn’t the time to get anxious. However, Any slight sound would still make her tense. Was it a desert amphibian or an enemy? She shakes her head in to clarity as Ghost motions onwards. Once they reached the building they would split, Johnny and Ghost inside, König and Y/n surveilling from any vantage point they could find outside. 

“Keep an eye out, we’ve already ran in to a sticky situation in here.” Soaps strained voice rings in to their coms.

Y/N’s heart sinks, wondering how something could’ve happened so soon and if Johnny was alright. König couldn’t even be bothered by the voice in his ear, there was movement ahead that needed his attention.

“Eyes forward Y/N, we’ve got company.” He whispers, signaling with two of his fingers. She follows the fingers to their now commandeered humvee and their only way back, watching closely as the tires kick up sand on the road they had just walked not even an hour ago. With barely any vantage point and no place to set her rifle to sight in on a long distance shot, she mutters a curse before looking for the highest ground. Y/N looks behind the towering man, with a flat surface of a merchants abandoned stand finally being her saving grace. 

“Hey big guy, mind giving me a boost?” She mutters quickly, motioning to the stand behind him. König outstretches his arms and bends down, wrapping them as delicately as possible around the bottom of her knees. The veil he was wearing concealed his manhood, blushing feverishly as Y/N’s breasts make quick contact with his chin before lifting her further up. 

If it weren’t for a quick thinking situation, she would’ve blushed herself, thinking how good König looked below her, hands exactly where they should be… caressing her legs with a gentle strength as his head moves lower.

The cool metal roof of the stand sends chills against Y/N’s braced arms as she heaves herself the rest of the way up with a slight push from the man below. Looking down the scope, the humvee is in sights. One man driving, one man riding on the back. Both enemy targets. Simple maneuver, take the driver out then save the guy on back for last.

Lining up the sights, a bullet is sent precisely through the windshield, sending the driver slump and the humvee cockeyed. The man on the back instantly launches off and rolls to the ground below, standing and firing his own gun recklessly as Y/N tries to zone the sight in once again. 

“Damnit, I can’t get him.” She curses, slamming the sight covering shut and looking around for a solution.

“Leave it to me.” König barks out, stalking right in the line of the haphazard firing. Y/N winces as the sound of a bullet skimming flesh sounds. The soft grunt from below confirmed it was her partner that was hit. But it didn’t stop the fight frenzied tank of a man to charge forward, closing the gap of the now charging enemy. In the blink of an eye, König had his bloodied arm wrapped around the assailants neck, and legs sweeping them both to the ground. Another gunshot rings out before the crunch of bone brings a bitter silver taste to Y/N’s mouth and a churn in her stomach. After several heartbeats of silence, Y/N reaches for the com switch shakily,” please tell me you’re okay.”

“Enemy down, I’m injured.” König wheezes back in to his own mic. The heat wave of anxiety washes over Y/N, but she still forces herself off the stand to asses the situation.

“What the hell is going on out there you two?” Ghost sounds in. The same thought must’ve been rushing through everyone’s head as the line goes silent. König’s report should’ve been word enough as to what was going on. Y/N finally comes to the scene, seeing the crazed bezerker now docile and injured was almost frightening.

“Don’t move, just tell me where you’re hurt!” Y/N yelps, kneeling quickly at his side and grabbing the bloody arm that lay limp. 

“Y/N, my arm is fine. It was just a graze. It’s my leg.” König half chuckles, half wheezes while trying to sit up. She knocks him back to the ground and quickly cuts an opening around the blood stain on his upper thigh. She mutters a quick curse under her breath and reaches for her belt, whipping it off and sliding it beneath his leg.

“I’ve never done an extraction on field before so I’m sorry if this hurts. You can punch me if it makes you feel better.” Y/N giggles in panic as she yanks her belt tight, creating a tourniquet above the wound. If it wasn’t so close to the femoral artery, she would’ve just left it… but desperate times call for desperate measures. It was a relief to get the heavy medical pack off her back, but the tension only built in her chest as shaky fingers grab supplies.

“I could never punch you. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.” König chuckles. Y/N can only roll her eyes before grabbing a tongue depressor and holding it out,” here. You’re going to want this.”

She places it between his teeth as he looks at her in confusion,” why would I-“

“For this.” Is all Y/N gasps as she digs the metal forceps in to the wound, causing König to convulse in pain and a stifled yelp. Metal hits metal as the forceps meet the bullet, thankfully not stuck in too far. The wooden tongue depressor between his teeth snaps, and a worried arm grips at Y/N’s shoulder.

“Y/N, you can hurry up now!” König seethes in pain, fingernails biting in to her skin through her shirt. She could only sigh in relief as she assesses the bullet under the glimmering moonlight, holding it up so König could get a view as well. 

“I’m giving you thirty seconds to take a deep breath and move your hand so you don’t break my shoulder. Then I’m stitching you up.” She heaves between quick breaths and wiping the anxious sweat from her brow. König can only nod, moving his hand thoughtlessly to her thigh and regrouping as Y/N threads the needle. 

“I’m not going to ask again, what’s going on out there?” Ghost’s voice chimes in.

“God damnit, I’m sewing an injured man back together give me some peace and quiet or come out here and do it yourself.” Y/N spits back before ripping the com out and getting back to work. The first puncture sends a moan from König’s lips and a tingle through Y/N. If he wasn’t laying in front of her injured, she may have just melted and stored that sound in her mind for later.

“Y/N-“ König begins in a pleading voice, getting cut off by her slight laugh,” yes big guy I’m almost done.”

“No no, no. I wanted to say thank you. For this, for making me comfortable. I appreciate it.” König smiles at her, slightly visible under his unkempt veil.

“I really wouldn’t call this comfortable, König. This is very unsterile and we’re on the ground.” Y/N says mindlessly, tying off the last stitch.

“No, not this. You. I mean you. Thank you.” He pants between his quickened heart rate from pain, adrenaline and even ecstasy.

“You feeling alright? You’re not losing too much blood are you? Should I call in an emergency med evac?” She rambles back. 

“I’m fine! You just amaze me.” König mumbles, caressing her cheek faintly and accidentally smudging blood where his fingers pass. She responds with checking the temperature of his forehead and grimacing,” I think you’re losing too much blood. I’m calling for an evac.” 

Just as Y/N rises to find her com, his hand pulls her down on top of him, her arms being the only thing bracing the distance between their faces. 

“Do not call for an evac. I’m trying to confess my feelings here!” König snaps, staring directly in to Y/N’s frantic and searching eyes. 

“I really don’t think this is the time t-“ Y/N tries to scold, only to be cut off by a hurried and sloppy kiss from the fidgeting man below her. She kisses back mindlessly, melting against Königs touch. It feels so wrong for this to be the moment, but she’s craved for this to happen since she laid eyes upon the man on the way to location.

“Sure looks like you don’t need any help out here.” Soap grunts out from above them, and receiving a middle finger from the two in reply. Ghost creeps in on the scene as Y/N stands and brushes the dirt and blood from her pants. König’s eyes become heavy as he smiles,” you can call for that med evac now. I’m going to pass out.”

Without missing a beat, his body becomes taught and his eyes droop shut. 

“Man’s got balls, I’ll say that much. I wouldn’t risk dying just for a kiss from you.” Soap states in awe before requesting an evac over the radio. 

“No smart remark back? I’m making fun of you here, kid.” Soap questions worriedly and turning back around.

“Johnny. I’m just baffled this man likes me… And worried that he’s passed out.” Y/N replies, staring off in shock and at the fallen tower they call König in front of them.

“I’m baffled you two never even noticed. We’ve been taking bloody bets and I owe some damn good money.” Soap coughs out as the evac arrives. 

“Wait, who the hell do you owe money?” Y/N shouts over the churning chopper blades, turning to Soap in confusion. The question is answered as Ghost knicks the wallet from Soaps back pocket,” you’re short a few hundred.”

“Sorry I didn’t bring cash with me on a mission, didn’t know we were stopping for some damn ice cream on the way back to base asshole.” Soap barks, almost silenced out from the thundering blades that were once again quickening to carry away König. 

“Lucky bastard doesn’t have to walk back to base either.” Y/N grumbles, scuffing a boot in the dirt before walking back to the trail that led them here.

“I’m sure the humvee is still drivable.” Ghost offers, only to receive a quick no from the other two in unison.

*a few hours later*

The sun was rising, beating down on the units sore and tired eyes as they finally reach the base. The door groans in protest as Ghost slams it open. The three left sit silently around the small kitchen table as the other unit members begin to crawl out of their own beds for the day shift. Silence lingers as the other members come and go before Soap finally clears his throat,” I haven’t heard any updates on König. But no news is better than bad news.”

“Ah, he’ll be fine. Just needs some blood pumped in him and some rest. I’m sure he’ll be released soon. I’m not going to sit around and wait to be the welcoming committee, I’m too damn tired.” Ghost yawns, stretching out his limbs before standing and waving the other two off. 

“You should get some shut eye too, kid. It’s been a long night and there’s only more ahead. The big guy will be fine.” Soap sleepily lilts out, accent becoming even heavier in his groggy state. Y/N droops forward, jolting up quickly to catch herself before nodding,” yeah. I think you’re right. I’m calling it a night… or day.”

“See you when the sun sets, Sharpshooter.” Soap yawns out, finally retiring to his room.

Y/N slowly trudges to her own like a mindless zombie, stripping down and crawling under the scratchy blanket and almost immediately passing out.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Y/N’s eyes crack open, seeing the sun was still shining, and upset that someone was being so loud knowing there was others sleeping. The sound rings again, but this time she realizes it’s knocks on her door. Dramatically rolling off the cot and groaning in protest she rips the door open,” seriously, I’ve been up all night and the last thing I need is an early wake up call!”

She finally stares at the chest of the knocker, eyes trailing up to see König with his veil still crookedly on.

“Actually, I’ll take this early wake up call.” Y/N smiles, leaning against the door frame awkwardly in an attempt to hide her anxiousness.

“I- I didn’t mean to wake you, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you all made it back in one piece. I should’ve just waited…” he trails off, wringing his hands out and shifting his stance several times before continuing,” I should go… to bed, now. It’s been a long night.���

As König begins to walk off, Y/N circles her arms around him, resting her head against his mid back and yawning,” I’m so glad I didn’t kill you.”

König freezes, looking down at the smaller hands wrapped around him and turning in her arms to be able to look down at the hug assailant. 

“I don’t see how you would’ve killed me, saved me actually! You are amazing! Such a strong and fierce woman.” König boasts, hooking his arms under Y/N’s to pull her up, and settles his hands gently on her backside as she wraps her legs around his torso and hands on his shoulders. She sleepily admires the dopey eyes behind the facial covering that looks at her with so much appreciation and grips gently at his jawline,” let’s get some shut eye and you can compliment me more later handsome. You shouldn’t be lifting, let alone walking after getting shot.”

König coughs, clearing the catch in his throat before nodding due to a complete loss of words. He’s never been called handsome, and her words travel down him, filling him with pride as her head tucks in to the crook of his neck. Her very presence makes a gunshot wound seem like a cat scratch, and König would be a dead man walking if she had seen the discarded crutches by her door. It was the feeling of finding something worth fighting and living for, instead of something to die for. 

“Anything for you, meine leibe.” König whispers, pulling a hand to the back of Y/N’s head to stroke through her sleep riddled hair. The twinge of pain in his leg as he walks is a reminder that the woman sleeping in his arms could save a life just as easily as she could take it, and a promise to himself he would do everything in his power to make sure nothing ever hurt her in the ways he had been. 

“König, where are you taking me?” Y/N grumbles out in a moment of consciousness. He tilts down, kissing her temple through his veil and chuckles,” the couch. The both of us would never fit on a cot together.”

In the matter of a few hours, Soap would come out to set the kettle on the stove, stopping to view the massive blood thirsty killer they called König protectively curled around the tiny terror that was Y/N and see the two in the rarest state for either of them… total peace. He pulls the kettle before it could even whistle, pouring hot water over a bag and sipping the piping hot tea as Ghost walks out.

“Hurry and take a picture. I don’t think I’ve seen either of them not have the gleam of murder in their eyes.” He gruffly states, pouring the same water over instant coffee and joining in on the viewing. They both tense and hold their breath as Y/N shifts, rolling inwards towards König who was pressed up behind her, causing the both to only hold tighter.

“Do you two have anything better to do?” Y/N seethes out, slightly muffled by Königs chest.

“Not really, no.” Soap grumbles back, taking another sip of his tea and preparing to run. Y/N definitely thought of trying, but the tightening grip around her prevents her from moving,” don’t move. I’ll handle this.”

Soaps eyes become wide as the realization hits that it was now a tag team against him instead of just Y/N.

“Shit.” 

[c-t-r-l14]

A RETROSPECTIVE, A REFLECTION, AND YES, ANOTHER DAMN ALEX RANT.

What I find the most amusing is the fact that Saku likes my rants about Alex.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if ya’ll know me as, “That One Girl Who Despises Alex”, because I write about how mad he makes me, and have MULTIPLE RANTS about how much I dislike him and his gaslighting, excuse-making, manipulative, no-backbone having, crybaby bitch ass.

Like—I be jumping Alex, reading his ass for filth, and be downright destroying him and Saku reads it and is like “Lmao, good stuff”, and LIKES THE DAMN RANTS.

It’s really crazy because at first, I was really scared about posting my first ever rant about him, because before people saw just how immature Alex was being in the breakup audio, a lot of people were jumping listener in the comments and talking about how it was their fault that this happened in the first place. Now, listener is definitely NOT a saint, at all. Even though I sympathize with them, what they did was wrong—point BLANK. But the way their relationship ended wasn’t entirely their fault.

I remember reading the comments and there were some people who said, “Ugh, if listener just didn’t say anything at all, this would’ve never happened”, but that shit confuses me so much?? I do agree that they should’ve been more careful about their approach when it comes to confrontation, but if THIS is the way Alex reacts when Listener looses their cool and does something in the heat of the moment, who is to say that it wouldn’t happen at all? He was so damn quick to end a four year relationship over a mistake. He never put in any work to see why listener acted out that day. He never once tried to talk to them, he acknowledged the fact that they don’t usually act like this, made up stupidly flimsy excuses on why the relationship would supposedly would not work, said some out of pocket shit about them not being the right partner for a long distance relationship, AND THEN PROCEEDED TO GASLIGHT THEM into thinking that THEY were the crazy one for reacting to what he just said, tried to manipulate them into thinking that the reason why their relationship ended was all their fault, and tried to act like HE was the mature one by making the decision to end it in the first place—-

And you’re telling me you saw ALL OF THIS UNFOLD, and your first thought was, “Oh yeah, all of this is definitely listener’s fault. They had it coming, lmao. Good luck to Alex in the States.”

OH H E L L NO.

If he had been so quick to end his relationship of F O U R Y E A R S in a heartbeat over something he K N E W to be an out of character mistake, then what on God’s green Earth would make ya’ll think that he’d stick around had listener stayed silent???? Listener will make mistakes, and there will come a time when their emotions will get the best of them (as it does with all of us), and you guys really believe that Alex’s fickle, emotional whiplash having, “this would be good for us, we both wouldn’t be tied down anymore 🥺” headass would still stay then???

Because, HE W O U L D N ‘ T.

He saw the opportunity to leave, and he took it. He already had his mind made from the jump when he told his mother and father, his friends, his acquaintances, his ancestors—and the ENTIRE W O R L D that he was taking that NYC job and his partner was last to know. Listener—-his own goddamn partner—-was the only person he needed to get rid of. They were his “burden” to bear, and he wanted to rid himself of it. And he didn’t want to seem like the bad guy, so he made excuses to make the break up easier on himself, pushed the blame away from him, and cried like the little baby back bitch he is in order to make it seem like this was such a hard decision to come to. He disregarded listener’s feelings, disregarded them as a whole, disrespected them, and left them with (probably) more trauma then what they started with.

I am sick and tired of seeing people blame the listener for everything that happened. They did not deserve the way they were broken up with at all. Alex isn’t a victim. He never was—and he stopped being the “mature one” (if you can even call it that) the moment those dumbass excuses came out of his slimy mouth.

For the people who were saying, “Alex deserves better than listener! I hope he finds a new partner.” Ya’ll need to realize that if this is how he acts when listener makes a mistake, he will do the absolute same thing with his future partners. He will give up the entire relationship and make an exit plan as soon as they do something even a little bit out of character. People who fold that easily and refuse to put effort in their relationship will NEVER KEEP IT. He will end up being single, and I know he’s the type of person who will never consider himself as a factor as to why his relationships all end in faliure because he has such a victim complex.

This man deserves absolutley nothing, ya’ll! NOTHING!

And I hope that one day, he realizes what he did was wrong, and apologizes to them. I will literally not be able to die peacefully if this doesn’t happen.

The craziest thing is that back in the olden days (four months ago), I would’ve been so scared to publish this whole rant, ya’ll. 😭 My dislike for Alex has been a hyper-fixation that held me in a massive chokehold—and I was honestly scared I was going to get hated on for not liking him (as well as my reasons for disliking him in the first place). But in the most strange turn of events, a lot of people share the same disdain I have for him too, and the comments on that break-up audio is now more critical toward Alex than it is toward listener, and these were both really big shocks to me. I’m really happy that a lot of people enjoy my rants, and even more happier (and surprised) to see Saku HIMSELF like my rant posts too.

Like literally ya’ll, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The love ya’ll leave for these rants are the reasons why I feel more and more confident to make them in the first place, and I appreciate it all very much.

So, here’s to next year, and to all the rants I’ll make in the future! And I hope we’ll all have a great year!

(Except for you, Alex. I hope your credit card declines when you try to pay for that $2.90 train fare and nobody opens the emergency door for you).

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

The captain had been a wretch since Doe had disembarked from the Shadow, kicking himself for sending her off without a proper goodbye. He’d justified it, in his own twisted way; he’d tended to her in her state, keeping her hair clean and neat and combed, ensuring she was warm enough, calling Halsin in nearly every hour on the hour to recite restoration charms, even though the druid had told him she was alright and only needed to sleep everything off. He’d held her, begging to gods he didn’t believe in for her to wake. 

He still couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her, not really. Incensed at her foolishness? Yes. Furious that she’d put herself at risk for them? Of course. But his fearful rage – that couldn’t be thrown at her, and he knew it. She’d already been through too much – that was his alone to bear. 

Gale’s words seemed to have a lingering effect on him. She was a lot like him, he realizes: having hope, even through torment; strong-willed, powerful, and ready to step into the line of fire in the name of protecting others, even if it meant giving their life; and, though shrouded by darkness at times, they were both so full of light. Inexplicably so, it seems. 

And what did he have? 

Anger from his own torment. Hope was a word that felt foreign on his tongue; he’d not lived the past century in hope of being free of Captain Szarr, but instead had been driven by utter desperation. In that time, he’d been slippery and selfish. Maybe I still am. 

What power do I have? No magical prowess, though he could handle a blade fairly well; his body was his instrument, though. He’d learned, from the lessons and the use and the abuse that it was all he’d had, and he had to use it. Had he used it against Doe? No, he reminds himself, she wanted to know me – not my body…right? 

He may not have always been willing to die for the sake of the many, but he would choose death over capture again; he would choose death if it meant no further harm or torment. But I don’t want death. The captain would do what he could to avoid it entirely. Then again, how could one choose death when they’re no longer really alive? 

There is no light within him. There is darkness and there is hunger. 

But there’s also her. 

Maybe Doe was that light – softening his darkness, soothing the jagged edges within; handling all of the glimmering shards of his soul. Aside from the hunger, that may have been the worst of it all: damned to darkness. Always reflecting, never alight from within. 

Only bitter cold. 

Only him. Only this thing he’d become— 

Astarion wanted that gentle hand that would willingly cut itself on all of his broken pieces. It didn’t matter from where or from whom, just that it was there — and would remain, no matter how many scars came from loving him. Would let him lash out, be afraid, lock himself away and shut out the world, and take care of him anyway. No matter how rotten the work may be. 

But to ask that of anyone…to ask that of Doe… 

The thoughts pour from his mind and bleed black onto the pages of the leather-bound book before him, still crumpled from when he’d thrown it across the room. The vanity mirror had shattered on impact, but he paid no mind; it had been covered for years and the glass had started to spot. He could never bring himself to get rid of it no matter how painful a reminder it was. But at least now there was something poetic about it: the webbed cracking of hundreds of pieces, loose and rattling and ready to bite the hand that tries to mend it. 

Astarion’s mind dances in a frenzy as his mind moves faster than his hand can keep up with. His usual curling cursive is now a desperate scrawl – anything to get out what lies restless within. Anything to distract him from the sharp pangs in his gut, the aching dryness of his tongue, the waning of his vision and the shaking of his hands. Anything to stave the hunger. 

He tosses his quill down, unbothered by either the smattering of ink across his haphazardly written thoughts, or the splotches staining his fingertips and shirt-cuffs. Astarion leans back in his chair, willing his mind to clear for just a moment. 

But the air shifts. 

Astarion’s ears prickle at the sound of Doe’s soft footsteps. His skin heats at the smell of her, jolting forward in his seat. The steps fade as Doe makes her way to her quarters. He can’t help the sinking of his heart. The ship beyond his doors is quiet for a few moments until the captain decides to retire, standing from his seat and walking towards the chaise. 

The footsteps return and halt right outside his door. He takes a step forward ready to open the door before she can knock, until another wave hits him. Something unfamiliar – a distinct waft of cherries and smoke, intertwined with her own citrus-and-cinnamon scent. 

He’d sent her to shore in a port city with Karlach and Shadowheart. What had he expected? 

Astarion closes his eyes in an attempt to gain some kind of composure. 

Cherries and smoke. Her blood runs hot – is that an air of whiskey? 

His heart tightens and his jaw is clenched so tightly the captain fears his teeth might crack. 

Someone touched  your little songbird, your siren, your darling Doe—

But she wasn’t his. Not really. He wouldn’t have made that choice for her. 

You can sense it – a flush in her cheeks, a newfound presence drawn to her power. 

Astarion’s ears twitch at Doe’s gentle knock. 

“Astarion–” Gods, his name on her voice— “it’s me.” 

He reaches for the handle. 

You’ve missed your chance, spawn. Someone else has claimed her.

Astarion tries to hush the voice in his head to no avail. 

Open that door and you’ll see it – go ahead, see how she blossoms for another. 

A stranger – handsome and new, and powerful too. 

Astarion feels like he can’t breathe. 

He might’ve made her feel alive. What could you offer her? 

His vision swims, stomach threatening to bottom out from the intoxicating mix of nausea and hunger. 

You’ll see it on her face. 

His grip tightens on the handle.

You’ll smell him in her hair. 

You’ll– 

Unable to take any more of his own torment, Astarion pulls the door open.

Doe takes a breath as he opens the door. His normally perfect appearance is dishevelled, splotches of ink on his beautiful clothes, his hair wild.

Gods. He must really be angry with me to allow himself to get into this state.

She feels Faust nuzzle against her cheek, his warm feathers fluffing, soft on her skin. She loves the little jackdaw already, nevermind who he came from.

'Astarion,' she says again, feeling her magic rise within her as though in answer to his presence. The air around her crackles a touch, the scent of ozone faint. Still, the bird pays no mind. 'I know you're angry with me.'

She wants so desperately to hold him, to kiss his waiting mouth, to see his fanged half smile.

But she won't, and she doesn't. The storm is gentle now, but she can feel the pressure. She takes another breath, and waits.

Astarion studies Doe for a moment. He’d not laid eyes on her before she left, hadn’t seen the blood red gown she’d dressed herself in. He’s not sure whether it’s the hunger or the desire that threatens to push him over the edge as images of his hands unlacing his corset and tearing through the fine silk and lace flicker through his mind.

It’d be a shame to brutalize such a beautiful garment, he thinks. Especially when it seems the gown could’ve been made for her body alone.

His eyes travel up to meet her gaze, but something is different. Not just the dress or the still lingering smell of cherries and smoke, stronger now with no door between them.

Her bruises were gone. The cut across her lip is now a scar, and her eyes have a glassiness to them. Her breath smells of liquor.

And sprawling lines of ink, swirling around her shoulders and threatening to creep along her neck. He doesn’t dare wonder how far down those tentacles go. A nod to the navigator, then; his jaw tightens, but he makes no move to acknowledge it. Not yet.

“What have you—“ he stops, eyeing the jackdaw on her shoulder and just barely stumbling back. “What in the hells is that thing?”

'He's a jackdaw,' she said calmly. 'A... gift. From a very dangerous man.' She sighs, bitter. 'I should've noticed. But I was too drunk. The owner of the tavern is a cambion. He healed my bruises and asked for a dance as payment. I thought that was fair, so... that's probably why I stink of cherries and smoke just now.'

She reaches up, scratches Faust under the chin. 'His name is Faust. He tapped on my cabin window- I'm not sure how Raphael knew where I would be, because he was there already when I got home. But he knew. And,' she says, 'he understands common, I think. Hey, Faust?'

The bird tilts his head, croaks.

'Perch over there, please,' she says, gesturing to the back of the desk chair. 'And don't touch anything, okay?'

The jackdaw fluffs his feathers, fluttering onto the back of the seat.

'Alright then,' she says, crossing her arms. 'I'm sure you have thoughts. Before you say anything,' she says, holding a finger to his lips, 'nothing happened beyond a dance. An intimate dance, but not my choice. I don't want him. I want you.'

He ducks his head as Faust flies over. Raphael… Raphael… he’d heard that name before, hadn’t he? He couldn’t place it but the memory lingered, something he’d overheard during his time on the /Rhapsody/.

It takes a moment for her words to settle, but when they do he can’t seem to look anywhere but at her. The scent of the cambion Raphael is choking, but he can’t deny that those words had just come from her lips.

“I want you.”

But that vile part of him, the ire and the fear and the decades of self-preservation all rise up within his chest before he can think.

“And it took you dancing with another man for you to reach that conclusion, is that right?”

Doe reels back as though slapped. The magic within her, hungry and grasping, rises. She can feel her hair lift as though on a strong wind, her eyes sparking bright blue for a split second, lightning crackling at her fingertips.

'Really,' she says icily. 'You want to play it like that, do you?' She allows the storm to wash through her; rage feels better than sadness or powerlessness, anyway.

'I told you,' she snaps. 'I was drunk. He cornered me at the bar, Karlach and Shadowheart were focused on other things. A dance was fair payment for healing the state I was in, and well, I had a few moments where I wasn't feeling out of my depth or like I didn't belong, or furious. I just felt happy. Gods damn you, Astarion, all I wanted from you- what I needed- when I woke up, was for you to hold me. And you didn't.'

As a flare of magic surges through her, Astarion finds himself in awe at the wild beauty of it, but her words still sting.

How could she know he’d not left her side since the moment her body had been pulled from the water? The first time he’d left his quarters was to give her privacy after she’d woken up to head ashore, and that had gutted him. Even now, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, and he hadn’t fed since their tryst with Gale. He’d been too scared, too sick to focus on anything other than her.

But he can’t make her understand. The grasp of his fear tightens around his heart and mind.

“You don’t know what I did for you after you brazenly threw yourself into that storm,” he seethes, chest pounding and his voice raw. “How dare you put yourself and my crew in that kind of danger—” He can’t help the poison in his words, wishing they could come out any other way. “we wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d just remained where you belong!”

She is so angry she feels tears in her eyes, snarls in his face.

'And where is that,' she hisses, stalking forward so they are nose to nose, 'exactly?'

She can feel the lash of lightning in her words, can't figure out how to soften them. Instead of calming, like she'd hoped, she finds herself screaming at him instead.

'How dare I? HOW DARE I? The fucking nerve of you, you bastard! I have done EVERYTHING I can to fit in here. I worked my hands raw, I put up with your fucking- fucking- UGH!' she throws up her hands, has to fight the urge to shove him back. 'If I'm such a fucking liability, throw me overboard yourself you coward! I should have realised, I really should, it was too good to be true, wasn't it? That I could be loved? Gods. Stupid, fucking idiot girl that I am. Fuck you, Astarion. You haven't got a fucking clue what I need or how I feel. I can't fucking get to you!' She seethes, cries out in anger. 'I've tried! I've tried so fucking hard but you keep doing THIS!'

A surge of electricity bursts from her, a physical manifestation of the turmoil she feels.

Astarion’s anger only seeps deeper when he feels his eyes prickle with tears. Weak, wretched thing, that inner voice croons. it’s only what such a vile thing deserves.

The blast of surging magic hits him, knocking him off balance. He doesn’t lose his balance entirely, but the force is even to shift him back a few steps, throwing his arms up to protect himself. A pathetic, instinctive reflex. Cowardly as ever. Panting, he looks across the room at Doe, crackling with energy. That blast had been all her, all the hurt he’d caused her.

“By my side,” he croaks. There’s no use in trying to hide the tremor in his voice. His ruby eyes are wild, struck with grief and fear. He heaves for breath, any attempts at composure lost to her storm. He flinches at another crackle of her magic, face burning against the tears now staining his cheeks. “I want you—“ he chokes out, “by my side, Doe.”

She feels tears on her cheeks. 'You're lying,' she bites out, knowing at once that it's not true. She is shaking violently, Faust sensing her emotion and cawing loudly in distress. 'Gods- how could you-' she is at a loss, the look on his face utterly disarming her. 'How could you fucking say that?' She presses her lips together in an effort to not break down sobbing. She digs her nails into her palms and takes a breath, jaw set as she looks at him.

'Don't fucking do this to me. Don't.' The violence of the storm is leaving her but she doesn't want it to. Because what's left is just them, and their raw hearts, and what could be, and what is.

'Hells,' she snarls, throws the words at him in one last attempt at protecting herself. 'Why the fuck would you say something like that?!' She paces like a wild animal, growling, unable to look at him. 'That's fucking cruel, even for you! DAMN you! Damn your fucking face and your beautiful eyes and the way you make me feel alive, damn it all! DAMN IT!'

Another surge of magic, pathetic against the onslaught.

'Don't you fucking understand?!' She crosses to him then, grabs him by the shirt collar. 'No, gods how could you?'

She screams, because it's all she can do. It's the only thing her guarded heart can think of.

'I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU STUPID MAN!'

It’s all out there, then.

The silence between them is heavy.

Doe’s words strum something awake within him, but devastate him all the same. He sags into her grasp, his collar still clenched in her fists. Astarion lifts his hands to grasp her hips, pressing his forehead against her belly.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Doe, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you—“ he can’t help but repeat the words over and over, breaking and mending with each breath from his lips, wracked with pathetic sobs.

I’m so afraid. I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you. Please don’t run from me. I love you. I don’t know why I bite. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Something cracks within her to see him like this. She holds him, lets him cry into her, strokes his hair soothingly with shaking hands.

'Hush,' she whispers. 'My darling boy. Shh. You're safe. You're safe with me.'

She's crying too, gently extricates herself from his grasp. 'Astarion.' She reaches for the dagger at her thigh, holds it up, makes a decision. Draws it with a gasp across her palm, watches the blood well. Offers it. 'Go on.' Her voice is soft. 'It's yours. It was ever since you swept me away. You sweet fool.'

The ruby hue of Astarion’s eyes shifts in a second, now seeped in deep crimson. The roaring fear, the pain in his chest, that voice echoing in his mind that he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve her — all drowned out by the hunger.

He hesitates a moment, looking up at her in disbelief from his kneeling position. His fingers dig further into her hips and bunch the fabric gathered there as the scent of her blood hits his nose.

She encourages him with a nod. A second later he takes her wrist in one of his pale hands and drinks, the other traveling to grasp the back of her thigh and pulling her closer to him in calamitous need.

And then, he drinks.

Astarion’s hand at Doe’s thigh tightens as a sharp gasp escapes her lips. His chest warms and his head swims with the heady taste of her, citrus and cinnamon intertwined with whiskey. He can feel the warmth of her blood dribble down his chin, but he pays no mind. The hunger drives him now, insatiable after so many days of wanting.

When he feels her knees begin to wobble, body going taut beneath his grasp, he pulls away. His lazy, drunken grin glistens with the crimson of her blood, dipping his head back.

“You should go,” he says between breaths, both hands now cupping the backs of her thighs as she nurses her bleeding palm. “Gale—“ he says, swallowing hard and savoring the warmth of her blood on his chin. “He’ll want to know you’ve returned.”

Sending her, once again, into the arms of another man. But she needs him. And he needs her, too.

'You have to let me go, my love.' His grip releases slowly and she pulls him to his feet, nodding. She can't kiss him; if she does, she will simply stay.

'Wait for me,' she says softly, pressing her forehead to his briefly. 'Faust!'

The jackdaw flutters onto her shoulder, tucks into her neck. She leaves, trying to staunch the blood as much as she can. She knocks on the navigator's door.

'Gale? Sweet boy, are you in?'

[voidthewanderer]

INQUIRING MINDS WISH TO KNOW——>

For the OC Ask Game! ✨Creating your OCs✨

1, 3, 8, 12, 16 and 19 for Ripper, Shae and Arsenic!!!

:)

Please :))

Pretty please :)))

(Don’t make me whip out my quadruple chin!!!)

@anonwyvern || Questions About Creating Your OCs

Under cut for length; I needed to talk about my babiesss.

What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)? 

Shae: Shae was appearance, though and through. She'd gone through so many changes; species changes as she traveled through fandoms and back and forth between getting pulled from them to be from original concepts. Being online during the massive point online where "Mary Sue bad and you're a terrible person for making them!", she kind of just went onto this backburner with everything; looks, appearance, story, everything.

Ripper: Mostly appearance, but a super loose as hell backstory as well. Rips was originally a Left 4 Dead OC and of a concept that never actually made it to the game at that. Most of what did exist of his backstory was just that he was an asylum escapee who was turned. Rather than the straight jacket being closed up, his arms were free. He's had the most changes over his entire timespan.

Arsenic: Appearance 100%. He actually was originally a concept made by my nephew! He wanted a zombie chef, so I made a zombie chef!

3. How did you choose their name? 

Shae: I honestly don't even remember where her name came from. It wasn't exactly a popular name when I made her, damn probably about seventeen years ago now? Maybe longer, I think.

Ripper: Was originally a sort of punny name. "A scream ripping at one's throat". Where Joseph Trumoil came from, is one of those things that just... happened. Sometimes names just get stuck in my head. I'll quote him directly from the WIP of Chapter 26 of Mnemonic Impressions for why it's still Ripper: "Thanks to my old line of work, if it were humanly possible at that time, I could rip someone apart and know exactly how to do it to cause the most damage; didn’t help I used t’ do some body building. My friends were… fucked up t’ say the least."

Arsenic: I kinda thought it would be funny for an undead, zombie chef to have his name be the same as a poison.

8. What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story? 

Shae: Let's just say that I am actually very mouthy like Shae it. And, just like with her current situation with Sinjin, I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut so I don't get hurt.

Ripper: There's actually not much story wise I relate to with Rips. If anything, I'm envious of my own character. He's charismatic, charming, his style is impeccable. I guess he did get a lot of my "do no harm, but take no shit" personality.

Arsenic: The cooking! Arsenic is literally probably the person I would become (sans the murders) if I actually stayed in the food service industry.

12. What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: writing, drawing, edits, etc.)? 

Shae: It's actually been difficult to keep her silver tongued, combative, defiant, but also keeping her... alive. In all honesty, she would probably be dead by now if I didn't mellow her out a bit. She's legit supposed to be as vile as Sinjin is, cutting some completely reprehensible stuff, but I also know that she would have been long since dead before her story even started.

Ripper: No lie, actually nailing down his official design. Every time I think I have something solid, I go "oh, this would work with him!" and then things would change. Rinse and repeat. Now it's more just trying to nail down exactly who I wanna build his facial structure off of, because William Treat is EXACTLY how he smiles, but I also adore him having sharp features like Dum Dum from Cyberpunk 2077 has. Trying to blend the two together is... fun.

Arsenic: HIS FACE. HIS FUCKING FACE. I DID IT TO MYSELF BUT GOD WHY

16. What is something about your OC can make you cry? 

Shae: Her story. Like, god her story is fucked up and just the fact that so much about her kids was kept from her and knowing everything she's gone through, that she's the way she is through so much tragedy and just out of a necessity to survive.

Ripper: Also his backstory, but also like... this man is such a sweetheart and sensitive. Be it because he's just being so goddamn cute or because he's going through an existential crisis, he's probably gonna say something that would either turn me into a mushy mess or bawling my eyes out because why did I hurt you this much.

Arsenic: There's two things with him. When he lets his walls down and lets people in, showing that he's not just a hardened ghoul who hates everything around him. Also, if anything were to happen to Crow, this man's heart would absolutely shatter and he'd probably lose his goddamn mind. That sort of mental torment of feeling like he's lost his soul mate, knowing how he'd react to it, especially now with them in his life again.

19. What is your favorite fact about your OC?

Shae: Not so much of a fact of the character itself (because imho anything I really say with her will give away parts of Addicted), but the fact that she's the second OC I've ever created! She's my second oldest OC, being seventeen (plus) years old.

Ripper: He's only second generation American born in his family! His parents are the first born, his grandmother is from Palermo, his grandfather from Verona.

Arsenic: No matter what, Arsenic was meant to cook and I don't mean that just by his concept alone. He's someone who would be considered to have a natural born talent for what he does and I genuinely cannot think of anything else I would have ever even considered putting him in. If it wasn't a chef, it would've been a cafe owner.

[penname-artist]

(Long rant ahead)

Do you ever just feel kind of...angry? Like, not in the way that you're annoyed at something or someone, and not in-the-moment rage, either. Everything is fine in the present, but you just sit back and feel...mad. And you can't/don't want to do anything about the mad. You just sit there, with your madness. Letting yourself feel the mad. Not doing anything, just. Feeling the feelings.

This is one of those broody moments like that, I s'ppose. Because this month it's really just been on my mind, a lot. More than it "generally" is (though all my feelings come in waves)

It's almost kind of funny. A couple of times this month, people I've talked to have rather casually jabbed at "oh, let's see your dark side". And of course, I've laughed along with it, and warned of what a bad idea that would be to cut me loose. Because the me I remember always has a part of me too angry and unstable to allow anywhere near the nice things. Or anything for that matter. It's always shoved down into the furthest corners of my being.

But is it really even still there?

Maybe I gave myself time to sit and "feel mad" tonight just hoping to feel the twinges of that side of me again. Truly, it feels so far away right now. And that is a good thing, but...it's also strange. It's so foreign, to feel like your own "dark half" is separated from you, slipping away into dust where it once used to completely overtake you.

Because I remember when it did.

It wasn't even that long ago.

I don't know physical anger much. But I know mental anger. I know emotional anger.

I know sitting on the ground picking up dirty dishes, purposefully strewn across my bedroom by a housemate, forcing myself to take care of them all, even though the thought of breaking every last one into tiny ceramic shards stayed ingrained in my head the entire time.

I know sitting in a chair at work staring at my phone, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight I could have bent a piece of metal. Pacing back and forth and getting up and sitting down because the anger is just boiling in my torso, the lies, the deceit, the uncaring hand in iron gloves twisting the story around into something it's not.

And I know crying anger, organs shriveled into knots as you heave on the floor for breath, gripping whatever is closest to you for the last fleeting thread of sanity, of reality. Losing everything. Losing everyone. Losing yourself. But you're trying to hang on to something. Anything that will ease the pain.

And anger will always slip through the cracks, raw, boiling, held together in a jar ready to burst into pieces. Sure, it can be scooped up again and put back in another jar. But it will always leave a stain. It will always leave its marks.

And I'm so...

Used to it.

I'm so used to the jar breaking. Pieces going flying. Re-containing the anger. Moving the jars. Throwing out everything it touched, and never touching the jar itself again. High "empathy" also means a high emotional state. It makes you into this...sponge. And you soak everything up until you can't, and you have no choice but to wring it all out at once.

I'm so used to being the guilty party.

So used to being "The Emotional One".

"The Uncontrollable One"

"The Psychotic One"

So used to it, I forgot that I was allowed to be angry at it too.

I'm fucking allowed to be mad. I'm allowed to be mad at people who fucked me over and left me high and dry. I'm allowed to be mad towards people who didn't give a damn. I'm allowed to feel angry that I was set up on purpose to fail. That I got played. That I got used.

I am allowed to just feel mad about it. I'm not allowed to do anything about it, God no. That's where the line is, you can't do the acts of spite because that shit WILL hit you in the ass when you least expect it. Karma's a bitch, honey. But you were never not allowed to just. Be. Mad. And just sit back for the first time in a good bit and go

"Yeah. That was pretty fucked up. I deserved better when that thing happened." Or "I shouldn't have been treated in that way. That was unfair and it made me feel hurt."

My closing thought and reminder to this long rant is make time to just let yourself be mad. You know that if you don't you'll probably do something mad instead. Feel your fucking feelings for no apparent outcome other than to get them the fuck off your chest. Yours from a person who's done too many bad deeds in comparison to their bad feelings and is still working on letting themselves feel things in a healthy way without acting on them.

[kat-earnshaw]

hedgehogs

I drive the backroads, winding through streets I know by heart, waiting for your call. It’s like I’m caught in orbit, always circling, waiting to be pulled back into your gravity. Maybe it’s always been this way, this feeling of suspended time, just hanging there until I masochistically reach out. But I don’t mind it. I need it—the way I need air when I’m drowning. Just a fix, a few moments to get close enough to feel that strange, quiet calm that settles in whenever I’m near you. So I strangle my arm with a tourniquet, and I tap at the antecubital space until I hear a ping, and I brace myself for the inevitable slamming into my veins.

Out here, the world feels like it’s shifting, breaking apart in a thousand directions, pieces scattering and tumbling away. But you, somehow, you’re the one fixed thing in all that chaos. The one anchor that holds when everything else slides. A rock in a river. It’s late now, a quarter-life crisis under my belt and still somewhere in the back of my mind wondering if my parents might worry where I am, if they might look out the window and notice. But no one does. And you’re this secret I keep close, something I’d never let anyone else touch. And now that I’m older, I start to wonder if you’d keep me close too. Or maybe I’m a shadow you’d laugh off in the company of others. I wonder if I even know you now, if there’s some new edge to you I wouldn’t recognize.

But I still need to be near you, maybe because I don’t know what else there is. There’s a weight I carry around, this heaviness I can’t shake, but when I see you, it’s like a key turns, like something clicks open deep inside. I feel the lock slide back from the cage door, like I’ve been pulled up from dark stone walls into moonlight. It’s as if I’ve stepped out of some cement box where nothing grows, onto open ground where I can finally feel the earth under my feet, wet grass against my skin.

And I wonder what it is you want from this. If you actually mean it, when you say for me to get into the back seat, or if you’re saying it because anything else would be strange. But it’s never really been about that. I could count on one hand the times our lips have met, and that’s not what this is. But god damn, do I want you.

You’re pleading with me now, just once, just real quick, into the back seat. Your hand is a slow weight on my thigh, your muscles tensed just right, flexing in the dim light, and I look away, my words unraveling like loose thread. I’m talking to feel some tether, talking to keep the world from tilting, but the words come hollow. Between the sound of my voice I catch your real words, scattered like embers.

But I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. I don’t know how many times a week you ask a girl to climb into the back seat. And I don’t want to be like any of them, but you talk about women like you expect me to be. And you’re charming in all the right ways that send me back to sixteen, where my mind’s spinning while I watch the clock, counting the seconds slipping forward, wishing I could just hold them still and figure out what the hell’s happening. And then there’s the faint sound of the radio, just a few notes slipping through the quiet, and I’m straining to make out the song, to catch some hint of your life outside this car, outside this moment. I wonder what it is you listen to these days, what songs you’re letting fill the silence when I’m not here. Who are you now, anyway, beneath all these practiced lines and casual touches? I want to know, but I only catch fragments, drifting through the dark, the clock pulling us forward whether I’m ready or not.

You pull my hand to your mouth so carefully, like you’re making a point you don’t need words to say. You reason with me, telling me time is a circle, that if we’ve done this once, we’re already doing it again, right now, so it’s happening anyway, what’s the difference? And I’m already in the car, we’re already holding hands, and if we’ve kissed before, what does it matter now? Let’s just make out, you say, but then you press my hand to your mouth and hold it there, not moving, just breathing against my fingers.

And I'm already gripping the handle on the car door when something unseen presses me toward you, and our lips barely meet, but it’s like we don’t kiss at all. The seconds drag out, or maybe they vanish, and nothing really happens in that space, only this strange feeling of reaching and pulling back. I'm frozen. And there’s no release, just a hollow ache, a thread pulled too tight. I wonder if this is your way with anyone, and I’m left with nothing but the weight of wanting, of the slow burn of reaching.

[thethornsofsin]

That shit is still blowing me I ain’t gone lie. To be accused of doing something I’m not and of acting funny because someone that use to fuck with me liked an old post of mine is mad fucking funny like that’s the craziest shit ever. Like what are you peeping because it’s nothing at all to see I don’t want that man in any way nor have i said anything to him to have him like an old as messaged from last month. How you jump to conclusions based off of someone else’s actions that I can’t control nor am I concerned about. You be talking about me clocking you but yet you do the same thing I would have never known he liked something I said if you hadn’t mentioned it. It just blows me that you could ever feel like I’d do you dirty like that. As much as I’ve said that you need to take it down a notch with how you interactive with other women because sometimes it’s too overly sexual and flirty. Yet, I haven’t opened my mouth and accused you of talking to another woman to fill up your day and that it’s another woman in the picture. Like I just don’t get it I haven’t given you a reason to even fix your mouth to say the shit that you did. I’ve trusted you to do what’s right and you tryna place somebody else’s actions on me like I’m in his face grinning and leading him on and I’m not. I tell you to be mindful of what you say and you always quick to say imma just keep my mouth closed and not comment on anybody pics anymore and just stay to myself but you can’t help yourself as soon as you say it I know it won’t happen cause you right back to being too flirty. That part of you ain’t gone never change. All the wild shit You say online and I’m the one to get chewed out for something I wasn’t even aware buddy did is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. I have never ever given you any reason to feel how you do all I do is love on you yet I get disrespected over something l didn’t even engage in. You act like I said something sexual underneath his pic like damn that dick big I wanna suck it like tf I would never do that but you on the other hand have no problem saying something flirty and sexual to a woman you know online or don’t know. Yet all hell broke loose because somebody liked my old post and mind you it was just a like no comment nothing just a like and that’s it nothing more, no conversation was had. So I get it you can do whatever the fuck you want but I can’t. Cause God forbid if I did I’d probably be the worst person on this earth. To top it all off because of your poor observation skills you allowed yourself to paint me negatively then doubt everything I’ve said to you about missing you all because you read into something that wasn’t there.

[sometimesanalice]

Ameliaaaa! Oh my god, Amelia! Fuck you (affectionately) for this chapter, the words are a bit blurry from all the tears in my eyes, but we shall persist!

You should be SO DAMN PROUD of yourself! This series is a masterpiece! It is so well crafted and perfectly written! Nora's journey and her growth over it is so special! We are so lucky that you've written it and shared it with us! I will never ever get over this story!

If I didn't love you so much, I'd hate you for the emotional havoc you wrecked on me with your prose! You left no crumbs. This chapter is EVERYTHING TO ME.

more for you!

Thanks for the sex, come back anytime. -- pls, the way I hear this in his voice. But also I gave myself a giggle entertaining the thought of her doing that to him and being a menace. The PUPPY DOG EYES could you imagineeeee?! lololol

It’s so simple, really.//She never asks him to leave, and so, Jake stays. -- this is so good because it's so simple, so easy! I love how natural they are with each other, it's SO NEW but also they just want to be around each other because they can now. Like they don't want to burst the perfect little bubble they've found themselves in. I have such a weakness for a gentle love, and I'm a thousand shades of soft over this.

“Can’t ever make it easy on me, can you, Hollywood?” //“Oh,” Nora yawned out. “Not a chance.”- THAT'S MY GIRL, I love how she always is teasing him and making him work for it, and he's just SO GAME.

“Yeah?” Nora smiled. “You must spend a lot of time looking at me.” //“Ever since I saw you, I haven’t wanted to look away.” -- no Ames you can't do this to me, it's too early for the yearning hours! God, he is so soft for her! It makes my heart ache in the best way with how intentional and straightforward and open he is with her. But her teasing him (yet again, alwayyyssssss 🥰), and him just taking every opportunity to lay out all his cards. It's too much for me, I'M JUST A GIRL

“So I’m thinking about going to the farmers market if you want…” and Jake immediately grabs his keys, a horseshoe shaped bottle opener dangling from the keychain. - just me singing: can i go where you goooooooo, can we always be this closeeeeee forever and ever

I could kiss him, she absently realizes. She wouldn’t have to do anything more than turn her head, maybe raise her chin, and she would be kissing him. She can just do that now. -- stooopppppp! My tenderhearted best babe! SHE CAN JUST DO THAT NOW! I love that she doesn't have to hold back anymore, that they know exactly what it means to each other and they get to indulge in the ability to just be with each other in that way now!

This must be the place Jake mentioned on the Fourth, Nora realizes, where he wanted to take her on a date. //She is smiling to herself when Jake opens the blue door for her. -- that man is so GONE for her! Not him mentioning a place and then being determined to take her there! He is so smitten! But also that it's "his" place, and he wants to share it with her. Unbelievably sweet.

She almost got fed up and braided it on the drive here, but all morning, Jake has been playing with the loose strands of blonde hair, absentmindedly reaching over and running it between his fingers on the Coronado Bridge, brushing it back from her face in the market check-out line when Nora’s hands were too full to do it herself. //He’d been doing it in bed too, curling a strand around his finger and complimenting the smell of her shampoo.-- never ever getting over this! I love how much Jake loves her hair. And that he fiddles with it and is always touching it, and probably doesn't realize when he does it sometimes too! Like the gentle affection of it all! It's gilbert tucking anne's hair behind her ear! it's peeta touching the end of katniss' braid! it's alexa losing her damn mind because it's SO SOFT AND TENDER!

He ordered his coffee with cream and sugar and his eggs sunny side up, and Nora snatches up those little shining details like a magpie. She adds them to the picture of him in her mind.//He likes his coffee a little sweet. He likes pancakes. He likes her.-- so I hate crows, but I love their cuter cousin the magpie. and nora greedily collecting all these little pieces of him just makes me swoon and sigh! She's got the pieces of the puzzle, but she wants to put the full thing together! HE LIKES HER! AND SHE LIKES HIM! AND IT REALLY IS JUST THAT EASY!

And Jake’s smile is a little smug, a little knowing. “You like that I like good movies, don’t you? It kinda turns you on.” //“I’m not answering that,” Nora says, which might as well be an answer, and Jake’s grin sharpens.-- I adoredddd this part! I love how he had definitely thought about it because he KNEW it was going to come up and that man was READY to impress her! And he is so cheeky about it! I'm giddy! I am giggling! They are adorable and I am thrivingggggg!

“Oh my god. You’re full of shit.” //“I’m not,” Jake says, amused. /.../ “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” Jake finishes with a grin. He cocks his head. “What can I say? I love McConaughey.” -- G I G G L I N G

smiles, wide and affectionate like he didn’t just spend almost two hours across from her, like he could spend all day looking at her and never get sick of it; nothing about it feels new.-- i am swoooooning how dare you! easy! it's so easy between them! I keep saying it, but it just makes it all the more special and lovely! A GENTLE LOVE I TELL YOU!

It’s all meaningful looks and stolen kisses; late night drives with the windows down, the wind in her hair, his hand on her thigh; rolls of film, not yet developed. It’s something for them, something good. - IT'S SOMETHING FOR THEM, SOMETHING GOOD she's weeping on the floor, i'm crying into my fish mug. THEY HAVE THINGS TO LOOK FORWARD TOO! (i need them looking at the pictures together, I need him getting all soft looking at a picture of her he took, and then he's all pleased with himself when she says she likes the composition)

And when did Nora leave his apartment without her underwear? /Is she wearing underwear now?/She pats her hip under the guise of smoothing out a wrinkle in her sweat shorts. All clear.-- THIS HAD ME CACKLINGGGG! Stop she is so real for that, this was so fucking funny

She felt a certain amount of protectiveness over her 24-year-old self and her weakness for men with big arms and sad eyes. Really, who could blame her? “He was older and hot and sad and – Would you stop laughing at me?” //“Funny,” Bradley repeats flatly. //Her lips twitch. “He asked if I’d always been passionate about volunteering with the elderly.” -- I also am very protective over her 24-year-old self, and I also wouldn't have been able to resist a man with big arms and sad cow eyes! But this whole conversation in the kitchen is absolutely one of my favorite bits, it's so fucking funny how amused Jake is over it and how huffy my little drama king gets over the fact that Jake isn't bothered. VOLUNTEERING WITH THE ELDERLY PLSSSS! Roast rooster is on the menu tonight, lol.

She’s starting to realize Jake might be one of her favorites too.//She motions him closer, crooking her finger, and Jake bends indulgently, eyes bright.-- i'm too delicate. INDULGENTLYYYYY! just me screaming giddily into a pillow. it's so sweet.

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

“And I’m smiling because as much as I’ve liked having you all to myself these past few weeks…” A deliberate kiss against the column of her throat as Jake slides his palm up the same path. A breathy sigh. “... I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be happy to not have to sneak around anymore. Now, I’ll be able to kiss you anytime I want.” -- not him coming with the Sweet Home Alabama quote, lol. But again, he is so happy to be hers! He's been playing it cool but he knows how lucky he is, he wants everyone else to know it now too! SO SMITTEN! I JUST LOVE HIM!

“I’m sorry, Nora, I should’ve knocked,” Bob says, his shoulders rounded, contrite. “And I’m sorry I immediately told Phoenix.” A pause, and Bob’s cheeks redden a little. “And Fanboy and Payback and also, Rooster and Coyote, but both of them already knew.” -- PLS THIS MAN! The "ands" absolutely SENT me! hahahahaha

A wrinkle between her brows, Natasha asks, “Is it pretty casual? Or are you guys like, dating now?” //“No,” Nora answers while at the exact same time, Jake calls, “Yes.” /.../ She wrinkles her nose but doesn’t correct him, and Jake grins, like he’s won something.-- bless her for still trying, but like, LOL MISS MA'AM! We all know you're just as gone for him too! His steady persistence is endlessly hot of him. He knew what he wanted and played the long game, never put pressure on her but always showed up for her! THAT'S HOW YOU GET THE GIRL

A sharp sense of deja vu washes over her as Nora finds herself at the front of the room once again, eight weeks older. She’s not looking out on a group of half-acquaintances, practical strangers, watching her with caution and curiosity. These are her friends. She sees nothing but excitement and anticipation in their eyes.-- OH THE WAY MY HEART ABSOLUTELY BURST FOR HER!! Those are her people! Those are her friends! She has a place with them! Her life has been so transitional! Temporary homes, temporary friends. I love the little roots she's been putting down, even if she didn't realize, like her vase and the flowers! But the bonds with these people are also things that have been growing, and I'm so soft over it! THE GROWTH!! She was feeling so alone, and now she's not anymore and oh look i'm crying again...

On the screen, Jake – Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, reads the lower-third – flashes a 1000-watt smile to the side of the camera, and Nora smiles despite herself. He was looking at her. She remembers it so vividly, sitting there, pretending not to be charmed by him, pretending not to want him.-- THIS BIT THIS BIT! I love the Top Gun Documentary: Nora's Version has that moment between them. I said it on the early draft, but I'll say it again. I love that the final cut will be out of her hands, but I adore that in her edit that she included a special moment that is meaningful for only the two of them.

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

She opened her wet eyes, and Captain Mitchell had his hand on Jake’s shoulder, but Jake was looking at her, concern plain on his face, his lips downturned. //She gave him a watery smile, and Jake’s shoulders visibly relaxed.//He was still the last one out of the room. -- this man. THIS MAN! Oh he's a gonerrrrrr! But he's so sweet for this! He was definitely struggling holding back, I know he wanted to wrap her up in a hug. A feat of willpower on his part to hold himself back, lol

“You play football?” Charlie asks, skeptical and amused.//“I read.” //“Ah. Of course. Anything good?” --plssss she is me

She does, however, gloss over a few crucial details about Jake, as is her right as guaranteed by the Fifth amendment. She’s also not quite sure how to explain it herself. -- LOLOLOLOLOLOOL, but also my sweet girl!! She just feels SO MUCH

“I didn’t say give up,” Charlie sighs, and it brings Nora back to her teen years when Charlie would accuse her of being difficult on purpose. “I said quit.” //“They feel like the same thing.” //“They’re not.” -- I loved everything about the Nora and Charlie chat! How supported she was, and how validating! Like Nora knew what she needed, but knowing that her favorite person supported that for her too made me all kinds of tender.

Or like the 21-year-old who ordered an Old Fashioned for her first legal drink because Charlie used to drink them at home and hated it so much that Nora wouldn’t drink another for four more years. //Like all Nora ever wants to be is someone that Charlie can be proud of.-- STOOOOOPPPPP I CANNOT I AM TOO DELICATE. I need to hug her! Big hearted, tenderhearted babe.

“Fail with your whole heart,” Nora quotes softly, and Charlie squeezes her hand.-- catch me crying in the clubbbbb (tumblr won't let me use emojis anymore for whatever reason since it HATES me, but please imagine 47 crying faces)

When Admiral Simpson asked her why she needed them and she explained – she wanted anyone who’d so much as stood on the tarmac while she’d been filming to be included in the celebration – she could’ve sworn he looked a little impressed. -- I loved this! I love how she wants everyone to be able to celebrate! And giving Cyclone some of the Nora dazzle!

She gives her a quick hug and hands over a bottle of Prosecco – which Charlie had insisted on stopping for on the drive because Charlie couldn’t possibly show up to her ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s house without an expensive bottle of something. // “What am I?” Charlie asked. “Some kind of asshole?"-- PLS THIS IS SO FUNNY! But also all those women need a "I survived Pete Mitchell pin or sticker" lol

Shaking her hand firmly, Natasha asks, excited, “You were Maverick’s instruction at Top Gun, right?” //“One of them,” Charlie answers coolly.//“You knew Viper then? And Iceman?” //“I did.” //“So cool,” Natasha breathes, and Bob nudges her with a small, side smile.-- a starstruck Natasha is so amusing! And bob being the feminist icon that he is is equally impressed! I adored it

“Really?” Charlie asks, like, Is that the story you’re going with? “Then, who’s that handsome man over there making moon eyes at you?”//Jake doesn’t seem to be paying one damn bit of attention to anything coming out of their mouths. His eyes are on her. Always on her. -- LT MOON EYES! He is so decidedly UNSUBTLE frankly idk how they didn't get caught much earlier, lmaooooo

“He’s from Texas,” Nora offers like an explanation, a little too quickly, and Charlie’s arched brow makes her cheeks grow warm. She avoids her eyes, squinting at the horizon and pretending to be fascinated by the gulls over the beach. -- she is so fucking funny, plssssss. She's so hilariously awkward about it and I'm giggling.

Jake smiles at Nora and in his brown sugar voice, says, “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of the evening with your niece, ma’am. She’s pretty spectacular.” //She could kick him. Or kiss him. Or both. -- SMITTEN KITTEN!!! Not him hyping her up at every opportunity. And I'm obsessed with it because he's not doing it to suck up or to get in her good books, like he is so genuine about it. HE CANNOT HELP HIMSELF!

He called Charlie. She never asked, never needed to ask. He just… knew.//And Nora falls a little bit in love with him right then and there; in the same way a little bit of rain falls on your window at the beginning of a mid-August storm. //A preview before an inevitable downpour. -- DO NOT TALK TO ME EVER AGAIN! I MEAN IT AMES! THIS WAS SO PERFECTLY PERFECT I CANNOT HANDLE IT. I could write a 10 page paper about this. (please imagine 107 of the little melty emoji faces because that's me, a puddle of goo on the floor)

Bob brought a deck of cards and now, the Daggers are playing a game of Bullshit on a massive picnic blanket that Penny brought outside for them, and Penny’s daughter Amelia sits with them, giggling when Bradley loses and pretends to stomp off. -- the How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days agenda is still going strong here and I love it.

“How do you feel about long distance?” Nora asks, watching him carefully.//A smile flickers on his face as Jake realizes what Nora is asking. //“California to New York? I can probably swing a few flights, cash in some miles.” //She sets her hand over his, fiddling with his fingers. “That’s sweet, but I was actually thinking more like, North Island to here.” -- he is just so earnest and I swoon over it every damn time! He is so happy that she still wants to be with him, that it's not just a causal fling. He's already making a mental note to get a better credit card with better miles to collect. AND HE MEANS IT SO GENUINELY! He'd do it for her! I'm crying again, don't mind me. It's just so sweet, I want a better word for it, but it's so sweet!

And one day, Nora might take her up on that, but right now, Nora needs a break. A real one. And California feels like the right place for her to take one. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it  here until she came back.-- MY GIRL!! THAT'S MY GIRL! FINALLY CHOOSING HER! She has a place! She has a person! She has people! I'm a mess because I'm so happy for her! From where we met her to where she is now??! It is EVERYTHING.

“You’re staying,” Jake repeats slowly, like Jake’s afraid to believe her.-- SWEET BOY HE JUST LOVES HER SO MUCH I CAN'TTTT!!! SWEETEST EARNEST LOVELY BOY!

Breathing in the smell of the ocean and him, Nora closes her eyes and catches her breath.-- I HAVE TEARS IN MY EYES!! God, Ames, THESE ENDING LINES! That whole last big was so lovely, so impactful, so damn MOVING!

You are so incredibly talented, Amelia! This was stunning.

baby, i'm high octane (vii)

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

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

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

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

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Nora spends the whole weekend with Jake.

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

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

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

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

It’s so simple, really.

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

On Friday morning, Jake brings her coffee in bed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She almost sighs out loud. It’s perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” Nora hummed. “Guess.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of the sudden, Nora felt very awake.

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

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

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

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

She kind of wanted to see if Jake was blushing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another sip. Another blissful half-sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For once, she catches him off guard. 

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

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

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

It’s slow and natural. 

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

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

There are suddenly too many layers between them.

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

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

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

Another time.

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

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

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

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

It’s actually obscene how effortlessly Jake flips them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

“I was being a gentleman,” Jake argues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What a nice young man.” 

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

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

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

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

Now, Nora does laugh.

“Debatable,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

Her stomach grumbles, and Nora nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’ve got really good pancakes.” 

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

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

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

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

She sweeps it over her shoulder and studies the menu.

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

It’s just them now. Just them again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So…” Nora says.

“So…” Jake echoes.

So…

So, what does this mean?

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

So so so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful now. There are wrong answers here.”

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

Asshole, Nora thinks with affection.

A cowboy movie for a cowboy. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two?” 

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

Two favorites. She can probably do two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprised, Nora pauses. “Your dad?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were right about the pancakes.” 

“Of course I was.” 

Nora rolls her eyes, and Jake chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god. You’re full of shit.” 

“I’m not,” Jake says, amused.

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

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

His smile splits wide open when Nora bursts out laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coffee in bed becomes something of a weekend routine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, for now, under the radar it is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hangman.” 

“Yeah?” 

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

Nora chokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What happened to under the radar?

And when did Nora leave his apartment without her underwear? 

Is she wearing underwear now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t say a damn word. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Nora deadpans.

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

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

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

“You don’t know that.” 

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

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

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

“And Hangman didn’t punch me?” 

“Guess not.” 

“I feel like I should be offended.” 

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

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

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

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

So Nora told him.

He seemed surprised at first.

And then, Jake laughed.

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

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

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

“Funny,” Bradley repeats flatly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just this one last thing. 

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

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

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

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

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

Her lip catches between her teeth.

“Hi,” Nora breathes.

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

“How was your day? Good?” 

He nods. “You?” 

She does the same, a dip of her chin.

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

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

Favorite movie. Favorite song. Favorite time of day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She loses herself in him, in this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell? Are Bob and Natasha telepathically linked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a long while before Nora packs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bob smiles. “Probably a smart move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A swooping feeling fills her stomach.

They haven’t used that word yet. Dating.

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

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

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

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

Natasha observes this interaction with vague fascination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What follows is a straight-forward but effective pattern.

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

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

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

“Shut up,” Nora whispers back, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence. 

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

“Can I ask one?” 

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

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

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

What? How? And again, what?

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie’s here. She’s here.

Nora blinks rapidly.

And promptly bursts into tears. 

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

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

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

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

Nora prepares herself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was still the last one out of the room. 

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

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

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

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

“I read.” 

“Ah. Of course. Anything good?” 

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

“Good.” 

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

Nora stares at her. “Charlie?”

“Hm?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” 

“No.” 

She almost laughs. “No?” 

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

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

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

They do exactly that.

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

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

And Charlie listens.

She listens to everything.

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

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

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

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

“What?” Nora asks, more of a stunned syllable than a question.

“If you don’t want to do it anymore,” Charlie says plainly, “don’t.” 

Her brows are high on her forehead as Nora asks, bewildered, “So what? Give up?” 

“I didn’t say give up,” Charlie sighs, and it brings Nora back to her teen years when Charlie would accuse her of being difficult on purpose. “I said quit.” 

“They feel like the same thing.” 

“They’re not.” 

She bites her lip and looks over Charlie’s shoulder and out of the window. 

“Isn’t it like…” Nora blows out a breath. “If I quit now, isn’t it like I’m flushing six years of my life down the drain?” 

Charlie shrugs. “You still did a lot in those six years. Changing your mind doesn’t take away from any of those accomplishments, but now, maybe it’s time for you to do something else, something you like more. Start over.” 

Nora sits back. “You say it like it’s simple. Easy.” 

“It might not be easy. It most likely won’t be, but it is that simple, yes.” 

Words catch in her throat, and when Nora says it out loud, her voice sounds small. “I’m scared.” 

Her aunt’s face softens. She reaches across the table and cups Nora’s hand.

“You’re allowed to be scared. Everyone’s scared.” 

She blows out a shaky breath to keep herself from crying again, but a slight crack in her voice gives her away. Damn. “Yeah? When’s the last time you were scared you couldn’t do something?” 

God. She regrets the words almost immediately. 

She sounds childish, petulant, but right now, Nora feels like the 16-year-old who snuck Charlie’s red lipstick from her make-up pouch and got busted because she accidentally put it back uncapped and ruined the inside of the bag. Or like the 21-year-old who ordered an Old Fashioned for her first legal drink because Charlie used to drink them at home and hated it so much that Nora wouldn’t drink another for four more years. 

Like all Nora ever wants to be is someone that Charlie can be proud of.

All of the sudden, Charlie looks very far away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than when your mom died. She made being a parent look so easy, and I got to be the cool Aunt Charlie on the sidelines, and then, she was gone, and I was so scared I’d fuck up and undo everything.” 

Nora’s eyes burn. “Charlie, I never… You never said anything.” 

“Of course not,” Charlie dismisses with a shake of her head, curls bouncing. “You were still a kid. You were grieving. You needed stability, and I knew I had to do my best because sometimes, you’re scared and you do it anyway.” 

“Fail with your whole heart,” Nora quotes softly, and Charlie squeezes her hand.

“See I could’ve never come up with something like that, but god, your mom…” Charlie wipes at her eyes with a cloth napkin and smiles. “She was born to be writer. When I got my first interview with the Pentagon, I had less than 24-hours notice. I was living in New York at the time, and I’d need to hop on a train and hope I could find a hotel for the night when I got down there."

"Honestly, I thought about not going, but your mom sat me down and said, ‘Charlotte,’” and Charlie straightens her spine and does her best impression of her sister, “‘You get your bony ass to Grand Central, and I’ll call every damn hotel in DC and find you a room. You got the interview, and now, all you have to do is follow through and take the leap.” 

“And you did,” Nora finishes. “You did the interview, got the job, and the rest is history.” 

“I did. I followed her advice. I decided that if I was going to fail, I should do it bravely.” Charlie squeezes her hand once more and lets it go. “It’s your turn now, sweetie.” 

Nora goes to the bathroom to clean up her mascara and when she comes back, Charlie is signing the check.

She checks her watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. Do you want to head over to Penny’s?” 

“Give me one second.” Nora reaches for her purse and pulls out her phone. “I have to call someone back.” 

Penny Benjamin lives in a beautiful house in La Jolla that looks like something out of Architectural Digest magazine. 

A classic California bungalow with off-white siding and wide blue-trim windows and a garden wrapping around the side, summer green dotted with pinks and yellows and reds; on an elegant cliffside, overlooking the Pacific. 

It’s a good half hour from San Diego so when Nora and Charlie arrive, the street is lined with cars.

Last week, Nora asked Admiral Simpson for a full list of everyone who’d been on the base during the making of the documentary and forwarded the names to Penny for the wrap party. When Admiral Simpson asked her why she needed them and she explained – she wanted anyone who’d so much as stood on the tarmac while she’d been filming to be included in the celebration – she could’ve sworn he looked a little impressed. 

Still, Nora is surprised to see him in the garden, chatting with Admiral Bates with a beer in his hand, a pretty woman next to him who must be his wife. 

“I’m gonna go say hi to Warlock and Cyclone,” Charlie says, patting Nora’s shoulder, and Nora nods and watches her go.

She doesn’t see Penny anywhere so Nora goes into the house and finds her in the kitchen. She gives her a quick hug and hands over a bottle of Prosecco – which Charlie had insisted on stopping for on the drive because Charlie couldn’t possibly show up to her ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s house without an expensive bottle of something. 

“What am I?” Charlie asked. “Some kind of asshole?

“Oh, Nora,” Penny gasps, hand fluttering over her heart. “This is your party. You didn’t need to bring me something.” 

“Oh please. Charlie’s outside. It’s from both of us,” Nora waves her off as Penny admires the bottle. It was the prettiest one in the store. “Thank you so much for doing this by the way. Your house is so beautiful.” 

Now, Penny’s the one to wave her off. “No, no, I was happy to do it. We’ll all miss having you around, even Pete. He probably won’t say it himself, but I’ll say it for him.” Nora smiles widely, and Penny shoos her out of the kitchen. “I’ll open this up and bring it out, but you get your butt outside and enjoy the party.” 

Obliging, Nora makes her way back outside. 

A makeshift bar is in the middle of the garden, and Nora finds her aunt pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Come on,” Nora nudges. “You can meet some of my friends.” 

They make the rounds around the garden. She introduces Charlie to Natasha, who looks as starstruck as Nora has ever seen her. 

Shaking her hand firmly, Natasha asks, excited, “You were Maverick’s instruction at Top Gun, right?” 

“One of them,” Charlie answers coolly.

“You knew Viper then? And Iceman?” 

“I did.” 

“So cool,” Natasha breathes, and Bob nudges her with a small, side smile.

“Charlie,” Bradley calls out and rushes over to give her a big hug, lifting her kitten heels off the ground. It’s been a few years since Bradley last saw Charlie so Nora’s not surprised that Bradley and Charlie have a lot of catching up to do. She’s happy to listen and chime in every so often. 

Awhile later, Bradley leaves to grab another plate of food, and gaze sweeping across the garden, Charlie turns to Nora and asks, unexpectedly, “Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” 

Nora manages not to blush. She raises her brows. “I would if I had one.” 

“Really?” Charlie asks, like, Is that the story you’re going with? “Then, who’s that handsome man over there making moon eyes at you?”

Shit.

Nora looks over, and sure enough, even in the middle of a conversation with Javy, Mickey, and Reuben, Jake doesn’t seem to be paying one damn bit of attention to anything coming out of their mouths. His eyes are on her. Always on her. 

She bites back a smile. And beckons him over.

He crosses the garden in a few long strides and after Nora introduces him (“This is my aunt, Charlie Blackwood.”), Jake greets her with a nod and an extended hand. “Jake Seresin, ma’am.” 

“Jake,” Charlie repeats with recognition. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Finally? Nora frowns slightly. She’s never mentioned him before this afternoon.

His lips part in a wide, charming smile. “Likewise, ma’am.” 

Charlie looks amused. “You don’t have to keep calling me ma’am.” 

“He’s from Texas,” Nora offers like an explanation, a little too quickly, and Charlie’s arched brow makes her cheeks grow warm. She avoids her eyes, squinting at the horizon and pretending to be fascinated by the gulls over the beach. 

Charlie’s not fooled. She smirks and asks, “Texas, huh? What part?” 

“Austin,” Jake replies. It’s a visible effort not to add ma’am at the end. 

“You don’t say. Did Nora ever tell you that my husband John went to UT Austin?” 

A spark lights up his eyes, and Jake seems to be doing fine on his own so Nora leaves him alone to grab another drink in the midst of an in-depth discussion of the Texas Longhorns. She spots Ethan and Chris on her way back and gets pulled into a conversation with them, saying goodbye and wishing them luck in their next projects in case Nora misses them later.

When Nora returns, Jake and Charlie are still talking. She must like him.

Jake smiles at Nora and in his brown sugar voice, says, “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of the evening with your niece, ma’am. She’s pretty spectacular.” 

She could kick him. Or kiss him. Or both. 

“She is,” Charlie agrees. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.” 

She could kick both of them. 

When Jake is out of earshot, Charlie comments, “He’s very charming.” 

Nora almost laughs. “I know.” 

“He likes you.” 

She does laugh now. “Believe me, I know.” 

“He’s the one who called me,” Charlie adds casually, and Nora whirls on her.

“What? You said Captain Mitchell called you.” 

Charlie shakes her head, smiling, a knowing smile. “Pete was the one who forwarded me the invite, but Jake called me.” A chuckle. “He called me ma’am on the phone too.” 

She smiles despite herself because of course.

“What’d Jake say? What made you come?” Nora asks.

“He said that you needed me and you probably wouldn’t call me and tell me that outright, but you were having a hard time.” Charlie looks at her sidelong, lips curled at the ends, a dimple in her cheek. “He knows you pretty well, your not-boyfriend.” 

Nora looks for him again. 

She finds him on the other side of the garden, laughing at something Bradley is saying, hair a golden halo in the summer evening sun. He called Charlie. She never asked, never needed to ask. He just… knew.

And Nora falls a little bit in love with him right then and there; in the same way a little bit of rain falls on your window at the beginning of a mid-August storm. 

A preview before an inevitable downpour. 

Evening begins to blend into night, and Nora sits on the steps of the porch to watch the sunset.

It’s a good vantage point. She can see everyone and everything.

Bob brought a deck of cards and now, the Daggers are playing a game of Bullshit on a massive picnic blanket that Penny brought outside for them, and Penny’s daughter Amelia sits with them, giggling when Bradley loses and pretends to stomp off. 

Nora watches as Charlie goes over to Captain Mitchell and gently puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Ice. He was a good man.” 

Captain Mitchell nods, his mouth a line, emotion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, Charlie.” 

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Nora looks away.

He gave her privacy earlier. She’ll return the favor.

A step creaks behind her, and Nora dips her head back to see Jake.

“Hi cowboy,” Nora greets, and Jake grins down at her.

He drops onto the step next to her, arm stretched behind her. 

“How’d it go with Charlie?” Jake asks.

“Good,” Nora says. She rests her chin on her palm, her elbow on her knee, and studies him closely. “She told me that you called her. How’d you even get her number?” 

“Bradshaw,” Jake replies. He meets her gaze and holds it, green on blue, sparkling like the ocean. “Seemed like, maybe you needed her.” 

Her chest aches, and Nora says softly, “Thank you.” 

His wide palm spreads across her leg, fingertips dangling to brush against the inside of her thigh. “How long’s she staying?” 

“A week. She changed her flight. She’s flying back to New York with me, instead of D.C.” 

Silence falls like an anchor, plummeting to the ocean floor. A muscle works in his jaw, like Jake’s chewing on his next words. “What happens now?”

For her? For them?

She doesn’t have all the answers, but Nora at least has this.

“How do you feel about long distance?” Nora asks, watching him carefully.

A smile flickers on his face as Jake realizes what Nora is asking. 

“California to New York? I can probably swing a few flights, cash in some miles.” 

She sets her hand over his, fiddling with his fingers. “That’s sweet, but I was actually thinking more like, North Island to here.” 

“Here?” He looks confused, adorably so, and Nora holds back a smile.

“Turns out that Charlie has some empty-nester friends here from her Top Gun days. They’re looking to rent out their guest house for the rest of the year. It’s not far from here actually, within walking distance of the beach.” She can feel her heart pounding like Nora’s running a marathon as Jake slowly start to understand. “I turned down the offer, Jake. I’m moving back to California.” 

She called Jenna from the hotel bar. She was a little bit annoyed with Nora, understandably.

Her first words were, “Are you kidding me? You waited until now to tell me this?” 

But after a few minutes of Nora’s apologetic I know, I’m sorry, I know, Jenna was ultimately supportive.

“Damn, Nora. This is a real loss for our industry, but I’m happy for you. If you never need a connection in Hollywood, call me. I know people who know people.” 

And one day, Nora might take her up on that, but right now, Nora needs a break. A real one. And California feels like the right place for her to take one. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it  here until she came back.

“You’re staying,” Jake repeats slowly, like Jake’s afraid to believe her.

She reassures him with a nod. “I still have a storage unit back in New York so I have to go back, and I have a few things left at Charlie’s, but Charlie’s coming to help me clean it out and move what I need. And…” Nora drifts off and for once, the uncertainty doesn’t seem so scary. It’s wide open and hopeful. 

Jake wipes his hand down his face and sets his hand on his chest, right above his pounding heart, looking utterly relieved. “You’re… god, Hollywood, you’re gonna give a man a heart attack someday.” 

“You love it,” Nora teases.

He lifts his chin with his knuckle, holding her gaze. “I really, really do.” 

And when Jake kisses her, it feels like maybe he means something else.

Cheeks warm, Nora looks out at the horizon, and it’s that perfect time between day and night when the whole ocean is a watercolor of pale pink and purple. She kisses the carved dimple in his cheek and leans into his strong shoulder, and Jake tucks her under his chin, rubbing his thumb across her palm, over her heart line.

Breathing in the smell of the ocean and him, Nora closes her eyes and catches her breath.

end note: charlie, my beloved. i didn't mean for this to be so long, but i hope you enjoyed 🩵 likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all.

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[nightlychaotic]

Rafter Revelations

“I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving. I can’t deal with this any longer. I am sick and tired of all the secrets, all the tiptoeing around each other.”

“I’m not the only one with secrets, Marinette.”

“I know. And that’s part of the problem.”

“Can’t we talk about this?”

She raised a brow at that. “Are you going to come clean about what you do that leaves you so exhausted and overworked? And don’t give me that workaholic excuse again. We both know that isn’t the whole truth.”

Tim glanced away, the two sitting there in silence for a minute before Marinette’s soft, broken laugh cut through the silence.

“I thought so.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything is Tim. Every gods damned thing is in my life,” she muttered bitterly.

“What about you? What about your secrets?”

“I’d love nothing more than to tell you. Share this burden with someone else….”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because you won’t share your secrets. And for all I know they could be the dangerous kind. I can’t share because I don’t know what you’ll do with them. As much as I want to fully trust you- I can’t. I can't because you have a big secret and for all I know you’ll take my secret and run with it and I can’t risk that happening. Not again.”

“Marinette-” he whispered, moving to place a hand on her arm, trying to comfort her or build a bridge, an olive branch, anything. He swallowed, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat as she pulled out of his reach with a small head shake.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I just- I need a break,” she said softly, shouldering her bags. “You have my number. Call if you change your mind or- No. Just. Nevermind. You know how to reach me if things change. I- Goodbye Tim.”

She didn’t give him time to say anything, quickly opening the door and pulling it lightly as she walked away, leaving the door to swing close. She left, leaving behind silence. Silence that felt too loud. No scritching at the lock. Nothing. He could barely hear her footsteps walk away on the carpeted hallway floor. The lock hadn’t turned. She didn’t lock the door. Why didn't she lock the door? 

He took a deep breath as he glanced around their small apartment. She just forgot in the heat of the moment, right? Of course. She didn’t- She wouldn’t- 

Tim stopped, heart pounding as he stepped into the small kitchen. Sitting there, glaring at him, was her key. 

She did.

She left her key. 

She was gone.

Oh.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, turning away, grabbing his computer and logging in as he sat down on the couch, leaving the door unlocked, a small part of him hoping she would walk in. That this would all undo itself as he pulled up some cold cases, throwing himself into them. Anything to distract from the pain.

—---------------------------------

It was two months before Tim saw or heard anything from Marinette and the circumstances were less than ideal. He caught sight of her on patrol being smuggled from one building to a different one, her gag loose around her neck. She had to have worked it off, he guessed by the irritation of the gaggle of goons’ faces as she talked, the picture of pure innocence.

He followed behind, not making his presence known until they’d shoved her into the lone chair in the corner, two of them hovering next to her, while the rest sat at the folding table and chairs, dealing out cards and drinks. He made quick work of two before the rest caught on to what was happening. All of them quickly forgetting about Marinette as they moved to take on Red Robin.

Marinette glanced over, a small smile on her face at the lack of guards as she quickly began working her way out of the zip tie cuffs, using his sudden appearance as a distraction, frowning as she heard the clanging of his staff being knocked away.

“Hey!”

She grabbed his bo staff from where it had fallen, giving it a quick, experimental twirl before smiling slightly, glancing over at him. 

"I think you may have chosen the wrong priority," she called out, pulling the goons attention to her, tilting her head as they laughed.

"Put the stick down, girlie. Hate to see such a pretty little face hurt."

"Make me."

Red Robin tensed watching her take a few steps back, looking less confident as two of the goons broke off, heading towards her and she bumped into a stack of crates. Her demeanor changed as soon as she did though, quickly slamming the end of the staff into one of their insteps and snapping it promptly up into his face before swinging it around, landing a few several blows in quick succession. The first goon charged as she knocked his friend unconscious. She laughed as she jumped, pushing off the crates to flip over him, and ramming the staff into his back, pushing him through the crates. She turned back to the rest of the goons holding Red Robin as she planted the staff.

"Still think he's your biggest threat?"

The grin she got when more goons left him was almost feral as she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet before launching forward, sliding into one goon, taking him out as she dealt a painful blow to his partner, swiftly standing and locking eyes with him giving a small head shake very much telling him to ‘Get on with it’ as she turned back to the fight.

He felt his face heat up as he wrenched his arm out of the goon’s grip, ramming his head back into the other goon’s quickly stepping away before ducking beneath a punch, grabbing the extended arm and using their momentum to throw them into their coworker.

“Took you long enough.”

He paused, surprised to find the other four goons who’d moved after Marinette unconscious, littered across the floor as she leaned on his staff. Since when had she been able to do that? Nothing indicated she knew how to fight. No record of martial arts training or anything. She’d never seemed interested in them either when he offered to pay for some when they’d first started dating, laughing it off saying she was a fashion designer, who’d be interested in her, and even if someone was it’d be handled then. That he didn’t need to worry about her. He didn’t quite believe her then, but could see why she’d dismissed it now. This was a whole other side to her he had no clue existed. A side that his background check didn’t reveal any hints to.

“How strong are you?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“The next shift will be here any moment. I want to get the drop on them. You’re going to give me a boost up. You’ve done some gymnastics training right?”

His eyes widened slightly as he realized what she was thinking. Gymnastics? Yeah. Sure. A small handful of times and only ever with Dick at his insistence.

“Do you mind if I hold onto this for a minute?” she asked, holding onto his staff.

“You really shouldn’t do this, Miss. I can get you out-”

“With eight more goons on our tail making a fuss? No, take them out now. Don’t have to deal with them. Their boss isn’t even in town right now. Easy Peasy.”

“You don’t have any equipment or training,” he protested.

“Now who said that? There’s a reason I’m holding onto this for a minute. Ready?” she barely gave him any time before running at him. He locked his hands together, giving her the boost she wanted, watching as she pressed off the top of a stack of crates to get the extra air she needed, bringing his staff up and over the rafter beam and catching the other end of it so she hung beneath. She swung, catching the beam with her legs and pulling herself to crouch on top of it as the door opened.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Where do ya think? Tha Bird hid her away.”

“Let’s get ‘im.”

Red Robin didn’t move from his spot underneath the beam where Marinette crouched, allowing the eight goons to form a loose circle around him, leering at him while he tensed, preparing for a fight before she made her move.

Marinette dropped down, landing on top of one of the goons’ shoulders for a second before pressing off, the force driving the goon to the ground with a grunt while she flipped, planting the staff on the ground and landing delicately on top of it, balancing in a way he didn’t think was possible. 

“I think you fellas are forgetting something,” she greeted them with an innocent smile, while Red Robin tried to restart his brain after witnessing that.

Marinette however had no qualms about leaping straight into the fray, a whirlwind of motion as she leapt off his staff, snapping him out of his stupor and into motion, keeping an eye on her as they fought.

"Marinette! Behind you!"

Her head snapped to him, confusion clear in her eyes for a moment before she shook her head, ramming the staff back into the gut of the goon sneaking up on her, before pulling away and throwing the staff to Red Robin.

"Keep it."

"You need it more than me," she shot back, turning away from him.

“Care to share why you need eight guards by the way?”

“What? Did you expect me to make it easy for them?”

He didn’t answer as he got pulled away, comforted by the familiar weight of his staff, the two of them quickly handling the goons, Marinette taking care of the last three as she yelled at him to duck, using one’s momentum to throw him into the other two, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

She led him through the warehouse, which was all fine with him as he was still trying to process what the hell was happening. And where the hell his girlfriend, ex-girlfriend?,had learned to fight. She led him up to the roof, the cold air hitting them like a wall.

“I assume you have a grapple or something?” He nodded, pulling her close. “Hang on tight,” he warned before pulling them up, swinging roof to roof for a minute as his brain caught up to the night’s events.

“What did you do to get on Penguin’s bad side anyways?”

“Fooled around with a Wayne. Apparently he didn’t get the memo we were on a break and his goons thought I’d make a nice ‘Welcome Home’ hostage. Put me down here,” she directed, easily taking the shock of the landing as she stepped away from him.

“I’m sorry.”

She frowned for a second looking at him, tilting her head to the side. “Why are you sorry? You had-” she broke off with a laugh, shaking her head as she turned away from him. "Of course. Of fucking course, you're Red Robin. That makes perfect sense. I'm just an idiot who couldn't see it sooner."

"Excuse me, Miss? Are you okay?"

"Drop the act, Tim. Gods. Of course you're a vigilante."

"How’d you figure it out?"

“You’re smart. Figure it out yourself.”

His heart leapt into his throat as she jumped, the soft clank of metal the only hint that she’d jumped onto the fire escape. He moved peering over the edge watching as she quickly made her way down and out onto the street, quickly heading in the direction of her apartment, the cheeky call of “No need to make sure I get home safe,” over her shoulder her only goodbye as she left him alone on the roof, desperate for answers.

—---------------------------------

Tim threw himself into research, trying to figure out what happened in Marinette’s past that gave her so much experience and confidence fighting like that, and how that allowed her to figure his identity out so easily from a small slip up. 

The most obvious place to look was Paris. At the Heroes and Hawkmoth, what went down for those ten years.

The Parisian Heroes were something he knew woefully little of, having been banned from going near it by several members of the Justice League, with special stress put on it from Wonder Woman, all news coming from inside of Paris had been stopped until two years ago when news detailing what happened in and the subsequent end of “Paris’ Emotional Reign of Terror” hit newstands. Bruce had even set up multiple firewalls to help keep the news segmented, as if it didn’t exist at Diana’s pleading. Tim was sure Bruce knew what was happening but kept it from the rest of them.

It was around this time the Parisian Heroes went dark around the same time Marinette moved to Gotham, he knew that much from conversations with her. Many posited they’d gone into retirement with the defeat of Hawkmoth, finally taking time to themselves after years of near nonstop battles with akumas. The already frequent attacks appeared to have picked up from once or twice a week to near daily at the end of his reign.

Looking closer at the timeline, Hawkmoth was defeated two weeks before Marinette moved to Gotham. Enough for her, had she been a hero, to settle her affairs and get out of there for a change of scenery. It would explain her comfort in fights and confidence if she’d been fighting magically powered Akumas everyday for years. Her certainty and calmness slid into place as well. 

She was calmer and more self assured in that fight with the goons than he thinks he’s ever seen her, handling herself with ease. She handled his staff as if it was second nature for her, as if it belonged, doing things he doesn’t even think he’d be able to. He was still trying to wrap his head around how she balanced, perched on the tip as if it was a fixed platform. It was almost cat-like.

That rang bells in his head. One of the heroes used a staff. 

Each hero had their own weapon, most very unconventional, but a staple, almost a signature for them. Some had instruments such as Viperion’s Lyre and Rena Rouge’s Flute. Many had everyday objects and toys like Multimouse’s Jump Rope, Queen Bee’s Top, and, most notably, Ladybug’s Yo-Yo. Only a couple weapons were found in the cases of Carapace’s Shield and Ryuko’s sword. The weapon of his interest fell into this last category as well. Chat Noir’s Baton.

The problem came when he could only find evidence of there only ever being one Cat. A decidedly male and blonde Cat at that. His weapon, perfect for the fighting and skills that Marinette showed, the baton extending to impossible lengths with him balancing on top of it like it was nothing, yet nothing to prove that there was a female Cat active in Paris for any length of time, outside of a speculated swap though surprisingly lacking images or videos to support it.

That was a dead end. 

Great.

—---------------------------------

One week later and he was struggling to come up with anything pointing him in any direction that might shed light on Marinette. It had gotten to the point where Dick had “lovingly” shoved him out onto an extra patrol saying the fresh air, did that even exist in Gotham?, would do him some good.

Which led him to now, tailing after glimpses of a cat thief. Last he’d heard Selina was in London, a new exhibit at the British Museum having caught her attention. Although it wasn’t unusual for her to show up out of the blue, eyes on a new prize closer to home.

Red Robin dropped down into the museum shortly after frowning slightly. They didn’t move with the same confident caution Selina did, seemingly not caring if they ran the risk of setting off an alarm or motion sensor.

He stopped.

That wasn't Selina standing in front of the display case. The biggest give away was the unnaturally long braid that trailed along the figure, almost seeming like it had a life of its own, the tip flicking unpredictably as the braid swung. Upon closer look, he could see that the suit was all wrong, toxic green accents along the suit and low slung belt out of place. Ears perched in her hair that appeared as if they were moving. Scratch that. They were moving, flicking back in his direction.

"You can come out," she called. "I know you're there, Little Birdy."

"You're not the cat I was expecting to see here."

"I'm sorry if I disappoint you. I don't plan to be around long though so no need to worry your pretty little head," she told him, turning to fix unnaturally green eyes on him, they seemed to glow as she took him in. “Of course you’re the bird that finds me,” she muttered, adding to his confusion.

"I thought there was only one Cat and that he was in Paris."

"Chat retired."

"Willingly or did you steal his Miraculous?"

"Are you calling me a thief?"

"Well-" he gave her a pointed look. “If the shoe fits.”

"By necessity not by choice. I’ll just take what I came for and we’ll never have to see each other again."

“What requires you to steal?”

“And here I thought you were smarter than this. SUrely You can figure it out,” she said, before extending her baton, hitting him and pushing him back before turning her attention back to the case, leaving him to move, catching his breath and close the distance between them.

She laughed, ducking around the batarangs thrown her way, eyes flicking over to him briefly before she began tracing a circle on the glass, batting his staff to the side while throwing a well aimed kick at him, the sound of her claw cutting the glass grating against his eardrums, throwing him slightly off balance as she pulled a book from the display, tossing it up before it seemed to disappear as she swung her baton at it, extending it into a staff, twirling it around as she finally faced him again.

“Now that that’s been taken care of,” she started with a Cheshire grin. “Care for a game of Cat and Mouse?” she asked before promptly taking off, quickly managing to disappear into the shadows, light laughter trailing behind.

He took off after her, trying to follow her through the shadows but the silence of her movements was uncanny. She could give Batman a run for his money with the complete and utter vanishing act, shadows swallowing her up as if she’d never even existed.

He slowed to a stop, looking around as he tried to figure out where she might have disappeared to, not expecting the sudden weight from above, knocking him to the ground.

She dropped down, springing off his shoulders before landing on the tip of her staff, balancing perfectly at ease as she laughed.

Tim smiled as the pieces clicked into place. He didn’t have the full story but he’d only ever seen one other person do what she just did with such ease. The revelation felt almost nostalgic back to the times when Dick was Robin and he made that discovery.

“Well this has been fun, but I have to run. Maybe I’ll see you around, Birdy,” she told him, giving a small salute as she started to leave, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Wait! Marinette!”

She stopped, turning to look back at him with a soft laugh.

“Took you long enough, Tim.”

“This is your secret, isn’t it? You hold the Cat Miraculous.”

“Close.”

“Close?”

“I’m the Guardian for all of the Miraculi.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah….” she trailed off glancing away, the bravado and confidence draining a bit, leaving the Marinette he was more used to dealing with. “There was a reason I was so set on not sharing mine until I knew what you were hiding. The books a grimoire attached to them which-”

“Which you want under your protection,” he finished. She nodded. 

“I can’t risk it or the Miraculi falling into the wrong hands. I don’t want to repeat another decade of fighting.”

He laughed. “I don’t blame you. I- I know you weren’t Chat Noir. Which hero were you?”

“I’d make you guess but the magic confuses things so I’ll spare you this time. I was Ladybug. I did moonlight as Multimouse every now and again though as well. You should see the things I can do with a little bit of weight on the end of a rope.”

“Is that an offer?”

The two stood in silence, both thankful for the darkness as their faces turned bright red.

“I-I am so sorry that just slipped out-” he sputtered, as Marinette let out a small laugh, placing a hand on his arm in reassurance.

“I take it you missed me then?”

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of cold cases I’ve solved hoping you’d walk back through the door.”

“I left my key.”

“Did you think I locked the door?”

“Tim-”

“I know. I locked it when I was out or asleep,” he offered.

“Have you slept?”

“Have you?”

“Touche.”

Marinette snatched her hand away with a small blush, realizing it was still resting on his arm, letting out a breath. “I missed you too, you know. You can’t believe how stupid I felt not noticing the signs you were a vigilante. I mean the long nights, the hidden injuries, the caffeine sustaining life. I did all the same things for ten years. I should have figured it out.”

“I’ve been hiding it for ages now.”

“It still should have been obvious,” she replied, shaking her head. “Regardless, no more secrets between us. Promise?”

“Promise. Does this mean you’ll come home now?”

“I don’t know if you’re ready for the chaos the kwamii will bring. They’re going to want to meet you now that you know.”

“I think I can handle it if it brings you home.”

“You’re going to regret those words soon enough.”

He reached out, pulling her in for a hug. “I doubt that.”

“You haven’t met Plagg and Trixx yet,” she warned, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I can handle it.”

“You say that now. Race you home?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never raced over the city skyline before.”

“Oh you're on, Mari. I have the home field advantage.”

“Let’s see how far that gets you then, hm?” she said, kissing his cheek before using her baton to carry her up through the skylight with a laugh, leaving him to kickstart his brain into motion before chasing after her, grinning.

[suna-reversed]

Hello :)

Sukuna. fluff. Pretty please.

Could you write something about sukuna falling for itadori's best friend. You can throw some angst in there too because I am a masochist❤️

Sukuna x F! Reader 

oh god, this turned purely self indulgent halfway through. low key thinking of turning this into a series to give you the angst you deserve.

A/N: (reader is Itadori’s senior and is 18) (loosely inspired by the song “me and my husband” by mitski)

“And I am the idiot with the painted face

In the corner, taking up space

But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved”

——-

- You had been one of the few poor senior students who had been victim to what had been Itadori’s “elevator pitch” for more people to join the occult club early back in high school. [the said “elevator pitch” being him jumping out at random people with a white bedsheet over his head saying “boo” as he handed you the club form]

- You didn't end up joining the club. But you somehow did end up getting joined at the hip with the chaotic mess under the white sheet.

- Whether it was you two rushing to the theatre to watch Jennifer Lawrence’s new movie,  or going to a revolving sushi place [only to get pocky from a nearby vending machine instead because revolving sushi is apparently expensive], Itadori Yuuji had become a comforting and very important presence in your life.

- So of course when he suddenly dropped out of your life, being the worried friend you were, you decided to poke around a little only to find out that he was...dead?

- Maybe a few months down the line, you would’ve started to slightly recover from the tragic news you had just gotten. Instead, what you got was your supposedly dead best friend popping up days later to tell you that he ate a finger and now he was the vessel for some centuries old curse,,,

- Um yeah...safe to say that Yuji did not expect you to go into the fit of emotions that you did [boy had the audacity to call you dramatic for fainting and then crying while hugging him once you gained consciousness] 

- some time passed and Yuji and you didn’t see each other much with him practically training to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Still, simply happy to have him back alive, your brain managed to convinced itself that everything was still the same. 

- And it was when he’d sneak out a day or two from his heavy schedule and you’d be back to your normal routine of watching movies, stuffing your face with snacks, getting your face licked by the mouth on Yuji’s hand…

- ,,,wait what

- The first time the curse had made contact with you was simply out of annoyance of why the stupid brat even took the time to see someone as mundane as you so often.

- His plan was to simply scare you into leaving, knowing it would cause the brat pain.

- So he grabbed the opportunity when Yuji moved forward to brush off some popcorn dust on the side of your mouth, not only licking the side of your face but also being successful in slightly grazing his teeth against your tender skin. 

- Yuji had mentioned that being a vessel had caused some weird physical “abnormalities” for him. you didn’t understand it back then but at least knowing that had sort of prepared you for such an instance.

- So imagine the curse’s surprise [and an even further growing annoyance] when your eyes barely widened for a second before you burst into laugher, 

“Didn’t you train your dog to not bite?”

- by now, Yuji had jumped 5 feet away from you and was still halfway through his string of apologies, but upon hearing your reaction, he mused on your fake calm while letting out a chuckle himself, 

- “Guess I’ve got to get a leash for him” 

- By this point, the ever so indifferent curse had taken two teenagers talking about him like a mere annoyance as a personal challenge.

- And that’s how it started.

- He’d come out every now and then, licking your fingers as Yuji passed you something or making lewd remarks on anything and everything that you ever started a conversation about. 

- But you and Yuji barely paid him attention and it was an understatement to say that it infuriated the living hell out of him.

- Particularly you, who wouldn’t even be annoyed or sarcastic about his tactics anymore. Instead, treating him like a friend who was simply joining you and the brat to hang out. 

- He hated it. Hated how bright your laugh was. Hated how you made them stop every time you saw a stray animal just so you could pet it. Hated how your skin was as soft as a cloud and how you sometimes smelled like cherry blossoms. He’d kill you in an instant if he could ugh.

- it was a weekend and Yuji and you had been watching a movie, even though Yuji was barely paying attention. You knew he was tired as his large frame slumped over your shoulder. Pulling the blanket up to his face, you once again felt the wet feeling of the assaults you had grown familiar with on the side of your hand.

- “You could’ve just asked for a pocky if you wanted one, no need to lick it off my fingers you grumpy little thing”, you laughed as you stood up to go to the bathroom

- that snapped the final string. 

- Coming back into your living room, you wondered if Yuji had somehow gotten up in his sleep and managed to draw weird black lines over himself all in the span of 5 minutes. 

- ‘Yuji, what the fuck?’

- ‘Well well, now who’s acting like a grumpy little thing’ 

- The deep voice sent rumbles down your spine and you knew in an instant what had happened. 

- Even though your breath hitched in your throat and your body begged for you to run as fast away as you can, you held your ground as you simply tilted your head at the curse 

- “Well, I’d like my best friend back if you don’t mind.”

- You saw the smirk on Sukuna’s face falter for just a second before he crossed the space between the couch and you.

- Now as strong of a front as you managed to hold up until now, watching something like that stride straight towards you would have had even the strongest of sorcerers shitting bricks.

- Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards, but he simply continued to close the distance between the two of you until you were backed up against the wall.

- You flinched as he slammed a hand right next to your head and he seemed to gain immense satisfaction from that as he looked down at your startled face with a smirk plastered on his tattooed face. 

- Sukuna was sure that you’d be begging for his mercy any second now. His smirk widened and he was ready to mock your pleas as he saw you open your mouth to say something, 

- “ ...so much for a damn pocky.”

- All those other times you had caught the curse off guard were nothing compared to the “partially-confused partially-baffled” expression that he held on his face now. It almost made him look human. Almost.

- You didn’t realise just how long you were holding his gaze until Yuji took back control and apologized like a million times over, reassuring you that he would’ve never let you get hurt. 

- The curse didn’t show up for almost a week after that. And while you were grateful for not having to wash off your hands or face 14 times a day, you somehow felt anxious about its sudden disappearance. 

- All those worries were thrown out the window as he once again showed up while Yuji was passed out on the couch after a particularly tough session with Gojo sensei.

- Looking at the curse, you felt anger more than anything, how could he just drop out on you with no warning and then show up in the middle of your living room- ...wait a second, why the hell are you mad at a literal curse for not telling you he was taking a mental health break or whatever it was that he was doing? 

- While you sorted out through these conflicting thoughts in your mind, the curse seemed to be going through a similar crisis. 

- Having woken up in the brat’s fragile human body with no warning whatsoever, Sukuna wasn’t in the mood to see your face so soon again. He didn’t know why your physical presence unsettled him so much. All he knew was that he hated it. Even more now that he knew what you looked like all scared and small compared to his vessel’s towering build, and how you smelled even sweeter than what he had tasted, and how despite all that you still had the courage to stand up to someone as dangerous as him. Ugh, disgusting. 

- “The stupid brat passed out.”

- Such a simple statement caused you to snap your head up at him. But he didn’t wait for your reaction as he somehow managed to plop down on the couch while still looking graceful. Picking up the half eaten box of pocky, he warily pulled one out, eyeing it as if it was  a poisoned dagger before breaking off a piece and placing it on his tongue.

- “This is what you would risk your life for, brat?” 

- He turned his head slightly to look at you still frozen in place, staring at him with that doe eyed look that made his chest burn a little. Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

- “Are you simply going to stand there and gawk? I don’t bite-...well, not unless you ask me to.”

- He knew that would set you right back to your usual self,

 - “...maybe we do need to get a leash after all.”

- Sukuna internally grinned as he saw you move to the other side of the couch, ready to hear whatever more of the snarky comeback that you’d have (not that he was anticipating it, it was just the better alternative to being gaped at. Or so he told himself)

- “You ate the non chocolate covered part of the pocky by the way-”

- “As if a layer of this disgusting brown substance can make the rotten stick taste bette-”

- “Well aren’t sticks all you had to eat in yOuR TiME anyways?”- 

—-

- You somehow managed to fall asleep after the bickering, proceeding to sit in silence after you told him to not bother you while you tried to read. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were a little disappointed when he actually didn’t. Instead, he sat on the couch with a slight smirk still plastered on his face, continuing to simply gaze at you. your heart did lunges every time you slyly looked up from your book to take a peak at him. you wondered how many ways he had come up with to kill you so far. 

- On the other hand, the curse sat idly, watching you while his thoughts rumbled in his mind. Maybe killing you can be pushed off the agenda for now. There are much better ways to hurt the brat anyways aren't there? Perhaps he could use one of these brownish covered sticks to-...what is he thinking?

- He ultimately deems it stupid brat’s humane emotions and sheer stupidity that must be interfering with his thoughts.

- A loud sneeze snaps him out of his daze as he sees you slumped against a pillow, your book falling off your lap. And then he does something that he immediately decides that he would pretend to have not done for the rest of his existence. Luckily, the brat takes back control right after he does it anyways.

- But that thought slips his mind as he finds himself replaying the serene look on your face as he gently pulled the book out of your hands, and how his hands shook a little as you nuzzled your nose into the fabric of the blanket that he pulled over you. How could you have felt so calm around him?

[erythrum]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘱𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 | 𝘑𝘑 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘹 𝘱𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢,𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦,𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴,𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵,𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵,𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦,𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘫𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘢,𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 (𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦&𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘷𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹,𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬)

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 @outcrbcnks ,𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 :)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 5.3𝘬+,𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺/𝘯, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

Find the gun, find the gun y/n. It was all I could do to keep me calm down in the sewer, the disgusting sewage the covered my body in a thin layer made me nauseated. Kiara was ahead of me leading the way down the tunnel. The light of the drain was coming in to view. Almost there.

"Kie, I think I might throw up," the smell was making me gag.

"God this is fucking awful, why did we let them convince us to do this?”

“If you remember correctly, we are trying to find a damn murder weapon,” I might have said that a bit too demeaningly, but to be fair, I couldn’t ignore the way my boyfriend looked at her. The hardest part was pretending like I didn’t know what was going on.

“Whatever, let's just find this damn thing and get out of here,” Kiara said.

We eventually found our way to where the sewer met the storm drain on the street above. Searching felt like a waste of time, I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to get involved in this bullshit, but I guess dating JJ came with its ‘perks’. Which happened to include searching for a fucking murder weapon at the bottom of a sewer.

I dragged my hands as deep as I could under the nasty water, trying my hardest to keep my head above water.

“People are so shitty,” Kiara said, disgusted by the trash that easily could’ve been recycled sitting at the bottom of the basin.

“Guys! I think I found something,” she held up something that was definitely not a gun, something dead. It elicited a yelp from her throat, definitely not good.

“Is it Gavin? Is it a body?” The sound of JJ emanated through the drain. That was when I heard the water coming.

“Kie, somethings wrong,” she was so caught up on the poor animal she failed to notice the water beginning to flood in.

“Oh shit!” She was starting to panic. Not good not good not good.

“Guys get out of there!” The voices of JJ and Pope slowly being drowned out by the rising water.

Kiara began climbing up the ladder leading to the drain on the street. Adrenaline was coursing through my body as I climbed behind her, the water closing in on me.

“Push Kie!”

“I am y/n, it's too heavy,” the drain was our only escape now. The water was at my chest, inching closer and closer to my neck. The adrenaline made my body act on instinct, but I also couldn’t keep myself calm. It felt like my body was numb as I tried to pull myself up the ladder, closer to Kiara.

I couldn’t keep my head above water now as it rose up above my head. I took the largest breath I’ve ever taken in my life and prayed that JJ and Pope would come lift the drain. Struggling for air was the worst experience I’d ever felt, I couldn’t hold it any longer. The water filled my lungs, it went black after that.

The boys were pulling as hard as they could on the drain. The combined strength of the two alone just wasn’t enough. But someone else had heard the screams of the two girls and came barreling down the street to help.

Pope had a look of horror on his face as Rafe Cameron himself began pulling on the drain as well. The three of them together much more easily pulling the manhole off and onto the street. Water came flooding out as JJ pulled Kiara out, she was sputtering the disgusting muck out of her lungs, begging for air.

“Kie, Kie! Are you alright?” JJ asked.

“She’s still down there,” she struggled to get out, still filling her lungs with clean air.

Rafe was in panic mode, he nearly dove into the water, reaching his torso as far down as he could. He had to find her. He had too. Rafe's head below the water and into the drain, reaching out for her. After what felt like hours, he felt something, grasping on with all his strength and pulling her body out of the sewer.

"Fuck, Pope! She's not breathing, Pope, I swear to god you better know CPR," Kiara was screaming, still in the arms of JJ.

Rafe began pumping his fists down on her sternum in a steady rhythm. All hell broke loose when he plugged are nose and connected his mouth to hers, blowing air into her water filled lungs.

"What the fuck are you doing!" JJ viciously pulled Rafe from her body, throwing him back onto the concrete.

"Saving her fucking life asshole," Rafe pulled himself back up, rushing back over her and continuing to do what her boyfriend could not. He pushed another breath into her lungs, pleading with himself that she would survive.

That was when y/n began coughing up the sludge lodged in her lungs. She was nearly throwing up her lungs as Rafe stared at her, a look of relief washed over his face. He was the first thing she saw when she came to. Then she saw JJ, clinging onto Kiara in a way she'd always knew would happen.

"Y/n! Fuck I'm glad you're oka-," JJ tried reaching out for her.

"Get the fuck off of me JJ," y/n pushed him back, disgusted yet not surprised by his actions. She had just been brought back from the dead and it felt like he didn't even care. The one person who did care was supposed to be her mortal enemy. A million thoughts were trying to process in her head all at once. Having no idea what to do, she picked herself up and began walking as fast as she could away from the group. On her heels was that same kook, the one she hated, the one she couldn't keep off her mind, the one who ruined her life, the one who saved her.

Y/n only made it 30 feet before hunching over and resting her hands on her knees as she heaved onto the sidewalk. Rafe had chased after her, now pulling the drenched hair from around her face. Once she had emptied her lungs of the filth, she only had one thing to say.

“Get the fuck away from me Rafe,” she said, still hunched over. He stood in shock, not knowing what to do next.

"At least let me take you home, for the love of God I literally just pulled you out of a sewer." She hesitated for awhile, finally recognized the car she had been throwing up next too. It was Rafe's truck.

The truck was filled with nothing but silence as they drove, y/n ignoring every word Rafe said. They had been driving in a giant circle around the island with no destination for hours. Finally Rafe pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights on.

"Listen, y/n, we can't stay in the car all night, and it seems to me like you don't want to go home, I can take you back to Tannyhill, you can take a shower and get cleaned up, we have a guest room, stay the night if you'd like," Rafe said, hoping she would say yes. Y/n let out a deep sigh before speaking.

"Fine," it was all she could muster up. Her heart was hurting. Y/n had come to the realization that her boyfriend instinctually went for Kiara, and that she would always be his second choice. She never wanted to be a second choice, she wanted to be the only choice.

His house was enormous, probably bigger than any she had seen on figure eight. Rafe hopped out of the truck, racing over to the passenger side door to let her out. He led her into the massive home, before arriving at the guest room.

"There's a bathroom through that door, I'll bring you some clothes to wear," he said. She barely let him finish before bolting towards the bathroom door, locking herself in. She laid her back against the door, wondering how in the world she ended up here. It took a moment to take in the beauty a bathroom could hold. She'd never seen anything like it. Marble floors and brilliant gold detailed fixtures. It was easily the nicest thing she had ever seen. Finally, she reached her hand to the shower faucet, turning on a beautiful cascade of water. There was nobody in the world she believed needed something so fancy. Y/n stripped out of her muck caked clothing, tossing it onto those beautiful floors. Stepping into the waterfall was exactly what she needed.

Meanwhile, Rafe ran upstairs, grabbing whatever he could out of Sarah's closet. He ran over and over again in his head what to do next as he raced back down to the guest room. Leave the clothes next to the door? Wait for her to come out of the shower? Before he had a chance to decide, y/n came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body. Rafe had a look of shock in his eyes, he never thought he'd see the girl he couldn't keep off his mind here, in his home.

Rafe stuck his arm out, holding the clothes just in front of her. She looked Rafe up and down before gently reaching out for the clothing.

"Thanks," that was all she said before turning around and locking herself in the bathroom again. Y/n struggled to hold her tears in, knowing what she would have to face in the morning. It wasn't an easy decision, but it needed to be done.

It was possibly the best sleep she had ever gotten. The satin pillowcases soft against her cheeks as she slept, the warm comforter encasing her. No interruptions or pogues banging on her bedroom door for her to wake up. Just peaceful sleep.

Y/n laid awake in the bed, sunrise creeping through the curtains, dreading the next few hours. She left the massive home as soon as possible, sneaking out at daybreak, making the nearly hour long walk back to the cut.

Rafe found no trace of her left behind, everything was in its place just as it had been before y/n occupied the room. She couldn't have gotten far.

He caught up to her in his truck, she had only made it maybe a quarter of the way to her destination. Wearing Sarah's clothes he had lent her, she fit right into the neighborhood. She kept her head held high and determined to ignore him.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing?"

"Fuck off Rafe," she shoved her middle finger towards his window as he drove along side her.

"So I save your life, let you sleep at my house, lend you Sarah's clothes, and now I can't offer you a ride?"

"Correct, I don't need your help, the only thing I know you to be good for is hookups and rebounds," she said rather matter of factly. He couldn’t lie to himself, hearing her say that made his heart hurt a little bit.

“Whatever, there's a party at Topper’s tomorrow night if you’re interested, but I’ll go ahead and guess your answer is a no,”

Y/n stopped in her tracks, causing Rafe to slam down on his breaks. She finally turned to look at him, a smile growing on her face.

“You’re absolutely whipped.”

Rafe hesitated before driving off, this girl left his head spinning in circles.

Once she reached the cut, y/n made a B-line for the chateau. Finding the rest of the pogues wasn’t hard, they were usually out back up to whatever shenanigans they had planned. JJ especially came up with bad ideas, somehow convincing the rest of the group that they would work. Y/n rested her body against a doorway, finally making eye contact with JJ, then nodding her head back gesturing for him to follow.

They creeped back towards the front of the shack, still trashed from the hurricane.

“Jesus, where were you y/n? I was worried sick that fucking kook hurt you,” JJ hugged her, squeezing as tight as he could. When she didn’t return the enthusiasm, he knew something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” He questioned.

“Listen JJ, this, us, it’s not going to work,”

“What the hell are you tal-,”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about JJ, I've seen the way you’ve looked at her for months, you’re always going to choose Kiara over me, always. I am not a second choice. I know what I saw.”

“Did that kook get into your head or something?” She was sure the others could hear them now.

“It’s not about that JJ, I was fucking drowning and you didn’t even try to help me, I’d probably be dead right now if it wasn’t for him!”

“Oh so it is about him huh? Did you have fun last night curled up in figure eight? Wait wait, I see, he didn’t get into your head, he got into your pants instead didn’t he?” Y/n didn’t know how else to react, slapping him square across his face.

“Don’t you dare, fucking accuse me of that, or I swear to God JJ,” she could barely hold back the anger boiling her blood right now.

“Its over. Done. Have a nice life.” Y/n ran as fast as she could out of the chateau, tears pooling in her eyes, looking for any escape.

The next 36 hours were a daze, and before y/n knew it, she was getting ready for a kook party. What does a girl even wear to a kook party? A nice sundress? Little black skirt and a crop top? How fancy is this supposed to be? In the end she decided to wear a sleek black dress, knowing she would stick out like a sore thumb, regardless of what she wore. Being likely the only pogue in the middle of hundreds of kook's, it wouldn't matter.

Meanwhile, Rafe was already at Topper's house, making preparations for the oncoming chaos.

"Boys, if you see a little y/h/c pogue try to walk in here, let her in," Rafe said, handing each a $100 bill. The two door boys nodded their heads in understanding.

The easiest part was over, now y/n just had to get there. She didn't even know where Topper lived, well, figure eight obviously, but where? Actually, that's a stupid question, just follow all the BMW's and audi's driven by reckless teenagers.

Y/n knew something was off when the two kids stationed at the door let her through without question. Fucking Rafe. He was surely already here, and she was questioning what in the world led her to make the decision to come here tonight.

Rafe found her in the kitchen, downing shots of tequila.

"Didn't expect to see you here y/n," he slid next to her, pouring himself a shot as well.

"Didn't think I'd be here either, I have much better things I could be doing right now," she snickered back.

"So how'd it go when you got back to the cut?" Rafe asked, knowing something had changed.

"Well, I dumped JJ, so I am officially a free woman," she said, downing her next shot.

"And you're taking it well, obviously," he laughed, smiling as he watched her take the shot with ease. In true y/n fashion, she flipped him off before grabbing the bottle of tequila and disappearing into the house. He watched the way her dress clung to her hips as she moved, now more than ever aware of the ache he felt.

Only fifteen minutes had passed before Rafe went looking for her. Searching through crowds and empty rooms, finally finding a door on the second floor that was cracked open. Not locked out, but not to be unfound. He poked his head through the door, not seeing much at first, until his eyes landed on an open window. The cool breeze of the ocean drifted into the room. He climbed through the window and out onto a small section of the roof overlooking the backyard.

As soon as she saw him, she knew there was no escape.

“Ugh,” y/n rolled her eyes, taking another drink from the bottle she had smuggled.

“Excited to see me?” Rafe said as he settled onto the roof.

"How did you guess?"

"Just the fact that you even showed up, your actions speak for themselves," he said rather confidently.

"Do they now? Because it seems to me like you're the one who is stalking me," she let out a giggle.

"Well, I still need Sarah's clothes back,"

Y/n shoved his shoulder, the both of them laughing as she did.

"Mhm, I don't know, I think I look pretty good dressed in kook," y/n passed him the bottle now, he accepted her offer. He had to think long and hard about what to say next, his heart beating relentlessly in his chest.

"More than pretty good," there was a silence between the two, both reading into what he said.

"Y'know, I don't even know who I am anymore."

"And by that you mean?" Rafe asked.

"On this island, it's always kooks or pogues, no in-between, and I thought I was a pogue for the longest time, but I never quite, I don't know, fit in? It sounds fucking stupid, forget it."

"No no, it's not, I feel like we're actually having a conversation, not just bickering at each other, and it's, it's nice," his voice was becoming shaky now. She took a deep breath before continuing.

"I think I'm just in a rut, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. All I ever did was for JJ, I gave him everything,” he understood the magnitude of what she had given him.

“And now that we've broken up, I have this new freedom that I don't know what to do with, it was the first relationship I'd ever been in, and at this point I don't even remember how to be single. I hate to say it, but I feel like he took everything I gave him for granted."

Rafe smirked at his thoughts, knowing exactly what she needed.

"Oh what's so funny?” She said.

“You desperately need a rebound.”

“I do not!”

“You do, and I know the perfect guy for the job.”

“And who would that be exactly?” Their witty banter had turned to flirtation, and they were now physically closer than ever. Rafe had his hand cupping the side of her head, fingers tangled in her hair, leaning in closer to her. Her breathing has quickened as his face came closer to hers, knowing what he was insinuating.

The connection of their lips sent shockwaves through her body. It was the first thing in a long time that felt like it made sense. They disconnected for a moment, staring longingly into each others eyes for permission. A sense of understanding overcame them as their lips smashed together once again. Rafe's hand moved lower down to her neck, tracing his thumb to the other side and giving a light squeeze.

"Rafe I, don't get me wrong, I want this, but I don't think it's a good idea right now."

"You're right," he whispered as a whirring noise approached in the distance.

It was maybe thirty minutes past 11, the sound of an approaching boat caught their attention. They both looked at the boat coming to dock on the Thornton's boat dock. Rafe and y/n climbed back into the home, recognizing the boat pulling up to the dock. Rafe raced out the back door, y/n steps ahead of him as anger and adrenaline rushed through her body. She ran down the dock, ready to fight the boy hopping off of the boat.

"JJ, please explain to me why the fuck you are here right now, and it better be a good reason or I swea-,"

"Y/n please, I just need to talk to you okay? I've been thinking about the other day and I just needed to-,"

"Not good enough JJ, you had your fucking chance, got it? I never want to see you again," she had tears of anger streaming down her face, that was when Rafe lodged himself between the argument.

"You heard her pogue," Rafe said threateningly.

"What are you gonna do about it huh?" JJ pushed his hands against Rafe, knocking him back only slightly, Rafe stood solid.

"What am I gonna do?" Rafe shoved him back with all his strength, knocking JJ onto his back.

"I'm only going to say this one time for you," Rafe crouched down, grabbing fistfuls of JJ's shirt.

"Stay," he landed to first punch.

"The fuck," and the second.

"Away from her," finally the third, then forcing him back onto the ground in a sheer competition of dominance. Crowds had gathered around the commotion, watching the kook and pogue battle it out. Y/n felt a sense of relief, someone had finally chosen her.

"You already fucked her didn't you?" JJ struggled to spit out, coughing on the blood lodged in his mouth. Rafe promptly pulled JJ up by his shirt, making sure to look right into his eyes as he made his next threat.

"Stay off figure eight, or so help me God JJ, I will kill you." Rafe tossed the boy back onto the ground, watching as he struggled to pull himself back to his boat.

"Show's over everyone! Get out!" Rafe said, the crowd watching dispersed over fences and into cars, not wanting to face the same fate.

She was the only one who didn't leave. Y/n watched as he came closer to her, pulling her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry y/n, that asshole deserved it,"

"Thank you," her tears were staining his polo as they held each other.

"Also, neither of us are in any shape to drive, so what's the plan?" She asked.

They made the short walk back to Tannyhill, ending up in the same rooms they had been in the day everything changed. When morning came she stayed in her bed, enjoying the comfort she felt in this home. The sudden knock on her door awoke her from her daze.

"Hey, I uh, brought breakfast," Rafe said, holding up the bag of breakfast burritos. Y/n patted the empty place on her bed, inviting him to sit down. They sat and ate in silence, unsure of what to say to one another. Once finished, she ended up snuggling her head into the crook of his neck, arm tossed across his abdomen. Rafe wrapped his arm around her and they stayed there for awhile, simply enjoying each others presence.

Rafe placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, rubbing his thumb across her shoulder at the same time. Y/n looked up at him from her spot on his chest, moving herself up so their lips connected. The kiss was just as good as she had remembered. Rafe began deepening their kiss, pulling her in by the waist with his free hand.

I had woken up. For the first time in a long time I felt it. How it felt to be the only choice for someone, to be at the top of someone's priorities. Feeling his hand pull my waist into his sent lightning through my body, and I've never wanted anything more in my life than right now. I threw my right leg over his hips, anticipating to climb on top of him. I brought my hand up to the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair.

"Think it's a good idea?" Rafe asked.

I simply nodded my head in response, bringing my mouth back to his. His hands began tracing further down my body, grabbing at my hips as he pulled me in closer. I got the message. I threw myself over him, sitting perfectly in his lap, hair hanging almost in his face. We reconnected and the speed at which we kissed quickened. My arms had snaked behind his neck, my entire body resting on his, legs straddled across his lap.

He was surprised when I removed my mouth from his, only to begin trailing kisses down his neck, towards the collar of his polo. He sat up, leaving room for him to pull his shirt up and over his head. I pushed him back down into the bed as I trailed lower and lower. Reaching the spot I needed most, I unbuttoned his pants, pulling them as far down as I could. He was already hard, clearly anticipating this when he walked into the room an hour ago.

I began leaving kisses down his clothed dick, teasing the throb. But I myself was too in-need to tease for long. I pulled his boxers down, revealing the eager member. Wrapping my hand around him, I pumped it a few times, leaving light kisses all around him. The taste of him spread in my mouth as I took him in. His hands pulled my hair back as I sucked on him, the pace of his breathing becoming more of a pant. One of my hands grasped onto his hips as the other pumped him in sync with my lips.

A shock ran through my body as he flipped me over on the bed. Rafe nearly ripped my shirt in half when pulling it over my head. He sat over me for a moment, taking in the sight of me like he'd been waiting to for so long. Just after, his hands came to either side of my head, propping himself up as he began kissing down my neck, surely leaving bruises. Moving lower to my breasts, he continued, tugging and pulling at the straps of my bra. He was now resting his entire body on me, his elbows at my sides as he started massaging my breasts through the fabric.

"You can take it off, you know," I said.

That was all he needed to hook his hand underneath me, tugging at the clip holding me together. Rafe popped it off with ease, not that I was surprised. His mouth attached itself to one of my nipples, teasing it with his tongue. The cool air hitting the wet spot he left behind causing me to gasp. Meanwhile, he had been rolling the other between his fingers, sending arousal between my thighs. The sensitivity rolling between my hips was begging for more.

Rafe's hands began trailing lower down my body, his mouth not far behind. The ache in my core was growing more and more with every inch he passed, until finally I felt a finger graze over my shorts.

"These need to come off," it was more of a question than a statement.

I nodded, because I needed more. He slid the shorts off of my legs, tossing them onto the ground, leaving my panties on full display for him. Then his mouth moved to my thighs, starting closer to my knees, slowly moving in towards my center. I could feel every breath he made against me, and knew he was just as in-need as I was. It felt like ages before he finally made contact with my core. His lips left kisses over my clothed clit, at this point I was begging for more.

He knew too, knew how much I needed him right now. The wetness soaking through my underwear as he played with me through them, thumb massaging little circles around my clit. My legs shuddered as he did, needing to desperately to be released. His fingers latched underneath the waistline of the fabric, and he pulled them all the way down my legs, exposing every inch of myself, and discarding them on the floor.

I was absolutely soaked, and he had barely even touched me. I could barely imagine what I’d be like once he had. When his fingers finally returned, I was a mess. He was eager too, not even waiting because I was already ready for him. His middle and ring finger teased my entrance, before plunging deep into me. The gasp that came out of my mouth was the loudest I’d ever had, causing my hand to close over my mouth in response. But Rafe didn't care how loud we got as his mouth came down to me, his tongue flicking at my clit, fingers beginning to thrust in and out.

My hips were rolling, legs shaking as the combination of his mouth and fingers pushed me closer and closer to the edge. Whimpers came out as his free hand was grasping onto my stomach, thumb tracing circles below my navel. I tugged at the sheets around me, needing some sort of grounding as he continued fucking me with his fingers. My pussy was aching for more, begging for something bigger to ease the ache.

"Rafe, I need you inside, like right now," I struggled to get the words out. But he wouldn't let up, he was determined. His fingers were moving faster and faster and his mouth was lapping at the wetness of my pussy. I couldn't take it anymore, and my legs closed around his head, squeezing as I came.

I barely had time to recover before Rafe was on top of me, lining his cock up with my entrance, then pushing himself all the way into me. My walls clenched around him as I tried to adjust to his length, but he wasn't waiting. Slowly he began thrusting in and out, plunging himself deeper each time. He reached down to kiss me as he pounded me, hand wrapping around my neck and squeezing.

"Fuck," I squeaked out.

It only got better when he threw my legs over his shoulders, they were nearly at my chest. He pounded into me at a hard but steady pace, and it was driving me to the edge once again. The whimpers coming from me were more than enough to tell him to keep going.

"You like that princess?"

"God, yes Rafe, harder," I pleaded.

He listened, but it was taking a toll on him, his breathing was now broken and unsteady as he thrusted. I could feel his body beginning to tense up on top of me, he was getting close. It was my turn now.

I used all of my strength to flip him onto his back, my legs on either side of him as I began riding him. Rafe's hands came around to my ass as I repeatedly moved up and down on him. Then I laid down on him, arms behind his neck for support as his arms held onto my waist tightly. Rafe propped his legs up for support and began thrusting into me harder than he ever has. The feeling of my walls clenching around him as he pumped into me, using me as a toy.

"Cum in me Rafe, please," but it wasn't a question. I nearly screamed as he released inside of me at the same time I came. We stayed that way for a few moments, simply taking one another in as our breathing steadied.

Finally, I slid off of him, releasing the tension of him inside of me. I could feel his cum leaking out of me as I laid on top of him. I could go to sleep right here if I wanted to. His hand laced into my hair, playing with the ends of it.

"I still need Sarah's clothes back," he laughed.

"Don't think so, consider it the start of my kook wardrobe,"

"To going full kook?" he asked.

"To going full kook."

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​