#like bestie no one made you read it. who had the gun to your head? blink twice if you need help | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

csanflower · 1 year ago

Text

“you drew stars around my scars”

pairing: experimented on! jungkook x experimented on! reader

powers au!, childhood besties au!, patients au!

genre: angst, fluff, sfw

wc: 5.9k

synopsis: meeting jungkook was like gazing up at the brightest star in the sky as you lay helpless on the cold ground in the dark night. you both found comfort in one another. you healed each other as you suffered through painful experiments together. the pain was bearable, with him by your side. whenever he was around, your smiles were brighter, your shoulders were lighter, and all your worries just seemed to disappear in an instant. good things don’t last though. you learned that the hard way.

jungkook and y/n meet in the hospital both trying to be cured of their ‘disease’ (they have powers :O) and form memories along the way <3

tw: experiments on human (not detailed though), scars, gun

*inspired by ‘cardigan’ by taylor swift: “you drew stars around my scars” pls listen to it while u read this 🥹🥹(A/N: GONNA BE FIGHTING HARD FOR TICKETS TO ERAS TOUR THIS WEEK SO I WROTE THIS HOPING TO MANIFEST SOME TICKETS😭🙏🙏)

——

13 june, 2005

You monitored the pale, white room around you. White bed. White cupboard. White walls. You sighed in frustration. Your rainbow obsessed 7 year old brain screamed at you to add some colour to the walls. Note to self: Bring crayons to colour walls next time.

“Please…I will take care of her… don’t do this…”

Hearing the small familiar voice of your mother, your eyes lit up, and you climbed onto your white bed, propping your elbows onto the tiny window frame in the small room, peeking your small head out as you stared curiously into the other room. Your mother talking to a man in a white coat. They were having a serious conversation, and your mother seemed like she was about to cry. Why is mommy crying? Is she hurt? You thought to yourself, immediately jumping off the bed and running to the room next door to find your mother and comfort her.

The moment you entered the room your mother was in, you noticed she instantly wiped her tears away, trying to hide her tears from you.

“Hey sweetie, you like the room?” She plastered a smile on her face as she looked endearingly at you.

“It was alright. It could have more colour though. Next time I should bring my crayons and draw Bibi on it!” You let out a huge smile at the thought of Bibi, showing off your missing front tooth. Bibi was your imaginary friend. Picture a golden retriever, but covered in rainbows. Making friends were not exactly your specialty. For some reason, everyone called you a freak and did not want to talk to you, all because you were able to move things with your mind. And so you found comfort in your imaginary friend Bibi instead. He was the only one who understood you.

“Hey sweetheart, you’ll be staying here for a while, ok? It’s to make you better. Don’t worry, mommy will come back to visit when I can.” You could tell your mother was holding back her tears. It was the same face she made when daddy screamed at her and left us, or when she received a call that grandma died.

“W-why can’t mommy stay with me?” You felt tears brimming at your eyes as a sinking feeling appeared in your heart. You could feel that something bad was happening.

“Y/n, you are a danger to your mother. You need to stay here to get better-“ The doctor in the coat was cut off as I screamed out loud.

“NO! I WANT MY MOMMY! IM NOT GOING TO STAY HERE!” Your tears were overwhelming you as more people stomped into the room, grabbing your mother’s arms as she tried to grab you into her embrace. She had released her tears by now, sobbing uncontrollably. The people who stomped into the room grabbed her arms harshly, dragging her away from me and out of the door.

You felt your arms being pulled back by the doctor as you tried reaching out for your mother. You let out a frustrated scream, as your emotions ran rampage. The room around you started to shake and you unintentionally slammed everyone in the room against the hard wall — including your mother. Everyone except you fell hard to the ground as they hit the wall, all groaning in pain. You looked at your mother apologetically, then looked at your own hands in disgust. What have I done?

Your mother looks at you with one last glance, glossy eyes as she mouths to you ‘It’s ok, i love you’ The security people, as if unphased from the hit, immediately got up, containing their job as they dragged your mother forcefully out of the room. You didn’t dare to stop them. Not after what you did. You knew you were a monster.

“Do you see now, y/n? You’re a danger to everyone. If you want to be fixed, you will do the wise choice of cooperating with us so you can see your mother again.” The doctor got up slowly, looking at you with a cunning smile.

You gulped. You were scared. So, so scared and lonely. But you knew you had to do this. You had to get better. You had to make your mom proud. So you bravely nodded, agreeing to stay at the facility to get help.

—

2006

You never saw your mother again after that incident. You were unsure if she chose not to see you again because she thought you were a monster or if she was not allowed to visit you, but you sure hoped it was the latter.

You grew accustomed to the lifestyle. Everyday, your morning would be filled with ‘recreational activities’ like playing chess, but having to move the pieces with your mind, or doing basic commands with your powers that the doctors made you do. Afternoons were the worst. They would strap you into the terrifying pink chair in the ‘rainbow room’ and conduct experiments on your brain. For a room called ‘rainbow room’, it was certainly not full of rainbows. You would have to sit through hours of excruciating pain as the voices in your head overwhelmed you. There were so many needles, blood. But there was nothing you could do. None of the doctors cared for you. You had no one.

As time passed, you started getting used to the lifestyle. The food wasn’t bad, you had a chef that would make what you wanted, and servants that would get you what want. The only issue was the loneliness. You realised you were the only patient at the facility. Nobody ever talked to you. The guards, doctors and servants were not allowed to form a relationship with you. You had no one to talk to — except Bibi. But you knew Bibi wasn’t real. You weren’t a kid anymore - you had matured quickly from having to face the bitter reality. Bibi was merely your coping mechanism from the horrors of your daily life.

That was until he came along.

On 13 June, 2006, Jeon Jungkook, a 9 year old boy, was admitted into your facility exactly a year after your admittance. You were excited when you heard the news. You would finally have someone to talk to, someone to share your pain and to hang out with — a friend. Sadly, you did not hit it off as well as you expected it to. Jungkook was a shy, frightened boy, slightly shorter than you, eyes red and puffy probably from the amount of times he cried after being separated from his family. You felt for him. You were in the exact same situation as him a year ago, and you understood that he needed some private time to heal himself. He was definitely not in the mood for making friends. So you kept your distance for a while, not wanting to seem too desperate.

Until the night of his first experience in the ‘rainbow room’. You laid on your bed, reading the same book for the thousandth time as you sighed in boredom. Until you heard a sniffle in the hallway.

Curious, you stepped out of your room, not shocked to see Jungkook crouching into a little ball in the hallway outside his room, crying quietly. You could see the deep scars left on his left arm, the same ones you get daily from the experiments. You crouch down beside him softly, hesitantly patting his back as you tried to comfort him wordlessly. At first, he looked tense and uncomfortable at your touch, but he slowly eased into it as he saw the same scars on your arms. You inched closer to him, giving him a warm embrace as you cried together with him.

After that night, the two of you became closer. He realised that you were just like him. That he was not alone in his painful journey. And so started your friendship with Jungkook.

You soon realised Jungkook was more than a shy, frightened boy. He could be playful and kind at times, and he quickly became your close friend — more like only friend.

He painted your bleak childhood colourful with memories and fun moments. The two of you would make inside jokes about the staff there, laughing at how they always wore the same clothes and probably didn’t wash them, and joke over stupid things like whose powers were stronger or who was taller.

Yet despite all the jokes, the two of you placed deep trust in one another, comforting each other when the experiments got too harsh and painful, convincing each other that it would end some day. Mornings and afternoons of playfulness and fun ended in late nights of cuddling and crying together. This lifestyle became a norm for the two of you. But still it was tolerable, because you had each other.

—

2010

“Y/n, look what I found!” Jungkook ran into your room with a big, smug toothy grin on his face, hiding something behind his back.

“Did you finally find out where your room actually is? Because I’m starting to think you don’t know that since you’re always in my room.” You rolled your eyes playfully as you pretended not to be interested in what he actually brought.

His smile faltered for a second, processing your words, before he faked an angry frown, and pounced onto your bed that you were laying on, tickling you as revenge.

“Ok stop,” you giggled, “I was just kidding, tell me what you brought.” He finally stopped tickling you, pulling something from under his shirt behind his back, as he excitedly presented it to you.

You jaw dropped in shock as you immediately snatched it from his hand, staring at it in disbelief.

“That’s right! A full set of rainbow coloured crayons just for you!” Jungkook beamed with pride.

It was only the previous night that you admitted your obsession with rainbows to him, telling him stories about Bibi, and sharing about how you wished you could colour your room walls. You’ve been begging the workers for some sort of colour since you’ve arrived, but they never met your requests, saying that it was too “childish”. You couldn’t help but wonder how Jungkook managed to get it.

“I bet Bibi could have never gotten this for you, it just proved I’m a much better friend than him!”

You laughed at Jungkook’s statement. After telling him about Bibi, he had been so jealous that you had another friend other than him, even though you repeatedly told him numerous times that Bibi was an imaginary friend. However, you didn’t admit that you hadn’t talked to Bibi in a long time since you’d made friends with Jungkook. That would make his pride swell too much.

“How did you get it? The workers never ever let me get anything like this!” You were still in disbelief.

“Well, doctor choi has been wanting to do the new form of experiment on me since a few weeks back, and he said he would reward me with anything I wanted if I did it! So since I’m the bravest and coolest person ever, I did it today!” Jungkook said with a smug smile.

You frowned when you heard what he said. For the past few weeks, Jungkook had opposed greatly to doing the new format of experiments, since it was on a much larger scale than the previous experiments we had done. Our previous experiments usually ended in scars on our arms, but this new experiment was performed on the whole body. Jungkook had protested against it, because he was too afraid of needles. He had always been less receptive to pain than you. But why did he suddenly agree to do it today?

You looked down on Jungkook’s body, noticing new scars that were on his legs. He quickly tried covering them, saying, “It’s no big deal! It wasn’t even painful!”

You knew it had to be painful. The size of the scarring were just much larger than the usual. You pouted in guilt, hugging Jungkook tightly, “You didn’t have to do that! I bet it hurt so bad!”

“It’s fine, I just wanted to do something for you after all you’ve done for me…” He looked at you, face blushing slightly from your close proximity.

That night, the two of you didn’t sleep, colouring the plain walls with the crayons until dawn broke.

“Pfff. What is that supposed to be?” Jungkook muffled his laughter when he turned to see what you were drawing.

Frowning, you exclaimed, “It’s the galaxy! These are all the planets and all my beautiful stars!”

“Those are supposed to be stars?! They’re so ugly!” Jungkook joked with you.

You threw one of the crayons in his face, ignoring his comments. You didn’t care how ugly your drawing was, you loved seeing the sky and stars shining. Especially the stars. Stars were your favourite thing. Before you came here, you and your mother went stargazing every week, staring into the beautiful sky. Even though you probably would never be able to see them again since you weren’t allowed out of the building, you still held on to the hope that maybe one day you could have that chance again.

You stared at your galaxy for a while before turning over to Jungkook’s side to see what he was drawing.

You were shocked to realise that he was a much better artist than you. You inched closer to his side, smiling when you realised what he drew. A portrait of you and him together, on a lush green field, staring up into a sky full of stars. Although you never told him directly about your love for stars, you realised he must have guessed it from all the times you talked about them and tried drawing them. Your felt your heart beat a little bit faster at the thought of Jungkook being so attentive to your likes.

Your eyes trailed down to below the beautiful drawing to see a small writing below.

‘Y/n and Jungkook together forever!’

—

2015

As the years ticked by quickly, Jungkook started growing from a boy into a man. Once he hit puberty, he shot up like a tree and grew muscles. His featured became more defined and he grew out of his baby fat. You noticed that as Jungkook turned into a teenager, he had also turned more rebellious towards the workers, always unwilling to follow through their instructions and ending up getting punished. Yet he still stayed kind and sweet towards you, acting like the same 10 year old boy when he’s around you.

“One more time and we will not tolerate this anymore! You got it?”

Hearing the faint voice of doctor choi, you quietly get up from your bed and run to your door, peeking out softly, looking in the hallway.

Doctor Choi stood outside of Jungkook’s room in anger, scolding him. You could barely see Jungkook from your angle, only seeing half of his body.

“Ya, ya whatever. I won’t do it again.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and then slammed the door in Doctor Choi’s face, resulting in Doctor Choi stomping away in anger.

When you were sure Doctor Choi was out of sight, you quietly tip toed to Jungkook’s room, knocking on his door impatiently.

“What more do you want? I-“ Jungkook opened the door, annoyed.

When he saw you, he paused and his eyes softened.

“What did you do again? I was so worried when I couldn’t find you this morning! You have to start being more careful! These people have power over our entire lives! You can’t just act recklessly like this!” You immediately pushed past him and entered his room, sitting on his bed, as you looked at him angrily.

He carried a childishly guilty look, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“I didn’t do anything bad! I just kind of sneaked out…”

“What!?? You tried sneaking out again?? Are you crazy? You could get into serious trouble-“

“I didn’t try, I did sneak out. I succeeded.” He said with a smug smirk on his face.

You paused your words in shock.

“Wait what? You sneaked out? Whats outside? Did you see the sky? How did you sneak out?” You bombarded him with questions.

He chickled slightly, sitting beside you in the bed.

“Chill, it’s mostly just greenery. But I found a really nice spot. I’ll take you there tonight.” He smiled gently at you.

You don’t know why you agreed with Jungkook’s ridiculous rebellious plan, but the thought of even a chance of being able to see the night sky again was just too tempting.

So now you and Jungkook were currently hiding in the vents, waiting for the right time to sneak out when nobody was looking. You sat rolled up in a circle beside Jungkook who looked noticeably more uncomfortable than you due to his size. The two of you were inches away from each other and you could feel your face heating up at the close proximity.

“This is really uncomfortable.” You muttered in the awkwardness.

He chuckled stating that it would be worth it.

Sure enough, he was right, as he usually was. When the workers were not looking, he quickly dragged you out of the vent as the two of you ran as quickly and quietly as you could to the spot he was talking about.

“Don’t open your eyes!” Jungkook placed his large hands over your eyes excitedly as he led you quietly to the spot.

You followed him blindly, placing your trust in him.

“OK! Open your eyes now!” You could hear the smile in his voice, excitedly opening your eyes.

When you peeled your eyes open, you stayed silent, in awe at the view you saw. The sky was pitch black, but the bright stars around twinkled in the dark. You felt like crying. You’ve been longing for this view for years. And now that you could see it in real life you didn’t know how to feel.

“I-It’s not the best view but I thought you would like it.” Jungkook said with a shy smile.

“It’s beautiful, Jungkook! I love it so much.” You were on the verge of tears, throwing yourself onto him as you embraced him tightly in gratitude.

You could feel him sigh in relief, hugging you back just as tightly.

“I’m glad you love it.”

The two of you sat on the field in silence, staring at the sky in awe. From your peripheral view, you noticed that Jungkook was looking at you the whole time.

“You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You joked with him as you turned to him momentarily.

“I really wish I could.” He replied.

You kept quietly, not expecting that response. The two of you stayed quiet for a while before you broke the silence.

“My mom used to bring me out to star gaze every week… I miss her so much.”

Jungkook looked at you in slight shock, not knowing how to reply. Though the two of you shared everything with each other, parents were not a topic you commonly discussed as it was pretty sensitive.

As silence engulfed the two of you again, you asked Jungkook, “Do you want a family when you grow up?”

“Yes, but only with the woman I love.” He stared intensely at you.

You looked back into his eyes, not knowing how to reply.

“Y/n, you are the one I lo-“

You cut him off quickly, pressing your finger onto his lips.

“Please don’t, I don’t think I can handle that.” You say apologetically, “I don’t deserve to be loved. My scars, they’re too ugly. I- I’m ugly. I don’t deserve love.” Your tears fumbled your words.

Jungkook’s eyebrows fumbled, his strong arms grabbing your arms gently, relentlessly pulling it towards him even as you tried your best to pull it away. He gently looked at your scars, rubbing onto them as he pulled them to his lips and kissed them gently.

“They’re beautiful y/n, everything about you is beautiful.”

Your tears started pouring as Jungkook looked at you with so much love and affection, kissing your ugly scars with so much care as if they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“No they’re not, I can’t even look at them. It hurts, Jungkook. I hate everything about myself.” You leaned your head on his shoulders as you cried harder.

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, before grabbing something out from his pocket.

You almost laughed amidst your tears when you saw what he took out. A pink crayon. You remember giving that to him because you refused to use that colour in your drawings, stating that you hated that colour. (mostly because it was the colour of the chair in the rainbow room) As years passed and your crayons were used up, you never knew he had kept that crayon until this day, keeping it in his pocket like that.

You kept quiet as you watched him curiously. He grabbed your arms gently, drawing cute little stars around them.

“Look, now your arm is a cute little galaxy. It’s even more beautiful than the sky up there.” He smiled gently at you.

Looking at your arm now, you chuckled slightly as it did slightly resemble the universe above you. Jungkook used his fingers to wipe away the tears below your eyes.

“Since I kissed your scars, don’t you think you should kiss mine too?” He smirked.

You laughed, tears dissipating as you bent down and kissed the scars on his arm as well. You grabbed the pink crayon, drawing stars around his scars as well. You frowned when you realise his little universe didn’t look nearly as nice as yours.

“Wow you’re trying to make my scars uglier with your ugly stars.” He teased you.

This time, instead of throwing the crayon into his faces, you smiled endearingly as you leaned your head onto his chest, savouring as much as you could of this sweet moment.

“Jungkook… sorry for cutting you off just now. In fact, I-I actually love-“

Just as you were about to confess, you were suddenly interrupted.

“Jeon Jungkook! I told you no more sneaking out! This is it! You will be punished! Grab her!”

You felt yourself being pulled away from Jungkook’s side as two strong men grabbed both sides of your arms.

“Let go of me!” You tried pushing yourself off and using your powers but you were too weak after the experiments this week.

“Stop! Let go of her now!”

You’ve never seen Jungkook this mad before. Jungkook used his powers, twisting the heads of the two men holding you, making them crumble on the floor with blood gushing out of their eyes. You looked at Jungkook in shock.

Before you could run away, more men appeared, grabbing you once again, other men grabbing onto Jungkook.

At this point, you were a sobbing mess and the both of you were unable to escape since Jungkook’s powers were too weak from attacking the two men.

Jungkook was fuming, struggling in the grip of the two men, as he repeatedly shouted, “Don’t hurt her! Please! Let her go!”

You could feel yourself getting weaker as the men holding you placed a device onto your arm, draining your energy.

“This is your punishment, Jungkook. You’ll never see her again.”

That was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

——

2016

You barely saw Jungkook again after that. They moved his room into another wing, and held his experiments elsewhere. You were back to 2005, lonely and depressed.

The only times you heard of Jungkook were through overhearing gossips from the workers.

“He caused a ruckus again, asking to see y/n. “

Your heart ached, longing to see him once again as well, and also concerned that he would be punished for being uncooperative.

You started focusing more on following the doctor’s instructions, with the hope that you could rid of your powers quickly so you could be released together with Jungkook. You were starting to see hope, everyday your powers were slightly diminishing and becoming weaker as you focused diligently during your experiments. Although as your powers grew weaker, you noticed you were becoming weaker as well. You’d lost a bit of weight and strength. But that didn’t falter you. You were too determined on losing your powers and escaping the facility.

Every morning, you would wake up to the fading drawing of you and Jungkook together watching the sky, bringing you back to the memory of that cursed night. Nights ended with you daydreaming on what could have been if you guys weren’t separated. You just wished you could have seen him one more time.

You didn’t know that your wish would have came true so soon.

It was 2am at night. You were lying on your bed, staring at the stars you had drawn on your ceiling with the crayons Jungkook gave years back. When someone entered your room quietly.

“Y/n, I have no time to explain. You have to come with me now.”

You looked up, shocked at the familiar voice. Sure enough, it was Jungkook in the flesh. He had an anxious look on his face, as if he was in a rush.

“W-what? How?” You didn’t know how to react after seeing him for the first time in so long. He looked the same from the last time you met him, except he grew buffer and more handsome. You looked at his arms, realising he still had pink stars that looked like the ones you drew around his scars. You assumed that he had traced over the stars when they started to fade so that they would stay intact. You let out a small smile at that.

He grabbed your wrist tightly, dragging you out of your room in a rush as he kept looking around for workers. You were still in a state of shock, unable to say a word as you followed him. When he was sure no one was in the hallway, he dragged you into the janitors room, closing the door.

He turned to you, glossy eyes looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in his life.

“I missed you so much.”

“Me too.”

The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds until Jungkook remembered why he came to find you.

“Look, y/n, we have a chance to escape. No, we need to escape. I found out something about the facility here. They have no plans to actually cure us, they can’t. They plan to have us stay here forever, to contain us and weaken us so we can’t escape. They’re afraid of us, y/n. And they can kill us at any time. They couldn’t kill us previously because the government did not allow it with the public watching. But with time passing, I overheard them saying that the public is forgetting and the government gave them the green light to kill us anytime we prove we’re a threat. We need to go, y/n.”

You knew this time it wasn’t a joke. Jungkook had never put on such a serious face before, and you could only nod at whatever he was saying. It was weird, the way you trusted him so easily. But he was the only person in your life who ever truly understood you and supported you. Maybe that was why you agreed to easily to whatever he said.

“W-when do we leave?” Your mind was still confused at how fast things were escalating. A moment ago you were just about to fall asleep, and now you were about to escape from the only place you’ve been in for the past few years of your life.

“Now.”

You followed him quietly as the two of you entered the vent you’d once been in. Memories of that horrible day came into your mind, but you pushed them away. Despite having an inkling that something about his plan could go wrong, you tried ignoring that thought, hoping it would be a success and that the two of you could actually leave together.

The two of you crawled through the vent, going a different route from the previous time. When he stopped abruptly, you stopped as well, waiting for his instructions. Looking down from the vent through the tiny holes, you realised you were above the main entrance of the building, the same entrance you and your mother had walked through the first time you entered.

You held your breath at the memory of that day. You hadn’t seen this door since that day in 2005 since it was always blocked off by guards and lots of protection. You felt heartbeat increase, maybe there really was hope at an escape.

“Ok on my signal you follow me and jump down, alright?” Jungkook turned around to look at you as he whispered. You nodded determinedly in response.

When Jungkook mouthed the word ‘now’ to you, he kicked off an opening on the vent and jumped down onto the floor as you followed along. As you jumped down, you stumbled slightly, but Jungkook caught you, steadying you with his arms.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The guards, who had been on break took notice of us and ran after us from a few meters away.

“Run!”

Jungkook grabbed your arm tightly, pulling you along with him as the two of you ran for your lives out of the building.

As you ran, you started panicking as all you could see around you were greenery. But then hope came again when you could see a town with people and buildings in the far distance. There was a chance the two of you could make it.

You ran harder, locking hands with Jungkook as you both ran towards the town.

Bang!

The sound of the gunshot resonated through the forest. You didn’t feel any pain. But that made you feel worse. Because you knew it was Jungkook that had been shot.

“Shit…” Jungkook groaned in pain as he grabbed onto his stomach, blood gushing out.

Despite the pain, he didn’t give up, dragging you to a blind spot in the forest behind a tree where no one could see the two of you.

You placed him gently on the floor as tears flowed down your eyes uncontrollably.

“No…no, please…” You muttered as you tried putting pressure on the wound.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Go. Go without me.” He said with little energy.

“No! No… I’m not leaving you here.” At this point you could barely see anything, everything blurred from your tears.

“You have to go now y/n… please… I love you so much…” He said with tears.

“Sorry, y/n, I didn’t want to show you my new power this way, but I have no choice.” He said weakly.

You were confused for a moment, until he grabbed onto your arm and said, “You will run as fast as you can to the town there and not look back once. And you will never ever return to this place.”

Instantaneously after his command, your legs stood up without your will and ran towards the town.

“W-wait! Jungkook! I love you! Stop this now! Please! I’m begging you!”

Your words were no use, your legs following Jungkook’s command as you couldn’t even look back to give a final glance at him.

When you reached the town, you broke down on the street immediately, wanting to run back to help him, but you physically couldn’t.

2018

Healing was hard. Especially without Jungkook. But eventually you moved on, like you always do. After escaping, you found a small job as a cashier at a convenience store, becoming close friends with the old grandma who owned the store. Your income was not a lot, but it was enough for three meals a day and rent for a small apartment. You went on that way for about 2 years, until realising you were too lonely and needed a new companion. And so you adopted an 8 year old golden retriever who had previously been used for animal testing. The moment you saw the scars on his frail little body, you broke down and sobbed at the adoption drive in front of dozens of people. You knew at that moment that he was yours. You named him Jeon Bibi.

—

13 June, 2020

“Jeon Bibi! The park is this way, where are you bringing me to?” You chuckled at your dog’s cute behaviour as he excitedly dragged you away to the opposite direction of the park you usually walked to.

“Ok, ok you’re the boss, i’ll follow you.” You smile affectionally at him as you trail behind him, curious to find out where he was bringing you to.

When Bibi came to an abrupt stop, you realised that he stopped behind the tall silhouette of a man’s back. You looked up curiously at the man, wondering why Bibi brought you to him. The man whipped around when he felt Bibi sniffing his hands.

You felt your breath hitch as the familiar man turned around, staring deeply into your eyes. For a moment, time stopped. Your eyes turned glossy as years of memories flashed passed your mind in an instant, the walls you’ve built around your heart demolishing in a split second. Your eyes trailed from his slightly longer, curlier black hair down to his large brown doe eyes, and to his pink lips, adorning a new lip piercing. You brought your eyes down to his body, noticing he became even buffer and taller. Then your eyes reached his arms and you felt your heart stop, looking at the scars that you once rubbed, kissed, newly decorated by familiar stars that were now permanently inked onto his skin.

He seemed equally shocked as he stared at you, tears brimming his widened eyes.

You both didn’t move an inch, staring into each other’s eyes. You were the first to break the silence.

“I thought you said my stars were ugly.”

He broke into laughter amidst his tears at the fact that that was your first comment after meeting him. You could feel your heart squeeze at his laughter. God, you missed him so, so much. You found yourself laughing along to his contagious laughter. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were 10 again, laughing without any worries.

“Y/n, everything about you is beautiful, even your ugly stars.” He ceased his laughter, small smile on his face as he looked at you intensely, years of memories hidden behind those eyes.

He paused for a second, hesitating before confessing.

“Y/n, I love yo-“

Before he could finish, you cut him off by taking a step closer to him and smashing your lips against his. He instantly melted into the kiss, grabbing you tightly, scared you would be separated again. You hugged him back tighter, reassuring him that the two of you would stay together forever.

After all, he was your star, your salvation, the one who made you love your scars, the one taught you acceptance and love, the one who made living worth it.

A/N: I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭Ifeel so attached to them i cant do this rn i’m so sad. if u don’t understand the last part basically he REMEMBERED THE SHAPE OF HER STARS AND GOT A TATTOO OF THEM EVEN THOUGH HE HATES NEEDLES OK 😭😭😭😭ok but actually this piece was a bit of a rush since i wanted to quickly post it before my great war so it may be a bit incomplete at parts ANYWAYS PRAY FOR MY GREAT TICKETING WAR TMR🙏🙏THANKS LOVELIES FOR READING and do give comments if u can because i love reading feedback <3

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jjk one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts fics #jungkook fics #bts angst #jungkook au #bts hospital au #bts powers au #bts friends to lovers #bts childhood friends au

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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

Text

Burning in a Hopeless Dream

A/N Hello!! This is my first time I have ever posted any of my writing on here! @peterhollandkait inspired me to start writing again so this one is for you, bestie! <3 I hope you all enjoy it! Likes, comments, and shares are all appreciated. I highly recommend listening to “Lift me Up” by Rhianna “Shrike and As it Was” By Hozier when reading this!

Summary: After a run in with some clickers at an abandoned hospital, Joel opens up to you about his fears of losing you and Ellie after he nearly sees you get killed by a clicker.

~Word count : 4.4k~

Warnings: +18 mentions of blood, slight gore, sad!Joel angsty!Joel mentions of death, lots of swearing, implied smut, soft!Joel m/c is faceless no y/n m/c is short with tattoos

Years of turmoil were etched into his face like the vast ridges of misty mountains standing tall in the distance behind you. Every crease, every ridge on his worn face reminded you that he was a survivor, just like you. You wondered often if Joel Miller ever smiled, if he ever laughed, if he had ever loved.

Joel Miller remembers the day he met you like it was just yesterday. You had left a mark on him; quite literally. He remembers how you had no hesitation in trying to kill him. He remembers the sound your combat knife made when it whizzed past his head and through the rain pelting around him. He remembers the blade slicing through the thin skin of his brow, opening the wound like a blooming rose petal. He remembers your sheer fierceness, your soul desire to survive and endure.

He had always liked that about you, though, he would never admit it out loud.

He remembers the feeling of blood trickling down his brow and his weathered cheek. He remembers Tess screaming through the howling wind that she would kill you. The sound of her gun cocking, his hot breath against the frigid air. He remembers how you didn’t flinch from his booming voice. He wasn’t angry at you, no. He was angry at his partner for trying to kill you. If it were any passerby that were to try and kill him, he wouldn’t blink an eye. You, you were different. You had skills that he found could be useful for his survival. So he spared you, saved you even. You would never admit out loud that Joel Miller had saved you that day. You simply couldn’t.

Joel saved you for his own benefit, as he explained it to Tess, who reluctantly agreed with his reasoning. This however did not stop the woman from resenting you, loathing you even, for reasons you could never understand. Your knife skills proved to be a real asset to the group. You never showed fear. You were quick on your feet when needed. Your lack of height came in handy when small spaces were needed to be squeezed into. You were important for the group's survival and you liked knowing they relied on you.

Smuggling supplies into the Boston QZ was easy work for you. You moved through the shadows like a swift deer, silent and sure-footed. You had only been caught by Fedra once in the past year and it wasn’t your doing. Joel and Tess had a new recruit join you, who ended up being a Fedra rat. You didn’t hesitate slicing through them either. Fedra caught you in the act, and a week of lock up hardened your spirits more. When your time in lock up came to an end, you found yourself outside Joel and Tess’s apartment, seething. You felt betrayed, and after all you had done for them? Betrayal was your biggest fear, but you would never admit it out loud. You swiftly kick the tattered door open, listening to the sound of the wood smack the crumbling wall on its hinges. Joel and Tess had been waiting for you, naturally. You took no hesitation to send a knife whizzing past his head, and embedding itself into the weathered wood beside him, snagging the flannel fabric on his forearm and tearing through the fibers. He and Tess slowly raised their hands up in a truce.

You wanted nothing to do with it.

“What the fuck was that?” you seethed through your gritted teeth.

“Think you can just set me up with some fuckin Fedra rat?” You took a step forward, yanking the blade from the wall before Joel had turned to you, a stern look across his weathered face.

“Easy now, we didn’t set ya up darlin. '' Your nickname spilled from his lips like warm flowing whiskey.

You scoffed at him, tucking your knife back into the holster around your hips securely. “Oh yeah?” You mused. “What the fuck do you call that then, Joel? Sure as hell looks like you fuckin set me up.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. You were a menace when you were pissed and he knew he had to talk you down. “It’s my fault, I had the wrong judgment of character. It's not gonna happen again alright?”

You didn’t trust him.

Not trusting him meant your survival was on the line. Alone, you could endure for a period of time. For how long? You were never sure. With Joel and Tess, your chances of survival increased and you would be damned if you allowed yourself to go down before them. You were afraid of dying alone, but you would never admit it out loud. After a short debate in your racing mind, you agreed to trust him, one more time.

“Fine. But I swear to god Joel, you fuck me over like this and next time, its you who i’ll be taking down.” Your threat was not an empty one and with a slight nod from Joel, you let your shoulders relax for a mere moment.

Joel and Tess never fucked you over like that again and you found yourself growing attached to the pair, they were the only family you had. Tess still wasn’t fond of you but the one thing she could admit, was that you were a force to be reckoned with.

Tess sacrificed herself to save you, to save Joel, to save Ellie. Your last moments with her were moments you would never forget “save who you can save.” She whispered, “Take care of him, please. No matter what..He needs you.” Joel was yanking you and a screaming Ellie out of the State House and to safety before you could promise Tess that you wouldn’t fail her. It was too late, she was gone.

Traveling with a teenager had its challenges. Despite them, you found Ellie to be a delight, at times, and treated her as if she was your sister. You wanted to protect her at all costs. Ellie was fond of you as well. What she loved most about you were your tattoos. You weren’t covered in them by any means, but she was fascinated by them and their beauty. Most were fading from the sun and harsh elements but Ellie said that’s what made them so fuckin cool. Joel liked your tattoos, he had the same curiosity as Ellie did, but he would never admit it out loud. Joel was too good for his feelings. He didn’t know how to feel anymore. He’d tell himself that, day in and day out. Even when his heart was twisted and pulled by your mere presence, he told himself feelings were dangerous. He was constantly burning in a hopeless dream. He dreamed of a future with you in a different world where he had no fears of his feelings. Where he didn’t fear if he would ever see another sunrise with you and Ellie by his side. He burned there, day in, and day out.

You were running low on medical supplies and they were hard to come by, especially in these parts. Small cuts and bruises were washed away with the cooling, trickling streams. Gauze was too precious to be wasted on small injuries. You had found an abandoned hospital outside a QZ. You and Joel had silently prayed that it hadn’t been picked over. The weather would be changing soon. Winter was approaching and without the proper supplies, you’d all be fucked. Taking the risk ended up paying off. The hospital wasn’t stacked with supplies but it still felt like a gold mine. While you and Joel gathered up gauze, bandages, medicine and a first aid kit, Ellie found some thick blankets to keep warm. Carefully, and quickly stuffing your loot into your backpacks, you and Joel both looked at each other with the same sense of relief. Your odds of surviving the brutal winter were increased.

Relief, as quickly as it came, dissipated before your very eyes. A shiver rolled down your spine. Your senses heightened when you detected the sound of a clicker. You froze up immediately, slowly turning your head to look at Joel. He slowly raised his finger to his lips and shook his head while you had quietly grabbed a hold of Ellie’s jacket and pulled her behind you and between Joel protectively.

You could feel his whisper before you heard it but there was no detection of fear in his voice. “From now on we are silent, not quiet. Silent, got it? Let's move.” With his gun raised in defense and your knife clutched between your calloused hand, you slowly took a step forward, minding the shards of glass beneath your worn boots. The three of you moved silently through the deserted hospital. Each step felt like your last. Any second one of you could make a noise and it would be all over. You’d go down for either of them, you silently told yourself. All it took was one sickening crunch of broken glass beneath your boot and your heart stopped. Three clickers appeared from the shadows and charged at you, you had given away your cover just like that.

Joel had immediately yelled for you to run while grabbing a hold of Ellie and pulling her along with him. Your feet carried you on instinct, the blood was pumping fiercely through your veins. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears as the deafening sounds of Joel’s gun rang through the stagnant air. The first clicker went down with 2 shots to the head, it shrieked as it fell to the floor, twitching for a moment. Joel watched it happen in a flash, one clicker charged at you from the side, knocking you through a jagged broken window, the shards cut through your tattered clothes, slicing at your skin and sending searing pain through your veins. The adrenaline coursed through you as you sent your blade piercing through the clickers neck, splattering blood across your face like a paintball gun. deafening shots rang through as the final clicker dropped dead to its final resting place. With an immense groan you pushed the once living thing off your body, breathing heavily as you hauled yourself up, feeling dazed but alive.

You hadn’t even heard Joel scream your name.

He was at your side in seconds, grabbing your face in his calloused hands as he searched your eyes desperately. You had never seen him this feral in these moments. His hands moved from your face, to your neck and arms, nervously checking for any bites. You could see the relief wash over his features when he found no marks. “You could have fuckin gotten yourself killed.” He seethed, his coarse fingertips prodded against the thin skin on your throat. “You never fuckin turn your back on a clicker. Ya hear me?!” His grip softened on you before he released you, kicking the mass of flesh on the tarnished floor with his boot.

“I didn’t fuckin get myself killed Joel.” you deadpanned, feeling the adrenaline begin to wear off as you wiped the blood from your face.

He spun around for a split second, nearly giving you whiplash from the movement. “Not another fucking word. Let’s go. Now.” He spat out before walking ahead of you.

Joel refused to speak to you as the three of you left the hospital before trekking into the nearby woods. Ellie didn’t dare try and crack jokes this time around. You couldn’t blame her. You felt guilty for making a sound, for putting her and Joel in danger. For not being careful enough to watch your footing. You wished at that moment that the clicker had taken your life, for Joel and Ellie’s sake. As you walked through the forest, Ellie came up to your side and briefly grabbed your hand. Giving it a light squeeze as a silent reassurance that she didn’t blame you and she was relieved that you were alive. You squeezed her hand back, feeling the reluctant tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

Twenty minutes had passed and Joel, who was a good foot ahead of you, came to an impending stop, nearly causing you to bump into his broad back. He refused to look at you. “We’ll camp here for the night. It’s too dark out here to keep goin.” he muttered.

All you could do was silently nod and follow his orders. You felt weak.

Ellie had settled into her sleeping bag and knocked out shortly after from the pure exhaustion the day had brought. She was just a kid after all. This left you and a still brooding Joel. Your feet ached, your skin felt raw and there was a slight chance you had a concussion. You silently sat along the rivers bank, cleaning your knife and using a tattered rag to wash the blood from your hands and face. A twig snapped behind you, and you turned, knife drawn and fear in your eyes as you were met with Joel. Slowly, lowering your knife, your eyes softened before re-focusing on the clear rippling water below, illuminated by the moon’s ghostly light. “Let me guess, you came over here to yell at me some more, yeah? You know, you oughta be more careful, making noise like that. My fingers coulda slipped,” You muttered before you felt his hand grasping your shoulder.

“No. I didn’t come here to yell at you more darlin. Although, if that’s what you want, I can certainly deliver,” He taunted for a moment before clearing his throat. “I need to look at your cuts. I know you’re gonna be stubborn and fight me on this but some of ‘em could be deep. Can’t have you gettin’ an infection. You don’t want to end up losing a limb.” His grasp left your shoulder, leaving the skin beneath the tattered fabric feeling warm. You reluctantly stood from the riverside and followed his towering stature to his sleeping bag where you wordlessly plopped down beside the oil lamp. it was too dangerous to light a fire. There were more than just infected to fear.

Joel returned with the first aid kit in tow as he slowly sat down in front of your smaller frame. No words were exchanged between the two of you as you undid the buttons of your torn flannel and slid it down your arms, wincing as the fabric scratched against a particularly deep gash in your forearm. You discarded the fabric to the side before assessing the damage yourself. There were shards of glass embedded in your skin and the long gash up your forearm cut through the arrangement of flowers inked permanently into your skin. “Well, it could be worse.”

You joked but immediately regretted it as his hardened gaze landed on you.

“You’ve got a mile fuckin long gash on your forearm and shards of glass stickin out. Don’t fuckin take that tone with me.”

You swallowed hard then, looking away from his harsh gaze.

“I had ‘em y’know..I fuckin had them, Joel.” You spoke above a whisper, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t almost wretched from this cruel earth just hours ago.

You watched his chest rise and fall with a deep exhale through his nose as he pulled out the tweezers from the first aid kit, using his other hand to grab the oil lamp and pull it closer so he could see the shards of glass protruding out of your skin better.

“You could have fucking died. One second too late and we wouldn’t be fucking having this conversation. You’d be lying on that fucking hospital floor with a bullet through your skull.”

You looked at him then, your mouth falling open slightly. You knew that Joel would have to kill you if you had become infected. It would just be business at that point. He’d make it quick as seeing you suffer would be too much for him to bear.

“You think I'd let you live as one of those things?” He stifled a chuckle. “I’m cruel darlin, but I would never let you live through that. So do yourself a favor. Don’t fucking put yourself in a position where you can get bit. You’re fuckin smarter than that.” He had gently grabbed your forearm then, twisting it around to see where the glass was before he looked up at you.

The moonlight softened your features and casted an alluring glow. For a moment, he glanced down at your lips. They were cracked in some places from the elements and he knew you had a nasty habit of picking the skin off your lips from anxiety. Despite that, the urge to kiss you was brewing deep in his gut. Whether he would fall into the trap of his emotions, was all up to him.

“Squeeze my hand if it starts to hurt, alright? Those shards are pretty deep so I'm gonna have to dig them out.” He spoke calmly.

You appreciated his honesty in that moment and didn’t hesitate to grab his hand. Not because you were concerned about the pain, but because you wanted an excuse to be closer to Joel Miller in the moment. Your smaller hand gently grasped his calloused one, interlocking your fingers as he pulled the first shard out, causing you to hiss under your breath from the sudden pain.

He liked the way your hand felt in his, your skin wasn’t nearly as rough and worn as his. Your fingers were delicate and your palm was warm. He found himself subconsciously rubbing the outside of your hand with his thumb in slow, gentle movements.

Joel Miller cared for you and it terrified him.

The next few shards were easier to pull out and he laid the discarded pieces on what was left of your flannel.

“I’m sorry for yellin at ya the way I did.” He finally spoke. “I just, seein’ the clicker on you like that..hearin’ Ellie’s screams.” He took another deep breath.

“I’m not good at this kinda shit.” He admitted. “If you would have fuckin died back there, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t–I can’t lose you darlin. I wouldn’t be able to go on after that. The fuck would I have to live for?”

You were in shock. Joel Miller had never once opened up to you in this way. He was a man of few words but you could sense his vulnerability and you wanted to nurture it.

“Joel,” You spoke softly.

“Joel, look at me, please.” You squeezed his hand then, meeting his gaze which appeared to be much softer.

“You have Ellie to live for Joel. You would have to go on for her and you and I both know that.”

He didn’t want to admit that you were right. Losing you would be too much for him. He had already lost Tess, Sarah. Losing you would be the end for him.

“No, you don’t get it, do ya? You mean something to me. Fuck. You mean so much to me. All I do is fail Ellie. I failed you both today. I should have gotten that clicker. I was too slow. It's my fault.”

You slowly scooted yourself closer to him then, releasing your hand from his grip before you hesitantly grabbed his face, feeling his patchy stubble tickle your palms. You held Joel Miller’s face like your life depended on it. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The closeness was suffocating for you both. You swore you could hear Joel’s rapid heart beating against his rib cage. Beating for you.

You slowly dragged your finger along his skin, letting your thumb brush the scar above his right eyebrow, a permanent reminder of the first time you met. A ghost of a smile graced Joel’s face and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his dimple.

“Joel, you fuckin listen to me and you listen to me good.”

“I promised Tess that I would protect you and Ellie. I promised her that I would take care of you, Joel. I don’t break those promises. If something were to happen to me, you have to promise me that you’ll carry out her final wish. You have to promise me, please Joel.”

His hands slowly came to wrap around your wrists and for a moment, you thought he would push you away. Instead, he slowly brought his hand to your cheek. He had wanted to feel your skin for so long now. He had dreamt about it. His thumb lightly brushed against your lower lip and he felt you suck in a harsh breath from the contact. He brushed away a bit of dried blood and dirt from your cheekbone as he searched your eyes, seeing the fear in them.

“I promise I will protect Ellie, darlin. My one condition is that you promise me that you’ll continue to fight like hell. Please, if you’re gonna die, you better do it in style.”

You fucking giggled. Joel fucking Miller made you giggle and it was pure music to his ears. He had never heard your laugh before and now that he had gotten a taste, he wanted more.

“Alright, alright, cowboy, If I die, I promise, I will go out in style. I swear to it.”

Your noses had brushed against each other in that moment, your lips were so fucking close that he could taste your breath on his skin.

“I’m going to lose my fuckin mind darlin if I can’t kiss you right now.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was an inner thought that turned into word vomit and he immediately panicked.

“Shit–that wasn’t..I– that was supposed to stay in my head and if it makes you–”

His ramblings were cut off by your lips pressing to his in a searing kiss. His thoughts were drunk on you the second he got a taste, he knew he was done for. His eyes slowly fluttered shut as he gently hoisted you into his lap in one swift moment. Using one hand to gently cup the back of your head while the other was firmly grasped around your waist. The kiss was slow, you were both savoring each other before the desperation kicked in and you were clawing at one another’s clothes before Joel pulled away, his eyes wild, lips swollen from you and his hair tousled.

“We can’t.” He breathed out “I want to but I have to finish cleaning your wounds. There’s still that gash I have to stitch up for ya..”

You surprised yourself and him when you let out a frustrated groan. All these years of pining after this hardened man, had you feeling desperate and he had no idea just how badly you had wanted him. You kissed him once more before placing two kisses against his jaw and reluctantly slid out of his lap. “We’re finishing this later, Miller.” You spoke with a lazy grin.

He looked at you with a knowing smirk as he pulled the thread and needle out of the first aid kit.

“Course we are darlin, can’t have you sleepin alone after tonight.”

Joel was incredibly gentle as he stitched the gash on your forearm up. He watched your face for any signs of discomfort but you were a fuckin trooper. Once he finished, he gently wiped the area down with the wash rag, making sure there was no dried blood or dirt left before he wiped the residue from your face. Stealing a couple kisses here and there because he just couldn’t help himself.

“That wasn’t my first near death experience.” You suddenly spoke as he packed the medical supplies up and a short nod of his head reassured you he was listening.

“You remember the day we first met?”

“How could I not? You threw a knife at my face with zero hesitation.” He gestured to the scar you had left.

“Glad to know you still remember that.” You smiled slightly before continuing.

“I ran into some raiders. Thought I could lose them in the cover of the forest but they were quick. Thank fuck for the rain. Then I saw you and Tess and thought it was a trap. Thought I was done for but like you said, I’m only allowed to die in style.”

“Anyway, I never have told you this before because well, my pride gets the best of me. You saved me that day Joel. You didn’t have to but you did and I never properly thanked you for it. Just don’t let it get to your head, alright? You’re already a big enough pain in my ass as it is.” You jokingly said and Joel laughed. A real fucking laugh and you could see his eyes crinkle in the corners and your heart swelled at the sight.

“You laughed mother fucker!”

“I did not! You’re mistaken, just had somethin caught in my throat. Think it was a damn mosquito or somethin.”

“Can you two shut the fuck up? Geez man, can’t a kid get some sleep around here or is it too much to ask? Get a room, you two are GROSS!” Ellie chimed in from the confines of her sleeping bag.

Joel laughed again.

“Sorry, kiddo. We’ll use our inside voices, alright?”

Ellie stuck her middle finger up in response.

“Damn.” He said. “She’s somethin ain’t she? She gets the swearin from you, I’m sure of it. Who woulda thought that a tiny thing like you would have such a mouth to her huh?”

You lightly punched his shoulder then before pulling him in for another kiss.

“You like when I swear, Miller.”

“That I do darlin, that I do.” he mumbled against your lips.

After having a small portion of food, Joel invited you into his sleeping bag. He wanted to hold you for a while till he would have to take the first watch. He loved how you fit in his arms so perfectly. He loved how you nuzzled your face into his shirt, breathing in his scent with a smile on your face. He rested his chin against the top of your head, looking up at the vast expanse of stars above and for a brief moment, Joel Miller was happy. He was so fuckin happy that you were his and if he were to die that night, at least his last moments would be with you, here in his arms were he felt like he was home. You were his home. You and Ellie were the two people worth saving. He saved you both. He protected you. Keeping you and Ellie safe is what kept his heart pumping, his feet moving and his lungs filled with air. God help any mother fuckers who would stand in his way.

CHAPTER 1 :

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel x tess #joel the last of us #ellie and joel #joel x y/n #the last of us #ellie the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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intriq · 1 year ago

Text

Midnight

warnings: mentions blood, death, little bit of fighting, depression, mentions of guns/getting shot, etc etc NO USE OF Y/N

Part 2 of Little Moon

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Word Count: 5.7k words

Authors discussion n shizzle:

Hi y’all sorry this took so long to do. But it’s here and I’m happy and it’s long as FUCK.

Like it’s twice as long as part 1, and it’s so bad everyone voted I break this up into a 3rd part so like, yea

I’m publishing this while the 2 yr old I’m babysitting is down fr his nap so like woooo

I’d like to thank my beta readers n co owners of Little Moon for reading this shit (I’m sorry if u cried): my bestie aka @deaths-favorite-star , terra, Apollo (Taylor swift and bat brat versions), bri, and lilac

mostly cus without them this wouldn’t even be possible/done lol

let’s get on w this shall we? Hope you all enjoy <3

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Months have passed since your death.

In those months the children of Bruce Wayne, whether adopted or biological, grieve. All of them mourned you.

There are seldom times your grave is without fresh flowers or some sort of visitor, who either sits in silence or just talks to the headstone in a conversation that they know they’ll never get your input on again.

Your bedroom is in the same state of familiarity, too.

On some days, Alfred has to force Bruce to get out of bed or to even come home.

No one looks at Alfred quite the same anymore, but no one looks at Alfred with the same disgust as Alfred’s own reflection.

✧✿✧

Since the funeral, family dinners went from being twice a week, to just once.

And then they went to once a month, with Alfred having to just watch as the number of people who attended them dwindled, before eventually they came to a total stop.

✧✿✧

Today is another day of distant and silent mourning, as Alfred stands in his room, looking through pictures of you and Bruce as children.

Down the hallway as Alfred looks at a picture of you on your seventh (7th) birthday, he hears Cassandra softly crying down the hall in your bedroom.

During your birthday that year, when you’d turned seven (7) years old, Alfred remembers how the only thing you’d asked for was a cake. Specifically, you requested that he let you help him bake your birthday cake.

Alfred can’t help but smile, even just slightly, as he remembers how big of a mess you’d made when you had attempted to dump the entire bag of flour into the mixing bowl.

He also can’t help but remember that after a long day of celebrating your birthday, it was the first night since you’d come to live with him and Bruce that you hadn’t woken up once because of a nightmare.

✧✿✧

Alfred had been in Bruce’s study when the news came.

A tray of food in hand, he’d been begging Bruce to eat something. Anything, even if it was just a piece of toast that he hadn’t prepared himself.

“Master Bruce, you haven’t eaten in the past few days. Please, take at least one bite.”

Bruce only raises his head, dark circles under his eyes as he just blankly stares at him. An almost soulless look, one that gives a hollow feeling of emptiness.

Across the desk in Bruce’s study are papers, books, various gadgets in states of disrepair or in the middle of being made, as well as schematics for them that have the occasional ring-shaped coffee stain on them.

“Not now, Alfred. I have things to do,” Is Bruce’s only reply, a hoarse and exhausted sounding tone held within his words.

Alfred’s coming words of protest are silenced by the sounds of an alarm going off. Not too loud but neither too quiet, but just enough to make Alfred go silent.

NEW HUNTER DETECTED

That’s what the screen on Bruce’s computer read.

Various screens pop up on Bruce’s computer, each showing feed from different CCTV cameras of a person moving through Gotham and killing vampires in their wake.

The videos in question had been saved from numerous different days in the past few weeks, all adding up together once there was enough saved to trigger the algorithm that Tim had made. Specifically, it was designed to use the cameras around Gotham to track and keep note of Vampire Hunters and vampire attacks. Made solely to help prevent someone else from suffering the same fate you did.

All to prevent them from having to lose someone else.

Bruce and Alfred watch as the videos play, watching as the new hunter the algorithm had detected took out various vampires across the city of Gotham. But what made Bruce rub the drowsiness from his eyes as he leans forward, peering closer at the numerous video feeds was not because of how they looked.

No, it was because of how they moved.

The way they moved was eerily familiar. The way they moved with such precision that only got better and better with each new video feed that grew to be more recent was what had Bruce holding his breath.

While they had kept you from knowing the world of Vampire Hunting most of your life, they hadn’t let you be completely defenseless.

Which was why it was so eerie to see that the way this person was moving, was by using moves he’d only ever taught you. It was unmistakable, really. Bruce had grown up with you, knew most of the little habits you had. He knew you better than he knew himself sometimes.

Bruce is unsure if he wants to let himself grow delusional about whether or not it was who he thought it was. Should he? Could he? Was it even worth the pain it’d bring by opening up old wounds, to bring back the choking hold of grief?

Bruce can feel Alfred staring at him, because he gets that same feeling of familiarity. But it should be impossible. It couldn’t be possible.

But was it? Could it be?

Alfred sets the tray of food down on Bruce’s desk, taking the opportunity to clean up some of its disorganized mess. But it’s only because he doesn’t want to let his mind wander like Bruce’s is. He already lets it wander far enough when he looks through photo albums and when he sees his face reflected off the tea he drinks in the morning, in the mirror, off the windows, and on the screen of Bruce’s computer.

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge the tray of food Alfred leaves on his desk, only getting up after receiving a notification on the screen that the new hunter was spotted again. Bruce already felt the idea of who it could be creeping into his mind and clinging there, leaving him wondering. Wanting to know. Needing to know, to get his question answered.

“I’ll be out for a while.”

“Will I expect you back for dinner today, Master Bruce?”

Alfred is only met with silence as Bruce grabs what he needs and heads out the door. Which gives him his answer.

“At least come back unscathed, Master Bruce. I don’t think they want you to join them just yet.”

“Don’t act like you know what they would’ve wanted, Alfred.”

Alfred goes quiet again. He understands, after all. He knows Bruce is still hurting, just like the others are. Alfred was the last person to see you alive, and was the only one there when you drew your last breath. They resent him for that.

But they also can’t look at him the same after knowing that it was because of him that you drew in that last gasp of air, held in his arms in that cold, dirty alley whilst the sun rose in the distance.

What makes it worse was just how often you used to like watching the sun rise. It was often when the others finally returned from their patrols, having spent all night hunting down vampires to make Gotham even just a little safer.

And every time, you’d be there, waiting for them. You’d welcome them home, tend to their injuries, and if they had a particularly rough night you’d even make them something, though it was usually some sort of baked dessert, like cake or cookies. And even though Bruce had a disdain for anything overly sweet, he’d still eat whatever cake you’d baked for him, even if it was so sweet it made him feel nauseous.

But no matter how much of a disdain Bruce had for sweet foods in general, he never could quite turn them down when you made them. You always had a smile with comforting words to follow, all to mask just how truly worried about him you were. Bruce knew that you always wanted, deep down, for him to stop being a vampire hunter. But you knew he couldn’t nor wouldn’t stop, so you always kept quiet about it.

If you weren’t so worried, if Bruce did anything to ease your worries, would you have let him know that you wanted to be walked home that night? He’d seen the unsent text message. Tim showed it to him. It’d been easy for Tim to find, with how unprotected your phone was from hackers and the like. You had deleted the message, and Bruce knew why.

It was because you felt guilty about even thinking of asking for his help. You knew how busy he was saving Gotham from vampires, which meant you could never work up the courage to ask him. He’d already helped you so many times before, and you barely could do anything to help him. Would things be different, Bruce thinks, if he’d texted you to make sure you got home safe instead of focusing on his patrol? Would you still be here, alive and well? Would you be here, saying goodbye to him as he heads out, telling him to stay safe?

Bruce forces the thoughts to shake free from his head as he swiftly departs, not allowing himself to turn around, knowing only that his heart would ache when he doesn’t see you there waiting for him. It’s always hurt, because the first few days he’d always mistakenly hear you calling out for him, sometimes even thinks he’d see you in the corner of his eye.

But whenever he’d turn and look, you weren’t there, and Bruce remembers.

✧✿✧

It takes a few minutes for Bruce to track down the new vampire hunter who’d somehow been able to avoid making Tim’s detection system go off, as it should have alerted Bruce to their presence months ago. The night is cold since autumn is right around the corner, and it reminds Bruce of just how cold that night was when you’d been brought to Wayne manor.

Bruce reminds himself to focus as he follows the new vampire hunter, who moves through Gotham as if they know the place by heart. Which almost seems odd to know every part of Gotham, when they’d only been detected less than six months ago. It’s odd, because the system has only had a record of their existence from that time frame. The program couldn’t even pick up data from normal Gotham citizens from before that to link it back to them.

It was odd.

So, so incredibly odd. Almost an off-putting, eerie kind. The type you get when you walk down the street at night and suddenly don’t feel alone, like you shouldn’t be there.

Bruce has this odd, eerie feeling for almost fifteen minutes before he realizes. The world’s greatest detective, they say, and it took him fifteen minutes of following this new vampire hunter to realize they were leading him in a circle. That they knew they were being followed.

When Bruce realizes he’s been following the new vampire hunter blindly for fifteen minutes in that same circle, the vampire hunter seems to know, too.

“Took you long enough to notice, Batman. You're getting awfully slow.”

Why does that voice sound so familiar?

Why does Bruce feel like he’s heard it somewhere before? And why is the familiarity hurting him?

Bruce leaps down from the rooftop he rests upon, landing on the street beside them. That feeling that screams in Bruce’s head that he knows who this vampire hunter is, who they are underneath the mask, is hideously strong. Almost sickeningly so.

But who is it?

Bruce narrowly avoids the punch the vampire hunter has swinging his way when he snaps out of his thoughts. Getting distracted and in a daze when confronting someone isn’t smart, he knows that. He taught Dick and Jason never to lose focus in a fight.

But yet here he is, losing focus.

Jason would probably find it ironic if he were here right now.

“Focus, Batman. Isn’t that what you taught those boys of yours?”

Behind Bruce’s mask, his face is scrunched up in confusion. Contorted as he continues to try and avoid getting hit, because he hates just how easy it is for him to lose focus because of just one thought.

But yet, even despite how familiar these moves are- which are the only reasons he’s able to avoid them even at the last possible moment- there’s something that bothers him, something that he realizes. The vampire hunter who is fighting him, attacking him, isn’t doing it with the purpose most others would.

It’s almost like it’s some sort of warning, as they change the trajectory of their moves to only hit the most non-vital points. Areas where it won’t do anything but leave a nasty bruise.

Which is odd, considering Bruce now realizes after a particular glint in the fluorescent lighting of the street lights that line the roads of Gotham, when the mask of the vampire hunter before him slips just enough when Bruce finally strikes back is that there are fangs.

Fangs.

The vampire hunter right in front of Bruce, the one that has managed to evade program that Tim spent weeks coding, the same vampire hunter that is refusing to strike Bruce anywhere vital as if some sign of guilt, is a vampire.

A vampire, hunting down and killing other vampires. Killing them. In a most brutal fashion, too, based on what Bruce and Alfred saw in the collected video files.

Why is a vampire, a creature that exists to attack and feed off of humans, trying to avoid hurting him?

Why?

Bruce can’t make sense of it. He can’t. There is virtually no reason for any vampire in Gotham, in the entirety of this world, that they would be trying to not hurt him.

Most vampires attempt to kill him on sight. So why isn’t this one? Why is it acting so… odd?

Bruce twists around the outstretched, reaching arm of the vampire hunter as they move in a pattern that Bruce is quickly learning. They never differ or change the pattern, no matter how often Bruce is able to evade their attacks. And with that open window of opportunity, he takes the chance to collect a sample of their DNA.

Some blood, to be specific.

The vampire… hunter lets out some sort of noise of pain. Not quite a shriek, nor a yelp, but just a noise. And just as soon as they started attacking Bruce, they are trying to flee.

And before Bruce can attempt to stop them, they are gone.

But that’s fine, because Bruce has what he came for. A blood sample.

Enough for Bruce to test, to compare to others in the database to see who they are.

Because that is the question lingering on his mind. Who is it? Just who is this new vampire hunter that has been able to leave a growing pile of bodies in their wake in just mere months?

✧✿✧

Bruce doesn’t waste a moment, ignoring Alfred’s pleas to let him look over and treat his injuries, as minor as they are. Just a few bruises that will heal.

He doesn’t waste a moment in immediately getting to work on finding out who that vampire is. Who the vampire hunting down and killing other vampires is, who they are underneath that mask.

After loading the sample into the batcomputer, he waits. Sitting there with so much impatience, so eager to find out who it is. It’s almost suffocating just how badly he wants it to just finish already, to just show him the results.

Alfred takes the opportunity, though, to place another tray full of food in front of Bruce. Because it’s now been a few days since Bruce last ate, and the only thing he’s done is keep himself hydrated.

Bruce attempts to protest, but he relents at the painful gnawing in his stomach. No longer able to keep himself sufficiently distracted to not notice just how hungry he is. But all he does is take small, slow bites, watching the progress the batcomputer is making on the sample.

He eats so slowly that by the time the sample is eighty [80] percent analyzed, the food has grown cold. So cold that it makes Bruce not want to eat anymore, even if he’s barely even touched any of the food. But Alfred is happy anyway, because he’s happy that Bruce has something in his stomach.

Even if it’s not a whole lot.

✧✿✧

When Bruce saw the results, his mouth went dry. His chest felt like an unrelenting void, filled with a crashing tidal wave. The creeping feeling that fills him is just as terrifying.

Alfred had to practically pry Bruce away from the batcomputer, as he mumbles nothing but words about how the results had to be wrong.

How there was no possible way that the blood sample belonged to and came from just who the batcomputer said it did.

So now here everyone was, called here by Alfred. Stated to be an absolute and utter emergency, and that excuses would not be tolerated. It was absolutely mandatory, and emergencies were to be ignored because this was the emergency.

Jason didn’t want to be here. Dick didn’t want to be here.

None of them wanted to be here. Not in the same home they’d ‘grown up’ in, that now held nothing but bitter reminders of a certain death. The death of someone they viewed as a child, a sibling, a parent. A role model.

You. Your death.

But yet here they are. Unable to avoid it, because it was an order. An order that it was an emergency, and no one could turn away when someone raises the alarm about something being an emergency.

When everyone arrives, Bruce is already seated in his office. He almost seems emotionless, like there isn’t even an ounce of life behind his eyes as he simply stares ahead, blankly.

He doesn’t even react when they all close the door behind themselves, his eyes only moving up once Dick stands in front of him.

“Why were we called here, Bruce?”

Dick’s voice sounds tired. But that’s because he is tired. He’s so, so tired of grieving. Of mourning you. Of feeling like that total and utter failure that he knows he is because he got lazy on one stupid patrol.

He’s tired of feeling like this. Feeling like he’s stuck in a deep pit of sadness and guilt, sadness because you died. Guilt because you died when he wasn’t looking hard enough. But yet, there’s also anger.

Anger at himself.

But Bruce doesn’t have the energy to answer Dick’s question, so Alfred does the talking. He shows the videos, also shows Bruce’s encounter with the vampire hunter. Everyone doesn’t quite understand just why there was an emergency meeting being called over a vampire hunter. Sure, it was alarming they were a vampire but that wasn’t cause for an emergency.

That is, until Alfred shows the results from the batcomputer. Results of who the DNA belongs to.

And while some seem surprised, some in a state of utter shock, others just feel.. Numb. Like there was nothing they could feel besides the ever consuming pit of nothingness in their chest.

But everyone is in disbelief, just as Bruce was. Is, more like.

The results showed a one-hundred [100] percent match for the last person they expected. The last person they even wanted to believe it could be.

You.

You, who was supposed to be dead. Buried six [6] feet under the ground in the cemetery on the grounds of the Wayne manor.

Dick wants to feel sick. Jason, too. Damian feels his stomach lurching as well, but he doesn’t let it show. He refuses to.

They all don’t want to believe the results are true, just as Bruce did. Because it should be simply impossible, right? They all made sure you were dead before burying you.

“But that’s impossible. We made sure. Alfred-... He…” The words choke and die in Tim’s throat. But everyone knows what he means. How could they not?

Alfred made sure, because he was the one who dealt the killing blow.

Those are the words that go unspoken. The truth, as disgusting and heavy as it is.

But is it the truth? Did Alfred actually deal the killing blow?

And the truth is, they hadn’t double checked. So lost in their grief over your bloody body that Alfred brought back to the manor they hadn’t even bothered to check and make sure that Alfred had actually shot you in the heart.

They had just assumed he had.

“Alfred… You.. You checked, right?”

Dick’s voice is shaky, as ragged and rushed as his breathing. He feels like he already knows the answer, but god does he want to be wrong.

But the way Alfred clenches his jaw and his eyes focus on that abandoned tray of food from much earlier, food long since grown cold, gives Dick his answer.

“Bruce? You checked, right?”

Tim is the one to ask this time. Because surely, there is no way that Bruce didn’t check and confirm for himself. He’s thorough, he always is. There isn’t any realm of possibility that Bruce didn’t check… Right?

Right?

When Bruce doesn’t answer, there’s a look of disbelief on just about everyone's faces. Bruce Wayne, the ever thorough and the world’s ‘greatest detective’, renowned vampire hunter Batman, didn’t double check that you were dead?

“You checked, right?”

“No. I didn’t.”

And now everyone is left with the horrifying, dawning realization of just one thing. A simple thought that is horrifying to picture, to imagine. To even now be known as a reality.

They’d practically buried you alive.

Everyone quickly dispersed after that. No one could stand to be in the same room as each other, because even though they know they rightfully have no right to blame one another, even though they could blame themselves, it’s all they think about.

You were alive. Alive.

All this time you’d been alive while they mourned you. While Dick blamed himself, while Damian blamed Dick for the reason you were no longer present.

Damian feels sick to his stomach at just how angry he was at Dick in the past. Of the things he’d said to him, blaming him for your death. When you weren’t even dead.

Jason can feel nauseating guilt creeping in his chest, too. Ripping open a swallowing, fathomless pit. He’d screamed at Alfred. Been angry with him, caused him so much pain. Alfred hadn’t even killed you, and he’d been so angry at Alfred.

But the sudden appearance of the vampire hunter is making sense. It coincides with your death, somewhat. With the recovery period a vampire would need to recover from a wound like the one you’d taken.

But it makes so, so much sense.

✧✿✧

Six months ago is when Cass was out tracking a vampire. Well, more-so a large nest of them. One that held connections in various cities, dangerous and leaving an endless, bloody wake of victims.

Perhaps it was because of the grief clouding her mind, that thought of how this group could be the ones responsible. The one responsible for your death.

So she got sloppy. Just a little bit. Enough to make a small error that she normally wouldn’t make.

Cass hadn’t taken the time she usually did to make sure she was sure of just how many vampires actually lived in that nest before she charged into it to take out the vampires that resided there. The information hadn’t been totally accurate, it’d missed a few vampires. So she’d been quickly overrun, out of supplies with not even enough bullets to last her.

But just as Cass thinks she’s going to die for her margin of error, as she decides to resign to her fate because hey, it means she’ll get to see you again, the vampires that are about to kill her are dead.

And there’s a figure standing over their bloody remains that seems oddly familiar to Cass. But she can’t quite place it. At least, she couldn’t then.

“I thought you were taught better than this. This is a stupid mistake, even for you.”

Before Cass can ask the obvious question that’s scratching at the back of her mind, the figure is gone just as quick as they appeared. Leaving nothing evident of their presence, besides the dead vampires.

✧✿✧

They’d all been in some sort of predicament caused by their overwhelming grief that meant they’d needed someone to save their ass. And you had. You’d been there to rescue them from their mistakes every single time.

You’d saved Cass from death, been there to save Jason during the few times he’d been distracted [even if all he’d glimpsed of you was your retreating silhouette], and so much more.

But why had you never shown yourself to them? Why had you let them wallow in their own self pity and grief over your death, when you hadn’t even died?

Perhaps there was an answer to this question they didn’t yet have.

But it was no matter. They had time to get the answer they so desperately wanted. They had a means to find you the next time you appeared, all they had to do was wait.

✧✿✧

And wait they did.

It took almost a week before you appeared again, presumably to lay low for a while after that encounter with Bruce. As if it would stop them from figuring out the truth.

They’d even checked your grave. And god, were they horrified to find that it was empty, just as they’d feared.

But yes, when you’d appeared again after lying low for a week, Jason was the one sent to go talk to you. You’d always had a soft spot for him, after all.

So in his Red Hood gear, he approaches you. He wasn’t even sure if he should be surprised that you seemed to know he was there the moment he’d landed on that same rooftop as you.

But maybe he should, since he knows neither Bruce nor Alfred gave you any training to be a vampire hunter. They wanted you to stay as far away as possible from it, after all.

But perhaps that distance is why you’d never stood a chance the night you’d been attacked. Maybe it was the lack of making sure you were prepared to face the threats that lie in the very shadows they hunted in.

Jason sees your moments from fleeing from the way you visibly tense up and flinch when he steps closer to you, so he stops. He entirely freezes, because the last thing he wants is for you to disappear again.

“We know it’s you,” Is all Jason calls out, paired with your name instead of the nickname he’d always refer to you by. A parental nickname, something similar to the way children call their parents Mom or Dad, but entirely different and unique to you.

Jason watches the way you seem to think, still frozen in a stance that says you're seconds from fleeing, that him making the wrong choice is all it takes for you to disappear. But this time it’d be Jason’s fault that you're gone, not Dick’s.

“We aren’t mad, I promise.”

Bad thing to start off with, Jason. Now you’ll think they all were mad.

“What I meant to say is… We all miss you. When you died- thought you died, we didn’t know what to do.”

Jason is practically grasping at straws. He can see his words aren’t reaching you in the way he is hoping, wanting them to. He’s never been good at the comforting stuff, never been good at talking someone down. Not like Alfred is, not like Dick is. Not like Barbara, too.

What would they even say to you?

Jason feels lost, because just why did they send him to talk to you, instead of anyone else?

Well, not sending Alfred is understandable. He’d been the one to shoot you, and Jason knows that he wouldn’t want to see the Joker again, to be the one to talk to him. But what about Dick and Barbara? What would they do?

Jason doesn’t even know if attempting to continue to comfort you is worth it, especially not when it doesn’t even seem to be working.

“Why?”

Those words slip past Jason before he can even get a chance to stop himself. But it’s a question he really, really wants an answer to. Well, not just want. He needs to know. He needs to know why you’ve let them all sit and rot inside their grief and despair, even as understandable as it may be for Alfred because even he understands that seeing the person who killed you is not easy.

Well, not that Alfred even killed you. Almost killed you, which Jason understands. The Joker had almost killed him then, too. Instead he’d lived because some weird ‘miracle’ left him being some freak of nature, a half human but not entirely vampiric person.

Like some curse.

“I was supposed to be dead.”

“I get that.”

“Plus.. I’m a vampire, Jason. I’m a danger to you guys. What if.. What if I lose control? Like I did that night?”

He knows what you're talking about. The night you’d attacked Bruce before… Alfred shot you. Jason remembers hearing about it from a very heartbroken Bruce, although the heartbreak wasn’t easy to see on the surface. But Jason had known. So had everyone else.

After all, they’d all been pretty much trained and raised by Bruce. They knew what he was feeling- most of the time. Though they couldn’t see it as easy as Alfred did.

“We could’ve found ways around it that didn’t mean you totally avoided us,” Jason says those last words with more bitterness than he should’ve. He knows he has no right to be angry, doesn’t even deserve to be. But he can’t help it, not with how he can only rethink on just how he’d treated Alfred because of it.

“Because of that we treated Alfred-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to spew those words out. Doesn’t even want them to fall past his lips. But it’s far too late, judging by the way your eyes narrow and your head practically snaps toward him.

“What did you all do?”

The venom in your voice when you hear those words is unmistakable. Sure, you wouldn’t be able to look at Alfred the same because he’d been the one to shoot you, but you still understood why he had.

You were a vampire. Something dangerous, and he was doing what needed to be done.

Before Jason can even try to backpedal he’s already spewing to you how everyone’s treated Alfred since you’d ‘died’. Everything. Including how he’d screamed at Alfred after hearing what your last words were from him, down to him destroying his room, Bruce’s new attitude, everything.

“Why would you all do that?” You’d hissed almost immediately after he’d finished telling that tale. Disbelief is just about the only thing you feel, along with those other bitter emotions you were currently feeling.

“He killed- we thought he’d killed you, and we just.. We were angry! Because he took you away from us!”

When had you even marched over to him? Was it while he was speaking those venomous words about how Alfred had killed you, taken you from them? Or was it sooner?

Was he blinded by his own emotions to even notice?

Nevertheless, you're pretty much right in his face, and while Jason is expecting you to scream at him, maybe even yell, raise your voice somewhat, you don’t. Perhaps it’s worse that you sound calm.

“Alfred did what he needed to, what he had to.”

“But you were our family!”

“I do not deserve special treatment because I helped raise you all. Not because I was the person Bruce viewed as a little sibling, and the person Alfred viewed as his own child.”

“But-”

You silence him by raising a hand up, your eyes squeezed shut in the way it does when you’d had headaches in the past, pinching the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb.

“Tell me, Jason, would any of you have been able to do it then, hmm? Do you know how hard it was for Alfred to even point the gun at me without his hands shaking? Without crying? Would either of you have been able to pull the trigger instead of Alfred?”

Jason stays silent, and when you open your eyes to glare at him, demanding an answer like those times you’d interrogated him after he’d been stupid and nearly gotten himself killed on those patrols back when he was younger, back when he was just Robin and training under Bruce’s watch.

And he only shakes his head.

“But I promise I’ll be back.. Someday, I don’t know when. Don’t know if it’ll be soon, or if it’s not for years ahead. But I can promise that, okay?”

You really didn’t know just what else to say, honestly. You already had plans for what your coming moves were, for your motives. You knew Jason was wondering that just by glancing at him, even if you couldn’t see his face behind his helmet.

“And if you want, you can try to help me, if it’ll make you.. I don’t freaking know, feel better, I guess?”

“How?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be an answer to my motives and why I’ve been so secretive I guess. I’ll tell you how you can help me later.”

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if he should even be surprised you already know what it is he wants to say. “Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m letting you help me. That part stays a secret, got it?”

Jason only nods in reply, and with that, you’ve disappeared from Jason’s sight, leaving him alone on that rooftop to think through his thoughts. And of your words, of course. To muddle them over, to debate whether or not he even accepts the notion of helping you.

With keeping it secret being the price he pays.

❉ ╧╧╧╧ ✿ ╧╧╧╧ ❉

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ferally-ships · 2 years ago

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Tagged by the darling @hxad-ovxr-hxart and @liebgotts-lovergirl <3 Tea, coffee, or soda? Uh, neither. I used to be a massive tea-drinker though so if I had to choose... I'd choose tea. It's a hug in a cup.

Dogs or cats? Dogs. I don't not like cats but I've grown up with dogs.

Can you play any instruments? I used to play the piano. Too scared to found out whether I can still play it XD

What's your sun sign? Pisces according to my googling of 'What is my sun sign?'

First song lyric that pops into your head? Catching him on the run, they punish those who love young / never right on time / Watch each other fallin' / always catch the call and whistle wile we're walkin' / something inside me dies - Summertime by Orville Peck (currently obsessed with it because it reminds me of mine and my besties cowboy boyfriend ocs)

Do you have any tattoos? Yep! I plan to get one more for now but it'll have to wait due to finances.

Favorite place you've travelled? There was a port beach down south that made me feel the most peace I've felt in the middle of winter.

What's the last movie you watched? Bridge on the River Kwai, an old old movie.

Do you have any hobbies? Reading, Writing, Photography, Road-tripping! Organising things XD

What languages do you speak? English! I could probably speak fluent Japanese by now if I kept it up.

You can hang out with one fictional character for an hour, who do you choose? Oof. Maybe my personal version of a middle-aged Iceman from Top Gun? I don't know, I think he'd give the warmest (but firm) advice and hugs.

Compliment yourself? Ew, no. -sigh- I come from a long line of military men...We've all witnessed and underwent torturous shit within inhumane conditions... yet we're still standing and soldiering on. I guess that. There's not a lot more life can throw at me in an attempt to break me. I've been broken but I got back up, glued myself together and kept going. Goodluck.

Tagging (but no pressure!): My babes of course!: @iceman-kazansky (Hi, yes, it's been a hot minute). And anyone who wants to do this because it's been too long since I've had time on Tumblr TT^TT

Ask Game

Tagged by the ever so lovely @softguarnere🫶🏼 Thank you so much!

Tea, coffee, or soda? Coffee all the way. Doesn't matter what kind either. It can be black or with creamer, iced or hot. But I need my coffee.

Dogs or cats? I like both, but I definitely prefer dogs over cats. I did have a pretty negative experience with a cat as a child so I do definitely think my preference links to that experience.

Can you play any instruments? I play clarinet, guitar, saxophone, and I am very very basic at the drums :)

What's your sun sign? Cancer

First song lyric that pops into your head? 'Cause since I've come on home / Well my body's been a mess / And I miss your ginger hair / And the way you like to dress / Won't you come on over? / Stop making a fool out of me / Why don't you come on over, Valerie? - Valerie by Rome Hero Foxes

Do you have any tattoos? Not yet, but very soon!

Favorite place you've travelled? Seattle, Washington, specifically the Islands!

What's the last movie you watched? The Perks of Being A Wallflower

Do you have any hobbies? Baking is always a fun one but I also occasionally crochet and of course there's also reading and writing

What languages do you speak? English, basic Spanish (thanks high school), conversational German, basic ASL, and very very basic French

You can hang out with one fictional character for an hour, who do you choose? Oh god, I would love to pick Jo March's brain, I absolutely love her to bits so I think Jo March. (Or Percy Jackson bc let's be honest I'd love to hear the sass in person)

Compliment yourself? I love my ability to (usually) shake off what other's say about me/to me face and if I can't then I find a way to work past what they said <3

Tagging (but no pressure!): @fictionalbullshitter @first-husband-lipton and anyone else who wants to participate! <3

#Ask games #RoseAnswers #Humvee Moots #My mutuals; My beloveds #I actually do read people's responses btw #I just can't leave a reaction every single time

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seasonsbloom · 2 years ago

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bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

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

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

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

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

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

Hangman doesn’t lose.

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

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

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

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

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all pretty unfair.

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

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

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

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

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

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

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

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

“Is what true?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets the feeling now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something’s off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

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

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

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

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

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

And you’re already broken enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s pathetic.

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

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

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him.

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

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

You’re going to have an aneurism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

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

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth.

“You… you know Clueless?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re developing a headache.

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

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

He takes a deep breath.

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

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Seriously?”

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

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

“Not at all?”

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

God, you must be an idiot.

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

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

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

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

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

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

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

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

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

Your chest aches with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Recognize what?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

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

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

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

You can’t explain that.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you say, “My mother died.”

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

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

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

“And do you like it here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I buy you another?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This feels a lot like a precipice.

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

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

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

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

You know he would have.

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

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

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

Jake is having an aneurism.

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

“Yo, Hangman!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

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

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

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

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

So, like… what the fuck?

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

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

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

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

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

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

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

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you doing?”

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

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

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

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

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

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

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that.

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

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

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

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

Something on your face shatters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

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

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

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

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

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

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake can’t breathe.

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

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

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

He feels empty.

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

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

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

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

“What hurts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not lying,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice trails off.

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

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

For a few moments, he just breathes.

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

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

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

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

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

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

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

“Penny said you’d be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart is racing.

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

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

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

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

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

You fall.

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

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

Something inside you stumbles.

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

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

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

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

“What mission?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Explain it to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like this?” you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

And your heart soars.

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

Jake nods. “Real.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

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

“Yeah?”

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face.

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

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

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

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

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

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

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

You don’t get to finish.

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

All that cockiness melted away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

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

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

“What did you think about?”

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

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

It draws the truth right out of you.

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

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

“What part of me?”

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

“I… Your mouth?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On… on me,” you whisper.

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

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

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

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

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

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

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

He squints.

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

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

Jake grins.

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

“You imagined my mouth here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

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

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

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

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

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s good, so good, so…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhm,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

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

Shameless, he nods.

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

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

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

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

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

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

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

Jake freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

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

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

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

Emma by Jane Austen.

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

And then he has the audacity to blush.

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

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

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

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

You giggle.

“I like you too,” you say.

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

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

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

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed.

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming.

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off.

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon.

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

#hangman fic #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #mine #f: bh #goodbye

1K notes · View notes

justfandomwritings · 2 years ago

Note

I have been devouring your content for the past few days and let me say: your writing is absolutely AMAZING! The way you write Jake is just chefs kiss. Jake and Addie are my new OTP

That said, I have read everything you have written about these two, the fic and all the OTP questions as well. But I have this very specific itch that will not leave me alone which you kind of touched on in one of your asks. What do you think Addie would be like if Jake got into an accident while flying? Nothing major obvs, but maybe a really bad scare?

No Callsigns

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female!Reader (Addie)

Word Count: 3.1k (Idk how that happened)

Warnings: whole thing takes place in a hospital, panic attack, character is seriously injured but the injuries are not described in any way, some light angst but with a happy ending

Notes: I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but this little scene has been playing around in my head for a long time. This is Addie reacting to Jake being injured, but it's not really an angst heavy introspective of how it makes her feel. It's more how it would play out.

This is a prequel to The Only Thing, but it can be read without reading the only thing. This story takes place before Jake goes to Top Gun the first time as a student but after he becomes a pilot.... Also Featuring Iceman and Coyote because why not.

“Seresin residence, you’ve got Addie.” Addie tucked the phone between her cheek and her shoulder to free up her hands as she turned back to the sauce bubbling away on the stove.

It was Thursday night. Thursday night meant family dinner in the Seresin household, and the girls, Addie included, took turns rotating who cooked. Normally, it would’ve been Ronnie’s turn, but she was back in Austin studying for an organic chemistry final. Which meant it should’ve been Andy’s turn, only Andy was off in New York at a high school friend’s bachelorette party. Which meant it should’ve been Debbie if not for the fact that Debbie’s sister was in town and demanded the two go to the city for the night.

Kate had offered to order the two of them Chinese food so neither had to cook, but Addie had been perusing the Seresin family recipes again and decided it was time to try her hand at Debbie’s world – or at least county – famous marinara sauce.

Things were shaping up quite nicely before the phone began to ring.

“This is Admiral Tom Kazansky, US Pacific Fleet Commander. I’m calling to speak to Miss Debbie Seresin.”

Addie’s back straightened involuntarily. The wooden spoon in her hand slipped lower in the sauce as her grip on it loosened.

“She’s not in at the moment...” Addie didn’t really know what to say. “Can-Can I take a message?”

There was a quiet sigh on the other end of the phone. So quiet she almost missed it. So quiet she almost missed the melancholy coloring its’ tone. “Unfortunately not. Do you know how long until she’ll be back?”

The man’s voice didn’t turn up at the end the way one normally would to indicate a question. It stayed flat and even, like he didn’t have the energy to raise his voice, or perhaps more likely that the words were too heavy, too weighed down to be lifted up in any way.

“W-What happened to Jake?”

It wasn’t a question she was supposed to ask. Addie knew that. She’d had that talk with Jake before.

If something happened to him, she would have to find out from Debbie. The Navy didn’t exactly recognize ‘besties’ as a category for immediate disclosure. If he got hurt… or worse, the Navy would call his mom until he had a wife or kids.

“Pardon?” The high-ranking admiral on the other end of the line was, no doubt, not used to being questioned.

Addie wasn’t supposed to ask, wasn’t supposed to cause a scene, wasn’t supposed to stick her nose in. Jake had made it very clear that, much as he wanted them to tell her, much as he didn’t want her to find out second hand or have to wait for news, much as he loved her, the Navy would make her wait. She would have to wait, not on him, never on him, but certainly on them.

But Addie couldn’t help it. When Jake told her all those things, told her that if she ever got a call she would have to get ahold of his mom, told her that she shouldn’t barrage whoever called with questions, told her that she would have to get any news after the fact, told her to be on her best behavior if something really bad ever happened and someone important made the call… When he told her that, he’d never been on the receiving end.

He’d never felt his throat close up knowing that best case scenario she was in an ICU bed somewhere. He’d never gone weak in the knees when someone told him they could neither confirm nor deny that she was dead. He’d never spent hours waiting by a phone with the news blasting over loud speakers knowing she was going into a combat zone where she could be killed any second, knowing the six o’clock news might be told before him.

Jake had never gotten a phone call from someone telling him she was dead or dying, and he would never have to worry about getting that phone call, not really. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that if their roles were reversed he would be so much worse.

“You’re a Fleet Commander; you wouldn’t be calling un-unless some-something really bad happened to Jake.” She felt out of breath, like she’d run a mile. Maybe it was the way her throat felt like she was breathing through a straw.

“Ma’am I’m not at liberty to discuss that with anyone other than Lieutenant Seresin’s next of kin.”

There was a loud crack followed by the sound of breaking glass. The salad bowl, balanced on the kitchen island behind her toppled to the ground and shattered as she stumbled back.

Next of kin. He was looking for Jake’s next of kin.

Addie gasped for air. “Is he alive?” Her words came out in a pant.

“Ma’am…”

She didn’t hear any more than that as Kate burst into the room.

“Addie, what’s…”

Addie was hyperventilating now. A hand on the island behind her, gripping the granite so hard her nails were cracking under the pressure, was all that kept her from sinking to the ground, unintentionally kneeling in the shattered glass around her.

Her hand pulled the phone away from her ear and waved it blindly in Kate’s direction as she desperately tried to catch her breath, tried to steady her shaking legs, tried to calm herself down.

“Who is this?” Kate’s tone was demanding, accusatory as she snatched the phone away from Addie. There was a brief pause as Kate’s face contorted. She clearly wasn’t getting the answer she wanted, or an answer at all.

“This is his sister, Kate. Now tell me who is calling, and why does Addie look like she’s having a panic attack?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Addie?”

Addie’s head jerked up at the sound of the name.

It was a pilot calling her. She recognized him immediately. One of Jake’s friends, the only Navy friend of Jake’s she’d met so far.

“Coyote, right?”

Coyote nodded and crossed the room in long, sure strides to stand beside her chair. There were seats open all around her, but he didn’t make a move to occupy any of them. He stood, feet shoulder-width apart, hands tucked behind his back. There was no rocking or shifting to his stance like there would’ve been a civilians, no pacing or show of emotions. He was soldier.

“Your Jake’s wingman?” Addie pulled her legs up into the seat with her, hugging them against her chest as she stared up at the man standing over her.

“Yes ma’am,” Coyote wasn’t looking down at her. He was looking straight ahead at some unknown point on the waiting room wall.

“Please don’t call me ma’am. You can call me (Y/n), or Addie, whatever you prefer.” Addie sighed, slumping back in the chair to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m not old enough to be called ma’am. Jake calls me ma’am when he says I’m being a buzzkill.”

“From the stories Jake tells me, ma’am, that can’t be often.”

Addie’s eyes flashed back from the ceiling, just for a second, to see the corner of Coyote’s lips tugging up. He suppressed it well, but the amusement was still there. “You’re not much of a buzzkill either from what he tells me.”

“I try not to be.”

There was an amicable silence for several long moments. Coyote standing vigilant, staring at the wall behind her head, Addie tracing patterns in the ceiling with her eyes.

It was Coyote who broke it. “Are they… not allowing visitors yet?”

“They let his mom and Kate back about ten minutes before you got here.” Addie quickly corrected. “Two at a time. I let them go first.”

“Would you mind if I came in with you?” Coyote’s tone was constantly polite, deferential. It fit with the military man she knew he was, but she couldn’t reckon it with the stories Jake told her about his friend who seemed like absolute mayhem. “I know you’ll want some time alone with him. I’ll only need a minute. I just need…”

Coyote’s voice fell away, choked on a word Addie wasn’t sure which. It drew her eyes back from the ceiling, tilting her neck down to a more reasonable angle to look at his face.

Coyote’s gaze finally left the wall. It was like watching him pull himself together, draw up the courage to meet her gaze not that that made any sense. “It’ll only take a minute. I need to thank him, ma’am.”

“Thank him? What for?”

Coyote visibly swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, but he made no other display of emotion even as he said, “Because, ma’am, I would be dead right now if he weren’t in that bed.”

A dawning realization crossed Addie, her jaw going slightly slack. “The medal… You’re the pilot he...”

“Yes ma’am.”

Addie gave a thoughtful nod. Much as it hurt her, pained her, filled her with overwhelming dread to think of Jake lying cooped up in a hospital bed, Commander what’s-his-name had painted a marvelous tale of heroism for Debbie once she finally returned home, and he told her the story.

And now she had a face and a name to put to the ‘fellow aviator’ whose life Jake had saved. A face she knew, a name she liked, a nice guy with his whole future ahead of him because of Jake’s skill and sacrifice.

“Of course,” Addie choked out, “you’re welcome to come in with me.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Coyote’s head turned back up to face the wall. He was only staring at it, and she was only staring at him, for a minute more before the doors behind him swung open.

“Addie, sweetie,” Debbie crossed the room in a flash of worry seeing yet another Navy uniform standing in front of one of ‘her own’.

“Debbie, this is Coyote,” Addie jumped straight to introductions even before she made it to her feet. “He’s going to come inside with me to see Jake for a minute if that’s alright. He is Jake’s wingman.”

Kate approached behind her mother, sticking out her hand to the aviator, “It’s Javy, right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Debbie hugged Addie, ignoring Kate as she seemed ready to vet Coyote before allowing him entrance. “He’s doing a lot better than he looks,” Debbie whispered in Addie’s ear, hiding her voice in the tones of Kate and Coyote’s polite small talk in the background. “Really, the doctors say he’ll be his usual handsome self in no time and back to flying in a couple months. Don’t worry yourself to death, okay sweetie?”

“I’ll try not to.” Addie’s tone was as clipped as she felt.

Debbie pulled out of the hug and jerked her head towards the door. “Get on in there; you look like you’re barely stayin’ in your skin you wanna leave so bad.”

Addie nodded. She clearly wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding the fact that she was ready to bolt.

“They made Jake sign a couple waivers for you,” Kate added before Addie could leave. “But it should all be sorted out now. They all know you’re staying the night and to talk to you.”

“Thanks Kate.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jake,” Addie’s voice broke on his name as she froze in the doorway.

‘He’s doing a lot better than he looks.’

He didn’t look good.

Hospital gown slung low around his neck with wires running down under the fabric, needles poking from IV bags into one arm, head lulled back against a pile of uncomfortable looking pillows, an oxygen mask hanging loose around his neck, and a bag partially filled with what could only be urine connected to a tube that ran up under his thick pile of blankets.

The air was filled with the smell of chemicals and the constant beeping of a heart monitor.

“Addie,” Jake croaked out. His voice was rough, deep and crackling as if he’d been screaming nonstop for days which she knew he hadn’t.

Addie couldn’t help it. She flung herself across the room to his bedside. She’d not said a word about waiting for Debbie to get back from the city to find out what had happened. She’d not said a word while they waited in the airport for the first plane out to the base. She’d not said a word waiting for the taxi to the hospital. She’d even held herself back to let his family see him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to leave once she was in the room.

But now that she was in the room she couldn’t hold herself back. She balanced herself on the free inch of space at the edge of his bed and gave in to the absolute panic and desperation that had been warring quietly inside of her since the moment she managed to swallow them down in his family’s kitchen.

One of her hands reached across his body and clutched his left hand in a vice grip. It was almost the only inch of skin free of any signs of what happened. Her other went straight to his cheek, cupping it in her hand as the tears finally began to fall.

“When that admiral called I thought for sure you were dead.” She didn’t sob. Her voice was soft, calm, and unwavering even despite the tears. “I was so scared. I broke your mom’s favorite bowl. I couldn’t form a sentence; Kate thought I was in shock.”

Jake sighed and leaned his cheek into her hand. The rough cuts and scratches to the skin there brushed against her palm and reminded her that every part of him would be effected by this in some way. “You’re gonna have to try a little harder if you wanna get rid of me, darlin’.”

Addie smiled through the tears and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss, barely more than a brush of her lips, to his forehead. “Noted, next time I’ll do it myself.”

“I always knew you’d be the death of me.”

Addie chuckled and turned her face into his neck. Her temple brushed against his shoulder, and Jake winced. “Sorry.” She pulled back immediately.

“It’s alright, Addie,” Jake smiled up at her. Even his smile was scarred. His lip split in more than one place along it’s usually silky smooth lines. “Having you here makes up for it.”

“Well in that case, you should know I brought a friend.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Jake tried to laugh but immediately winced at the motion shaking his chest, “I only wanna see you.”

“I know,” Addie conceded easily and without any show of false modesty, “but I think you need to see him too.” Her fingers went to his hair, absently brushing the sweaty, greasy flyaways out of his face as she glanced back over her shoulder.

Coyote stepped in from where he’d been standing in the doorway. Jake’s senses, usually razor sharp, hadn’t so much as gotten a whiff at the other pilot. Whether that was due to his current state or the all-consuming peace that visibly washed over him the moment Addie walked in the room, no one could be sure.

“Hangman, I…”

“You don’t get to call him that here.”

It came out with more bite than Addie meant it to. She hadn’t intended it to have any at all, in fact. She’d only meant to say it matter-of-factly, but the emotions boiling up inside her simply could not be contained when she heard that callsign, that word.

“It’s fine, Addie.”

“No it’s not.” Addie looked to the floor to try to hide the glare that was forming in her eyes, but her words didn’t need an accompanying glare to convey how upset she was. “His name is Jake, and he wouldn’t be here if he hung you out to dry.”

“Addie…” Jake’s tone was placating.

“She’s right,” Coyote cut him off. “I’m sorry… Jake, I came here to thank you not insult you.”

Jake looked up at Coyote, utterly shocked. They were friends, certainly, but no one, not even his friends, had batted an eye when his squadron assigned him his callsign. No one batted an eye using it every day. No one ever questioned if he deserved it.

“You saved my life today, Jake, and I can never repay you for that.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addie couldn’t lay down with Jake in the hospital bed, much as it would have been both of their preference.

The nurses had spotted her sitting back against the pillows with him in the early evening hours and immediately put a stop to that and any other notions of Addie getting on the bed.

Instead, she’d shuffled the uncomfortable plastic couch in the corner up against the bed in what she was sure was a safety violation but could not have cared less at that moment in time.

The couch was much lower than the bed, but it was close enough that she could curl up and still reach a hand up to hold Jake’s.

“You didn’t have to do that today, Addie.” Jake murmured into the absolute stillness of the night.

The rest of the floor seemed to be asleep, even the beeping of his heart monitor had seemingly faded to a background drone. They were, at that moment, in the silence of the hospital and the darkness of the night, the only two people in the world.

“Yes I did,” Addie countered in a similarly quiet voice.

“Addie, they call me Hangman for a reason.” Jake gently pushed back. “I don’t like to admit it any more than you, but I earned that name. I hang them out to dry in training every day, and if it came down to it in a fight I probably would hang them out then too.”

“You didn’t though,” Addie reminded him quietly. “When the cards were down, you risked your life to save his.”

“And I almost didn’t make it.” Jake didn’t need to remind her of that. The awkward position holding hands through the railing of his bed did a fine job of that. “When I did it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. How you met Coyote, how you liked Coyote, how you joked that the two of you would be really good friends one day… and I thought… I thought, ‘I have to go for it.’ For you.”

Addie’s hand tightened her grip on his, giving him a reassuring squeeze, “Well, that’s… morbid.” She propped an elbow on the back of the couch and lifted her head just over the edge of the bed to give Jake a teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood, “I guess I’m just only allowed to meet friends you’d be willing to die for.”

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years ago

Text

tolerate it

pairing - tommy shelby x reader

fandom - peaky blinders

summary - i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it

a/n - I'm back besties, and so is my peaky blinders obsession! I'll try to be more regular with my writing now but life is pretty hectic rn : (( either ways, enjoy this little fic lovelies ♥︎

warnings - y'all its peaky blinders, so mentions of blood, guns, violence, the usual ✨

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*

your marriage to tommy was 'strictly business', something that was made abundantly clear to you by your parents. the peaky blinders were extending their territory, and in return for your father's men, he had asked tommy to marry you off to one of his brothers.

it had a been a shock to them when he dismissed the idea, saying that he'd marry you himself. and that's how you found yourself in a huge mansion, with lots of maids and cooks and helpers to assist you in your day-to-day chores, a little boy to take care of, and a cold, cold husband.

thomas wasn't an easy man to understand. he was a war-beaten, rough, cold, and to you, a heartbroken shell of a man, hiding behind cigarettes, whisky, and those blades hidden in his peaky caps. polly, who had taken a liking to you (much to your relief) had told you over a glass of whisky one night about his love, grace.

you had felt your heart go out to the blue-eyed gangster, losing his wife, left alone with a son to raise. and it had made you determined to be the best wife to him that you could. but your husband made it oh so difficult.

tommy was a couple of years your senior, and you were closer in age to john and esme. sometimes, when the three of you would sit in the massive living room together, listening to charlie as he rambled about something that happened or school, your eyes wandering over to look at tommy as he read some paper or document, while you helped his son with his homework. his head would hang low, far too low over the piece of paper, worrying you that he would ruin his eyes.

the first time he even acknowledged your presence in his house was when you moved a lamp closer to his armchair as he read through some documents, casting a bright light over the paper and his eyes. the sudden brightness (and sudden clarity of the words his eyes had been going over for the past half an hour) had surprised him, and he had looked to see your apprehensive figure, hand still grasping the lamp you had pushed to the edge of the mahogany table. he had sent you a slight nod, and the brightness of the blue of his eyes had you mesmerized for a moment as he looked at you, feeling a slight flutter in your chest before he averted his eyes again.

*:･ﾟ

you loved painting, it was something you had always enjoyed doing. arrow house, as big and wonderful as it was, lacked colour and warmth. so you took it upon yourself to make paintings for the house, often aided by an enthusiastic charlie.

together, you painted fields of flowers, skies filled with pretty clouds, a bowl of fruit and anything you fancied. you painted a portrait of polly and ada, laughing with a glass of wine. you painted a portrait of arthur and linda, taking a smoke together. you painted all of john's kids (a truly commendable task) and everyone gladly accepted your art.

but there was one portrait you were saving your best colours and time for - thomas's.

you wanted to paint something special for him, and when you were done, it was truly a work of art. as polly said, you would half expect the portrait to throw a snarky remark or send a piercing glance your way, it was so realistic. but when you showed it to your husband, face shining with anticipation, he gave it a mere glance, his calculating eyes hovering over his own face, before looking over at you, eyes blank and emotionless. his lips formed the words 'thank you' and he got up and left, leaving you struggling to regain your composure, hot tears threatening to escape.

*:･ﾟ

determined to get tommy to atleast acknowledge you as his wife, or even as a living and breathing being, you gave francis and all the cooks and maids the day off one day. taking it upon yourself to cook him a meal, and lay the table for him. you had convinced esme into babysitting charlie for the night, and your sister-in-law had agreed with a twinkle in her eyes.

you had taken out the silver cutlery, plates and glasses your parents had given you on your wedding day, polishing them till they gleamed and glistened, and you could see your face reflected in the shiny silver, eyes determined and hopeful.

you cooked a lavish meal, chose the fanciest wine, dressed in your nicest dress and waited. waited for your husband to be home from the meeting he said he would be home from hours ago, the smile still fixed on your lips, not faltering as the minutes ticked by.

he was back eventually, dropping his cap onto a chair, taken aback by the sight of the table, the food and you.

you watched as his lips formed a thin line, eyes glancing up briefly to look into yours.

"what's all this?" he asked, looking at the food almost warily.

"dinner, thomas. i cooked" you replied, still smiling at him, although this time you could feel doubt fluttering in your heart.

"you cooked? why? don't we have cooks for that?" he questioned, cocking an eyebrow up to look at you again.

"i gave them the day off, i wanted to do something special" you mumbled, looking down at your hands, feeling your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

quietly and wordlessly, he sat down at the table, beginning his meal without a sound. the two of you ate in silence, as you blinked back hot tears of shame. all this effort, only for him to just tolerate it.

thomas was a soldier. a war hero. someone to be admired. you thought him deserving of all the respect he had in Birmingham, and took it upon yourself to give him a battle hero's welcome upon his return from his visit to Alfie Solomons. Alfie was a good friend of yours, and had even been present at your wedding to thomas.

hurrying down the stairs, you made sure Charlie had no dirt marks or messy hair as you prepared to greet your husband. passing by the portrait of grace that hung high above the staircase you pursed your lips together softly. her presence was always in arrow house. your home. and yet it always felt as if she deserved it more than you. lowering your eyes from the blue ones of charlie's mother's, you swallowed the beginnings of jealousy, the ugly green monster beginning to rear its nasty head within your chest.

frances greeted you with a smile, ever obedient and kind, a glass of whisky and a cigarette ready to be lit placed on a tray so Tommy could access one when he walked in. you adjusted your lipstick, the light pink shade accentuating your hopeful smile. yes, your husband hadn't opened to you yet. but you'd be damned if you didn't make an effort to make your arrangement work.

the sound of crunching gravel greeted your ears as the sound of the car's engine echoed in your massive driveway. Charlie reached up to clamber into your arms, eyes lighting up in excitement.

the bell rung, it's deep sound echoing throughout the room, as frances hurried forward to open the door. there stood your husband in all his glory, gray coat and peaky cap, white shirt and gun holster, and... blood??

the sight of the red liquid on his clear white shirt made a gasp slip past your lips, as you passed Charlie to frances and rushed forward to speak to thomas.

"is this your blood?" you asked, fingers reaching out to assess the dark liquid. "some of it" was all he said, making you gasp once again. reaching around him to take off his coat, you spoke to frances in a low voice, not wanting to scare the little boy in her arms. with new found confidence you lead your husband to the biggest bathroom, making him sit on the edge of the bathtub as you rummaged through the cupboard to find antiseptic and bandages.

"how did this happen thomas?" you asked softly, dipping the antiseptic into some cotton, gently you reached down to unbutton his shirt, before you hesitated. you had never helped him dress or undress before, and the thought of it made your heart flutter in your chest.

"it's okay" he mumbled, exhausted eyes looking up into yours, "i could...do with the help today" he continued, making your eyes widen softly. tommy shelby, the fearless gangster, might as well be king of Birmingham, was openly accepting help.

nodding, you gently unbuttoned the first button, and then the next, and then the next. his Romani tattoos became visible, and you felt your cheeks hear up. gently peeling the shirt off of him, you put it into a bucket to soak, before assessing the wound.

it looked like a knife inflicted wound, and you hissed at the sight of the torn skin. gently, you let your hand rest on his shoulder, looking into his eyes again, "this is gonna sting" you whispered, watching as he closed his eyes and nodded. the soft cotton reached his abdomen, and he let out a soft hiss, hand reaching up to squeeze yours. you felt your heart rate rise, but you let him hold onto your hand, making quick work of cleaning the wound.

reaching for the needle and thread next to wash basin, you offered tommy a little flask of whisky you kept in the bathroom just because you knew he'd like it. tommy reached up to take it, raising an eyebrow when you took a swig first before passing it to him. "my husband shows up after a five day trip with a wound on his stomach and tells me nothing. i deserve more than a fucking swig of whiskey" you muttered, watching in surprise as he smirked.

"didn't know you cursed love" he said, leaning his head back when the needle came in contact with his skin. "just because i don't curse like a fisherman in front of you and your brothers doesn't mean i don't in front of Pol and my friends back home. im not a lady thomas, i'm from a family just like this. i don't mind getting my hands dirty or getting drunk off my ass on whiskey or vodka. you know nothing about me, thomas" you concluded, pulling in the final stitch.

after dressing the stitches with gauze and tape, you pulled out another one of his crisp white shirts, offering it to him. "help me with it?" he asked, a sudden softness in his eyes.

feeling the familiar rise of emotion in your chest, you helped him slide his arms into the shirt, watching the muscles ripple in his back and stomach as he did. you didn't catch the way he looked at you, a curious hint in his gaze as it lingered on your slender fingers, resting finally on the diamond ring he had slid onto your finger on your wedding day. that was the only day he had held your hand. that was the only day that he had kissed you, fleeting and soft, a gentle press of lips against lips to seal a peaceful deal. nothing more.

he watched as your eyes remained firmly trained on the buttons of his shirt, buttoning to the very top, but keeping the top one open. just like he usually did. so you did pay attention to him.

you could feel his ocean blue eyes trained on your movements as you gently wiped your hands on a clean towel and began putting the medical equipment away.

"I've never liked looking at fucking gauze" your husband's deep rumble echoed through the bathroom, as you turned to look at him. "it was on everyone in France. some lads had gauze on their arms, others on their legs, some of their faces, and one lad had it on his eye. we heard him kicking and screaming all night when the pain would get to him" the deep silence hung in the room as your heart went out to the man perched on the edge of the bathtub, a haunted look in his eyes.

walking over to him, you pulled a little stool to sit down in front of him.

"I worked as a nurse for a few months during the war. I continued for a few months after returning home. what you soldiers have been through are.... unspeakable horrors Thomas. how many times have I risen to calm down a young lad screaming out that they're going to get him? or a lad crying out in pain as his flesh burns as another nurse cleans his wounds? I have an incredible amount of respect and admiration for you Thomas. you've seen some of the worst horrors knows to mankind. and yet you're so strong" you spoke gently, watching as his intense eyes never left your own. deciding to take a risk, you reached out to let your and rest over his. it seemed as though the shocks of the day weren't over yet, for your husband covered your hand with his own.

"you're right. I don't know you. but I know that you're kind and that you try hard. I know that you paint with Charlie and he adores it. I know that you help in the kitchen and give the younger maids time off so they can go into town. I know that Frances adores you as well, and appreciates you taking care of Charlie and bathing him so she doesn't have to. I know that you're trying to make this....marriage work, even when I make it hard on you. I'm not an easy man to love. but you try, even if you don't have to"

you were left speechless. had he really noticed the little things you did around the house when you weren't trying too hard?

"and that dinner you cooked me? It was delicious. why didn't I tell you then? I'd had some bad news which is why I visited Alfie. someone sent a note threatening to hurt you. and I realised that if anyone ever even layed a finger on you, i'd cut em a smile each. because, fuck, you make me feel something I haven't felt in a long time. that painting?those fucking crooks showed up to Alfie's threatening to hurt you, and before I could lodge a bullet into 'em one of em got a good hit, but I'm alright. I'd not survive if you weren't here to paint those fucking flowers. the painting you made of me? it's in me office love. too pretty to not show off to the world"

you felt tears rise in your eyes and you sniffled softly. "oh fuckin' hell do you see why I don't usually get all deep and emotional with people? it's because they usually end up like this" he said, throwing a smirk your way when you let out a watery laugh.

"oh fuck off thomas shelby. I've been trying for months and as much as I appreciate you being open with me, you're gonna have to work a lot harder to win me over" you said, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. "understood, mrs shelby" he smirked back, as you let out a real laugh, pure and loud.

"good. now hurry up Thomas, charles and I made cookies for you" you said, standing up to open the door. before you could turn the handle, you felt an arm tug on yours, as tommy pulled you flush against him, your back pressing against the door, a slight gasp leaving your lips.

looking at his stupidly handsome face, you watched as he gently reached up to caress your face, moving the stray strands away from your face. his thumb lingered on your cheekbone, eyes looking into yours, asking for your permission. nodding fervently, you felt his soft lips press against yours, the smell of smoke, whiskey and his cologne clouding your senses as you kissed him for all you were worth.

all those hours longing for him to be yours were worth it, you felt, as you felt his hands pull you even closer to him. "I'll try to be a better husband" he mumbled against your lips. he felt you smile against his own lips. "good", you whispered, "because I'm all out of ideas on how else to impress you"

the cheeky smirk on his face prepared you for what he said next, a warm fire igniting within his blue eyes.

"well, I have a few ideas. why don't we spend Charlie to spend the night with his cousins?"

✦a/n - as always, comments, tips, suggestions, feedback are appreciated! my asks are always open as well, so feel free to drop in any time ♥︎

to be added to the peaky blinders tag list, send me an ask or a dm ♥︎

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby one shot #Tommy Shelby x reader fluff #Tommy Shelby x reader angst

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huntingingoodwill · 3 years ago

Note

BUILD A BLURB REQUEST BESTIE

i read them and got excited ANWAYS

🩹🚪🍯🛌 (if its too much you can choose which ones u prefer writing)

WITH TOMMY x READER

i wanna request one w eddie WAIT ILL BE BACK

hi pal hi bestie thank u for the request!! made it a lil cheesy so i do hope you enjoy :,) workin on the eddie thingy next 🥰

send me build a blurb asks :))

masterlist | built blurbs

pairing: tommy x reader (y/n)

Tommy’s fresh wounds dripped a trail of slick, scarlet blood across the floor, each movement stinging. He froze as he reached his bedroom door, listening to the sounds of movement within. Someone was inside. They must’ve laid a trap for him, lying in wait to avenge one of the men Tommy had beaten to a pulp earlier. He pulled out his pistol, heart pounding in his ears. Steeling himself, he flung the door open, leading with his gun.

“Christ, Tom, let me wallow in self-pity a little longer before you shoot me.” You sniffled, voice hoarse from crying and muffled as you buried your head in his sheets. He sighed, relieved, putting his gun down as he approached you, curled up on his bed.

Though you’d known each other for years, seeing your tears was a rare occurrence, the last time he’d witnessed you cry being before he left for France. He still remembered it clearly. “Don’t flatter yourself.” You had coughed out when he asked if you were tearing up. You had turned your head away, your gasps of laughter sounding like sobs. “Just come back. Small Heath’s a bore without you.” Things had changed since then. Both of you were so much older, so much different from when you were kids running through the streets together.

But he came back. And he was here now. That was all that mattered.

The mattress sank as he sat down, ruffling your hair. “Who do I have to kill, (Y/N)?”

“Murder solves a lot, but not this.” Scoffing, you wiped your bleary eyes, finally taking a good look at him. His bloodied face, the slashes on his skin resulting in blooms of red across his once pristine dress shirt. “And it looks like you’ve done enough murdering tonight, Thomas Shelby.” You spat.

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” You fetched a bottle of liquor and some bandages.

“You only call me Thomas when you’re cross.” He grumbled.

“I call you worse things behind your back.” Sighing, you plopped down on the bed beside him, pulling his suit jacket off.

“What’s got you crying?” He asked, wincing as you poured the alcohol over his wounds. You stole a sip from the bottle before he snatched it from you, taking a swig himself.

“Jack, the bastard.” You muttered, examining a particularly large gash on his forearm. “One week he’s giving me a line about marrying me, the next he’s moved to London without warning.” Smiling, you rolled your eyes. “I’ll survive. But it still fucking hurts. I liked him, Tommy.” You sniffed, smoothing a bandage over his arm.

Tommy always hated the thought of you and Jack together. He’d have to make a visit to London soon. Murder would definitely solve this. But for now, he pulled you into a hug. They were rare, but they always comforted you, his arm hooking around your torso as you rested your chin on his shoulder, a reassuring warmth radiating off him. He listened to your faltering breaths, running his hand up and down your back. “Come on, now. The (Y/N) I know wouldn’t waste tears over a sorry little fucker like Jack. What’d you like about him, huh?”

You traced a finger down his shoulder blade. “He was… clever.”

“More than I am?”

“That’s not a difficult task.” You chuckled.

“I make up for that with my good looks.” His lips twitched into a small smile.

You frowned. “Poor Tommy. They must’ve hit your head really hard.”

He pushed you off, glaring, and you couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles.

“There’s the (Y/N) I know. Forget about him, yeah? Stay for a bit.” You nodded, smiling at him gratefully. You needed his company. Your fingers ran over his arms as you finished securing his bandages, moving away once you finished.

He leant back on the headboard and you sat facing him, your back against the footboard as you kicked your feet up into his lap. “I didn’t want to get married, anyway. The rest of my life with Jack. My skin’s crawling thinking about it.” You shivered, Tommy smirking. “I’ll just… give up on love.”

“You’ll be an old maid.”

You gave him a withering look, pressing your foot into his bruised ribs. He cringed, swatting you away as you roared with laughter. “No! A bachelor, like you.” You reached for the cap he’d hung upon the bedpost, twirling it about in your fingers. He hated when you did that, worried you’d cut yourself, but his nagging never stopped you. Besides, he wasn’t so nervous when he’d asked you to help sew the blades in all those years ago- he was hopeless with a needle and thread. “I’d become a Blinder. Grow the most fabulous moustache you’ve ever seen.” You said, pulling on his cap, holding a finger over your upper lip. “Do I look like Arthur?”

He tilted his head, contemplating. “Prettier.”

“Art won’t like hearing that.” You clicked your tongue, tossing the cap across the room. “I’ve given up on love, but you don’t have to. You should find someone. Preferably a nurse, because I don’t know how well I’m fixing up those cuts.”

“You’re the only one for me, (Y/N).” He spoke. You threw your head back in laughter, moving toward him. Pushing your face close to his, you grabbed his cheeks between your hands, pouting mockingly.

“Tommy Shelby loveessss me!” You sang, laughing. He raised an eyebrow, and it was how it always was, years and years of tormenting and taking care of each other, laughter and love in equal measure.

You two were different now. But you had loved him since you’d met him, and that wouldn’t change, no matter what. You gazed at each other, only inches apart, and you couldn’t help but smile. Tommy Shelby loved you. He closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours.

“It took you too many years to do that, Thomas.” You said, leaning your forehead against his, his nose brushing yours.

“Thomas? You mad at me?”

“A little. You’ve completely ruined my plan to give up on love.”

“That’s too bad.” He whispered, pulling you in for another kiss.

#build a blurb asks #asks #moots #thanks raz m8 #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #cillian murphy imagines #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #buildablurbaskgame

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borahaerhy · 2 years ago

Text

Gone (5) - jjk

Summary: You and your childhood best friend, Jungkook, have grown apart over the years, although you still have the same overbearing fun-loving bestie, Aria, that really wants her best friends talking again, something neither of you really want to be apart of until Aria goes missing, and the only other person that could help you find her is the one you've spent years avoiding.

Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre: Best friends to enemies (ish?) to lovers, High School AU, eventual smut, slow burn

This one is a lot please read Warnings before reading: Theft, JK and Y/n are on the run, a Motel 6, cursing, More breaking and entering, Jungkook has a gun and uses it, someone gets shot multiple times (not a main character), someone gets unalived (shit happens man), Aria's parents are drug addicts.

Word Count: 4.6K

Previous | Next

Note: I have been told this may not be the most fun to read at night, so viewer discretion advised :)

“He’s going to burn my fucking house down,” you spoke as soon as you got into Jungkook’s car. His car was already started and in drive, so as soon as you closed the door he started driving out of there.

“No, he’s not, because we’re getting the fuck out of here,” you pulled the wire from under your shirt and shoved it into his glove compartment hastily, unsure of where else to put it as your brain was scrambled.

“What does that mean?” You asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Y/n, that guy just threatened to kidnap you or worse. While we’re still here, going to school, doing normal things, he can watch us; make sure we don’t find her. I know you’re already freaking out, but we have to ditch everything and leave if we want to have any chance of finding her, or keeping you safe, okay?” You tried to keep your breathing under control as he spoke, but that’s really hard to do when all the words he says sound so crazy.

But he’s right.

You can’t get help Aria if we can’t do anything. You can’t act normally and pretend you don’t care that she’s gone, not now that you know this much. You basically have a taped confession, but who’s all in on it? Why? Is there anyone you can trust? There's no way to know, you could go to the state police and give it to them, and they could turn it and tell Bennett you had it. You can’t use your phones, they track everywhere you go, probably his laptop too.

“Well, I for one, have no money, so I don’t think we’re going to get very far.”

“I know the code to the safe in my dad's study, my parents won't be home from work for the next couple of hours,” you laughed a lot harder than you probably should’ve. He looked over at you with confusion smeared all over his face.

“I’m sorry, but to try to avoid getting arrested for crimes we didn’t commit, we’re going to steal from your family and worry both of our families extensively while we try to find our friend that could very well be dead at this point. If I don’t laugh at that, I’m going to start hyperventilating,” Jungkook reached over and placed his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly.

“We’re going to be okay. It’s you and me against the world, remember?” He spoke in a calm voice, trying to reassure you. You let out a small chuckle.

“No offense, I liked you a lot more the first time I said that,” He let out a light laugh, moving his hand back to the wheel.

“I know, but we’re kind of the only ones we have right now,” you nodded, knowing he was right. He pulled into the driveway of his house and jumped out of the car, running up to the front door. You got out and immediately went over to your own car unlocking and was about to slide in it. “What are you doing?” You stopped, standing straight up.

“I’m going home, I need to get clothes and things –”

“No, Y/n, we don’t have time,” He shook his head.

“I’m not leaving without my goddamn toothbrush. Pick me up when you get your shit, I’ll be waiting,” you got in your car before he could protest any further and sped out of the neighborhood. You made it back to your house on the other side of town in record time.

You got out of your car and ran into your house, grabbing a duffle bag and shoving a bunch of your things in it: toiletries, clothes, a stuffed animal. The necessities.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” you abruptly turned around, seeing your mother standing in your doorway. You put the bag down and ran up to hug her tightly. She hugged back, still not sure what’s going on.

“Mom, listen to me very carefully. Wait as long as you can before you report me missing –”

“Missing?”

“Don’t trust the cops or anything they tell you. Don’t let them know you don’t trust them. I’m going to get Aria back, okay? Don’t trust anyone, please, I’ll be okay I promise; Jungkook promises,” you let go of her and make your way back to your bag, shoving a few more things in it before you zipped it up and slung it over your shoulder.

“Y/n, what’s going on?” You turned to face your mother, hugging her tightly again.

“I just need you to trust me, okay? I’m getting Aria and I’m coming back; everything will be okay,” you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, headphones still attached to it, and handed it to your mother. You heard Jungkook honk the horn of his car, both you and your mom looked at the front of the house, before you looked back at each other. “I was never here, and you’ve been so upset, you didn’t notice I was gone, okay?” She nodded, tears filling her eyes as she pulled you in for one last hug.

“I love you, Y/n,”

“I love you too mom. I have to go,” You pulled away, kissing her on the cheek before you walked to the front door, pushed it open and walked out. You threw your bag in the backseat of his car before you sat down in the passenger's seat, clicking your seatbelt.

“You told her?” You looked up to see your mom standing on the porch, looking at you. You nodded.

“I had to warn her not to trust the police, plus, she caught me packing.” He waved at your mom, who waved back as he pulled out of the parking space.

“Here,” he hands you a Walkman. A Walkman? “I tapped the recording from the police station onto it, then deleted it and wiped my laptop. That’s the proof we need to put him away,” you nodded, looking down at it.

“Guess we’re going to have to find another way to research, huh?” He nodded, sucking his teeth.

“Public libraries it is.”

You drove all day and all night, only stopping once to get gas and food, and you were now in a very nice Motel 6, seeing as you both needed to get some sleep. Jungkook closed the blinds as you flopped down onto the bed furthest from the window, your duffle bag sitting on the ground beside it.

“I’m gonna grab a shower, you should get some sleep,” Jungkook said, one of the first things either of you had said in hours. You rolled over and gave a thumbs up.

“I’m already halfway there,” You mumbled, grabbing one of the pillows and hugging it. You heard him chuckle slightly before the bathroom door closed and the water cut on. You sat up and pulled your bag up onto the bed, unzipping it. You pulled out some sweatpants and a hoodie, and decided to change into them, wanting to be more comfortable. You shoved your dirty clothes back into the bag and grabbed your stuffed bunny. You pulled the blankets back on the bed, happy to not see bugs scurrying, and climbed in, falling asleep almost instantaneously.

“I didn’t know you still needed Bob to sleep.” Jungkook says, still half asleep as you hand him a coffee and muffin that you had gotten from the gas station across the street.

“I don’t need him; he just gets lonely,” you said, shoving your stuffed rabbit named after the iconic artist, Bob Ross, back into your bag. You sat on your bed and sipped your coffee as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“No breakfast?” he asked, taking a huge bite of his muffin.

“I already ate mine on the way back over here,” He nodded and continued eating. “You know, it’s very hard to find things when you don’t have technology or a map,” He nods.

“Yeah, I’m not even sure where we are right now,” He took a long sip of his coffee, before finishing off his food.

“Good thing the gas station had maps, there’s a library a few blocks from here,” He smiled and gave you a thumbs up before standing and grabbing his own bag and rifling through it.

“I’ll get dressed and then we’ll head out.”

Minutes later you were at the library, each on a computer seated beside one another as you decided to see if you’d been reported missing as he found your new best friend Officer Bennett. All you had to do was look up Jungkook’s name and he was blasted all over the internet as missing, along with both you and Aria. Bennett had put the missing person’s case of Aria through, and now you were wanted for basically everything. Your eyes widened at the screen as you realized you had very little head start, and the police would most likely already be looking for Jungkook’s car.

“Officer Cole Bennett, age 36, been a police officer in the area for 15 years, but before he went into the academy and “turned his life around”, he’d was arrested several times on various drug charges along with gang activity,” Jungkook kept his voice low as he read from the page, eyes never leaving as you could tell he was starting to look for something else. “I’m going to see if I can find his address, you find anything?” You sighed softly as you turned your attention back onto your screen, a long list of charges under your name.

“Well, we’re all missing,” Jungkook stopped what he was doing an looked over at your screen. “Well, you and Aria are missing, I’m on the run, and you are either a fugitive or an accomplice, they haven’t decided yet,” you scooted your chair over slightly as Jungkook moved over to get a better look at your screen. “I guess your parents noticed your absence pretty fast, huh?” Jungkook glanced at you for a second before turning his gaze back to the screen, feeling like he should apologize for his parent’s worrying for their child.

“Looks like we’re famous, going to have to get better at hiding,” you nod as you look around you, suddenly afraid that everyone here will know who you are if they see you.

“You know, I did always want to be famous,” you joked, still looking around to make sure you were undetected. This was not going to be good for your anxiety.

“You get anxious while getting your picture taken,” Jungkook scoffed, trying to lighten the mood. You heard him click away on his own keyboard a few more times, your eyes trained on your own charges. What the fuck did I say to get terroristic threats as a charge?

“I found his addresses,” Jungkook was sure to emphasize the fact that he had multiple residences, “He has three, none of which you could afford on a police officer's salary alone, but this guy somehow has three. They’re all in this state, at least, but very spread out and all in more secluded places. I’ll write them down and then we should probably get out of here; might want to invest in a GPS if we’re going to have any hope of getting there.”

“Kookie, what are you doing over here by yourself for?” You asked, still out of breath from running across the entire playground. He looked up at you from the swing he was perched upon, before looking back down at the ground. You moved to sit in the swing next to him, kicking off slightly to give yourself a nice breeze.

“I dunno, it just kind of feels like I’m being replaced,” you grabbed ahold of the chain to his swing and tried to rotate it, but instead you just rotated yourself. You being startled by your own abrupt movement made him look at you and laugh.

“What do you mean replaced?” You ask as you both calm your giggles. He looks over at Aria, who was hanging upside down on the monkey bars, waving excitedly at you.

“I just feel like you’ve been playing with Aria more than you’ve been playing with me since she moved here. I just miss you,” you looked over at Aria again, before returning your gaze to your depressed friend.

“I’m sorry you feel left out, but I just wanted to get to know her better. But you’re my best friend, Kookie, she’s not going to replace you,” He looked up at you again, his eyes wide.

“Promise?” he asked. You smiled, holding out your pinky. He wrapped his around it, and then you connected your thumbs. The most profound and unbreakable promise in the universe: the pinky promise.

“Promise. It’s you and me against the world, okay?” He smiled and nodded. “Besides, we’re going to be in middle school soon, why would I spend my last few weeks of having recess away from my best friend?” You kicked off the swing again, this time actually swinging. He smiled, and did the same, trying to get higher than you. A few seconds later you were both going as high as the swings would allow.

“Wait up, guys!” Aria ran over and sat on the swing on the other side of Jungkook, quickly trying to get as high as Jungkook and you had gotten.

Jungkook had convinced you it was a good idea to go steak out this guys house to see if he was there, if there was any sign of Aria. You made our way back to the motel, and decided to change into darker and more comfortable clothes before you drove several hours to sit outside someone's house and see if anyone was there, before maybe breaking in. How you were convinced that this was a good idea, you weren’t sure yourself.

After changing, you packed up the rest of your things into your bag, both of you agreeing you shouldn’t stay anywhere longer than 24 hours. You zipped up your bag and threw it over your shoulder, turning to see Jungkook pull a gun out of his bag. We’re going to die—

“Where did you get a gun?” You asked, knowing there’s no way he’s ever even held one before right now, let alone fired one.

“The safe, thought it might be useful, considering someone did threaten to kill you yesterday,” He shrugged, lifting the back of his shirt before he slid the barrel of it into the waist band of his jeans.

“I mean fair, but what do you even know about gun safety? What if you shoot yourself trying scare other people? What if it explodes —” You started walking toward him as he himself was walking toward the door.

“There’s a reason I didn’t tell you and waited until I thought you were turned to take it out,” He turned to face you, making you stop walking abruptly or you’d run into him. You stayed standing, looking at each other for a moment. How have I not realized how tall he’s gotten? “I won't shoot myself, or you, I promise,” He held out his pinky, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to accept. You sighed, linking your pinky with his and brought your thumbs together.

“C’mon, we should get going, we have a long drive.”

The drive was just that. Long and uneventful.

You pulled up to the house about an hour ago, staying seated in the car just waiting to see if it looked like anyone was home. By now it was dark out, so if anyone was, there’d be lights on and you’d be able to see shadows; 2 things you hadn’t noticed. There was, however, a car sitting in the long driveway, so someone probably was there, you just hadn’t been able to see them.

You sat mostly in silence, watching the house with the car turned off with the occasional observation or sigh cutting through. There’s probably a part of the house you can’t see from this side of the street, or maybe even a basement. Or he might just be asleep.

“Do you think we should just go in? I don’t think anyone’s home,” he asked, looking over at you. You shook your head.

“There’s a car, so someone’s probably here, just in a part of the house we can’t see,” He huffed, slouching down into his seat. He remained silent for a second.

“Wanna brainstorm while we wait?” he asked, his voice sounding defeated as he slouched down slightly in his seat. You looked over at him and shrugged, wanting to hear whatever he had come up with because to be frank, you didn’t come up with much. “So a cop kidnaps our friend, sets her house on fire, chases us through the woods, sets the place on fire he took her from, and then threatens to kill you before he reports us all missing and leaves you a wanted fugitive. If it has something to do with her dad, which is the most likely case scenario, why? Is he trying to blackmail her dad?”

You listened to his words carefully, trying to make sense of why he would take her, but blackmail seems like the only reason that made any sense. “If I had to guess, Bennett’s a crooked cop. Maybe he likes to sell drugs on the side to help pay for his numerous houses. Maybe he’s a hitman, I don’t know, but there’s no way he can afford to live in one house that looks like that,” You pointed out the window at the house the two of you were currently stalking before continuing.

“Without doing something shady on the side. I mean, you know all the fucked up shit her parent’s used to get into, maybe he was their dealer, got in debt,” You shrugged, thinking of all the possibilities. Growing up with Aria, one thing was always consistent about her parents and that was their inconsistency. A slew of unmedicated mental disorders partnered with addictive personalities and just from what you remember, they were hardly ever sober.

“That’s definitely a possibility, still don’t get why that would make him want to burn the house down, unless he had something to do with—” you slapped Jungkook’s chest, cutting him off as you pointed toward the house, the car that was in the driveway slowly pulling out of it. He looked over as you both slouched down in your seats, not wanting to be seen if he happened to turn this way. Thankfully, he didn’t. Jungkook looked back over to you with wide eyes.

“Now?" You looked at him then back at the house, biting your lip as you think.

“We should really wait 5 minutes -”

“I’m going now,” He opens the door and steps out, and you do the same, cursing under your breath in the process. You walk across the street, walking along the side until you make it to the back of the house. You walk up to the back door and he reaches out to try to open it but you stop him. You reach into the pocket of your hoodie and pull out 2 pairs of rubber gloves you had brought from home. He took a pair and put them on and tried opening the door. It was locked. Big whoop.

You pulled a bobby pin out of your hair and kneeled in front of the door, Jungkook standing directly behind you as he kept his eye out for anyone that could be watching. In less than a minute, you were able to unlock the door. You stood up and opened it, about to walk in when Jungkook grabbed your arm and shook his head. You stepped back as he pulled the gun from his waistband and walked in.

You walked in behind him and carefully closed the door behind you. You entered through the kitchen, which was connected to a large living room that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Between the kitchen and the living room on the wall to the right there was a relatively short hallway, and next the that, a staircase.

“You go up, I’ll go back,” you whispered, looking back the hall, about to start walking.

“Where’s your weapon?” You looked at him, rolled your eyes, and pulled a pocket knife out of your pocket. He didn’t seem impressed, but you lightly shoved him toward the stairs. He continued up them, admitting defeat. You stepped back into the hallway; the first door is on your right. You take a deep breath before you quickly open the door, waving your knife around as you look for someone hiding. It was a bathroom, and a rather empty one at that.

The shower curtain was clear, but you checked behind it just to make sure. Aside from that, there was nowhere else someone would be able to hide in here. You stepped back out of the room before opening another door on the opposite side of the hall. You opened the door as frantically as the first, but again, there didn’t seem to be anyone behind door number two.

It was a bedroom, very simplistic with a bed, simple sheets, a nightstand, a lamp, and a dresser. There was also a closet, where there were some shirts hanging and a couple pairs of dress shoes haphazardly placed on the floor. The dresser was empty except for 2 drawers, one of them having a few pairs of boxers and socks, and the other gym shorts.

You left that room and went to the last room at the end of the hall. This door, for some reason, gave you the creeps. You took another deep breath and opened the door. It was a staircase leading to the basement.

Oh, fuck this.

You swallowed harshly and balled your hands into very tight fists. You slowly began walking down the staircase, the little moonlight that was illuminating the rest of the house was now gone. You stopped halfway down the steps and reached into your pocket where the keys to your car were sitting perfectly silent in the center. You pulled them out and found the mini flashlight that was on it, and switched it on, before you continued down the stairs.

As you made it to the bottom, you moved the flashlight around, getting a once over of everything, before you decided to turn right. This basement was huge and was packed with what you would call junk. You could tell he used this for storage, and there were about five rooms off this one giant room. You walked up to the first door and placed your hand on the knob and was about to turn it when you felt someone wrap their arms around your body, one hand going over your mouth and the other pinning your arms down.

You screamed out as loud as you could, the knife and light both abandoned on the floor where you had dropped them. You were resisting as hard as you could, but the man was now carrying you, much stronger and taller than you were. You heard footsteps rushing down the stairs, but you couldn’t see anything. You could only hope it was Jungkook and that the flashlight was pointed enough in your direction so that he could see what was going on. A few unbearably long seconds go by before something happens.

A gunshot rang throughout the basement, the sound amplified several times over as it bounced off every surface in the room. Your body flopped into the concrete ground harder than you thought humanly possible, your ribs aching as you felt a warm liquid begin to surround you. A second later Jungkook grabbed ahold of your arm and pulled you off the ground.

“Are you okay? Did I hit you? Did he?” He grabbed your face and moved it from side to side as If he was trying to look for anything that indicated pain, but there was no way he could’ve seen you right now. You shook your head though, knowing he could feel it.

“No, I don’t think so, I think this is his blood,” you said as you grabbed your damp hoodie. As soon as he concluded that you were not severely injured, he grabbed the flashlight off the ground and pointed it at the guy, as well as the gun in his other hand. The man was still alive, hands pressed into his abdomen where there was blood pooling.

“Where’s Aria?” Jungkook practically yelled, the man having virtually no reaction. He crouched down and put the gun very visibly in his face and cocked it. “I asked you a question, I recommend you answer it.”

“Whose Aria? I have no idea who that is! I’m just here to make sure no one gets too nosey, that’s all!” He was groaning in pain as he yelled, his words hard to understand as he was breathlessly trying to get them out.

“Who hired you?” Jungkook was downright terrifying right now, his hands steady and his eyes focused. He’s so out of it, you genuinely think he might kill him.

“Some guy, said his name was Cole, but that's all I know, I swear,” you took a few steps forward very slowly, kneeling down slightly as you neared them.

“Jungkook,” you spoke softly, hand moving to gently rest on his shoulder. He didn’t move. “Jungkookie, he doesn’t know anything. He needs a hospital,”

“He’s cleaning up after him, he probably knows something,”

“He already said he doesn’t know where she is—”

“He could’ve killed you, Y/n, I'm not just going to help him,”

“I’m not the one with a bullet wound, Jungkook, and he’s not the one that put it there. He’s going to bleed out soon if we don’t get him out of here, now,” he paused for a moment before he sighed, uncocking the gun and putting it back in the waist band of his jeans. As soon as he did, you rushed over to the other side of the man and helped Jungkook get him to his feet.

You ushered him up the stairs and made your way into the hallway. As you started walking down the hallway, someone else stood at the end of it looking you dead in the eye. Cole Bennett.

“C’mon, Y/n, I thought we had an agreement,” you saw him reach around his back and you pushed the two men into the still open door of the bedroom before slamming it shut and locking it. The wounded man was on the bed as Jungkook shoved the dresser in front of the door. You grabbed the flashlight Jungkook still had in his hand and moved it so you were holding the key like a weapon and smashed the key through the window, shattering it.

“Jump, I’ll get him,” Jungkook said, holding the dresser back against the violently shaking door as hard as he could. You hesitated for only a second before you nodded and jumped through the window, gashing your leg in the process. You could tell the second he stopped holding the door as there was a loud thud followed by a gunshot. Before you even had the chance to worry, Jungkook had flung himself through the window, landing perfectly as he grabbed your hand and started sprinting.

“Wait, what about-”

“He shot him, we have to run, now!” He yelled back, running as fast as he could. You looked back for a second, before hearing another gunshot ring out. You turned and put all your energy into running, Jungkook and you eventually hitting the tree line as the gunshots stopped.

Note: Proof ATE

Taglist: @koobsessed @mwitsmejk @roxy1205 @yoon2jk @pamzn @drmrastraea @bbl32 @softforpj @lpgirl2324 @astoriasx @mooncuddler

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tteokdoroki · 3 years ago

Text

had it | k.bakugou.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 4.5K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff, comfort.

♡ summary: your pro hero husband is a show off, always has and always will be... but when his big ego gets in the way of you doing your job, you give him little piece of your mind..

♡ warning(s): please read ! mentions of violence, i gave reader a quirk?? bakugou with a daughter ok literally nothing. oh and angst if you squint.

♡ author’s note(s): hi besties!! happy birthday to meee!! today i’m dropping a fic that’s been a long time coming, its a short and fluffy little piece with domestic baku bc i love him with babies n kids ok ok!! i hope you all have a lovely day <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

some say that working for a pro hero is an honour, no matter what the position is. some may work behind the scenes— creating gear and suits that support the pros protecting their cities or livelihoods. others are in charge of things like reports, PR and even physical health. everyone plays an important role in a hero's career. there’s never a dull moment working in a team supporting the pros, especially if that pro was dynamight.

the offices for katsuki bakugou’s hero agency were always buzzing; usually because the clean up team were rushing through with stacks upon stacks of receipts and paperwork from the damage done during bakugou’s patrols— other times it would be his secretaries gossiping about how good he looks in his winter costume because damn did that tight black shirt do his arms justice but usually it was just because of the PR team contacting media outlets with excuses for bakugou’s potty mouth.

working for the hot headed blonde was more laid back than it seemed however, the man himself was rarely ever in the office as the number two hero but out on missions instead, the pay was pretty decent and no one ever really faced his angry wrath nor his sailor like mouth unless they had royally fucked up on their job. katsuki bakugou was someone to admire, he never gave a damn about what people had to say about him— he only cared about getting the job done and maybe that’s why most people enjoyed their time under the dynamight agency.

particularly this time, right around noon.

the doors to the floor of the secretary offices fly open, crashing loudly against the walls and drawing the staff from their daily work. this office space is around ten floors up and somehow you’ve made it in record time today. “where is he?” your voice crawls through the entrance of the room, settling over the workers like a thick fog— commanding, menacing and soft all at the same time. newbies cower in their boots, confused at what’s going on and it’s safe to presume those who have been working here for years have yet to give them the run down. “don’t make me ask again.” you add, eyes darkening as you cast your gaze across the room.

an intern approaches you, visibly shaking with fear which makes you loosen your stance and raise an eyebrow toward them. “he-uh... he just went for his lunch break—“ the stutter, gulping under the stare of another highly ranked pro hero. “in his...office— ma’am!” they stumble through their words, hiding behind the ungodly amount of paperwork that's been dumped into their hands. you make a mental note to chew bakugou out on the load his interns have been getting as well as your prior reasons for coming to his agency.

nonetheless you shake your head and drop the frown, a sweet smile quickly replacing the look that could put anyone six feet under if you really tried. with a tap to the side of your head, the visor to your hero costume rises above your eyes— allowing you to give the poor little intern a cheeky wink as thanks. “‘ppreciate it darling, have a good one!” you thank them properly with a ruffle to their hair, resuming your previous stance as you march the rest of the way through the office and kick open the door at the end of the room.

the intern sags, a whimper of relief passing from tired lips while they wipe at the sweat forming on their brow. they’d not even encountered their boss yet and they’d already come face to face with a top pro hero. “w-what’s her deal?”

a chuckle to the left of the poor kid startles them out of their mind; but they relax upon realising it’s just another one of dynamight’s secretaries— haruto, who’d apparently been working at the agency since it started up. “that’s nightsky, her quirk is lullaby, which allows her to control certain people if she hits the right note. she can also put them to sleep, if she really wants to,” the intern now perks up, remembering you from countless interviews on tv. you ranked pretty highly too, managing to the reach the top five this year along with others like shoto and deku. “she owns the hero agency across the street, herself and dynamight have been going at it ever since. it’s like they’re elderly lovers or somethin‘.”

“d-do you think they are? lovers like you say?” the intern asks a little too excitedly, touching at their messy hair from where you’d ruffled it. a crimson blush warms their cheeks, the idea of two pros playing enemies to the public eye but being lovers in secret seemed like something right out of a romance novel. how romantic.

haruto only chuckles at the newbie, standing to ruffle their hair as well before heading over to the coffee stand to fix himself a cup. “beats me,” he mumbles cheerily as he walks away, arms crossed behind his head. “but with the way yn bursts in here at the same time everyday to scold bakugou, and leaves with a huge smile on her face— i wouldn’t put it past them. they probably have a whole life together.” he taps his nose once as if he’s given away too much information, turning away without a word.

the intern hums, seemingly happy with their superior’s answer and easily heads back to work from there.

katsuki bakugou was bored out of his mind.

being a successful pro hero was all he’d ever wanted— being the number two pro hero just came with that. bakugou wanted to get to the top and show everyone he was the best of the best and with him being blessed with a powerful quirk there was no way he couldn’t be where he was today. yet, now that he’d finally achieved his dream all he wanted was a fucking break. the blonde stares down at his microwaveable bowl of home cooked stew, a frown cutting deep into his cheeks. it was his lunch break for crying out loud, but instead of scarfing down the delicious meal before him, the hero was forced to watch it cool as some dumb fuck reporter asked him questions over the phone.

the telephone interview ( or a waste of his fucking time, as katsuki had called it ) , had been set up by his PR team right after he’d taken down a couple low level villains downtown earlier this morning. katsuki had called it nothing but apparently the whole world and their mother had been on his ass, watching as he took the criminals down with ease and raving about how glorious dynamight was during that fight. the reporter drones on about said event, asking the same old questions and it takes everything within the hot headed pro not to blow a casket— he’d been promised a few extra days off from his manager if he could finish the interview without blowing something up and only god knew how much katsuki needed a break from dumb paps and some overly obsessive fans.

‘so, final question, how does it feel to be the number two?’

bakugou grunts, buying himself time to formulate an answer. what he really wants to do is kindly tell the reporter to fuck off and ask more original questions; but with the prize of a longer weekend hanging in the balance he bites his tongue for the sake of freedom. “well i—“

“katsuki bakugou.” your voice cuts through his sentence before he can finish, vermillion eyes land on your hero costume clad form as you burst into his office. a lazy smirk now decorates the hero’s lips, brow quirked with piqued interest. “i have a bone to pick with you, you motherfucker.”

the reporter on the other end falls silent as katsuki watches you, leaning back in his plush leather chair. you look slightly disheveled, costume torn in a few places, scrapes littering your skin as you pant heavily from exertion— chest rising and falling with every breath, it seems ragged and bakugou makes a mental note to remind you to get your ribs checked out later. “you’re late, shitty woman.” the number two sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, leaning up to look at you while you slam your hands down on the smooth marble desk— the force rattling the items he has neatly placed on it.

‘uh-? mister...dynamight-? sir?’

your eyes sweep the room while the pro before you deals with the reporter, mentioning to her that they’ll have to continue their call later. in the meantime, you note that katsuki’s office is meticulously clean, not a single book, folder or pen out of place— it’s high up with a perfect view of the city and the large windows allow golden beams of the sun to light up the room. the sound of a phone being placed back on its hook brings you from your thoughts; annoyance settling deep in your veins as you turn to face bakugou again.

“i had it,” you growl lowly, jumping the gun before he can even register what you’ve said. “i’m a grown woman, katsuki, i can handle a couple of criminals myself, you know.”

the blasting hero does nothing but smirk even wider at the irked tone that litters your voice, standing up as well to tower over you. bakugou still wears his own hero costume, considerably in less damage than yours— not a single tear had formed in his suit, mind the small scratches on his face no doubt from his stupid explosions creating some debris. leaning over the desk between you, bakugou uses a forefinger and thumb to tilt your head up, bringing you even closer than before. “clearly y’didn’t sweetheart, or otherwise that icyhot bastard wouldn’t have needed to back you up ‘fore i got there...” his timbre voice sends sparks of electricity through the air in the room, it’s low and gravelly which is enough to send shivers down your spine but you’re not about to let katsuki bakugou know that he makes you flustered— it’d go straight to his head, the cocky bastard.

nonetheless; you roll your eyes at the mention of your old classmate and fellow pro hero— shoto todoroki. yourself and shoto got along fairly well, even back in high school, so it was normal for you to work together from time to time; you both made a great team and your skill set complimented each other’s well. katsuki was just jealous. he never really got along with todoroki like that. “he didn’t back me up, we were working together,” you snap back at the blonde, shaking yourself from bakugou’s grasp and flicking him right between those alluring vermillion eyes. “something you might not be familiar with, mister number two.” bakugou backs away from you completely ( only wincing slightly ), making you smirk in victory. you’ve struck a nerve. deciding to leave the conversation at that, you turn to make your exit as he collapses back into his seat with a deathly scowl and a quiet ‘tch’. “like i said, i had it, dynamight. next time, don’t jump in uninvited.”

happy that you got the last laugh, you open the door to leave his office but pause when a wave of heat hits your back. you should have known, katsuki bakugou was never one to back down from a challenge and you certainly weren’t an exception. well shit. when you turn around to face the blonde, small explosions spark from his right hand and he has some what of a look of a feral pomeranian, blood red eyes full of rage.

you visibly gulp and katsuki growls out his next words with the upmost venom, designed to hurt and cut at your feelings. “well maybe y’sudda let the actual pros handle shit like this,” bakugou begins, voice rising in volume with every syllable that passes his lips. “we both know you’re no good at short distance attacks with your quirk, shitty woman, you couldn’t have taken those villains down without me.” the blonde finishes with a short ‘tsk’, settling the explosions that spark in his palms. now it’s your turn to be pissed. you could handle katsuki’s jealousy, his petty reasoning for joining you on your patrol and taking the credit but bashing you and your quirk? no way in hell would he get away with that.

“bakugou?”

“what? the fuck y’still here for?”

you roll your shoulders, gracing the blonde with a devilish smile as your eyes light up mischievously. “why are you hitting yourself, bakugou?” you sing, hitting just the right notes that will have him under your spell, the tone in your voice as smooth as chocolate. katsuki’s eyes widen in horror and before he can stop himself, his free hand comes up to slap him across the face. that was your quirk, lullaby. you had the ability to sing your way out of any situation— adjusting the tune of your song to control the actions of certain individuals or groups of people. it was near impossible to resist but the more people you used your quirk on, the weaker your control over them was. that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to use it on bakugou from time to time. the blonde tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s no use up against your ability— losing all control of his own body. he grunts on impact, looking bewildered for a moment as he moves to grab his own wrist to stop any impending blows. “not so cocky now, are we dynamight?”

“h-hey!” he stammers, refusing to accept defeat against you. “shitty woman, no fuckin’ fair. you know i can’t use my quirk against you in here.” he was right, while your quirk was poor against short distance attacks ( meaning you had to result to hand to hand combat ), bakugou couldn’t use his own in enclosed spaces without hurting anyone he didn’t want to. especially you, he would never hurt you intentionally unless you were sparring.

“shoulda thought about that before you decided to taunt me, you know better than to piss off your wife, katsu.” you chide, still smiling just as brightly as you were earlier, before taking a seat on his desk and folding one leg over the other. it was quite amusing to watch your husband of four years fight against himself— everyone knew katsuki had an unbelievable amount of strength even without his quirk so he was definitely beating himself up ( literally and figuratively ).

bakugou looks up at you through gritted teeth while he struggles to keep the wrist you have control of down and you almost feel bad for the guy. “turn it off, dammit!” he curses at you, said hand rising above his free one to tug at his own sun kissed locks.

feigning interest in the objects on your lover's desk, you ignore his pleas for you to release him from the holds of your quirk and hum “apologise.”

“f-fuck... fuck y-you.”

you sigh knowingly, picking up a hand crafted paperweight, covered in glitter and sequin stars, inspecting it carefully. bakugou could hardly ever say the word ‘sorry’, it was just in his nature and he’d been that way since you were young. part of you knows it’s because of how he was treated as a child where people praised him for his quirk. that meant he became prideful yes, thought highly of himself too and struggled to admit when others were right...but he had his own way of apologising— through actions instead of words.

like when you first moved in together and he had broken your favourite mug, instead of saying he was sorry, he spent all night super glueing it back together for you to use in the morning. to him, actions were louder than words but you right now; you were being mean and just wanted to hear him say it.

“fuck fuck, fine. alright. ‘m sorry.” bakugou lets out a strained growl as the hand you control gives a particularly hard yank to his hair. “i’m sorry for lying about your quirk. it’s not shitty…’n ‘m sorry for... barging in on your patrol. again.” you grin, satisfied with his answer and grab the hand he keeps down with his wrist. you press a simple kiss to the skin, making your husband blush as you release your hold over the limb. katsuki shyly yanks it from your grip, rubbing over the area that you’d kissed, shooting his gaze to the side in the process. “jesus shitty woman, if i don’t die from being a hero or of old fucking age, i know for a fact you’ll be the one to kill me first.” he mutters harshly under his breath, but you know he’s only kidding from the way his hands now fall to your thighs and his fingers rub small circles into the exposed skin.

“pro hero nightsky murders number two pro hero dynamight in cold blood!” you joke as if you’re reading a headline in a news article, katsuki only glares up at you— making no effort to curse you out because of your shitty joke, which causes you to frown while leaning forward to brush some of his hair away from his face. “you know i’m only kidding right? is something wrong? did i come at a bad time?”

it’s only now that you notice the exhausted expression that paints your lover’s face. he’s always up to playing this game with you, at the same time every day— you come to bother him about some trivial matter, tease him a bit and leave with a kiss. but today, you can tell he’s trying to hide something from you. something that bothers him.

bakugou shakes his head, leaning into your touch as you play with his hair— a habit he’d picked up from even before you started dating back in high school, although he’d never admit that to you if you’d asked. “nothin’, just this stupid fuckin’ interview the PR team want me to do about the fight today. the one i took from you,” your husband smirks slightly at the thought and you roll your eyes for what seems like the nine hundredth time that afternoon. “didn’t get to finish my fuckin’ lunch but they promised me a couple days off if i got the interview done.”

“better the number two than me, eh? but don’t worry, i’ll order us some take out tonight,” your suggest, voice coming out as soft and mingling with your slight giggle— a quiet melody to katsuki’s ears. your only reply from him is a grunt, so you stop your fingers in his hair and watch as he scowls up at you. you quickly press a kiss to the explosive hero’s lips, pulling away to reveal his blushing face. you smile, knowing that you’re the only one who can make him flush red like that. “there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”

if there’s one thing katsuki bakugou hates, it’s how you read him like an open book. one look at him and it’s like you know exactly how he’s feeling. he can never hide anything from you— sometimes that both pisses him off and reminds him of how much he is loved by you. he hesitates with his words at first but decides to confide in you anyway, knowing that you’ll get it out of him in one way or another. “‘m worried about you, dumbass.” he mumbles, nudging your hand with his head as if to ask you to continue your earlier actions. “i know you had it, yer fuckin’ powerful but you looked so tired in that fight today ‘n i thought something bad was gonna happen to you, y’fuckin’ shitty woman.”

he toys with the tears in your costume now, smoothing over scars from your bumps and scratches as a result of combat. “oh lovebug,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. “you know i can handle my own, they just took a lot out of me today. i promise i’ll—“

“that’s not it, fuck,” katsuki cuts you off, brows furrowing deeply as he grabs your wrists— pulling your from his desk and into his lap. he holds you close, burying his nose into your neck as if you’re going to disappear. you sit still, a little shocked by his actions and his quick change of mood, but wrap your arms around him anyway and slowly fall silent. “it's just that...we’re both pros now and at the top of our ranks ‘n we both have a lot to lose.” you instinctively cling tighter to katsuki, mind flickering to the homemade paperweight you’d spotted on his desk earlier... causing your heart clench.

your daughter had made that for him during her time at preschool for fathers day; something your husband cherished with his whole heart, even if the thing was still sticky with glue when he’d gotten it.

katsuki loved taiga more than anything in the world and if something had happened to her because of your line of work, you don’t know what either of you would do. “what if something were to happen to you? or to me? or shit...both of us? who would look after taiga? you know what happens to kids who end up in the fucking system.” bakugou pauses, the same tired expression from earlier now sitting heavily on his face. “i just want you to be careful, stop pushing yourself so much, y’fuckin’ dumbasss. we have a family take care of. it’s not just you and i anymore.”

you nod, grasping onto your lover’s clothes tightly. the air is flooded with a comfortable silence, the pair of you holding one another right the way through it. you treasure moments like this, where the world stops and katsuki shows you another, more vulnerable side to him.

he would never admit or show this to anyone; but he cares , more than he lets on... especially for you and especially for your daughter. he was attentive, paid attention to you and your weaknesses and helped you overcome them. it was something you couldn’t stop loving about him. “i promise to be more careful, for you and for taiga,” you say quietly after he’s done scolding you, brushing your lips against the side of his head in a soft peck. “that must’ve been why jumped in earlier, you were worried about me?”

“somethin’ like that, you crazy woman,,” bakugou whispers, there’s a tinge of fondness to his ruby eyes as you pull away to look at him, his hands settling on your hips while he moves up to press a soft kiss to your awaiting lips. “didn’t want you getting yourself killed.”

you stay with katsuki in the office for a little longer than usual, laying on his chest as he prattles away about everything and anything even though he should be working. you make sure he eats his lunch, despite how cold it is and promise him a boat load of take out when he comes home later— your sweet cuddling session only being cut short by a call from your assistant to tell you that your daughter is ready to be picked up from school. “better finish that interview katsu, taiga’ll be happy to know her daddy’s getting some time off to spend with her soon,” you remind him as you gather yourself together, your husband pouting ( he swears on his life he wasn’t ) from the loss of your warmth in his lap. “she has a lot to tell you.”

the blonde quirks a brow, watching you as you head for the door. “yeah? like what?” a hand comes up to cover your mouth as you giggle at his curious face. sometimes, when you look at katsuki, you could see how much your daughter resembles him, right down to his mannerisms. she had somehow inherited the shape of your nose and the brightness of your smile ( the only reason barely anyone realised bakugou had a kid, he never fucking smiled. ) but the bakugou genes were incredibly strong so there was no way she’d miss out on those crimson eyes and uncontrollable, untameable messy blonde hair.

she even acted like him. a very brazen little girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, so she had her daddy wrapped around her stubby little fingers.

you grin, eyes sparkling with the same mischief as before. “oh y’know, just her little crush on midoriya’s boy.”

“yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“i would never joke about such a thing, just make sure you’re home in time for dinner, number two!” you squeal, dashing out of the office before your husband has time to demand more answers from you. slamming the door shut, you chuckle at the melody of curses that leave your husbands mouth before heading off to pick up your daughter.

on your way, you admit to yourself , that maybe you didn’t have this fight in the bag. but what you did have; was a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and the best life you could have ever imagined.

extended ending:

“so, taiga... daddy hears you have a little... crush on someone.”

you’re in the kitchen, washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner as bakugou wipes tentatively at your little girl’s messy face— she was a poor eater but it’s something you didn’t mind, not when your husband was so soft with cleaning her up. you can see them from where you stand, watching katsuki knowingly.

taiga looks up from the colouring you’d set out for her when she finished up her meal, crimson eyes shining brightly as she fixes her gaze on her father. “mhm mhm!! he’s mister deku’s son! and i’m gonna marry him!”

“no yer not.” bakugou answers simply, looking close to popping a vein.

“why not?”

your husband scoffs, throwing away the tissue he’d used to clean his little girl up before joining her in her colouring. “‘cause daddy says so ‘n boys are gross, especially ones who’s dad’s look like broccoli.” the older ash blonde seems satisfied with his answer, grinning to himself as you dry the dishes with an amused smile.

but taiga isn’t finished, swapping her green crayon for a red one to finish up her drawing. “but you’re a boy...and mommy still married you!”

bakugou pauses, lost for words as taiga continues to colour— humming the theme song from a commercial for some of deku’s merch. you can tell it’s taking everything katsuki’s got not to combust right there on the spot, but he can’t stay mad at taiga for too long, not when she’s describing her wedding and how her daddy is going to walk her down the isle.

setting the dishes to dry and towelling your hands; you smile to yourself as you admire your family. some would say you had it all, and looking at the pair of bakugou’s now, who were you to deny the truth.

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