#me: i need to go to bed early tonight also me: no sleep until we have sth decent to share for wipwed

[softnasty]

#wipwednesday again!! sneak peak of chapter 2 of my jyn/cassian politics au! you can already read chapter 1 here on ao3.

Senator Mothma comes back from taping Lando's show with Tay Kolma in tow. In typical Tay Kolma fashion, Kolma is wearing a light blue suit jacket over his white shirt. His pale gray slacks have the faintest checkered pattern on them if you look really closely, which Cassian is. 

In the middle of the bullpen, Cassian is front row to Mothma's chief of staff's motivational speech. It's 12pm on what should have just been a regular, no big fuss workday for all of them. Instead, Cassian has to stare at Kolma's eccentric — but impeccable — fashion choices as he dishes out commonplace after commonplace on chaos and how to keep going and thrive when everything is seemingly falling apart.

[more under the cut because i couldn't resist sharing my entire 1st scene for the chapter hehe]

The words falling apart are a bit too strong for Cassian's liking but what does he know, really. It'd probably be too presumptuous of him anyway to pretend that everything's fine when he's literally an emergency replacement expected to help clean up this mess and ensure a smooth transition like nothing ever happened. So, perhaps Cassian's downplaying things a little, at least to himself, if only to keep his sanity and avoid freaking the fuck out.

When Kolma finishes his speech, Cassian sets himself on a mission to find where Brasso must inevitably be hiding. He's barely turned on his heel when Kolma sidles up to him, clapping a hand to Cassian's shoulder.

"So. Campaign manager? Everything good so far?"

Cassian chuckles weakly.

"I guess. Haven't done much in the 3 hours since my appointment."

It's not even a lie. He's barely made a dent in the pile of folders and emails that have been handed over to him, his calendar has grown twofold in terms of volume of invitations, and his phone hasn't stopped buzzing. Nothing from Jyn. 

The only substantial thing he's accomplished is signing the amendment to his work contract, a task that happened under Kay's supervision because Cassian's day was, at this point, becoming a collection of all his worst fears and dislikes. Jyn is barely out of the door, Cassian's voicemail is unanswered, and Cassian has already signed his name to a two-pager instating him in her position. 

"Well, you need anything, you tell me, alright?" Kolma claps his shoulder again. 

Cassian nods and goes to find Brasso.

****

He doesn't even make it to the hallway.

This is quite literally the worst day of Cassian's life. He thinks of those old-school hidden camera shows, wonders for a delirious second if maybe this is an elaborate set-up to see how long it takes him to crack.

Cassian narrowly avoids crashing straight into Mothma's husband as he steps out of the bullpen, desperate to reach the archives where he knows Brasso will be hiding. Like he doesn't fucking know that Cassian knows all of his hiding spots in the office. Cassian glares at Mothma's husband and asks the stars above, not for the first time, why such a useless piece of a man is even allowed to exist. 

A note, for the blissfully ignorant souls of the galaxy: Tay Kolma, in addition to being a fantastic chief of staff, has been linked to Senator Mothma in numerous scandalous rumors, the most notable one claiming that they were engaged in their early twenties. Each time the rumor crops up, Mothma sends out the same statement on how Kolma has been a friend since childhood and she cherishes the bond they have. The press calls him her work husband. Cassian tries to also stay blissfully unaware, but it's near impossible when anyone remotely involved with galactic politics has such a high affection for gossip. Because Cassian tries his best to stay away from all the office gossip, no one's ever asked him for his opinion but if you did, he would tell you that Mothma deserves better than Perrin. 

"Ah! Cassian Andor, the man of the hour!"

Cassian gives Mothma's real, actual husband the phoniest smile he can muster.

"I really need to get going." Cassian lies as he tries to move past Perrin.

[tinkerkinkers2]

The Right Decision.

By TinkerKinkers

Based on a true story

“Ugh, where is she…?”

I sat and fidgeted with my phone, desperately hoping it would ding with an update from her. My stomach hit me with another wave of discomfort, reminding me of the desperation of my situation.

As I waited, I thought back on the 12 months prior, and the events that led up to my current predicament. If I had only been more careful… I didn’t know that she was checking my phone after I’d gone to sleep every night. I can’t even imagine the wild things she found on my secret Tumblr account. I just thought she was vanilla, I didn’t think there was any way she’d ever accept the things I only thought about in secret, let alone that she’d want to participate.

But when she came home from work early to surprise me on our one year anniversary, and found me humping a pillow in a thick, full, diaper, everything changed in an instant.

“What’s going on here?!” She said as she stood in our bedroom doorway.

My jaw hit the floor, my stomach met my throat, my ears started ringing. I’m not sure how I didn’t just black out.

“Jake, I’m not going to ask you again, what are you doing? Please explain this to me, RIGHT NOW!”

I don’t even remember those first few minutes or what came out of my mouth, but it must have been mostly gibberish, I just remember how relieved I was when she cut me off.

“Just stop. I’ve seen what you’ve been looking at on your phone, I already know. I just didn’t think this was really something you wanted… I just wish you would have talked to me about this. But here you are, on our anniversary, acting like… I don’t even know.”

She dropped her head into her hands and pulled at her hair, taking a deep breath in.

“Okay, listen to me. We need to talk.” She said, looking up with resolve now. She came and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me into the living room.

I don’t remember most of the conversation, my nervous system was in full flight mode, but I was somehow glued to the sofa. I wished to be out of my diaper so badly.

“Well if this is what you want, this is what we’re going to do, but it’s going to be by my rules. Got it?” She said, somehow bringing me back into my body.

I didn’t even know what exactly what I was agreeing to, but I swallowed hard enough to finally be able to speak.

“Wait, please, I’m so sorry, you don’t have to do this though, I can stop, I promise!” I said with a tongue that felt like a brick.

“I’ve done enough research to know that that’s unlikely. But I appreciate you saying that. Also, you’ll be calling me ‘Mommy’ until I tell you otherwise. C’mon now.” She snapped back quickly.

With that she led me back into the bedroom…

—————————

“DING” My mind snapped back to the present as I looked down at my phone.

“Hey sweetie! Sorry, work went late today, I’ll be home in 30 minutes or so. How’s your diaper doing little one?”

I furiously texted back; “Mommy! My tummy hurts so bad! Please can I use the potty?!” I was desperate. I knew the rules. I couldn’t ever touch my own diapers. I knew what she would say, but there was so much more at stake today, of all days.

*DING* “Sweetie, you know the rules. Please hold it till I get home. I really do want to have sex with you tonight, especially since it’s our anniversary. But if you mess yourself, that’s definitely not happening. I’m in the car now. See you soon love. Please make the right decision.”

My fingers couldn’t move fast enough, they felt like sticks of concrete against my phone, I knew she was already driving but I had to try;

“Please!!! I don’t think I can make it!”

*Read at 4:33pm*

No response.

I waited. I went upstairs to lay on the bed, hoping to ease some of the pressure in my gut. My tiny penis strained in its cage thinking about her. Every minute drug on for hours. Each wave of pressure in my stomach stronger than the last. It was 4:55pm, and I couldn’t hold it any more. I had a last ditch plan. Maybe if she’s distracted when she gets home she’ll just tell me to jump in the shower and get ready for dinner without even checking my diaper, it wouldn’t have been too far fetched of a scenario, it’s happened a few times before, and we were already cutting it close for our reservation. She would definitely notice if the diaper tapes had been tampered with though, I learned that lesson the hard way. There was no way I was gonna miss my chance to have sex again. It’s been a long and desperate 12 months.

I convinced myself this plan could work. I moved to the floor and squatted in my droopy diaper, I felt a gap between my butt and the soggy padding, a space that I realized was about to be filled. I prayed that the probiotics I’d been taking would minimize the smell, if so, I might have a chance at this plan actually succeeding. My legos were still strewn about on the floor where I was playing earlier, I stepped carefully to avoid the sharp pieces. I grabbed my teddy bear, happy that he still happened to be there for me, holding him somehow gave me some reassurance. Just getting into position started to relieve some of the pressure. I tried to relax and give a slight push. Instantly, it felt like I had released a soft slick submarine into the thick damp diaper around my butt. The padding resisted the push initially but my mess quickly softened and filled every bit of space within my diaper, pushing the padding even further out from my skin. I winced as I felt my shame simultaneously spread from the top of my but to the tip of my cage. Another wave of cramps hit me. I tried to breath through it. I didn’t think my diaper could hold more but I didn’t have a choice at this point, my body gave way and released more soft goo into the back seat of my already full diaper. I finally felt some relief, and exhaled deeply, burying my face further into my teddy bear…

“Oh wow….. well that was quite a show sweetie…” Her voice startled me.

My face flushed instantly at the sound of her, my heart dropped, my ears rang, the false sympathy in her tone lit my face on fire. “Oh no, please no….” I thought, “this can’t be real… How did I not hear the keys in the door?”

“Looks like someone is a stinky boy!” She said with a slightly elevated tone now.

She stepped a few feet inside the doorway and paused, hands on her hips. She saw me still squatting, knees bent, legs apart, hiding my face behind my teddy bear, trying not to move, trying not to worsen the mess I’d already made.

“Uh oh....” Her voice slightly deepening as she slowly walked towards me. I knew she wanted to see my face and make me admit what I did. She never missed an opportunity to turn me all shades of red. As she approached I could feel my pulse intensify. I was ready to say whatever I had to say to get this humiliation over with as quickly as possible. There might still be a chance to be free tonight if I complied.

She gently pushed the stuffy away from my face, taking my chin in her hand, lifting my face to meet hers.

“What happened here sweetie?”She said as she reached her other hand around me to firmly pat my bottom. I cringed and flinched as she used her palm to spread my mess even more. I hoped this would be over soon.

“It, it was an… uuhhh… accident...”

“I can see that baby boy... and smell it too.” She said with a side smile, and wrinkled nose. “Are you sure it was an ‘accident’ though?”

The smirk on her face intensified my shame. She turned and walked a few steps away from me. For a moment I thought my embarrassment was finished, that she’d release me from my stinky shame. But she kneeled down and started clearing some of the legos, making a clear spot on the floor. She lightly patted the spot she’d cleared.

“Do you wanna show me what you were building over here kiddo?” Her smile widening even more.


I was confused, what was she doing? She knows what I did, I needed a diaper change! Why did she care about the stupid legos? The realization of her intentions suddenly hit me and I started to panic a little, as she started walking back towards me. Before I knew it, she held my wrist firmly in her hand and was guiding me over to the spot.

“Come on kiddo! Let’s see what you’ve been building here!” She said as she started to kneel down, my wrist still in her grasp, forcing me to squat. I instinctively dropped to both knees when I was low enough and stabilized myself with the hand that was still holding my teddy.

“Why don’t you sit down and show mommy what you were making huh?”

My ears were ringing, I was so nervous, full panic mode.

“Oh please don’t make me do this!” I thought.

I remember wishing she wasn’t so attractive, I knew she was wearing a low cut top just to drive me even more crazy, and the mini skirt… not much was left to my imagination. I felt my pathetic penis strain against its plastic chastity cage, in spite of my overwhelming shame. By now her smile had turned into a full devilish grin and she was directly in front of me.

“I uhh… I umm… mommy I… mommy can we…”

I couldn’t even form a coherent thought, let alone think of a way to talk myself out of this situation.

“Stop stuttering sweetie, use your words.”

Her eye contact was relentless, I felt like she was looking right through me. It was too much to reciprocate.

“I need a diaper change mommy.” The words dumped out of me, like they came from someone else.

“You’ll get a change when I think you need a change little one, now sit down and show mommy what you’ve been working on mister!”

There was a sternness in her voice now that frightened me a little. I had a feeling she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, but I had to try, this was just too humiliating to accept, and I knew I’d regret it later if I didn’t at least try something. I began to get off my knees, to get my feet under me, maybe I could stand up and at least distract her.

Before I could fully stand she put her hands on my shoulders and stopped me from getting up any further.

“Sweetie, we’re not going anywhere until you do what I’ve told you to do. Now sit down!”

The tone of her voice was enough to make me realize she was dead serious. Before I could decide for myself how this would happen, I felt her pressing down on my shoulders as I caught myself slightly falling, leaning back on both hands.

My drooping diaper was now inches from the floor, she moved her right hand from my shoulder down to the front of my diaper. In any other situation, I would have expected this to mean some special attention down there, and my hips instinctively thrust into her hand. She responded with a gentle but firm squeeze and pressure, causing my tiny member to throb even harder in its cage, but I realized my bottom was getting closer to the floor as she rubbed me.

She paused just as my diaper made soft contact with the carpet, I whimpered and finally made eye contact while giving my last thrust of resistance, almost as if to say “please no…”

“Shhhh…. it’s okay sweetie, be a good boy for mommy and sit down.” She said as she continued to press down

I wasn’t prepared for what I felt. The mess was much bigger than I thought as it spread even more, slowly outwards towards the front and back of my diaper. Shame washed over me and my face was burning with embarrassment. The thick mush spreading inside was sensory overload, moving into every crevasse of my underside. My tiny penis had now grown to fill all usable space of the already small chastity tube, and was begging for more room. I groaned and whimpered again as mommy’s hand continued to apply pressure to the front of my diaper, which caused me to fully come to rest on my bottom, there was no space in my diaper left uncovered by my mess. I saw the telltale brown stains inside the leg gathers that were now desperately holding on. It felt like I was sitting down but the shifting yuckyness under me made me unsure of my seating.

“Aww there you go baby boy!” She said, her tone finally softening.

I let out a few tears as I brought my teddy up to my face again. Mommy then started to massage where her hand already was on my diaper. She knew I couldn’t help but grind back against her hand in desperation. I heard her giggle a bit, surely relishing in my abject humiliation, which in turn only made me cringe all the more, yet the inner turmoil seemed to only burn hotter as I continued to squirm and thrust.

She moved even closer to me now, I could feel her warmth and smell her perfume, in sharp contrast to my now pungent odor.

She brought her face towards mine as if too kiss me, but shifted and whispered into my ear;

“You are such a good boy sweetie. You made the right decision.”

She kissed my forehead softly before she stood back up. She reached out both hands for me to grasp.

“C’mon up now kiddo! Let’s get another diaper over that one really quick, we don’t wanna be late for dinner!”

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 3

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem)

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, fluffy, mild angst, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings: reader character dealing with anxiety from previous chapter (non-descriptive),hinted at trauma from fatphobia, hints of Jason's self esteem and body image issues, otherwise it's fluff central

word count: 2.2k (oops? 😅)

Chapter Selection

Ding!

I looked over at my phone, briefly considering not picking it up. When I got through my front door I had ripped my jeans off, suddenly hating everything touching me. I showered, scrubbing the night off until my skin was raw and tingling, and now I was curled up on my bed sheets, having a good cry. I didn't really want to talk to anyone right now…

Ding! Ding! … Ding!

God, whoever it was was insistent though … I sighed softly and picked it up, checking the messages:

Jason: Good morning! I am so sorry for the sudden disappearance - my phone broke on my way to visit my brother! 

3:15am

Jason: Just got back into town, so I've finally got the sim card in an old one for now.

3:17am

Jason: I feel bad, I owe you a week of good mornings! 😭

3:17am

Jason: And sorry for spamming you - I just didn't want you to think the worst for a second longer than necessary…

3:18am

I stared at the screen for a long while. Jason was back … just like Red Hood said. Huh… 

Me: Don't worry about it, shit happens!

3:40am

Jason: … What are you still doing up? 

3:41am

I briefly considered telling him everything. Maybe it would feel good to tell someone … or maybe it would feel even worse. We didn't really know each other yet, who knew how he would react? Nausea gripped my stomach and I shook my head, taking a few deep breaths before replying.

Me: Just got home is all. Picked up a late shift tonight.

3:50am

Jason: That's a hell of a late shift, that must have sucked!

3:52am

Me: … Yeah, honestly it wasn't great… 😔

3:53am

Jason: What are you doing tomorrow?

3:54am

Me: Nothing in particular, y?

3:56am

Jason: That settles it then! No more excuses, come hell or high water I will see you tomorrow!

3:56am

I stared at the screen, not sure how to feel about that idea. I did want to see him again, but I also really just wanted to sleep for 48 hours straight…

Jason: Seriously, name a time and place. We'll do anything you want! 😁

3:59am

Me: You don't have to do that, Jason - you just got back! Don't you need to work?

4:00am

Jason: Nope! We came back a day early, so I am all yours!

4:02am

Me: … All mine, huh? 😏

4:05am

Jason: 100%! Anything you want, name it!

4:06am

Me: … Gotham City Mall, meet in front of the bookstore at … say 4?

4:08am

Jason: Perfect, see you in 12 hours! Good night

4:08am

Me: Good night Jason

4:09am

I was exhausted, but couldn't seem to sleep. I was still coming down from the anxiety and adrenaline from being attacked, and now I was also nervous and tentatively excited about seeing Jason. This was the step that usually proved someone was playing games with me. I sighed softly, sliding a hand down my soft tummy. I didn't mind the way I was shaped, but other people sure had a way of making it seem like the end of the world… I silently begged the universe; let this one be good. No more games, let it be real this time…

When I finally did sleep, my dreams were filled with red. Blood all over the pavement, staining everything. Red chrome staring me down as I cried. Large hands, so gentle against my cheeks, pulling me against a warm, broad chest…

I woke with a start and peered over at my discarded clothes in a heap from the night before. Red Hood's flannel peaked out from under my ruined pants, taunting me; I was about to go on a date and I was dreaming about another man? A man I was surely never going to see again no less? That's real healthy, well done Brain.

I stepped over the clothes on the floor, not wanting to deal with the mess left over from last night, and selected a cute but comfortable outfit. I ate a quick breakfast, spent longer than I'd care to admit on my hair and makeup, and headed downstairs to catch the bus to the mall.

My anxiety grew as I approached the front doors. It’s a trick, it must be a trick. The cold air conditioning hit me in the face, a welcome respite from the summer heat, and I made my way toward the bookstore. He's a hottie, and really sweet. Or at least knows how to play sweet. He's definitely not actually interested. I could see the sign for the bookstore on the other side of the mall. And he's a Wayne too! What could a Wayne want with me?? … Oh god, I threatened them, didn't I? I told the little one I'd stab them if they came back to the table. Why did I say that???

I blinked a bit, pausing. That was him, leaned against the wall right next to the bookstore. He had actually shown up. I watched him scroll on his phone for a minute before looking up and scanning the crowd. When his eyes landed on me I continued walking toward him. He pocketed his phone, kicked off the wall, and walked over to meet me, a little grin lighting up his face.

“You're actually here…” the words left my mouth before I could reconsider, my disbelief apparent in my tone. Jason looked a bit confused at that, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

“Well, yeah? … You said 4, right?”

“Sorry! Yes, I said 4. I just … I honestly wasn't sure this was … real…”

“Why wouldn't it be real?”

I blushed a bit, clearing my throat slightly; “n- never mind! Sorry, I had a weird week; my brain hasn't fully caught up.”

He nodded a little, smiling gently. “Well, I hope it's getting better at least.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it is. Thanks. … So, what should we do?”

“Like I said last night; anything you want.”

“Well, … we're right here, do you want to start at the bookstore?”

He nodded and fell into step beside me, smiling gently. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into the store, browsing the aisles. It was odd how comfortable this was; he was a good half foot taller than me, and at least 200 pounds of pure muscle. If his arms and cheek were any gauge he was absolutely covered in old scars, and he had a bandage on one forearm so whatever gave him the scars probably wasn't confined to the past.

I should be terrified - everything about my upbringing told me this was a dangerous situation to be in. But when I saw the look in his eyes, like I was the most interesting thing in the world, all of my self-defense training fell out of my head. The voices urging me to get to safety quieted, all my instincts stilled, and there was peace. His eyes were so beautiful… 

“... Is there something on my face?” He blushed a bit, chuckling awkwardly.

I blinked, looking away. “Sorry! I wasn't staring, I just …”

“... Did you want to ask about this?” he pointed to the scar on his cheek.

“Huh? No! I have a policy of not asking people about stuff like that; you'll tell me or not on your own time. No, I just … I like your eyes is all …’’ I blushed brightly, staring at but not reading the back cover of a book.

“... My eyes?” I nodded, still pretending to read the back cover. “... You're really not going to ask about my scars?”

“Unless you want to talk about them, it's not any of my business.”

“... You're a very unusual girl.”

“Because I'm not going to pry about something you may or may not want to talk about, particularly on a first date?”

“Well, they're usually the first thing anyone wants to talk to me about. If they don't avoid me in the first place…”

I frowned a bit at that. If we met under any other circumstances, I would have taken one look at him and ducked my head to avoid an interaction. “... People suck…”

“It's not their fault; I'm intimidating…” I cautiously looked over at him. He was also staring at a book cover, a pensive little frown on his face.

“... I don't think you're intimidating.”

His eyes darted over and back to the book, and the corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. “... Thanks.”

I nodded, setting the book down. “.... So …”

“So? …”

“... Play a game?”

He chuckled, looking over at me. “A game?”

I nodded. “You tell me some of your favorite things in books, I'll tell you some of mine. We separate, select a few of our favorites that the other might like, and reconvene.”

“Alright. Is there a way to win this game?”

“Well I assume we'll each pick at least one book the other hasn't read, so we'll get to make each other read at least one of our favorites. That sounds like a win to me.”

He chuckled. “Alright. Meet back up at those comfy chairs in the back?”

I nodded, telling him some of my favorite tropes, genres, and settings. He did the same, and we darted in opposite directions. He beat me back there, but I eventually approached with a small stack, falling into the seat next to him.

He gestured toward my books; “ladies first.”

I tucked my feet under me, passing him each book in turn and making a case for it. He took each one, read the back cover, and listened intently. He had read one of them, and I figured he'd pick one of the others, if that, but he insisted he was going to get them all. When it was his turn, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but Pride and Prejudice wasn't the first thing that came to mind. 

“I've seen a few movie adaptations, but I haven't gotten around to reading it.” I smiled softly, taking the book. It was a beautiful blue cover with swirling calligraphy font in gold.

“An unparalleled tragedy - I insist this is the one you're taking home!” I giggled at his determined tone and nodded.

“Yes, sir!” I made a little mock salute, trying not to smirk at the sudden wave of pink overtaking his face. “... Well, what else do you have for me?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at the books in his hands. “Ah, um …”

One by one he passed me Hamlet, the Three Musketeers, a book of Greek myths, and … a trashy romance?

“... Not gonna lie, this is an unexpected choice.” I read the back. It looked like your typical bodice ripper.

He chuckled, blushing a bit. “Look, it was the only book I had access to one day and I was losing my mind with boredom. But if you give it a chance, it's actually really well written, and the love interest isn't one of those creepy possessive guys the genre is known for, so …”

I nodded, taking a picture of the book covers. “I will give it a chance then!”

“... Why are you taking a picture of them?”

“... To get later? I'll start with this one, since you were so determined that I read it.” I held up Pride and Prejudice. Jason gathered up the others, putting them on his stack, then gently took Pride and Prejudice from me as well.

“Or I could just get them for you.” 

“What? Jason, no. I mean, that’s really sweet of you, but that's way too much!” Between the books he'd picked out for me and the ones I'd selected for him, he was holding at least $200 in his hands. And he'd picked the pretty hardcovers too! 

He shook his head. “I've had to cancel on you at least 5 times, and then I disappeared with no warning. You have been incredibly patient and understanding, and I will make today worth it.”

I blushed brightly, a bit surprised. “Jason, … you're worth waiting for. I enjoy talking to you, you don't have to spend money on me for today to be worth my time.”

He looked away uncomfortably, bright red, holding the stack of books to his chest. “... I … I like talking to you too … just let me do this, yeah? Call it a first date splurge.”

“... Alright, if you're sure. But I don't want you making a habit of this.”

He nodded, smiling softly. “Don't worry; I know you're a strong, independent woman.”

I nodded once, chuckling. “Damn right.”

Jason grinned, god he had an infectious grin, and led me to stand in line together. He held the stack of books in one hand, and we chatted a bit more while we waited for our turn. I was looking at a selection of little plushies in the impulse items when I felt something brush ever so slightly against my finger. I looked down; his trembling hand was next to mine, his pinky slightly extended toward me. I chuckled softly, extending mine toward him, and gently linked our fingers together. He stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing into it, gently squeezing back.

Next ->

Divider by @saradika (and my thanks for making them free to use!)

Taglist (let me know in the comments if you want to be added or dropped!)

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona

[tonyboneysblog]

MOTHER HEN: PART TEN

parings: hawks x mother!reader

wordcount: 3k

notes: GET PRANKED IM POSTING I ACTUALLY FINSHED PART TEN (also there’s two more parts left n im so sad😔)

warnings: angst: but then fluffly comfort😘

summary: you, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

something was wrong with hawks.

I mean he’s always a little weird, but this is different somehow?

sure the two of you have only been dating for about a week, you don’t expect him to show his skin and bones to you.

but he seems like he’s hiding something.

and he looks more…exhausted somehow?

and you know for a fact that he’s at least getting sleep because he’s always cuddled up in your sheets by the times you get home from late shifts.

much to Fumikages dismay.

he’s more upset that hawks took his spot in the bed though.

and that hawks scared the hell out of him when he casually flew through your balcony.

but you don’t except hawks to open up, but you’d like him to know your a good shoulder to cry on.

but it would get better right? wrong.

hawks got more nervous as the weeks went by, even when Fumikage interned with him- which you begged Fumikage to do- he still was antsy.

you two are adults right? You can have a great amazing conversation about eachothers feelings right?

so that’s what you were planning on doing tonight after you got home from the hospital.

Fumikages now at the dorms sadly so you and hawks have the time to speak.

when you finally clocked out you drove home like usual, got home around 12:40 which is the betters times.

Unlocking and opening the door to your home, you craned your head to see if you could see the tufts of blonde hair you liked so much.

wasn’t there though.

so you closed the door, walked through the house searching for hawks.

He had to be home right? You even asked him what time he would be home and it was definitely passed the 9:00 he was so proud of.

Hawks liked getting home early.

But here you were all alone in the house you were supposed to have company in?

You take your phone out from your pocket, calling him.

it rang, no one picked up.

so now you were slightly worried, and confused too.

hawks told you one night that he’d answer your calls immediately.

he thought you’d get too worried about him not answering after what happened with Fumikage.

and he was right, you are worried.

you rang again, no answer.

you shouldn’t be worried- he was probably just fighting a villain right?

fighting one when he isn’t even on the clock.

maybe his phone died- even though he always kept it charged.

bad reception? no he’s always texting and flying in that damn sky.

where in the world would he be-

“Hey mama bird.” He walks through the door with his hero outfit on.

You turned around with a small yelp, scared by his sudden intrusion.

“Hawks- you worried me sick, weren’t you supposed to be off by now?” You say slightly hurried.

he chuckles softly, “calm down, I got a call, had to answer, you know the drill.”

“I don’t, I’m not a hero.”

He huffs at a small laugh, you weren’t joking though.

Hawks walks over towards your room, presumably going to go change out of the hero clothes he was supposed to be out of three hours before.

you follow after, your socks padding on the ground silently.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Did I? M’sorry I was busy.” He says apolitically.

No context, just that he was busy- isn’t that amazing Y/N?!

Hawks moseys over to your bathroom, “now if you don’t mind me- I have to change.”

He almost shuts the door until you stop it with your foot.

He looks up at you, slightly surprised with a curious glint in his eye.

You sigh- something has to be done about him.

“We should talk, after you change.”

He smiles, “I was planning on talking to

you.”

“No- we need to talk, it’s serious hawks.” your tone a little more aggressive than you’d like it to be.

hawks watches your expression, only staying okay until he mumbles a small, “okay.”

You remove from the door so he can close it, then you walk towards the living room.

Sure- you were a tad bit mean but he’s been worrying you for weeks.

even Fumikage asked if everything was alright with him- maybe hawks grew on him a little but still.

truthfully, you can not take another failed relationship- especially with another hero.

You sit on the couch, your shoulders tense waiting for Hawks entrance.

Maybe you working so much is forcing him to hide things? Maybe he just doesn’t wanna stress you.

Hell your a mother- some grown hero problems aren’t going to sway you.

not after Fumikages my little pony phase.

or the Pokémon one, or when he thought he was a unicorn for two weeks because some kid convinced him he was.

Then walks in hawks, sitting near you tapping his foot anxiously.

“What did you wanna talk about?” His voice doesn’t waver.

“You.”

Hawks expression doesn’t really change.

“What about me?”

“I mean- are you okay?” You grab his hands gently.

He chuckles, “I’m fine, are you okay?”

You sigh, “Hawks…I’m serious.”

“And I’m seriously okay, nothings going on.” He smiles, you know it’s plastered on.

“Why’d you come home at twelve? I thought you were the fastest.”

“I had business.”

Business? What business takes three hours.

“Could you tell me about it?” You try to say softly.

“It’s boring- you wouldn’t wanna hear.”

“What’re you hiding?”

Hawks goes quiet, his foot tapping halts.

He’s got quite the poker face on, but the secrets in his wings that are oh so tensed.

“I’m nothing hiding anything.”

his tapping starts back up, wings tense.

“Oh yeah?”

He hums, “yeah.”

Hawks truly didn’t even know what type of tactic to use on you with all the hero commission training, you also read him through his damn wings no matter how good of an act he played.

“Look- I’m just worried.”

Hawks smiles, removing his hands from yours to tap your chin.

“About little old me?”

But hawks knew you were a woman who “didn’t participate in romantic relationships” and he’d use that to his advantage.

He’s not telling you shit.

Your face is solid, “yes, I’m worried since you’ve been acting weird.”

“What if I told you I was just trying to control myself hm?” He says with a small smirk on his face.

what in the world is he on about?

Your brows furrow in confusion, “what?”

hawks pouts, “I mean Fumikages always around, I can’t do nothing without the guy yelling at me.”

He wouldn’t tell you about his new mission.

it’d break you.

“I mean- yeah that’s true but he’s at the dorms-” hawks hand slowly crawls to your waist then places a finger to your lips with a small “shhh.”

He whispers in your ear softly, “I’m just…a little pent up? want some alone time with my lady y’know?”

it’s not like hawks was completely lying to you, he just couldn’t tell you the truth.

You trip over your words, “yeah, I-i understand.”

Hawks chuckles, his breath hitting the side of your face, “Am I making you nervous?”

Suddenly, he starts pecking the side of your neck over and over again- quickly.

It’s makes laughter bubble out of your throat.

You can hear hawks giggles through his pursed lips.

and hawks was a little prideful that his distraction worked.

slowly but surely hawks little kisses were getting more slow and deliberate, soft and gentle.

He was comfortable laying over you as you laid on the couch, your head being propped up by the arm rest.

hawks was enjoying himself, until your cup his face with a less than happy expression.

kinda made him shiver a little- he would t tell you that though.

“Hawks…you can tell me yknow?”

His damn wings flutter softly against his back before he can stop them.

“Already told you, I just missed you.”

He wouldn’t tell you.

You sigh softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“Alright, I’ll drop it.”

Then it got quiet, which is what hawks wanted but…he kinda liked that you worried so much.

but he still wouldn’t tell you.

You run your fingers through his hair, catching your fingers through the knots.

Hawks feels your throat vibrating as you hum a tune he can almost recognize.

He liked this.

Lying to you makes him feel way better if you treat him like this right after.

he’d like to be treated like this for the rest of his life.

You can feel hawks tension basically melt into you. Like putty almost.

You can’t stop staring at him, if he didn’t become a hero he would’ve been a great model.

Sometimes hawks would complain about all the clothing company’s that contacted him to model, but after you told him you like seeing him all dressed up in magazine he quickly changed his tune.

maybe you took your admiration with hawks too far sometimes, always trying to fit every detail on his face into your brain before he woke up late.

A couple minutes pass by, the familiar tune changes slowly into something hawks can no longer recognize.

He likes it, so he raises his head.

he won’t lie when he says he felt shy at your gaze.

“What’s the song your humming?” He says sleepily.

You smile, “Made it myself, it’s called my boyfriend won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Hawks scoffs, then kisses you softly.

He doesn’t want you staring at him, like he’s a good person. Like he’s something.

You rub his back softly, scratching his wings like you would a cats fur.

When he retreats from the kiss, there it is again.

That stare.

he doesn’t like it.

You look at him like he hasn’t killed, like he hung the stars, like he was born for a reason.

Maybe the reason was to meet you.

hawks thinks it’s a wonderful reason for a moment, he doesn’t feel the first tear fall until he recognizes your face filed with concern.

You cup his head gently into your chest.

“H-hey, hey..what’s wrong hawks?” You say sweetly, your kindness leaking like coming from your mouth.

He hates how he retreats more into you, clutching your scrubs like it’s his lifeline.

You can hear him mumble out apologizes, one after another.

You don’t know what he’s apologizing for though.

“O-oh god- Y/N m’so sorry.” He muffles out from your scrubs.

You card through his hair, “hawks it’s okay, I’m not mad.”

And you wait until his breathes slow, until he stops shaking.

And he can’t bring himself to see you look at him that way again.

He sits up, looking away from you.

You rise as well, rubbing his back.

You watch him lean into his hands, covering his face.

“Hawks, I’m not angry- just tell me you’re okay.” Your voice no longer as strong as it used to be.

he shakes his head. Could he tell you?

no. No, he can’t the commission would have his head for leaking information to a civilian.

would you tell though?

he has so much he wants to spill to you, so- so much.

he doesn’t have to spill the mission yet. He can’t.

“Hawks-“

He could tell you the truth about himself.

“Keigo.” His voice doesn’t shake.

You freeze for a moment, “what?”

“That’s my real name, Keigo Takami.”

You pause for a moment, soaking in the information.

Hawks can’t stop the words from spewing out his mouth, you have that effect on him y’know?

“My parents gave me hell when I was born, I lived in some run down shack and my dad would always make it his mission to hit me real good when I turned my back from him, and-“

Hawks was rambling, it was hard for you to process everything but you got the memo.

His voice was strained slightly when he finished.

He retreats back to his hands, his wings over his shoulders. “I-I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore that hearing that.”

You let out a nervous laugh, “ha- keigo. Why would I leave you?”

Hawks lifts his face from his hands to look at you.

He trips over his words slightly, “because..I-i have too much baggage? that’s what Mirko says.”

“Keigo, ever since Ryuji..” you reach to grab a hold of his face, “I thought I was done for.”

Hawks places his hands on your forearms, but he doesn’t make them move one bit.

“I thought no one would love me after that, but then you flew in. With your dumb wing and cute hair.”

Hawks doesn’t break eye contact with you, you wonder if he even blinked.

“And you tried to be my son’s friend- and you taught him to be a good hero. To be like you.”

He’s sniffles, you can tell he’s trying to keep it together.

“Then you came to me, and I want you to stay even when you’re all old and wrinkly and your wings can barely move like they use to.”

You rub soft circles into hawks cheeks, he enjoys the feeling.

“I’d gladly patch you up after every fight- kiss every mark better. I want you to stay with me- I need you to Keigo.”

Hawks looks down, “I’ll stay then.” He mumbles out.

You candle his head back down to your chest, kissing his head softly.

And all hawks can do is soak it in.

You accepted this part of him, would you except the other?

the one where he’s actively helping the league.

the same one that hurt your Fumikage?

Would you still want him in your home after that?

He doesn’t understand why his heart doesn’t ache at the aspect.

part of him already knows you’d coddle and kiss him after he told you.

part of him knows you wouldn’t blame him for it.

yet he can’t get the words out of his mouth.

maybe it’s cause he can’t move, he feels so safe in your arms so what’s the point?

So safe he rests.

Was telling you about his past the right call?

you don’t really care where hawks came from, just where he is now.

and now he’s with you.

and soon Fumikage will be home, and maybe just maybe he’ll finally accept the “group cuddle” you’d been pushing him to do.

And when you wake, there’s your beautiful boys.

One on top of you and one glaring daggers at you from the door.

“Mother.” Fumikage calls.

“Fumi…”

He sighs, throwing his duffel onto the ground.

“Back from dorm life I see…”

Fumikage huffs a small laugh, he begged Aizawa to let him come home on the weekends.

Then opens his arms walking over to you and hawks.

And finally engulfing you.

Hawks stirs in his sleep, only to wrap one of his wings around Fumikage.

You ruffle Fumikages feathers, “How was your week?”

“Interesting to say the least.” He hums.

“We had to have team battles against the other class, plus Shinso.” His fingers twirl around a loose string from your old shirt.

“Did he getcha?”

“He could never.” He smiles.

Hawks grumbles in his sleep from the noise you and Fumikage are making.

Only then to flutter his pretty eyelashes at you, “Morin’ birdie…”

“gross” Fumikage complains.

Hawks retorts, “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“You take my spot on the bed, my mother, my confidence- you won’t take away my house too…” Fumikage spits back.

You pop into the conversation, “When did he take your confidence?”

“Don’t ask.” They say at the same time, great synchronization.

You chuckle softly as their banter continue, yet hawks wing is still comfortably around Fumikage.

This feels perfect. You wish you could freeze time.

Hawks feels great too, he successfully evaded telling you about the league.

And Fumikage- well he’s just glad to be home.

Hawks didn’t plan on telling you on the information he had.

He wouldn’t tell you what would happen in four months.

that the liberation army would make there attack.

He should really work on that code to tell endeavor and the commission soon.

But for this moment, he’ll enjoy a simple life.

And after the attack, maybe he’ll enjoy it more freely.

And if there’s a bigger battle, maybe the commission won’t need him anymore.

and he’ll enjoy that life with you and Fumikage.

and he’d get to sleep in everyday, sometimes he’d wake up to delicious pancakes- or burnt ones if Fumikages decided to try out the skillet.

“What’re you laughing at.” Fumikage says darkly.

“What? Nothing.” Hawks replies with a big smile on his face.

Fumikage sighs, “get him dark shadow.”

You yelp befofe dark shadow comes out to flick hawks on his “dumb forehead” according to Fumikage.

Yeah, hawks could enjoy this.

He hopes you’ll forgive him in the future for not telling you everything.

And if he has to kill someone…

He hopes you’ll kiss the hands he did it with.

Because then they’ll hurt less when he looks at them.

And when he comes home at the end of today, he’ll enjoy a nice dinner with you and Fumikage.

You’ll get up and gather the plates when everyone’s finished, but Fumikage will insist he’ll do the dishes.

hawks cleans the table, you walk around to sit down on the couch to find some stupid scary movie Fumikage would like.

Then hawks would snuggle into you, and Fumikage would begrudgingly join in.

Fumikage would fall asleep, because according to you he always does.

And he’d have a conversation with you before he himself drifted off.

And before he slept, he’d hear you call his name.

“I love you Keigo.”

Yeah, that’s the simple life hawks wants.

Fumikage smacks his head, “stop day dreaming when mamas speaking to you.”

Hawks perks his head up over to you.

“What would you like for dinner tonight? Fumikage said it was your choice.”

Hawks can feel his stomach flutter.

Yea, he has something to come home to now.

He has you.

And after the battle, he hopes you’ll still have him.

TAG LIST: comment to be tagged!

@lost-in-horrorland @boopjuice @validveenus @qardasngan @arminsarlerts @star-the-rabid-dog @bunni-teeth81 @lightsgore @portgasdbruh @camejlo-35 @marsbars09 @tharae514 @yoongiwantsme @kimahrii @pink-jello-fish @l1vvvvv @miy-svz @bumblebeebutter @lacunaanonymoused @emmmeoo @sinagtala-zip

AN: I didn’t expect to write for mother hen until I answered that ask and then I got into a writing mood so… EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU ANNON!!

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

so, we’ve seen Sebastian and Claude in pre-heat preparation and we’ve seen Sebastian when he’s in heat, but not Claude, soooo can I pretty please ask for a scenario or headcannons about what Claude in heat is like? With tying in his spider behavior and all?

Oh so I have a few of these! I combined these three since these seemed compatible to mix!

(Also Ty Anons I’m so glad you enjoyed em!

So far starters I don’t think he’d just come up to us like Sebastian, he’s the type to just lock himself in his room and try to jerk off until he’s satisfied. (Which doesn’t end the way he wants since his body is craving you know…a mate. He can ‘finish’ on his own just fine but it’s not as good) he leaves a majority of the work to the other servants and will avoid rooms your in unless, you’re alone.

(I got carried away!! Made it a lil weird while I took a break from kinktober! I hope it’s good!)

Claude (heat cycles, afab reader, demon forms, (demon form Claude has a weird flexible tentacle d!ck), Claude’s big flexible tongue, oviposposit!on, )

-

You were surprised to have Hannah greet you at the door to your bedroom. You expected it to be Claude, but she quickly informed you that Claude was ‘feeling under the weather’ which…only happens once a year for an entire week. You went on with your day, you were aware of what he goes through (thanks to the Triplets accidentally telling you while venting) and expected him to come to you if he needed ‘extra help’.

You’d slept with him before, there’s no reason for him to be shy when you’ve ridden his face and sucked his dick before, though it’s been three heats since you’ve first contracted him, you figure he knows what he’s doing. With Hannah you ended up ending the day early and you just went to your room, maybe you’ll sleep early tonight.

You heard the door click open without a knock, before you can say anything you distinctly feel eyes on you. Your desk faces away from the door so you don’t know whose watching you so…intently, you stand up ready to turn and confront them, but your instantly pushed against your desk.

You freeze and try to turn but the person doesn’t let you, arms wrap around your waist and your lifted up like you weigh nothing. You cant see the person but as soon as you feel them carrying you to the door, you kick, trying to get them to let go. “Drop me!” You yelled, hoping it was one of the triplets messing with you.

Whoever it is ignores you and you breathe to scream but a hand covers your mouth. “Please, Master, quiet. I’m t-taking you to my room.” It was Claude, his voice sounded strained and he wasn’t letting you turn to see him. “Sorry to grab you like this, just n-need you.”

You were unceremoniously thrown onto a bed and it took you a second to realize you weee in Claude’s room and on his bed…but there were webs all over the floor and walls, it took you a second to realize the silky sheets you were on weren’t in fact blankets, but finely woven webs. You recoiled at the sight and tried to move backwards to get off the bed but Claude sits behind you and blocks your path.

“Claude this is gross, I don’t want to be surrounded by webs while we-“ You didn’t get to finish before he’s pressed against you with a kiss and his tongue shoved itself down your throat. You jerk under him and writhe away enough to breathe before he’s between your legs. Now that you can see him you can see just how disheveled he looks.

His hair is a mess, his tie is loose and he barely has his clothes on right, you cant help but notice he forgot to even put on an undershirt. He’s removing your pants without even asking so you give him a harsh slap, he doesn’t even flinch. “Claude! What the hell? Don’t you know to ask first! You cant just take me from my room and expect sex!”

Claude seemed taken aback by that, though he seemed to realize what he just did as he bows his head. “I-I’m sorry Master. I-I just need you now, I didn’t t-think you’d care-“ He whines out stopping to adjust the visible arousal he’s trying to hide. “It’s too much to handle on my own, even if you just let me use your hand please-“

He whimpers out more things you don’t catch before you sit up and glance around. His room…looks very different even without the webs, his normally neat room is a mess and there’s broken furniture and you cant help but wonder if he broke it in frustration while trying to avoid getting you.

You show him mercy and undress for him, he follows suit instantly and you can see just how bad his heat is getting him. His cock is dripping pre onto the silk as soon as it’s free. “Lay down.” You order, moving aside so he could. You turned away from him and seated yourself onto his face, leaning down so you could grab his cock.

He whines against you and you feel his tongue drag against your entrance before slipping inside of you. He purred feeling your walls constrict around his tongue. The vibrations gave you a surprise jolt of pleasure. You in turn take the head of his cock into your mouth, gently sucking it to coax a more noise from him.

He visibly flinched upon you taking his arousal into your mouth. You adjust yourself to practically ride his tongue, rolling your hips and stroking the rest of his cock with quick uneven strokes. He bucks up, only for you to completely move away from his cock. “Don’t choke me on your dick.”

Claude whines and his toungue retreats as he lifts you enough of his face to talk. “I-I need to be inside you.” You take it into consideration before lowering yourself onto his face again. He whines in protest but allows his tongue to lap at your clit before slipping into you once more.

“Maybe if you help me get off I’ll help you.” You respond. Claude’s tongue drags along your insides, seemingly twisting inside you in search of your sweet spot. You didn’t need to help him, his tongue can reach everything inside of you with ease, he’s just so excited he keeps missing.

You grab his cock, teasingly ghosting over the head and rubbing the base. He bucks forwards, cock trembling in your grip as pre swells at the head. You squeeze the base, grinding down on his face, feeling him hiss in response. His cock suddenly writhes out of your grip, when you look up, you can see a shadowy haze over Claude as his body shifts.

His cock is more tentacle like in this form, twisting and nearly tying itself in a not as it searches for stimulation. You can feel his firm under you, the warmth providing you comfort, after you had him ‘satiated’ you were definitely using him as a pillow (or maybe a blanket) while you rest.

You can feel him using his extra limbs to rub your breast, massage your clit and hold your hips close to his face. He purrs when your hands return to his cock, stroking it in tube with his own movements. He trembles with every few strokes, cock twisting in your grip causing you to tighten said grip.

“Good,like that.” You praise, earning a deep purr in response, his hips bucking forwards. Your thighs nearly snap shut on him when he finally finds your sweet spot. You don’t need to tell him, your moan lets him know instantly and he’s hitting it repeatedly. To reward him you swallow down his cock and before you can suck it, it wraps around your tongue causing you to gag.

You spat it out but Claude still mewled, hips trembling as he tried to stay still. You huff as you feel your own climax reaching you. His cock weeps as your hot breath teased it. You don’t touch him as causes you a blissful orgasm, you’re legs going limp as you collapse ontop of him.

You’re panting, face centimeters away from his raging erection, panting directly onto it.

You do intend to help him with it but you need to catch your breath. You watched in amusement as it seemingly stiffened more with each breath until it was so swollen it couldn’t do anything but twitch. It brushed against your cheek, then Claude practically screamed, completely muffled by your sex.

He cums against your cheek, just short of your mouth as he trembles, body going completely stiff. You get off him, adjusting yo place your weight in his lap, getting his attention. Four pairs of eyes watch you grab his cock, taking it to your entrance and lowering yourself on his still orgasming cock.

He whines, his shaft sensitive as you used his knees to brace yourself before riding him with no care. Claude mewled happily, bucking up a few times before he’s limp under you, cock spilling the last of his mess into you. “T-th-ank you M-My Queen.”

“I’m not fucking done yet, I love it when your dick is like this!” You slam down with each thrust, squeezing his still hard shaft while he recovered. His heat kept him excited, allowing you to use his stiff cock like a dildo while he trembled and recovered from days of aching finally being taken care of.

He was thrilled you let him finish inside of you, he’d let you ride him till he’s unconscious if it meant he could finish inside of you. His swollen shaft ached with every stroke, feeling like it’s going to burst while stimulate him.

You pause open feeling what seemed like his cock expanding inside of you.

You jump off him quickly, startled, when you look down you see your suspicions confirmed. Claude desperately whimpered, cock bobbing as you undoubtedly ruined his second orgasm…

A small, circular swollen spot moved from the base of his cock to the tip, it seeming was stuck, as Claude quickly stroked himself, noticeably squeezing himself from base to tip to force his cum to push whatever it was out.

The entire time he’s sobbing and whining, if you didn’t know any better you’d think you broke something down there…

You finally get to see the object nearly a minute later, it finally emerges fro his swollen cock, popping out with a ‘squelch’ that made you cringe. The way it forced his cock open looked painful, though he continued stroking himself feverishly, bucking into his own hand.

You pick up the object an realize, it’s an egg.

You look up and see another small bump working it’s way up his still hard cock. You examine the egg in your hand, it’s maybe the size of a golf ball, a little pressure made it give, your certain you could crush it easily. You hold it in your hand, watching Claude continue to try to milk the rest of his clutch out, without the cum aiding his shaft, it was difficult, and you noticed, there were a few at the base of his cock.

You decide to experimentally help him, pulling the lotion (or lube you couldn’t really see) from the night stand, pouring it on the engourged head of his cock. You practically squeeze it into his shaft and your hand is suddenly stroking him, his own hands pushed out of the way.

“D-don’t stroke d-down!” He squeaked out, legs shaking as they were pressed together. “I-it hurts, just, stroke up, squeeze, like I-I-it’s..” He paused thinking of an example. “T-tooth paste? T-they are d-durable b-but there’s no room t-to push them d-down.”

“Even in your heat you wish to lecture me?” Nonetheless you do as advices and he melts. He’s purring, cock spitting out three more eggs, you are about to stop but he bucks up. “Wait, there’s more?”

Claude nods. “I c-cant tell how many, I-there was no p-pressure t-they are supposed t-to come f-faster…” You let the eggs pool on his stomach, the white eggs standing out against the black fur.

He’s whimpering and just shy of thrashing you off of him as another couple of eggs started working their way up his aching cock. They come out quite quickly as his cock has recovered enough to build up pre again.

You are left with eight eggs, you notice his cock still hasn’t softened but you put the eggs aside first. “Still got a few left in you?” You tease, getting ontop of him again. He nods, too tired to respond. “Tell me when you are close or I’m forcing every one of these eggs back into your cock.”

He shudders at the thought, cock jumping inside you.

[pwr3tties]

“Hey babe, who’s this?” You asked softly, pressing the phone into Reo’s hands. “Who? Oh, that’s Cammie- or Cameron, Cameron Taylor. She’s my best friend from high school.” He replied calmly, returning to his phone as you hummed. You didn't completely like his response but decided not to push it. He could have friends that were females, no big deal. Right? Right. But you couldn’t shake the thought of this ‘childhood friend’ you’d never heard of before.

Clicking on her icon, you scrolled through her profile, randomly tapping on photos you thought were pretty— or showed signs of your boyfriend cheating, but there was nothing except for the overly nice post and the flirtatious captions she typed tagging @reomikage. You weren’t jealous, no. You were precisely watching out for your boyfriend.

—

Months went by, and your second-year anniversary poked around the corner. Everything was fine until a rumour spread that ‘Supermodel Cameron Taylor and Soccer Sensation Reo Mikage Were Secretly Dating’ after being seen exiting a fancy hotel together, laughing about something while holding hands.

You better than anyone knew the internet loved to twist things around and make it look one way even though it was another, but the sight of your boyfriend being all ‘lovey dovey’ with another woman churned your stomach. But you didn’t bring this up. You knew what you had signed up for by involving yourself with a professional soccer player and successor.

—

Today Reo had a big game against PXG, and you surprised him with your presence after declining, saying you had an important conference that day. Luckily your boss also was a fan of your boyfriend’s team and let everyone out early to watch the game.

Settling in your seat in the front row behind Manshine’s bench, you notice a flawless brunette waving toward none other than your boyfriend, who was waving right back at her. You almost vomited at their interaction but retained yourself. After all, she was his best friend.

The game ended in a win for Manshine City, and you rushed to their locker rooms to congratulate Reo, but someone had already beat you to it. “[Y/N]? Is that you? I thought you said you couldn’t come?” Stepping closer to you, Reo reached out his hand to hold you, the same hand he crested his ‘best friend’ with.

“Suprise..!”

“Reo, is this your girlfriend? She doesn’t look like I’d imagined.. but still! She’s.. cute?” It would be an understatement even to say that she insulted you all while your boyfriend stood there watching with no intention of defending you.

Uncomfortable enough, you excused yourself, telling Reo you’d meet him at home, allowing the two to talk.

—

“Reo—“

“—Can’t right now. I’m going out with Cameron!” Without letting you finish, he slammed the door shut, rushing to his car.

“.. I love you.”

—

“Reo, it’s 3 AM right now. Where are you coming from?”

“Sorry, Cameron’s party lasted longer than anticipated.” He replied, slipping off his shoes. “I told you not to wait up for me.”

“That’s beside the point. You didn’t call or text to tell me where you were or that you weren’t hurt or missing—“

“[Y/N]! I’m tired. Can we go to bed, please?”

“.. I think I’ll sleep down here tonight.” You replied, returning to the couch, attempting to make it more suitable to sleep on.

“If that’s what you want. Go ahead.”

—

“Reo, we need to talk.” You demanded as he picked up his jacket off the rack. “Can it happen after? I’m hanging out with some old friends.” He pled, twisting the knob, ready to leave.

“Reo, I’m breaking up with you.”

Silence..

“You’re what? No, no, no, why?” He finally turned to look at you after what felt like months.

“I can’t do this anymore. You love Cameron. Everyone sees and knows it. I can’t be stuck as the second option forever.” You said, staring him right into his eyes, the same ones that used to look at you so lovingly.

“Second option? Cameron? Baby, no, Cameron’s only a friend!”

“Please stop lying to yourself. Mikage, I think it’s better if we stopped seeing each other for good.” That was the last thing you said before leaving the house while Reo ran upstairs searching for your things.

Nothing. Everything was gone. How did he not notice? How could he be so foolish and let someone so loving and kind like you go..?

How did he lose the one person who wasn’t with him for fame or riches? How did he manage to lose the person ‘he wanted to spend the rest of his life with’?

How did he manage to let go of you?

His ‘so-call’ best friend, that’s how. Taking a step back, he recalled all the moments that he failed to show up for you and instead went to spoil his ‘best friend.’ All the moments that he would rather spend millions to get attention from the supermodel than to freely receive affection from the woman he had at home.

The times he neglected you, thinking you were wrapped around his finger like everyone else, forgetting you were a real human being with emotions, needs and a heart.

If he could, he’d turn back time and fix all the moments he messed up. But he can’t, so now he has to settle for stalking your Instagram as he watches you and your fiancé slowly dance in your kitchen in your share house. As your new love stares at you as he should have. As your fiancé loves you the way you deserve to be loved.

Now he is, at your wedding, staring at you as you walk down the aisle with your cousin throwing flowers before you as you stop at the altar and wrapping your hands around your husband’s neck while tippy-toeing to kiss him.

Except, it’s not Reo. It’s his best friend, Nagi Seishiro.

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Ten (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Hope you like this next instalment! It’s a long one, and it’s a flashback, so it feels like a HUGE RISK to shove this in so far into the story. However, this memory of Santiago’s and reader’s is SO vivid in my mind I feel I could basically use it as a patronus charm. Therefore, if you’re at all invested in these two by now, I do feel like the payoff is worth it, and that it will set you up PERFECTLY for the next, concluding chapter! (Also: ooh, intrigue, as we get to see how they were with each other back in their youth, you know?). Anyway, as always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. ILY :-*

P.s. there’s a timeline goof as a song mentioned in this, although recorded in ‘88, was not released until 2015. But we’re just gonna look past that, okay? 😝 In this world it was released early. 

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

Word count: 16.6k for this part. (SORRY!)

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Many years earlier

Santiago is tired. Ready to crawl into the cocoon of his bed and draw the covers over his head, refusing to surface again until he’s dragged feet first outta there. Unfortunately for him though, sleep is not on the cards. 

Instead, he has a vitally important mission to attend to. And, in the face of a mission, this particular soldier never settles for anything less than completion. That doctrine is especially true - he has proven time and again - when it comes to taking care of you. 

Tonight, Santiago is tasked with making your birthday a memorable one; or, as memorable as he can muster with the $40 he currently has to his name. 

“Civilian aircraft, man. Where’s a goddamn helo when you need one?” you fruitlessly complain as he nods along in sympathy.

Evidently, sleep is the last thing on your mind. You’d been looking forward to cutting loose for weeks, with this night touted as ��the birthday to end all birthdays”. Serendipitously, this was the first time your birthday had coincided with a period of leave since you signed up to serve and, thwarting all that, your connecting flight was grounded unexpectedly.

Santiago feels crushed - on your behalf - that the plans have gone so pear-shaped. 

“One o’ these days, getting shot for the Motherland will gain me some fucking privileges, huh?”

Santiago flinches at that particular addition. He doesn’t like to think about that day. That day’d had him waking up in frequent cold sweats going on a year now. He’d put himself on the line countless times - no problem- but almost losing you had been decidedly different. Had been the single most terrifying moment of his career (and his life) to date, all told. Which sure was saying something considering the hairy situations he routinely found himself in. 

Graciously, your present circumstances are considerably less dire. You’ve still been griping, of course. And, your complaints have not succeeded in changing a damn thing. It is now abundantly clear - if it wasn’t already - that the two of you are stranded for the night. So, here you are, holed up in a dingy and characterless airport motel in Philadelphia. 

It beats enemy fire, for sure… but even so, Santiago is acutely aware of how much you’ve been looking forward to this. To the rare chance to catch-up with your far flung squad mates, scattered every which way across the globe since graduating basic. He knows too, that the anticipation of this reunion had acted as your glue - had held you together - through what had been a particularly brutal deployment. 

“I haven’t seen Miller in months, man. I need to give that bastard some grief soon or I’m going to lose my damn mind.” 

“We can call that pendejo tomorrow,” Santiago soothes, popping a stick of gum and beginning to chew obnoxiously. “Hey. We can even pool our insults, huh? Really get him going.” 

You raise your palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. “Shit. I just miss the fucker, Santiago.” For the first time tonight he hears your voice break, your stoicism cracking apart and revealing your soft middle. 

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

Santiago knows how crushed you are. And so, for whatever it’s worth, the man resolves to show you the best night he possibly can, all circumstances considered. 

“Come on,” he encourages, kneeling before you as your lower lip quivers. He plants a hand on your thigh and jostles your leg gently. Meanwhile, you sit slumped on the long edge of the lumpy motel bed, beginning to feel rather more sorry for yourself. “You and me, baby. I’ll make this night special, I swear. Just give me a chance, huh?” 

“How?” you sound, throwing your palms up and gesturing to your dismal surroundings. “This place is barely even a step-up from the barracks.” You eye a particularly suspect stain on the carpet with disdain. “Actually, I think it might even be a step down.”

Santiago’s face crumples obediently in a measured display of sympathy, but honestly, his first instinct is to chuckle. You look so forlorn in this moment, Santiago has to consciously suppress his smile. You are the most stubborn, ferocious, determined person he’s ever met. You are fucking tough. Hell, he’s seen Staff Sergeants buckle in a crisis before you’ve even come close to breaking - and yet here you are. Almost in tears because you can’t make your birthday party. It’s all a little incongruous to him that out of everything, this would be the thing to take you down. 

At the same time though, of course. He understands it perfectly. 

Santiago has understood for a long time now that you possess a (well-concealed) softer side. Knows it better than most others do, in fact. As you’ve gradually allowed him to sneak past your militia-guarded perimeter -only a soldier of his calibre capable of making it, he’d wager - he’s begun to catch more and more frequent glimpses of the achingly soft heart you guard within. If your tough exterior had initially magnetised him to you, it was your soft heart which ensured he’d stuck around.

Solemnly then, he pats your thigh in a consolatory gesture. Of course, Santiago gets it. He knows it isn’t the presents or the attention or fuss which you’ll miss tonight - though they would have gone over well too, he’s sure. He knows that it is your brothers (in arms, if not blood) that you are feeling the loss of. The squad mates you love dearly, and to whom you are loyal with a tenacity Santiago has rarely witnessed. A loyalty he too feels blessed -strictly in the lapsed Catholic sense - to be on the receiving end of. 

Valiantly fighting back glassy tears, you pop your lower lip in a display of petulance as he rubs reassuring circles into your knee. “Philly sucks ass.” 

This time, he can’t quite quash his smile all the way. 

“Philly sucks ass, huh?” he repeats, buying himself time to think. 

Santiago isn’t sure whether you know that for a fact. He isn’t even sure you’ve ever been to Philly before to assess how much ass it does or does not suck. But, he does know that, irregardless of facts, you seem altogether determined to wallow in your self-pity. 

Santiago has noticed this about you. How you always developed an inalienable picture in your head of how you hope things will end up. It’s inspirational at times - your ability to visualise victory, for example, even in the most dire of circumstances, has held missions together. Has held him together. At other times though, it only set you up for disappointment. How could it not, when, through no fault of your own, you cannot reliably manifest the various futures you set your heart on. 

It’s not as though you ever ask for a lot; but sometimes, in your profession, even asking for a little is asking far too much. 

Still, it is brave, Santiago thinks, to hope for things. For his part, he has learned the hard way not to hope for anything much. 

Your shoulders sag in time with his as he exhales a breath and, though your display is dejected, Santiago gathers a soft smile. You are stubborn, that’s for sure, but in him you’ve met your match - or so he likes to think. Santiago is perhaps the only person who could reasonably claim the title of being twice as stubborn as you are, and (while he realises deep down he probably shouldn’t wear that as a badge of honour) he has often pushed his theory to its limit. And so, stubbornly, refusing to give up, Santiago rises to standing. He fishes around in his jeans pocket, yanks out a fistful of dimes and small bills, and brandishes them victoriously. 

He waves them enticingly in front of your face then, but you forlornly swat them -and him- away. However, he knows from the dull, reluctant spark in your eyes when he makes his pitch that he is finally on to something. “I saw some peanut butter cups in the hallway vending machine,” he sing-songs, with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. He knows fine well they’re your favourite, and he can’t believe he’d forgotten his secret weapon: chocolate. “We can clean them out, take a cab, find some shitty ass dive bar, and have ourselves a sweet ol’ time. Whaddya say?” 

Nothing else had worked, and so Santiago is eminently thankful when a smile finally twitches your mouth. Honestly, he’d been about one attempt away from offering to eat you out all night - and he hadn’t been sure whether that would’ve made you happy, or would’ve resulted in you verbally lambasting him.

On balance, he figured it was probably best that he didn’t risk either kind of tongue-wagging. 

“Fine,” you concede whilst swallowing a mischievous grin, not at all eager to let on that Santiago has finally cracked you. “But don’t you be expecting to muscle in on my Reese’s, understood?” 

Santiago chuckles warmly, slipping into Spanish. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Birthday Princess.”

You snort at your newly bestowed title, playfully adjusting an invisible crown on your head, and you extend your palm towards his to shake on it. The gesture, as Santiago’s palm over-enthusiastically clasps yours, causes dimes and bills to scatter chaotically to the floor. A shit-eating grin etches itself across his face and meanwhile, your boisterous laugh rings out through the tight space. “Shit, Pope. Don’t drop it on this grim-ass fucking carpet.”

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?” 

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

“And you don’t know where the hell he’s been?”

“The opposite. I shared a bunk with that hijo de puta, I know exactly where he’s been.”

With easy laughter eddying between you now, you both crouch, carefully gathering up the spoils of the latest Pope/Catfish wager to change hands. 

“I really need to meet that guy.” 

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.” 

Your hand brushes Santiago’s as you transfer him a mess of coins, sending a trail of goosebumps shivering up his arm. It always surprises him how soft you feel to the touch, accustomed as he has become to his own calloused hands - and to those of even rougher men than him. 

“Garcia. I swear to you I’ve never clapped eyes on the bastard.”

“You just don’t remember him.” 

“Shit. Well maybe he’s not very fucking memorable. Jog my memory. What did we talk about?” 

His shit-eating grin is back. “I dunno. But I bet you talked for the both of you.”

“Hey!” you protest, batting Santiago lightly -more or less- in the upper arm. 

“I just mean he’s quiet. Takes a while to warm up, that’s all. But he’s a good guy. You’ll like him, I promise.” 

“Okay.” You shove the remaining dime into Santiago’s palm.

“Okay?” 

“He’s clearly special to you, so he’s special to me too. Introduce me to him. Again.” 

Santiago smiles at you, gentle crinkles forming around his eyes. He’s already told Frankie so much about you, and he really thinks the two of you will get on. “Deal.” You both stand, and Santiago once again extends his cash-filled hand towards you. 

With a cheeky grin you chide him, not eager for a repeat calamity, but your tone is fond. “Don’t you dare shake on it, idiota.” 

Your smile digresses to your eyes. You extend your palm to pat him on his stubbled cheek - in a gesture weighing heavily with affection. Your lips animate, and Santiago wonders whether something sentimental might actually come to the fore. 

You whisper, low. “You have thirty seconds to get me my peanut butter cups.” 

He chortles and, for the first time (perhaps since imagining his head between your legs), Santiago is eminently excited to see where the night will lead him. 

Safe to say, he might be dog-tired… but he finally feels like staying awake. 

***

Despite your very vocal distaste for the music, and the clientele, and…well, just about everything in the first dive bar you and Santiago stumble across, the combination of cheap beers and even cheaper shots has succeeded in getting you efficiently merry. And, despite your earlier reticence, you now seem plenty eager to continue the party. 

Considering he could only afford cab fare from the motel to a dead neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city, it wasn’t going too badly, he thought. Though, Santiago had hastily steered you outta the first joint when a group of creeps had started leching on you. He knows you can handle yourself and he wouldda been happy to back you; but tonight especially, conflict is the last thing he wants for you. He figures you’ve had more than enough of that to last a lifetime. That you finally deserve a little peace. So, instead, he links your arm in his to keep your tipsy ass steady as he steers you down the main drag, desperately searching his mind - and scanning the unfamiliar streets - for what to do next. 

His mission, as it stands, is to satiate your threefold desire - for drinks, dancing, and good music. Tricky, given that he is already down to $10 dollars, give or take - and he’ll need that for the cab ride back to the crummy motel. 

Truth is, as he ambles with you for a few blocks, he is running out of ideas for how to show you a good time. What’s more, ever since he first entertained the idea, in his desperation, all his dumb ass can come up with is to offer to eat you out until morning. It’s pretty much becoming an intrusive thought at this point and, as the sordid image of you spread out for him further invades his mind, he quickly tries to blink it away. 

He doesn’t want to be that guy. You receive more than enough unwarranted attention as it is. And besides, Santiago would never want you to misinterpret that the reason he hangs around is to -eventually- get in your pants. 

You are so much more than that to him. Sometimes, he even has to keep his distance, so that in moments of weakness he doesn’t forget it. 

You’d held him at arms length for a while there too. 

Soldiers; not friends. 

He hadn’t won you over, he knew, because of his sparkling wit and charm. You’d been drawn to him because he was competent. Surprisingly level-headed for someone so baby-faced. You’d wanted people you could work with. People you could trust to get the job done; because you had to trust them with your life. 

The two of you have some undeniable chemistry, that’s for sure. At least, on his end, he’d felt something fierce and magnetic right out of the gate. Even so, from the outset, and even as your friendship had deepened, the two of you had seemed to quickly forge a tacit agreement. 

Friends; not lovers. 

You had made the assessment quickly, jointly, unconsciously. After all, under the rather intense circumstances in which you’d met? You’d each needed a friend - a genuine friend - far more than you’d needed a lay. For you especially, as he understood it, the former had been far more difficult to secure than the latter, especially as a woman in a highly-charged cesspit of toxic masculinity. And for him? Well, as talented as Santiago is at gaining connections, he doesn’t find all too many people he is willing to go deep with. To trust - and he trusts you with his life. 

When he’d found you then, he’d grabbed firmly on to you, and had resolved that nothing would get in the way of the friendship you’d forged. Not even - or perhaps especially not - his own… urges. 

Still. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. Not like you’ve never gotten him a tad… flustered. Indeed, as the rhythm of your steps marching in time beside him lulls him into calmness, feeling safe, his mind wanders in precisely that direction. 

So what though? He’s only human, right? Prone to fantasising; like he is now, he supposes, as he thinks vaguely about licking and kissing down your enticing, bare expanse of stomach. About popping the button on those low slung jeans. Shimmying them down over your hips just enough to sink his mouth over the mound of you and suck. 

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something. 

He swallows then, feeling guilty for being such a horndog, and he turns to you. You seem to be perfectly content. To be enjoying the hit of fresh air, the apples of your cheeks sheened, with a subtle glow, from the exertion of your dance moves back in the dive bar. And honestly? Looking at you? As guilty as he feels for thinking about you like that, Santiago can’t muster a single better idea of what to do with you. 

He pushes it down, of course. Chalks it up to being just a tad pent-up following a seemingly endless deployment. That’s all it is, right? His dick is just looking for a little relief, and you are the closest, attractive body capable of providing him a warm welcome? 

Sure, he rationalises. That’s all it is. He can find a girl one night soon and take her home, like he’s done plenty of times before to work out his urges. Except for the fact that seeing you out of those (helpfully) modest fatigues is reminding him you are exactly his type. 

“You’ve gone quiet, Pope,” you frown as he -no doubt- looks at you dopily. “What are you plotting?” 

With your question, Santiago tears himself violently from his thoughts as you interrupt their increasingly feral trajectory. Still, in scrambling for a deflection, all he is able to land on is something else deep and wet. “The Mariana Trench,” he fumbles. 

Hell. Maybe he isn’t quite as smart as he gives himself credit for. Or, maybe all the blood is simply rushing to his crotch instead of his brain - for some reason. 

Even so. He urges himself to get his mind out of the gutter and to focus up. You deserve so much more than bearing the brunt of his accumulated sexual frustrations. So. Much. More. 

You laugh at his response though, oblivious as you are to his inner monologue, even linking your arm into his more tightly - as though he isn’t a huge perv. Your bright, infectious, beer-addled laugh bounces off of the surrounding asphalt and concrete. And, whilst it ricochets off of everything else, it sinks into him, mixing just a little more of you into his generic, rapidly dissolving fantasy. It offers a luminous gilding around the edges of his hazy desire, stirring in a vivid and more golden want than he has strength in this moment to acknowledge - never mind name. 

“Okay, weirdo. Sure. You’re thinking about the butt crack of the ocean? Miller been feeding you National Geographic documentaries again? You guys do know pay-per-view exists, right?” 

“Fine. You got me,” he confesses, your paces slowing as you gradually halt by the crosswalk, the two of you realising you have no particular destination in mind. “That was bullshit. I was actually thinking about what the hell I’m gonna do with you next.” 

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly. 

Santiago looks you up and down where you stand, out of habit more than anything - a result of that now familiar “buddy up” system soldiers make use of to check each other for injuries. Sometimes, with the adrenaline and the shock, you don’t even know you’re bleeding out. This time, thankfully, the only ailment Santiago notices is the goose flesh prickling your skin, and he wishes that he had a jacket to offer you to keep you warm. 

“Oh?” You turn your body in to face him. Sway just a tad, eyes a little bleary, and Santiago instinctually plants his hands around your waist to keep you stable, touching on the smooth, bare skin where your ratty old band tee fails to meet your waistband - by approximately the width of four thick fingers. You shiver even though his touch must be warm. “Okay. Well what are you going to do with me, Santiago?” 

You blink at him then, your eyes wide and - dare he say - hopeful, one eyebrow arcing in idle curiosity. 

You are typically the decisive one. You are always clear on what you want. Tonight, however, it is evident that you are counting on him to lead you somewhere. 

Even though he doubts his ability to take the lead, rather fortuitously, Santiago does (miraculously) manage to stumble upon one single idea outside of the realm of cunnilingus… “Hey, come here,” he coaxes, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes.” You oblige him, folding your grip around him, firm and sure. His heart swells a little at the instant, implicit trust you exhibit - no hesitation. “Do you hear that?” 

Santiago’s eyes remain open, observing you as your eyes blink clumsily shut. You slide your soft hands up his forearms, bracing yourself with a gentle “woah”, no doubt as the closing of your eyes makes your alcohol-saturated world sway and swirl just a little more intensely. “Listen, cariño,” he scolds good-naturedly, cupping his palms at your elbows. “Do you hear it?”

He can’t help but smile as your face scrunches in adorable contemplation. Then, he can’t help smiling even wider, as you begin to tap his arms and jump excitedly up and down on the spot. You hear it too then. The distant thud of music bouncing off of the tall buildings. 

“Music!” you exclaim excitedly, opening your eyes and grinning at him, still bouncing on the spot like an excited kid. 

The full beam of your unfiltered smile knocks him for six for second. It has been a while, honestly, since he’s seen it glow that bright. Turned all the way up. You’d gone through some shit on this deployment. Blood, horror, pain; rinse and repeat. Some of your spark had understandably dulled, and honestly, he had worried -in part, a little selfishly- that it might never come back to its full strength.

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong. 

Santiago had quickly come to learn that you possess a singular combination of character traits - and not only the magical ability to piss him off more than anyone else could. No, in fact, he’d learned quickly that you possess a singular kind of zest for life. One which he’d feared was too pure to survive long in the dark. Honestly, he’d believed your optimism and your joy was naive at first. Something to be knocked out of you in boot camp. But he was wrong so far. At every turn you endure. At every turn, you shine. As he feels increasingly bogged down, saturated with inky, oily shadows, you are bright. His guiding light, always calling him home from the edge of the dark, shadow-coiled path he skirts. 

“Do we follow it?” you ask excitedly, the glint of adventure in your bright eyes, and in that moment he could swear he’d follow you anywhere. 

“Yeah. Of course we follow it. It’s our goddamn duty to follow it.” Santiago stomps his boot and waves his arm in a sloppy military salute - the kind that would earn him fifty push-ups back at base. You follow suit, even more sloppy, but entirely resolute in your faux seriousness. 

“Tonight, I swear my oath and pledge my allegiance to music, so help me God.” 

Santiago stomps emphatically again, for effect - an overblown, cheesy action-movie-style salute, his strong jaw set in an overly caricatured display. You beam again, a face-splitting grin, and he…

…realises he is having fun. 

In this moment, you are giddy. You are bright. Full of life, and Santiago briefly wonders if this is how things could be. If it could be like this all the time if only you could get out. If you could leave the military behind. God. You are the last person he wants to lose from his side, but a knot twists in his stomach at the thought you should get out while you still can. Before it drags you down like it is him. Before he drags you down with him, since you’ve seemingly tied your fates to his with red bloodied ribbons, wound between your bones and his. 

He doesn’t have much time to consider those things though. To let the blood seep into the edges like it always does; because you start running. You take Santiago’s hand in yours and run towards the distant thud of noise, leading him behind you and laughing and whooping as you do. Making a grey night in a grey part of town feel vibrant. Making him feel vibrant by association. He realises only then how numb he’s felt lately. How your buoyant smile had been the only thing to feed his own these past months. 

You are so much more than a throwaway fantasy to him. 

You truly are the friend he’s needed so desperately, and feels so, so lucky to have found. 

He runs with you, and he hopes, silently, selfishly, somewhere in the pit of him, that your paths never wind in different directions. 

He’ll follow you anywhere. 

***

After a few, giddy, chaotic minutes of tracing the ricocheting sounds, you find yourselves in the lobby of a seedy hotel, breaths sawing in and out of your lungs and mirthful, intermittent giggles spilling out of you. 

“I’m on the guest list!” you insist with a hiccough, trying your utmost to blag your way into the wedding party contained beyond the double doors; the established source of the music. 

Your assertion is much to the chagrin of the teenaged, stoner-looking kid on the front desk, who is clearly milking his new-found authority for all it’s worth. 

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?” 

Santiago looks at you expectantly, his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his chest already shaking and nose scrunching with a mildly tipsy, sleep-deprived concoction of mischief. 

“The name’s Trench,” you deadpan, and the poor fellow actually begins to skim his index finger down the alphabetised list. “Mariana Trench.” 

Santiago eyeballs you. Honestly, half of him is awed by your balls, even as the other half is despairing of your chosen (and completely unnecessary) alias. Still, he sees the funny side, of course, and has to swallow a hearty laugh by faux coughing into his fist. 

There are not many factors helping your case here; especially the fact your body is already unconsciously bopping along to the music. Santiago has to physically encourage you back to your spot with his arm around your middle, and, as the rhythm continually beckons you forth, he hastily tucks you into his side in a fruitless attempt to subdue you. 

By the time Santiago’s gaze flicks back to the kid at the desk, he’s folded his arms over his chest like a stern math teacher, clearly enjoying his upper hand. “Dude,” the kid probes sceptically, perhaps sensing that Santiago is the more sensible (or at least more sober) of the two of you. “What are the names of the bride and groom?” 

“Nicole and Dio,” Santiago fires off smugly, causing you to first gasp and - second - to gawk at him like a fish (which is funny, because for all you know he’s made those up too). 

“How did you know that?” you hiss-whisper, thinking you are being oh so subtle, and Santiago elbows you discreetly in the ribs for your trouble. This time though, he is unable to stifle his laughter entirely, a throaty chuckle shaking out of him, and the crinkles around his eyes rehearsing deeper future furrows. 

Meanwhile, whilst the kid at the desk continues to eye him sceptically, he cannot refute Santiago’s knowledge. The soldier silently praises his undeniable powers of observation - and the fact the kid seems to have entirely forgotten about the huge fuck-off sign standing in the entrance lobby. 

“Yeah. Still no.” This kid is a tough nut. 

“Shit,” you plead. “Well can I at least use the restroom?” 

“I guess that’s fine,” the kid concedes with an eye roll, gesturing towards the left hand side of the lobby. 

You saunter off, beelining towards the door with such ferocity that you whack your hip off of the doorframe on the way in there. 

Santiago winces in time with your “ouch!”, but as you throw your arms in the air, triumphantly insisting you are fine, he turns his attention back to his mission; to get you whatever you want for your birthday. 

Sporting the friendliest smile he can muster in the full knowledge this kid behind the desk hates him already, Santiago mosies up to the counter. 

“Come on, buddy. Hook us up,” he reasons. “It’s a Tuesday night and everywhere else is closed by now.” 

“Dude, your attempts to get laid are not my issue.” 

“No. No, it’s… She’s my friend. It’s her birthday and-”

“-Then take her to a fucking Chilli’s, bro. Still not my problem.” 

Santiago huffs, still trying to keep his face neutral. Non-threatening. He needs to step things up before you return from the restroom. 

“Listen, buddy.” The kid scowls at him then as if to confirm - I’m emphatically not your buddy. “Do you know what it’s like to be shot in service of your country?” 

“What?!”

He nods behind him, in your general direction, his eyebrows pumping up towards his hairline (and reaching for a hasty explanation before the kid presses the under-desk alarm button). “Because she does.” Santiago rests his folded arms up on the counter. Leaning-in. Going all out with the eye contact. “When I tell you she’s had a shitty time of it? Lying on the ground, bleeding out. So, look, man. I just want to give her a good time tonight, alright? Would you please help me out, man? She’s fucking earned this.”

A gulp trails down the kid’s neck, and he tucks his long, straight blonde hair behind his ears. “You’re intense, bro. Anyone ever told you that?” 

Santiago opens his mouth again, wishing to further embellish his case; but before he can do so the kid caves, waving his palms in total surrender. “Fuck, man. Do what you want, but for the love of God, would you just stop talking to me?”

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Yep. Whatever. Don’t get paid enough for this shit, bro.”

Santiago hears the door swing behind him, and joins you just in time to lead you further into the building, pleased that he is able to report victory. He’s almost forgotten about the front desk already - until the kid calls after him, growing bolder the further you two retreat, apparently. “This is why I’m a pacifist, dude! You might wanna think about it.” 

“Sure thing,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

Then, Santiago gently ushers you into the corridor leading towards the party, taking a moment to celebrate his “smooth-talking”. Before he can even think about bragging though, you throw your arms up in the air in a tada gesture and exclaim “you are welcome!”. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’d had no part in getting past the gate, and so instead, he opts to finally vent his quashed laughter. The fact you’d name-dropped Mariana Trench, specifically, supplies a giggle hearty enough that it makes his abs ache.

“Oh. By the way. How do I look?” you question, when the two of you are just shy of making an entrance to the main hall. 

Santiago turns to you and looks you up and down. Notices the fresh application of smeared red over your plush mouth. Surveys your jeans and tee with approval, as though you are outfitted in a gown. “Good, chica.” 

“Good!” You step forward then, towards him, and lay your palms flat on his upper chest. “Now. You know what I wanna do?” For a split second, with your proximity, and the husky thrall of your voice, Santiago finds himself imagining what you might want to do to him - if he should be so lucky. “I wanna dance. Will you dance with meeee, Santiaaaaggooo?” 

Santiago feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. Tries hard to forget that… well… red lipstick and dancing? They are - more often than not -  your highly decipherable code for being horny. Shit - he wonders if you are as pent up as he is. 

“You got it!” he musters, getting himself quickly in check. Christ, he needs to prioritise getting laid  - just as soon as he is no longer wholly dedicated to your birthday. 

“Yay!” 

You lead him by the hand and, once again, Santiago does not complain. Then, swinging open one of two double doors, plastered with unsightly fire regulations, you enter the fray. 

The doors open on a busy room, bathed in beams of chaotic coloured light. In reality, the interior is drab. A sad, grey, carpeted room. A few busted ceiling tiles up top. The circular event tables are flanked by a sorry stage at one side - fronted by a sticky, modest square of dance floor - and a small bar at the other. Finally, the far wall is edged with a rather depleted buffet, and intermittent bowls of greying macaroni. Whilst the room itself is nothing to write home about, however, the jubilation inside makes it feel positively wonderful. 

Santiago feels only for a split second like he is intruding. Within moments, he is all wrapped-up in the buzz. Enveloped by it. The band’s amps are turned up far too loud. The dance floor is awash with couples gyrating on each other and groups of singles circling each other, looking for an in. Throngs of friends and family are grouped throughout the room, laughing and chatting, taking photos on disposable cameras and clinking glasses, and when the two of you enter, matching smiles plastered on your faces, no-one even bats an eye. 

“We’re really doing this?” Santiago raises his voice above the tremor of the music. “Crashing a fucking wedding?”

“Relax! It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done, Garcia. It’s not even against the Geneva Convention.” 

“Jesus! I’m not a fucking war criminal!”

“Relax, Santiago,” you encourage, tone soothing and your hands massaging into his shoulders; and, finally, he lets himself. For once, he lets his guard down. So, as you travel deeper into the room, Santiago begins to move a little less like a soldier on patrol, and allows his gait to loosen up. Allows himself to approach the room not as a soldier on high alert, but simply as some guy with his buddy, looking for a good time. “Attaboy,” you encourage, seeing him visibly unclench - a rare thing. “We’re good, alright? Hey. I’ll even leave a pack of Reese’s on the table. That way, we even brought a gift.” 

“And you’ll keep a low profile, right?” 

“Of course!” You flash him a faux innocent grin, which he sees right through. 

Yeah, figures, he thinks. Honestly, he isn’t sure you are capable of blending in - stealth ops aside, of course. But here? Without your camo and a distinct lack of a gilly suit? Baby, look at you, you’re gonna be noticed. 

“Alright. We dance. Just keep it low key or-“

“-Sure, sure,” you dismiss, waving your hand through the air as though to erase his plea. “But first, tequilaaaa!” 

Evidently, you are ignoring him completely, and yet the beaming smile on your face is so utterly worth it that Santiago could care less. “Eh. Whatever you say, Princesa.” 

You wink at him. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

Santiago watches you skip gracelessly over to the bar, making zero attempt to blend into the crowd (unsurprising). You order up two shots, downing one instantly and handing the other to him with a jubilant, mildly devilish grin. At this stage, Santiago is deliberately a few drinks behind you, having wanted to remain sober enough to take care of you. So, he figures he has a little wiggle room remaining before he reaches the point of no return. Egged on by your encouraging nods, he tips it down the hatch. 

“Cheers!” you exclaim, clumsily clinking your little plastic shot glass against his. The remains of the amber liquid still glisten on your mouth, lending an appealing shine to your red lips. As you mop the drips away with the back of your hand, you slightly smear the shade towards your cheek. 

Before Santiago can rectify the situation for you though, you’ve once again taken his hand and trailed him behind you, clumsily weaving through the crowd as he interjects “sorry!” each time you bash - either your body or his - into someone else’s. Before long though, the two of you are safely tucked right in the midst of it all, adding to the messy, merry throng on the compact dance floor. The amateurish but jubilantly played rock covers from the band began to vibrate all the way through his chest as you position right next to the speakers. 

As the vibrations tickle through him, bass inflating like a balloon in his rib cage, drowning out his thoughts and his heartbeat, you dance. With his thoughts silenced - or, rather, out-volumed- he slips into his body as if it is his own again. As if it belongs to him, and not just to some notion of God and country. 

You, for your part, dance as if compelled to. As though, after living for so long with your body following orders, exercising control, being disciplined, staying in line, you can finally let it be free. Can finally let it express itself.  

You move well, Santiago notes as he allows his own body to limber, freeing up his arms and his hips and feeling the buzz of the music and the alcohol thrum pleasantly through his body. It all feels somewhat alien to him now, his body stiff and lacking muscle memory for such imprecise, unplanned movements. You though? You move with abandon. With joy, like you never forgot how to feel it, belting the lyrics right from your chest. Jumping and waving your arms when the guitar solo drops. 

It makes him deeply happy to see you like this. What’s more, amidst the dance floor of preened, deliberate women encircling your space, their movements seemingly contrived to be appealing, alluring, sexual, your reckless expression is far sexier to him. You feel freed, wild - and it almost feels dangerous to him. This clear absence of regiments and rules and barriers feels dangerous, even the barriers between your body and his disintegrating as you dance closer, the beat shaking you together like sand on a drum skin. 

Indeed, your bodies are pushed ever closer and closer as the surprisingly heaving crowd compresses you tighter and tighter in the minimal, sticky-floored maneuver room. And so, after you’ve suffered one too many bumps and restrictions from stray shoulders and elbows, you finally give in to it, looping your arms around his neck and choosing to dance with him. 

Instinctually, automatically, Santiago’s hands fall to your hips, gripping you there as your body sways and rolls in time to the music, the raw, dirty hard rock vocals moving through you and bedding down into your body. 

At first, when your body presses up against his and the hot breath of your laughter fans over his neck, Santiago thinks about adjusting. About sliding his hands back up to your waist, where -perhaps- the gesture may seem less intimate. May allow for a little more room and a little less contact. 

It isn’t as though the two of you are strangers to touching. You are both tactile people, and besides, you’re often in close quarters. You’ve slammed each other to the mat plenty of times. He’s had your sweaty, writhing body all over his. Your grunts of submission sounding in his ear. Huffs of exertion fanning against his neck. Thighs locked with his. His hips pinning you. But this? This is a little different. It isn’t precise, technical touch. It isn’t objective-driven. There are no clear rules, besides friends not lovers, and even that distinction is starting to feel a little blurry. 

No, this kinda touch is something else. It is raw. It is instinctual; and that scares him, in truth. 

However, it doesn’t scare him nearly enough to want to stop.

He does not move his hands from your rolling, swaying hips. Can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gives in to it. To the music. To the feeling. To you. And, when does, he finds himself surprised by how fluidly your bodies move together. Symbiotically. Like a team. Like you do in battle, sure. In the field. Like it is the most natural thing in the world; but this time, your combining is not at all driven by survival. It is driven by living, and Santiago could swear, in this moment, that he has never felt quite so alive. 

The room is getting hot. The undulating crowd of bodies surrounding you is only adding to it. Exertion is glowing on your skin. He can feel it up against him, your sweat bleeding through your damp t-shirt where your breasts press into him. Can feel it beneath his fingers, tacky and slick, as he wraps his hands around that bare flash of skin at your midriff. God, you are smooth, and soft, and slick, and he is momentarily transfixed by a bead of sweat sinking down the centre of your chest, disappearing beneath the “v” of your shirt. 

Someone else’s body briefly presses up against his in the crush and he cringes away from the feel of their slick skin… but you? Yours? You feel good to him. He doesn’t mind it. 

That scares him too; but still, not enough to stop. 

With a joyous, unfettered laugh you claim back some space, spinning Santiago underneath your arm, your dance moves growing increasingly outlandish. Of course, Santiago follows your lead. Always does. And, before long, the two of you can barely dance from laughing and can barely laugh from your insistence to keep dancing. 

It feels good. Good to push your respective bodies to their limit on your own terms for once. To be with each other, side by side, in a scenario which could not be further from life or death; but that feels a thousand times more vital and central to being alive. 

Seeing your smile strobe as the blue party lights slip and flash over the planes of your face, the beats and riffs pulsing through his body, Santiago feels giddy and he feels bright. With laughter bobbing in his throat and aching in his sides, he feels goddamn luminescent, and so he can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but wonder if this is how he would feel all the time. If he got out. If the two of you could just be people, instead of soldiers.

Santiago holds on to it. He holds on to you. To the feeling of freedom. Of pure, unfettered joy. Of this strange peace amidst the blurry, heavy noise. 

He holds on to it while he can. He smiles with you until his face hurts. Laughs with you until his breath wanes. Dances with you longer than he should, song after song. Dances until he is sweating through his t-shirt, a dark “v” of sweat trailing down his chest. Dances, long after that now familiar heat in his newly ailing knees has crossed into discomfort. Dances closer and closer to the speaker until the music is indistinguishable from him, beating through his chest and down into his bones, and still; the two of you move your bodies. The two of you cling to each other like your life depends on it - and perhaps, precisely because of all the times it has. 

When you lean forward, cupping his ear, your lips almost pressed right to his skin to be heard over the din, a warm snake travels down his spine. “See! We still haven’t been found out!” You draw back to flash him a mischievous grin, your eyes glinting with a spark far more warming than the heat which already slickens his skin. 

You are most definitely up to something. You dip forward again as he strains to hear you. “Wanna be a little bolder?” There is a dark and delicious lilt in your voice. A tempting thing, enticing him into trouble - as per usual. 

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder. 

He wants to kiss you, in fact. To test the limits of just how well your bodies can move together. But…  just like all the other times tonight he lets that desire atrophy. Pushes it outside of his body. You are so much more to him than the tingle in his dick. Offer him so much more than whatever parts of you he could seek out with his hands and his mouth, skin finding skin, finding deep, dark wetness. 

If you wanted it, hey, it’s not like he would say no. He isn’t that strong; but he’d decided long ago that when it came to crossing that line, he would simply follow your lead. 

“What did you have in mind?” Santiago asks, dipping his own lips towards your ear. 

Your response is not quite what he expects. You simply throw both arms up into the air, your eyebrows jumping up with them. “Karaokeeee!”

It is a pleasant surprise, to be honest. He loves to see you like this. To see you have fun. Chasing your whims. Getting to be damn silly. For so long, everything has been so grim and so serious.

However, even if your suggestion - at first - inspires a broad, nose-crinkling smile, Santiago looks up at the freestanding mic in horror next - when he realises exactly what you are about to do. “Shit. Sweetie. It’s not-” 

-It is already too late. You are already clambering up on stage and taking your position by the vacant mic spot. “…It’s not karaoke,” Santi mumbles under his breath, mentally readjusting his level on how wasted you are. 

“Come with me, Pope!” you shout down to him, making grabby hands towards him. Next, you commandeer the mic pole as the frontman - who had simply stepped out for brief swig of water - looks on in confusion. 

Santiago sighs and slides his palm over his face, for he knows, fine well, exactly what is about to go down. That, after all the times you’ve saved his skin, tended his wounds, and -damn- even been shot to keep him safe, he for sure isn’t about to let you make a fool of yourself. At least, not alone. 

Cringing already from the forceful embarrassment of commandeering an entire stage at a wedding he’s just crashed, Santiago sets his jaw in resignation and hops semi-gracefully up there, rising to stand right next to you. 

“What happens in Philadelphia…” he mumbles, before bracing himself and accepting his fate. 

He raises his arm as a shield against the intense spotlight, and can suddenly see that the whole party is looking by now, heads whipping around following your triumphant “woop” into the microphone. 

He makes a mental note to explain to you what the words “low profile” mean later, as clearly, you’ve completely failed to grasp that concept. 

Santiago gulps as he looks out across the confused sea of faces, his mouth suddenly bone dry as he prays that no-one will actually yell “who the fuck are you?” Then, not for the first time this evening, he desperately attempts to conjure up a plan of action. Once again, he is pretty sure that cunnilingus won’t quite cut it here either. 

His goal right now is two-fold. To enable you to sing on stage, like you want to, and to avoid being forcibly removed from the venue. It is unfortunate that the former goal seems to void the latter, but hey. He’s been in stickier situations. And, with luck, Santiago remembers one useful thing. The fact that -according to damn near everyone- he’s a charming little fucker. Now, he supposes, is as good a time as any to put that theory to the test. 

“Nicole and Dio.” He gestures to the bride, and motions to gesture towards the groom too. That is, before realising he has no idea who “Dio” is in the crowd, so instead, he lets his arm flop uselessly back to his side. Next, he takes what he feels is a well-earned moment to let the feedback from the microphone die, wincing slightly at the noise, and becoming acutely aware of the sizzle of nervous sweat burning off of his forehead. “I think it’s safe to say,” he ventures with a little more confidence, straining to remember his cousin’s wedding and every platitude he might repeat, “that a love like yours comes around once in a lifetime. I know I speak for both of us when we say we’d like to wish you a lifetime of happiness together to enjoy it.” You helpfully lean forward in that moment and give another celebratory woop. “Thanks for that, sweetie,” he deadpans, wiping his brow just as urgently as he scans the room, searching for something -anything- he can pull from to meet his twinned objectives. 

Suddenly though, against all odds, he actually spots his way out. Emphatically, triumphantly, he points towards the Irish flag proudly adorning the far wall, and dearly hopes he is on to something. “A million tiny things had to align for you two to come together. You could even say it was fate. So, in tribute to the miles travelled by your ancestors, here it is. This one is for the Irish-Americans in the house!” Firstly, he is relieved, to say the least, when that statement earns a hearty cheer from the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Metallica; Whiskey in the jar.” Secondly, he is relieved when that statement earns further cheers, particularly from you. 

Next, Santiago looks confidently to the band, deciding he will simply stare at them pointedly until the drums kick in. “For Nicole and Dio!” he adds with a flourish after an uncomfortably long moment of inaction; and, as the crowd gets behind Santiago, who on earth are they to deny him? 

“Everybody on the dance floor!” you add, with an enthusiasm so overblown it can’t fail to be infectious.

Still, when Santiago finally thinks he has it nailed, you turn to him with a sudden and pronounced wash of horror on your face. “Garcia. Shit. It’s not karaoke!” 

“Princesa,” he soothes as the band kicks in, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist to avert your knees buckling in fright. “If it’s not karaoke, why the shit do I have a mic and a backing track, huh?” You still look unsure. “Come on, sing it with me. You’re hot as hell up here, don’t go shy on me.” 

Santiago turns, forgetting the crowd entirely as his mission revolves wholly around you. 

He begins to sing to you, gaze soft and encouraging until you relax back into it, your broad, electric smile returning. He tugs you closer into him, snug and safe until you grow bold enough to sing along with him into your one shared mic, gradually letting go and -bolstered by him- giving it increasing amounts of gusto. 

The pool of guests at your feet are going surprisingly wild for it too, almost every one in the room having now descended on to the dance floor.

“Here,” he encourages, as soon as he feels you’re ready, handing the mic off to you for the remaining verses of the song. “You got this, sweetie.” 

He lets you have your moment in the spotlight, cheering you on from the sidelines as you sing and air-guitar your way through the final chorus. You aren’t necessarily singing at your best after belting out lyrics at top volume, but what you lack in vocal ability you sure make up for in spirit. You have bags of that, and you perform it with plenty of showmanship, throwing yourself all over the stage and making Santiago’s face split with joy as he whoops along with you, fist-pumping enthusiastically. 

You even end the song by taking a knee and exclaiming “Nicole and Dio!”, raising your mic arm triumphantly in the air like the rock star you are - which is a huge relief to Santiago, as it had looked for a moment like you were about to stage dive into the completely unsuspecting crowd. 

You wrap it up to what Santiago will later describe as rapturous applause. You milk it for all it's worth, before relinquishing the mic to the actual band and skipping over to your biggest fan. 

“Was I fucking amazing?” you ask, bundling him into an enclosing hug. 

“Holy shit. Felt like I was watching Kerrang.” 

You punch him playfully in the arm for his shit-eating grin. “Dickhead.”

“What’s next for the Birthday Princess?” Santi asks, hopping off of the stage and guiding you safely down too. 

He’s secretly praying you’ll say “back to the motel”, but it doesn’t surprise him at all when you throw your arms jubilantly into the air and yell: “more dancing!”. 

Santiago brings the pad of his thumb up to the corner of your mouth, finally smoothing away that damn lipstick smear he wishes he’d gotten to before your impromptu stage show. “Go for it, hermosa,” he insists fondly. “I’ll be with you in a sec, yeah? After pulling that shit, I don’t think we have long before we get busted. You gonna be ready to hustle soon?”

You nod, fist-bump him, and skitter off to the dance floor, your seemingly boundless energy carrying you right the way through towards dawn. 

Santiago will give this track a miss, he thinks. His knees need a goddamn time-out; but his eyes still linger on you, shining fondly as you are folded into the crowd. 

***

“Touching speech, lad,” a low-timbre voice sounds to Santiago’s left. “But who in the devil are ya?”

Santiago, who is sat blissfully nursing a glass of ice cold tap water, immediately swivels on his barstool. This puts him face-to-face with an older gentleman, of considerable stature. 

The man’s crinkled, bushy-eyebrowed face is stern; but not unkind, even as his chin juts up in challenge. Santiago rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. There is no point trying to wriggle out of this one, and he’s already sure of it. 

“Okay,” he responds, his voice slow and low and his palms raising defensively in the air. The man might be both older and frailer than Santiago, but he exudes a certain authority which trumps his own youthful confidence. In short, Santiago certainly doesn’t want to piss him off. “You got me. It’s a long story, and we weren’t technically invited… but we don’t mean any trouble, Sir. And, hey, we did bring a gift,” Santiago adds for good measure, not entirely convinced that the mushed up peanut butter cups in your jeans pocket will make any shade of difference now - but hoping. 

The man presses his lips together and hums, as if mulling over the guilty party’s fate. After a moment of contemplation though, the older gentleman unceremoniously releases some of the rigidity from his body, slumping down into Santiago’s neighbouring bar stool with a sense of resolution. A gulp trails down Santiago’s neck all the same. “You a military pair, kid?” the man asks casually, making-out like he’s thoroughly absorbed in rolling his cigarette papers, but his sharp eyes still finding time to needle Santiago incisively. “I know the type.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Hmm. Well.” The man licks along the long edge of cigarette paper with the tip of his tongue. “You came clean, I’ll keep quiet. Besides commandeering the stage(!), you two don’t seem like too much trouble.” 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m Colin, by the way. Nicole’s granddaddy.” The man extends a hand and Santiago shakes it. 

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.” 

Santiago would’ve allowed some of the tension to seep out of his own rigid body by now; except for the fact he can sense the man is not quite finished with him. He lights the tip of his cigarette with a battered-looking, engraved lighter, smoke swirling around him and becoming one with his white-gray, thinning hair. “Since I’ve been so generous, lad, how’s about you explain to me the circumstances that brought you to crash my granddaughter’s wedding?” 

From the man’s unwavering stare, Santiago knows fine well this is a demand and not a suggestion. He rubs his sweaty palms together, finding himself reluctant to spill but with little apparent choice in the matter. Still, as his gaze flicks back in the direction of you, he feels a softness overcome him. “It’s her birthday. We’re on leave. Had a big trip planned to reunite with some buddies but the airport-“

“-ah. All shut down.” Colin nods in partial understanding, taking a long drag on his smoke. 

“Yes, sir. So I, uh. Well, I had to improvise.” 

Colin’s eyes flutter briefly closed. Then, a small flicker of a smile appears, as he - apparently - achieves a fuller understanding than Santiago’s divulgence should have allowed. An understanding which Santiago isn’t sure he has attained himself, as it stands. Is he missing something? “I see. You wanted to show her a good time.”  

“Yeah. Yessir.” 

To Santiago’s utter surprise, the man’s hand clasps down on top of his closest shoulder, the cigarette still pinned precariously in between his forefingers, and the smoke tangling around Santiago’s curls like future grays attempting to stick. “What are you drinking, lad?”

“Uh. Water,” Santiago replies simply, recalling the glass sweating on the bar top. 

“Not any more.” Colin signals the bartender with a barely perceptible raise of his chin, and manages to convey his order simply by raising two of his fingers in the air.

Santiago watches as a bottle, sporting an affixed yellow post-it note, is grabbed-up from its secret hiding spot under the counter. Must be the good stuff. 

When served, Colin slides one glass over to Santiago with the back of his age-spotted palm. “You don’t have to drink it, o’ course - I’ll just think you’re a rude fecker if you don’t.”

“Thank you, sir.” The two men swivel on their stools to face the bar and Santiago takes a sip, doing his best to hide his reaction to the intensity of it. 

Colin guffaws. “Yeah. That’ll put hairs on yer chest.” 

Santiago splutters, attempting to quickly smooth himself. “Cheers. To Nicole.” He hoists his glass in the air. 

“Aye. Here’s to that.” 

Santiago smiles, clinking his glass with Colin’s and hoping against all odds that you might come and rescue him soon. 

You don’t, but mercifully the chat is suspended for a moment as the man coiffs his cigarette and his drink, and Santiago even suspects he has been forgotten entirely as another guest draws Colin into niceties and conversation. 

Therefore, after a few warming swigs have slipped down his throat, each one followed by a grimace, Santiago turns, realising it has been a minute since he’s had eyes on you. He quickly locates you on the dance floor, boogying with some tall, white guy. A guy who is - with your encouragement - getting rather handsy. Seeing this, all of Santiago’s muscles tighten and he feels the vague urge to leap up off of his bar stool - that is, until Colin interjects.

“Can I give you some advice?” 

Santiago’s initial thought is “no”; but he has a feeling Coilin may offer his unsolicited advice regardless. “Don’t crash weddings?” he jests half-heartedly, the lion’s share of his attention still on you and that guy’s damn hands. 

“Marry her.”

Santiago’s gaze flips immediately towards Colin, his face the picture of abject confusion. “Sorry. Who?” 

Colin chuckles to himself, evidently quite tickled, and nods his head gently in your direction. “Your lady friend.” 

Santiago saws his palm over the five-o-clock shadow adorning his jaw. A weak, throaty chuckle bobs in his throat. He finds it funny. Preposterous. “With respect, Sir. That’s not gonna happen.” It is knee-jerk. Santiago had sworn off marriage long ago. Had long ago given up on the prospect of any form of happy ending. Besides, you and him? He doesn’t think so. 

“Oh. Boyo,” Colin begins, his tone juuuust condescending enough to make Santiago stiffen. “You find someone who makes you as happy as that, you marry her. Trust me, lad.”

Santiago purses his lips. Tightens them into a thin line. “We’re not… together.” Not that it’s any of this guy’s business what you are to him; but he’s just not getting it. 

“You love her,” Colin says softly. Almost gently, as though he’s breaking bad news. 

”What?” Santiago shakes his head incredulously, blinking several times in succession. 

“I can barely see past my own arm these days, lad, but I can see that much.” 

There is that hand, clasping his shoulder again. This time it feels different. “You love her.” 

The first time Colin had spoken these words, Santiago had bristled. Felt provoked. He should feel similarly now too - he knows it - but upon hearing them for a second time, a sudden clarity settles over him. In fact, he’s never felt less confused by a statement in his life. 

He feels his mouth go dry. A sudden ringing in his ears. He could’ve sworn he had hands and feet earlier in the evening, but right now he can’t feel them. 

Of course he loves you, he thinks, reaching for logic. For rationalisations. But it’s not like that. That’s simply what happens when you go through so much together. You bond, intensely. That’s all it is. All it amounts to. 

Colin has this all wrong. 

Santiago looks at you then. Really looks at you, as you grab your dance partner by the shirt and shove your tongue in his mouth, pulling away from the kiss with a wolfish grin. Some kind of feeling he can’t hope to name tightens like a fist in his stomach when you do that. “She’s…” Santiago wants to protest. Wants to say that no, he doesn’t. But those aren’t quite the words which find their way out. Instead, he says quietly, like he’s delivering bad news now: “she’s my best friend.” 

“Ah,” Colin breathes, in a fresh tone of relief. As if satisfied. As if he has now achieved full understanding - even if Santiago has not. The older man stubs out his cig and downs the dregs of his whiskey, cheersing Santiago once more with a clink of his empty glass. “There you go then. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Isn’t that the same thing?

It is a blur from there. A blur as Colin once again outstretches his hand and Santiago obliges by shaking it, his arm feeling limp and useless like a bag of cotton-wool. It is a blur as Colin wishes him well with a jolly “take care, lad,” sauntering away with no concern for the destruction left in his wake. 

It is a blur as you sidle over, as though the volume in the room has been turned down all of a sudden. It becomes gradually louder again as you approach. 

You. 

You. 

You.

“Fuck, you okay, Garcia? You look like you’re about to puke.” 

There’s nothing here. 

Nothing with you. 

Nothing he could have with you. No way. 

“Seriously! You look queasy as hell.” You place your hand across his brow to see if he’s burning up.  

“No. ‘M good. Fine,” he says tightly. 

You nod, still looking sceptical but opting to buy what he’s selling. “You just tired? Too much dancing?”

”Heh. Something like that.” It is a struggle to push the words out, but he surprises himself. Gradually sinks himself back into the room. Back into his body. 

Santiago notices the brief spark of an idea fleet over your face as you regard him and, in the next moment, you dip forward to chastely kiss him on the cheek. He feels a deep, blooming heat develop under his skin, his cheeks darkening with a crimson flush, and he resists the urge to clamp his palm over the spot your lips touched. “What was that for?” 

A delicate smile dances on your mouth. “Thank you, butthead. I’m having a good birthday.”

It’s what you don’t say. It’s what your eyes are telling him. Your body language. Your touch. You’re telling him things you’ve been saying for a long time now. Things which, thanks to Colin, beg a whole load of new questions.

You slip your hand down his arm, grasping his hand in yours. For a moment he just stares, looking down at your hands clasped there together. He is vaguely aware of the track switching in the background, to a slower, more heartfelt tune, and, by the time he drags his eyes back-up to yours, he figures he’s got a head start already on what you’re about to ask. 

He makes it so you don’t even have to. “One more dance?” 

He stands, capturing your waist with his wrapped arm, leading you back towards the dance floor. The surprise and relief and glee on your face as he preempts you is almost too bright for him to look at. 

“You even know how to slow dance, Garcia?” you ask as he maneuvers the two of you into prime position, right in the beam of a sweeping purple spotlight, the dancefloor filling exclusively with swaying couples as the tender, swooping song resonates through the room. 

“Haven’t slow danced since prom,” he admits. “But I’ll follow your lead, Princesa.” 

“You a’ways do, asshat.” 

“You know? You’re not wrong. Now, come here.”

He holds his arms out and you step into his sturdy circumference, no hesitation. Trust implicit, your bodies moving in sync. You drape the loop of your arms gently around his shoulders, your twined fingers brushing the nape of his neck, sending a warm shudder through him. His hands hover helplessly for a moment, but he eventually settles them on your hips, drawing your body closer, tightening the space between you as you each sway together, cheek to cheek. 

“I - I can’t believe you did this for me, you know?” Your voice is lower, dropped in your throat. Heavy with solemnity as though you are thanking him for taking a bullet for you or something. “Tonight. The karaoke. Everything.” 

“Well,” he dismisses, against the shell of your ear. It’s not nearly enough.“You got shot for me, so...”

Your light, lilting laugh fans across his check. It isn’t funny at all, wasn’t a joke; except that it’s so tragic it kinda has to come full-circle, he supposes. “Fine,” you offer. “Call it even?” 

Even? 

It could never get close to even. 

Santiago feels a surge of emotion welling in him. Like suddenly there is a mechanism dredging all the settled silt back up to the surface. It rises all the way up - into his chest, into his throat. He pulls back slightly until you are face to face, his expression far more severe than the situation merits; but he can’t help it. It feels barbed, difficult, coming out of his mouth, but it needs to be said. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me, you know?” His eyes are glistening, a telltale softness nestled beneath his thick brows, and his thumbs unconsciously rubbing circles into the meat of your hips. “You’re…. I… I mean. You’re… my best friend.”

You gawp back at him for a moment, visibly caught off-guard by his emotional intensity. Then: “oh no,” you whisper-shout into the space between you, as though if you push too much sound out, the emotions might overspill along with it. “Don’t get all soppy on me, you hear? You’re the only fucker who knows I have emotions, and I damn sure wanna keep it that way.”

His gaze flits all over your face. “Secret’s safe with me, Princesa.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

He smiles at you - a smile that only reaches his eyes. 

You nestle yourself back into the crook of his shoulder, your body pressed right up against his. One hand grasping at his back. The fingers of the other clasping his shorn head, dancing over the prickled hair of his army-issue buzzcut. 

He holds you, and in turn you hold him even tighter. You hold each other tightly until you are no longer even dancing. Until you are simply an island in a sea of undulating couples, holding on to each other for dear life. 

It scares him.

It scares him to his depths that he never wants to let you go; but not enough to stop.  

As he pulls you close to him, buries his face in your neck and embraces you tightly, he thinks about it. He thinks about whether he believes in happy endings. He thinks about whether his, if he could be so lucky, would involve you. 

Those thoughts are interrupted when he feels a wetness bloom on his shoulder. Feels you jerking and sniffing against him, and he experiences your sudden outpouring of pain as acutely as though it is his own. 

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

”No. It’s…” You sniff. “It’s just been so hard lately. And, you know. Tonight has been so… It’s been so…” 

He thinks he knows what you mean. Thinks he understands you completely. “Perfect?” he ventures. 

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.” 

He holds you as you cry. And there’s not a chance in hell he’s letting you go. 

***

Considering your intoxication level, the sudden onset of tiredness, and your tears, Santiago figures it’s about time to head. He manages to get you in a cab back to the motel eventually - only after you’ve visited the ladies restroom, become fast friends with an equally drunken Nicole, bestowed her with peanut butter cups, and promised to meet-up next time you’re in the city. By this point, you are already dropping, and the soporific movements of the cab have you falling asleep draped over Santiago’s lap. 

He pays the driver when you arrive, stirring you with a warm hand smoothing up and down your back. He tries to be calm. Soothes you with his voice; because he knows all too well that for someone in the military, a rude awakening is no small thing. 

He walks you to the room and helps you sit down on the bed. Tugs your boots off for you as you opt to bury your nose deep in your own armpit and sniff. 

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.” 

“Fuck that. You can shower in the morning.” 

“I stink.” 

“Trust me. You’ve smelled much worse.” He smiles softly as his comment earns an indignant snort from you, but the ire in your face is quickly snuffed as he looks up to you a little too softly. “Let’s get you dressed for bed, alright, birthday girl?” 

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.” 

He swallows a smile at seeing you in this sleepy state. It’s not often that you allow anyone else to take care of you. In fact, Santiago feels a strange surge of honour - a glow within his chest -  that tonight, he is the one who has the privilege. 

You unabashedly begin to strip off your jeans and top next, and Santiago quickly scoops up an oversized t-shirt from the gaping mouth of your hold-all. “Here,” he says, swallowing the tremor in his voice as he gathers the fabric up and guides the garment gently over your head to cover you. Gingerly passes your arms through the right holes. “That’s it. Put this on, alright? Can you get your bra out from under there?” 

You maneuver the clasp and straps beneath the cover of the shirt until you are pulling the bra out from the confines of your tee, triumphantly flinging it across the room with a soft “woo!”, to which Santiago’s lips twitch in silent amusement. 

“Need to brush my teeth at least,” you argue, holding your arms up and out - making grabby hands to signal for his help. 

“Alright. Sure. Let’s go together.” Santiago helps you stand. Maneuvers and encourages you onwards. He wraps his closest arm around your waist, and his other hand catches the arm you throw out to him so he can keep you steady.  Then, steps in sync, you pad the short distance to the bathroom, Santiago lightly directing you away from bumping your hip on the doorframe (again) as you pass through it. “That’s it. Little off course there,” he chuckles. “Almost as bad as Ironhead’s God-awful driving.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder and scold him good-naturedly. “Ouch. Don’t remind me.” 

“Yikes, sorry. Too soon?” You’d teased Will for the unfortunate humvee training exercise that had put you in med bay, but Santiago guesses you aren’t quite ready to have him joke about it yet. 

“Never getting back in a car with that bastard in the driver’s seat, trust me. Fella takes off-road a little too literally, you know? Still have that goddamn tweak in my back too to prove it.” 

“You do, huh?” Shit, you’ve certainly hidden it well enough - had insisted you were unscathed, in fact, when sober - and so Santiago mentally logs that information for later.

With a little bit of wriggling around, you squeeze into the tight bathroom space. When you reach the bathroom sink, Santiago is still behind you, his hands now clamped on your hips and keeping you steady. When you turn on the faucet and bend enthusiastically towards the stream of water however - hinging at the hips and dipping to splash your face with cold water - Santi punches out a strangled note. Which is natural, he thinks, given that your panty-clad, half-bare ass is thrust further into his hands (and his crotch), with decidedly no room in the cramped space for him to back-up. “Woah, Jesus. Keep it vertical, would you?” 

“Shit, sorry. Liked that did you?” you mock, with a dirty, chaotic snigger. 

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

With a nervous twist in his belly, Santiago flees to the more expansive space of the bedroom, leaving you to complete your task. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, he throws open the window, thankful when the relative cool of the night air kisses his skin. The room has grown hot and sticky all of a sudden. Too close. Lord knows why. 

He perches himself inside the opened wooden square then, the flung-open frame an awkward perch. He rests with one leg hiked up on the ‘sill and one foot bracing him on the floor, his back reclining against the biting vertical edge. 

Only when you reenter does he reluctantly drag his eyes away from the black night and into the soft, shadowed shell of the dreary room. Despite this dimness, he can barely bring himself to look at you in this moment. It is as though you are too bright for him, and so he quickly -and uncharacteristically- averts his eyes. 

Still, you’re like a magnet, and his gaze quickly relocates you without much trouble. 

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?” 

Despite looking bleary-eyed - dead on your feet, even -  you nod in response to his proposition and, much unlike earlier, Santiago suddenly feels he wouldn’t dream of sleeping. You perch yourself on the edge of the bed and flick on the lamp, casting a sallow glow throughout the room. It makes you look at once dream-like and infinitely more real to him, as the glare highlights the goose flesh trailing up your arms and thighs. The tired circles under your eyes. He doesn’t know how you make such details attractive, but as far as he is concerned, there is no bad light to cast you in. 

You lay down, legs stretched out on the scratchy comforter, and torso propped against the stiff, unforgiving pillows. You make space for him to lie down alongside you, and yet Santiago opts to hover, not ready to relinquish his window seat. It’s as uncomfortable as it probably looks, however, and so he fumbles in his pocket for a smoke, figuring it as good an excuse as any to be sitting up there - instead of lying next to you. He stares out into the blackened parking lot with enough vigour to convince an onlooker it is entirely compelling - instead of looking at you. 

You are quiet for a moment following and Santiago lets it hang, exhaling twists of smoke from his mouth to the window. Flicking his spent ash down onto the asphalt below. Then, you expel a blustery sigh.

“Shit,” you grumble. You click your tongue. Santiago turns to see you lying flat on your back now, staring contemplatively up at the dusty, motionless ceiling fan, arms folded behind your head. “That guy I made out with.” 

Santiago takes an even deeper drag on his smoke; perhaps unconsciously hoping that if he is occupied long enough, he won’t be required to respond at all.

Your head lollops to the side, your gaze finding his. “Do me a favour and don’t tell Tommy I did that, okay?” 

Fuck. 

“Wait. Tommy?! You and Tommy?” The words are expelled faster than he would’ve wanted, almost making him choke on a cloak of hot smoke. “Tommy fucking Nelson?”

“Yeahhh. We’ve, um, sorta… been hooking-up lately.” 

Santiago quickly inhales another drag, smoke seething out of his nostrils as he flicks the used cigarette butt down to the asphalt below. He is grateful that the lungful gives him a second to think before he speaks - yet apparently, it is not quite long enough. “Shit. The guy’s so stacked I swear he must have abs on his dick.” 

You laugh; and Santiago decides that, based on the beauteous sound of it alone, Tommy fucking Nelson doesn’t even remotely deserve you. 

“I dunno about abs on his dick… but he’s got enough to work with, know what I mean?”

Santiago continues to peer out of the window, and so you don’t see his face crumple with a frown. “So he’s good, huh?” 

You scoff to yourself. “Oh. Fuck. Not really. He doesn’t do much of the work…” Your dirty laugh sounds out. “Fortunately, I’m a goddamn miracle worker when it comes to getting myself off.”

Strike two. Tommy Nelson definitely doesn’t deserve you. 

You giggle. Giggle like this is a girls’ fucking sleepover. Like you are revealing some - far more innocent - secret to a best friend. 

But… of course. Because that’s precisely what he is to you, right? Nothing more, nothing less. And that’s never bothered him before. Has never bothered him until precisely now. 

What exactly has gotten into him tonight, then? Why does some old guy have his head in a spin? Why is he delaying crawling onto his side of the bed? Why can’t he look at you? 

Further delaying the inevitable, Santiago pats down his pockets, hoping for another cigarette with which to prolong his diversion by the window. However, he comes up short. Has no other recourse left besides brushing his teeth, kicking off his shoes, stripping down to his boxers, and laying his body out alongside yours. The mattress dips as he settles on top of the covers, and you swivel on to your side to face him. 

“Hey.” You prod him in the pec. “What about you anyway?”

“What about me?”

You reach down. Snap the elastic hem of his boxers until it pings back against his toned stomach. “Been getting any lately?” 

He makes a vague, non-committal sound, hoping it will be enough; but, of course, you don’t stop there.  

“Your dream girl… Let’s see.” Your eyes spark, far too animated considering such a long night. “Wait. Don’t tell me. She’s… nude. Huge breasts.” Santiago had wanted to roll his eyes at you, honestly, but he finds he can’t quite quash his smile. “She’s… I know… draped in the American Flag.” His face splits with mirth. “Reciting the Fifth Amendment.” You prod him emphatically in the pec. “Plus she plays bass in a Pearl Jam cover band and gives next-level blow jobs.” His gaze sweeps over your shit-eating grin like a paintbrush over a canvas. Like fingers down a guitar fret. Like it belongs there. Like he belongs here. “Well?” you’d needled. “Am I warm yet?” 

“Wait, I think I know her.” Santiago snaps his fingers. “Hey. Yeah. Didn’t she hook-up with Benny last week?” 

You twist as chaotic laugh spills out of you, throwing your arm over him and dipping your head towards his bare chest. It is a small thing. A minute, unconscious action. A brief touch. A single moment. Except… the way it makes his stomach lurch makes it completely undeniable to him. Undeniable that the only girl doing it for him is you. 

He realises it all now though, as he looks at you. Realises he’s been seeing you in pieces. In fragments; because of course he has. Of course, because he’s been trying to survive, and if he’d dared to think, instead, about living? Well, then he’d have far too much to lose. 

“Come onnn,” you purr, jutting out your bottom lip, entirely oblivious to the way the ground is disappearing from beneath him as you remain curled into his side. “Give me some gossip. It’s my birthday!” 

He swallows. Tries to pull himself together. Tries to be exactly what you need him to be. 

“Christ.” He nervously scratches at the stubble sprouting along his jaw. “Well. Let’s see. First of all, I’ve spent so long without any action but my own goddamn fist that even Morales is starting to look appealing.” 

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”  

“He should be so lucky. Anyway. He’s got a girl back home. High school kinda sweetheart deal.”

You scoff. “What? For real?”

“Mm hmm. He’s in it too. His eyes mightta wandered occasionally - but as far as I know his dick never has.” 

You pump your eyebrows like that surprises you. “Good for him.” And then: “It won’t last though.”

“Christ. You’re really that cynical already?”

“Something like that,” you smirk. “Guess it comes with the old age.” 

“Oh yeah. Speaking of birthdays…” Santiago pushes off his elbow and swivels, reaching to fumble a tiny, square parcel from his jeans pocket. He settles back into position with a grin on his face, extending his gift toward you. You eye it sceptically, but with casual intrigue. 

“Fuck me. Something else from your trousers that’s been manhandled to death, Santiago? You know how to treat a lady.” 

He can’t explain why he feels nervous as you weigh the package in your palm. “It’s… for protection.” 

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?” 

You rise up, settling cross-legged on top of the covers, and Santiago shifts to mirror you, with a lopsided, self-conscious smile. You pause, looking between him and the package with a gentle, subdued glee. You gingerly peel the red tissue paper away, revealing the gift nestled within. As soon as you observe what is inside, however, the glee evaporates from your face. You look down at it, for once rendered speechless before you say his name, the sound as thin as the wisps of smoke still eddying up on the ceiling. “Santiago.” 

He swallows. Saws his hand across his stubble, suddenly worried that the gesture is all off. “It’s-” 

Your eyes snap up to his, your expression raw and soft. “-I know what it is.” 

You look back down to the gift now, warmly. Lift them up, a string of black rosary beads unfurling. The beads his mom had gifted him for protection the day before he’d shipped out, clamping her hands over his and reciting a prayer he didn’t believe in, but which he’d felt all the way down to his marrow. The beads that he’d kept on him ever since, usually nestled in the pocket of his tac vest. The beads which his mother had prayed would keep him safe. Would protect him, when it had turned out to be you who had answered her prayer. You who had protected him, at whatever cost. 

“But I can’t-“

Stupid. You’re stupid. Of course you can. 

“It’s no big deal. I’m just a cheapskate,” he minimises. 

You inhale, about to launch a protest, but you must read something altogether too earnest in his face, since any such argument is subdued as soon as you look at him. Instead then, you hold them up once more, your eyes glistening as you admire the cheap, plastic beads for far more than they are worth. 

“But won’t your mom-“

“Be mad I gave them away?” You let the beads pool in one palm, the red tissue paper now strewn over your lap like swatches of blood. Santiago clamps his hands over yours, nestling the beads safely within, in a gesture which mirrors his mother’s own plea a little too closely. He empathises with her then. With her fear of being left behind. With her fear for his soul and its fate. “Are you shitting me? You saved her angelito. She’d probably sign the goddamn house over to you. I mean, shit - she’s already been bugging me to bring her new hija over for tamales.” 

He hasn’t ever told you that before. Maybe that’s why you do it. Why you gently cup his face and dip to render a light, chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. When you draw back from him, you look almost as surprised by the gesture as he is.  

“Santiago.” Your eyes well-up. “It really means a lot.” 

He doesn’t have words for a moment. It does. It means a lot to him, and he’s struck with sentimentality when he realises that it means something to you too. He nods once, gaze gently dancing over your face. 

“I mean it,” you squeeze out through welling tears. “This is the sweetest thing-“

“-Shh. Oh no. No, no, no,” he captures your tears with the crook of his forefinger just as they spill over, motioning as though he is attempting to restore them to whence they came, a soft yet playful concern dancing over his face. “Quick sharp. Put these back,” he whisper-shouts, faux urgently. “No-one can know you feel things.” 

His remark causes you to laugh through your tears, as you hastily lift a balled fist to scrub them away. The sounds dissolve into a pleasant yet taut silence, leaving the two of you simply looking into each other’s eyes. 

You are the first to break it, dropping your gaze down towards your lap. 

“Listen. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I could do.“

Your expression grows more troubled then, a divot notching in your brow and your head shaking softly side to side. “Santiago. I need to say this. You… you don’t owe me any debt. Okay? And… and don’t you even think -ever- about trying to repay it. You hear me?” 

He owes you everything, and he’ll repay it however he can; but he isn’t about to argue with you. Instead, he simply nods. Forces an even, concessionary smile, leaning into a swift topic change. “You tired yet?”

“Yeah. Exhausted.” 

“Let’s lie down then, alright?” 

“Mmm.” You set the beads down so carefully on your nightstand that it constricts his chest, arranging them in a nest of tissue paper. “It’s just… I…”

“What?” 

He flicks off the lamp and you lay down on your back, staring up at the ceiling fan, the room now illuminated only by the distant glow of the motel’s neon sign across the lot. It bathes the room in a purple-tinged dark. When your voice comes back, it is small. “It’s just that I… I don’t want this night to end.” 

Santiago lays himself out, right next to you. “Then let’s try and stay awake, huh?” 

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” You shiver; then, instead of crawling beneath the scratchy comforter like he expects, you curl into his side. Rest your head against his chest. Santiago’s arms hover over you for a moment, as though he doesn’t know what to do. In actual fact though, it comes far too naturally to him. 

He wraps you in his arms, and begins to smooth one hand up and down your back - of course, being careful not to venture too low, even as you torque your body into his touch. 

You exhale against him. Hum, up against his bare, tan skin. Drape your arm over him, and, reliably, there is that knot again. That fist, tightening inside his chest. 

“Hey,” he croaks, voice smaller than it needs to be. “Birthday princess?” 

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?” 

“Do I what?” 

He hesitates. Stares coldly and contemplatively up at the ceiling fan himself now even as he bundles the warmth of you in his arms. “Do you believe in happy endings?”

He feels your breathy expletive fan over his chest. “Fuck. That’s a big one.”

“Sorry. Forget it, you don’t have to-“

“-No. I do,” you say with certainty. “I do believe in them.”

Santiago hopes that you can’t feel his heart thundering beneath the shell of your ear. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Except… not for people like us.” 

His brow tightens, mouth turning down at the corners. “Why not?” 

“Well,” you muse, wriggling pointedly until his hand - stopped dead with suspense - resumes its ministrations over your back, his fingers obediently seeking out the knots and notches until your airy hum sounds again. “Because our hands are too bloody now to build anything good. Right?” 

It’s strange because, right now, caressing you like this, he could almost forget that his hands are blood-soaked. Your touch is the only reminder he’s had in some time that his hands can indeed be loving. In fact, the whole concept of war feels so entirely incongruous to him while he’s holding you. Like it could not be further away, even though -in your lives- it is only ever around the corner. He pushes his response out from the depths of his chest. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bleak?” 

“I dunno.” You shrug, and he doesn’t enjoy how sad your voice grows . How old you somehow sound all of a sudden. “It’s just… They told us we’d be heroes, Santi. But… When was the last time you felt like one?”

You’re my hero, he thinks loudly, in the achingly quiet room; but, he catches the words before they make it out of his throat. In the end, nothing more than a small, reined-in grunt manages to escape. 

“Why do you ask, anyway?” 

Because you deserve one. More so than anyone he’s ever met, you deserve one. 

His fingers and the heel of his hand continue to massage the dink in your back, rooting out every source of tension. Learning how to take the pain apart for you like a weapon in his palm. “Dunno,” he lies. “The wedding. All that.” 

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.” 

“You’re fucking brutal, you know that?”  

“And you’re hilarious. Shit. Happy fucking endings? Man. At this point, I think I’d settle for a happy middle, you know? Before I go down in my inevitable blaze of glory.”

“Don’t say that,” Santiago scolds, his voice taut. “I hate when you talk like that.” 

He doesn’t blame you. For being cynical or pessimistic - not really. Doesn’t blame you one bit. Not after you’d legitimately looked death in the face. He understands well enough what that can do to a person. How it can change them. How, even someone like you, who always saw a clear, bright path ahead, could begin to doubt the clarity of that vision. 

Absent-mindedly, you circle the pad of your forefinger in the valley of his pecs. “What about you, then? Do you believe in all that stuff? Marriage? Happy endings?” 

“Meh. Not so much,” he answers honestly, fissures in his voice. Maybe it is his ingrained Catholic guilt talking, but he certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves a happy ending. Not after the things he’s done. Not after all that blood.

“Then how about this, Santiago Garcia,” you begin, tone much more playful, like you’ve had a bright idea. “Would you settle for a lifetime of trouble-making with your ride or die?” 

You extend your pinky towards him for the most sacred of all vows, and he curls his own little finger around yours.

He intends his response to feel light-hearted. Equally playful. He really does. But, when the words escape his lips they are heavy. Dripping and weighed with sentimentality. “With you, honestly, it doesn’t really feel like settling.” He suddenly feels like someone is sitting on his chest. Like the air is scarce and sharp with some incendiary cloud - about to ignite and burn everything he’s known to the ground. 

“Kiss ass,” you poke lightly, and a wistful smile briefly dances across his features. 

“It’s only what you’re due.” 

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?” 

“Sure. Maybe you can get Tommy-abs-on-his-dick-Nelson right on that.” 

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

Santiago jostles you gently in his embrace. “Hey. Speaking of. Sorry you got lumbered with the sideshow tonight, by the way.”

“Fuck off, Pope,” you huff, like he’s just said something which causes deep offence. “Of all the chumps I couldda been stuck with, I’m glad it was you.” Santiago’s heart flutters, his chest blooming with a hazy, metered-out warmth when he hears you say those words. “Now. Wish me happy birthday one more time, and then sing me a damn lullaby, would you?” 

Santiago crushes his chin down to his chest to get a better look at you, having decided that you must surely be joking. “Huh?!” 

“We all knew about your guitar skills but you have a beautiful set of pipes too? Been holding out on me, Pope. Now, sing!” 

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

“It’s only what I’m due, right? Come on, I haven’t got all night, asshat!” Somehow, the derogatory term sounds imbued with a deep fondness somehow, and it blooms through him. 

“Alright. Alright. Keep your panties on.” Shit - you had better. 

“Thank you.” 

Santiago dips his chin so he can reach your hairline. Settles a chaste kiss there, which lingers a touch too long - but which he can’t possibly cut any shorter, his eyes closing as his lips brush your skin. “Happy birthday,” he breathes, completing part one of your demand. With any luck, he thinks, you might fall straight to sleep like this - before he even has to serenade you. 

He stills as your eyes flutter closed, listening out for the slowed pace of your breathing. That is, until you open one eye and whisper-hiss up at him. “Sing.” 

A resigned amusement twitches his plush lips and he finally obliges you. He begins softly speak-singing, hoping his soporific and sandy tones will lull you towards sweet dreams, his broad palm still sweeping up and down your back. 

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…” 

A soft smile graces your features as you note his song choice. “Cobain? You’re such an angsty little gremlin, you know that?” 

“I can stop at any time,” he threatens, teasingly. 

“No. No, please.” 

He clears his throat. Lets his voice grow a touch more full and resonant, despite it being scuffed by tiredness and smoke.

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.” 

It is a little funny, at first. A little awkward; until suddenly, it isn’t . Until, suddenly, a weight settles in your brow. Until his voice begins to falter, cracking apart with emotion. 

He hadn’t been able to say it. Clearly not even to acknowledge it. 

He hadn’t been able to find the words to tell you what you mean to him. To explain the pit in him which had opened up when he’d almost lost you. Didn’t have the words to tell you you were the reason he’d prayed for the first time in ten years, pledging loyalty to a God he hadn’t believed in -hadn’t needed - until he was begging Him not to take you. He didn’t know how to describe the way it had felt for him to kneel by your bedside, his mother’s rosary beads clutched in his palm so tightly the cross has drawn blood - even as he’d openly cursed them for protecting him and not you, and had cursed you for the same. 

He swallows the hard, tight knot which has gnarled in his throat. Wonders if maybe he can stop, because singing feels like purging himself of far too much of the pain and love he has buried, and fuck, it hurts on the way out. 

He does consider stopping. That is, until your small, grief-laden voice sounds out as though it hurts you too; but that you need to hear what he is finally telling you. “Please. Don’t stop?” 

It is a question, this time, not a demand; and yet, Santiago couldn’t dream of denying you. 

And so, with a weight in his brow, he keeps on singing. 

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky. 

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

It is at this point his voice cracks wide open. It is at this point a single tear slips across the bridge of his nose as he sings it out loud. Something he’d known for a long time, in truth, but hadn’t quite found the words for:  

“And I love her.”

The room seems eerily still as you each hold your breath. He doesn’t know where to go from here - but luckily, you always seem to know the way forward. 

“You know,” you say softly, voice wet with emotion. “It’s a real shame. Because if you did believe in happy endings?” 

“Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper.  

“You’d look pretty good as somebody’s endgame, butthead.” 

An emotion Santiago can’t name twists through his middle, like he is being wrung out. Like his blood-soaked soul is finally being purged. It is no wonder then, that his words come out dripping red. Soaked in cynicism. With a disbelief that anything good -for him - is deserved. “Let’s get each other through the happy middle first,” he says, as hidden tears glitter on his long lashes. “Then maybe we’ll see about endings, huh?” 

You don’t speak for a moment. Simply swallow in the near-dark. But, it is not lost on him that you hold him just a shade tighter. Then, when he hears a gentle intake of breath from you, he knows your request before you even utter it. 

Please. 

He resumes his singing. Slower, more off tempo. Begins to repeat the lines, over and over, softer and softer, until your breathing is deep and soporific. Until your weight on him is heavier. Heavier from sleep, and heavier from this new knowledge he has gained. 

And, there it is. The end of the night, and yet Santiago cannot dream of sleeping. Not yet. Can only watch you, hold you, listen to your soft breathing, his heart full with a new understanding. And understanding he didn’t invite, but a welcome guest all the same. 

He resolves it then. Resolves that, even if he doesn’t deserve a happy ending, he will do everything in his power to make sure you get yours… 

Even if that means letting all hope of you -for him- go. 

So, as he cradles you in his arms and stares unsleeping up at the ugly ceiling fan, Santiago contemplates it. 

Contemplates in great detail the four days with you that irrevocably changed the course of his life. 

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you. 

The day he realised he was in love with you. 

And the day he started running from that.

The first day had been two years ago, the second had been five months ago, the third had been today, and the fourth? 

The fourth will be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, he will start running, because his feelings for you are far too deep and huge for him to handle. 

He doesn’t even pause to wonder whether he’ll ever allow himself to stop. After all, once Santiago Garcia has a mission, he accepts nothing less than completion. 

Maybe he’s no hero; but he always gets the job done. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for trying to give my husband a bed time?

My [31F] husband [34M] has a horrible issue of not coming to bed. He usually falls asleep to the TV in the living room to ambient music or some YouTube talk show, usually sports or comics related.

I tend to go to bed pretty regularly around 10:30 or 11:00 as I need to wake up around 7 to take out the dog and get ready to commute. He doesn't need to be up until later so I don't mind that I go to bed alone, but I really hate being alone all night. It has felt constant that I wake up at 3:00am or 4:00 for the restroom and find he hasn't come into the bedroom. Something that's important to me is sharing the bed, and I have told him this, and that it makes me feel hurt and a little unloved. I feel like this was not a problem until just a couple of years ago so I don't know what changed.

He claims he needs the noise to go to sleep, as it has been his habit since before he met me to have a TV or radio on. I can NOT sleep with light or noise. Earplugs and face masks are uncomfortable. I was firm on no television in the bedroom when we moved in together. We have a white noise machine and that doesn't bother me too much. He's the kind of guy that can hit the pillow and pass out really quick though.

I asked him to at least set an alarm for 1:45 or so...even though half the time he is asleep by the time I take the dog out at night and get ready for bed. He won't come to bed even if he's already asleep that early and I don't know why. It's frustrating. There's nongood answer when I ask. He came to bed a couple of times with the alarm but then suddenly wouldn't anymore. Not sure if he is sleepily snoozing it or what. He keeps promising he will come to bed at a normal time, but won't. It feels like he's just constantly lying to me and I hate it. I feel like it's also contributing to a poor sex life but that's another story.

He claims he doesn't like getting up and having to go back to sleep but...neither do I. I shouldn't have to get him every night/early morning. I sleep lightly and not well in general which is why I would prefer him to come in by 2 or even earlier. I wake up when he does come in anyway and sometimes it's very hard to get back to sleep. Earlier would allow me more time to get back to deep sleep. Having to walk around the house at 3am makes it even harder on me.

He's mad because I'm trying to change his habits and "who he is". We fought tonight because he fell asleep on the couch extra early, maybe 9:30pm-ish. So I told him to just come to bed because he is already sleeping. Twice. He wouldn't, and of course the second I walked away he just fell asleep again, just like he always does.

He feels like I'm trying to control him and change him but I just want my partner to be in bed with me and I don't know what else to do at this point. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 7)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (7)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN woke early, her head in the crook of Lucy’s neck. She was half on top of her, cuddled to the side of her body with her legs tangled around one of Lucy’s. She was so warm and comfortable, Lucy’s arms protectively around her and her head leaning on top of hers. She shifted to look over at Jordan who was still very much asleep. She breathed a sigh of relief but didn’t risk staying any longer. She tried to carefully extract herself from a sleeping Lucy but she eventually woke, patting around the couch for her glasses. YFN found them and gently put them on her half-asleep eyes. YFN slowly came into focus in front of her. She gave a sleepy smile and tilted her head in a question.

“I forgot I have something to do this morning, I need to go.” Lucy looked a little disappointed, so she reached out and touched her cheek lightly. “I haven’t slept that good in a long time. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes… definitely yes.”

“And you’re sure it won’t affect your football prep?”

She shook her head and tried to whisper, though her morning voice was slightly deeper and huskier. “Training finishes at 5.”

“I’ll see you after training.” YFN gave a cheeky smile and collected her things, quietly tiptoeing away.

Lucy was disappointed at her leaving, and the parts of her body she’d just been laying on felt empty and cold. Suddenly, YFN appeared over the back of the couch and grabbed Lucy’s face, planting a kiss on her cheek. Lucy grinned and YFN kissed the parts of her cheek that crinkled with her grin also. After several pecks, she left Lucy sitting on the couch, far too excited for the night to come.

A knock came at her door just after 10am. “It’s open!”

Jordan walked in with a bigger smile on her face than usual as YFN exited the bathroom in a towel, phone to her ear. Jordan sat on the bed, her little legs dangling off, unable to reach the ground. YFN gave her a grin and used a second towel to dry her wet hair.

‘Your grandma?’ Jordan mouthed. YFN nodded.

“Yeah nan… yep… okay yep perfect. Awesome. Okay… I’ll talk to you later! Love you!” She hung up and dropped the phone onto the bed.

“Aw she sounds cute,” Jordan gushed.

“She’s the cutest. Hey Dory! You’re looking awfully chipper for someone who slept on the couch.”

Jordan gave another grin and didn’t say anything, just stared at YFN.

“Ooookay well at least close your eyes while I get dressed please,” YFN laughed.

“Oh! Sorry.” She covered her eyes and YFN dropped her towel. “I need some advice from you... you know, because you give the best advice.”

YFN chuckled. “I try.. Of course I’ll give you advice!”

“Okay well I sort of like someone… a lot.”

“Yes, Dory! That’s amazing! Who?”

“Well there’s the problem, she’s my mate’s friend… and I really don’t want to ruin that relationship. They’ve been friends for a while, but I’ve only just made friends with them. What should I do?”

“Well.. how much do you like her?”

“A lot. Like, I can’t stop thinking about her. We’ve held hands and even cuddled once. Oh, and one time we made out but I don't want to upset my other friend or come between them.”

YFN hummed. “You can open your eyes now.” She was looking in the mirror, brushing her hair to put it up in a messy bun as she continued. “If they’ve been friends for a while then I doubt you’ll come between them, Dory. As long as you and the person you like tell your friend before you go any further, then that’s perfectly okay! And if this new friend really is your friend then they won’t mind if you’re open and honest and genuinely like this person, you know?”

YFN smiled in the mirror at her successful messy bun and turned around to face Jordan. Jordan stared at her with a smile… waiting patiently. YFN was confused.. until she wasn’t. “Oh…” she thought and Jordan gave her a knowing look. “Oh! Lucy..?”

“…spoke to me this morning, yeah.”

YFN was caught unaware but she felt relieved because Jordan seemed happy. “And you’re okay with this?”

“One thousand percent, are you kidding? You two are so perfect, I have no idea why I didn’t see it before to be fair. I think I was just caught up in my own feelings. And you made out at the restaurant?”

“Oh!” YFN laughed sheepishly. “That was a bit of a loss of self-control there.”

“Sounds like more than that. Lucy made it seem like you two are really intense together.”

“Yeah… it is to be honest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before. And I really didn’t want to put you out…”

“She said that too. But in all fairness, I’m really happy. Really, really happy. She’s one of my best mates and has been for a long time. After Keira… well she’s been alone a lot and she’s not the type of person to talk about how alone she is but I know she feels it. And yes, you’re a new friend in comparison but I trust you completely and know you’d never ever do anything to hurt her, and her you. So I just only see positives here. I think you two would be very cute together, and actually good for each other. Plus it means there’s more chance you’re staying..?”

YFN almost cried at that. Her lips tightened and Jordan patted the bed beside her. YFN sat down next to her as Jordan dragged her into a hug. “Love you, mate. And I appreciate you. You deserve to be happy for once, instead of worrying about everyone else.”

YFN let herself cry a little until Jordan wrapped her legs around her like a bug and rolled them around the bed until YFN laughed and tried to escape.

“I hear you have a sexy date tonight, huh?”

“I hear the same.”

Jordan gave a devious smile. “Let’s get going, I’m going to buy you a present to celebrate.”

The two spent most of the day together as they had the previous days. They shopped and bantered and at one point when Jordan ducked off to get a ‘present’ for her in celebration, YFN took her phone out for the first time that day to see messages from Lucy.

Lucy: Morning little one. Jords gave me your number, I hope you don’t mind.

Lucy: How did your talk with Jords go this morning?

Lucy: Hello? Are you ignoring me?

YFN loved the persistence and responded.

YFN: Good afternoon, Lucia. Are you not supposed to be at training?

Lucy immediately saw the message and grinned at her screen, earning her some teasing from a few teammates.

Lucy: *SENT A PHOTO*

YFN stared at the photo, eyes wide. It was a selfie; Lucy was in just shorts and sports bra with fluffy earmuffs and a face mask. She was standing in front of a cryotherapy chamber with Georgia waving in the chamber behind her amongst the fog. The first thing she noticed was the grin behind the mask that crinkled the corners of her eyes. The second thing she noticed were Lucy’s hard nipples. The third… were her abs. Not necessarily in that order. She knows what she’s doing, YFN thought.

Lucy waited for a response. The 3 dots popped up and disappeared a few times. Had she broken her?

YFN: Your smile always brightens my day. Also.. is it cold in there or are you just happy to see me?

Lucy laughed out loud and a few of the girls turned to look at her chuckling at her phone.

Lucy: I thought you’d appreciate a little preview before tonight..

YFN: How confident of you. Can’t say I didn’t appreciate it.. would you like something to appreciate?

Lucy: Yes please.. I shouldn’t have to ask.

YFN: *SENT A PHOTO*

Lucy gawked at the photo. She was beautiful. It was also a selfie as she sat in a park, her face leaning back and facing up at the sun. Her white button up was open and pushed back, her white singlet accentuating the curves of her tits. There must have been a breeze because her nipples were also hard. Luckily Lucy had her mask on because her mouth was agape.

YFN watched the three dots pop up and disappear multiple times. Had she liked it?

Lucy: Is it cold or did my photo just turn you on that much?

YFN: The latter.

Lucy: I have no idea how we’re going to get through tonight. I can’t imagine sitting across from you eating dinner like this.

YFN: Maybe we should get the sexual tension out of the way first… it seems the smart thing to do..

Lucy: I want you.

YFN: Tell me how you want me..

Lucy: Every way. It’s more of a need to be fair. I need to feel you and hear you and taste you. I need to hear your voice in my ear as you fall apart.

Lucy sent the message with a little anxiety, worried she’d gone too far. She didn’t have to wait long for a response.

YFN: I want all of that and more.. please. My safe word is pineapples. *wink*

Lucy almost came right there and then. Georgia came up behind her. “Who’s that?”

Lucy jumped and her phone went flying but she caught it. Lucy gave her a look.

Georgia clicked on. “Ohhh it’s YFN. Don’t worry, I promised you I wouldn’t tell anyone until you were ready. You can trust me!” She gave her a quick side hug and walked away, Lucy feeling sceptical that she’d keep her promise.

Lucy: It’s my turn in the cryo but I’ll reply to your messages when I’m out. You have no idea how much I want you. Tell me what you want… tell me what you like..

Lucy grudgingly put the phone down and entered cryo. YFN saw her message and bit her lip. She was already wet from their little conversation. She was worried she’d go too far, but she trusted Lucy and knew she felt the same.

YFN: I want everything. I want your mouth on me, your tongue in me. I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want to be hanging onto you and begging you for more. I’m not joking about the safe word.

Jordan came back then with a medium sized plain box. When YFN asked what was in it, she said it was a surprise for later and put it in the car. The two spent the rest of the day wandering around, stopping for snacks and to see things that caught their eye. It was nice how comfortable they felt together to just wander around and explore.

Meanwhile Lucy went wild when she saw the message. God, was she going to put on a performance tonight.

Lucy: I’ll have you begging, don’t worry little one.

YFN: Tell me what you want.. what do you expect? And be honest, you won’t scare me away.

This reassured Lucy, she had always been so worried about going too far in her previous relationships. Something about this was different though, she felt more seen and more safe to just be her honest self.

Lucy: I can be jealous, and controlling, and a bit dominant. I’ll want you to know you’re mine.

YFN: I love all of that, Luce. I trust you.

Lucy: We’ll go slow..

YFN: No, we won’t. You’re worried you’ll scare me. You won’t, I promise. I understand you, Luce. I want you jealous and dominant and controlling. I want you to hold me down and edge me and fuck me until you’re happy. I want us to be able to take our emotions out on each other. It’s okay, I promise.

Lucy sucked in a deep breath. She had assumed YFN would thrive over message, being a creative writer. She was right. She could tell YFN felt comfortable being so vulnerable over text, and Lucy had never felt so understood.

“Lucy! Come on!” She wasn’t sure who was shouting, and she didn’t really care. She held up a finger to wait as she replied.

Lucy: I have to go, but you have no idea how much that effects me. Tonight you’re mine.

Jordan dropped YFN off around 5pm as she had dinner planned with her family. She gave YFN a hug and a ‘good luck’ for her date. YFN showered and then unpacked the shopping she’d gotten that day. She found the little plain box Jordan had slipped into the bottom of one of her shopping bags and puzzled over it, deciding to open it. As she saw the strap, she fumbled and dropped it onto the bed in shock. She wasn’t expecting that.

YFN: You did not.

Dory: *wink* Don’t mention it.

YFN: …

Dory: No, seriously. Don’t mention it.

Had Lucy put her up to that?

A knock sounded and her door and she was confused. Was it housekeeping day? She quickly hid the strap and the knock came at the door again, persistently. “Coming!”

She opened the door, still chuckling to herself from Jordan’s little joke. Lucy stood there in shorts and a hoody. “Luce!” She startled, unable to stop a grin. Seeing the expression on her face, her grin faded. Lucy walked into the room and YFN backed up. The look on her face was lust and need. She carefully closed the door behind her and locked it without breaking eye contact. They both knew what was happening. They didn’t need words.

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight - Part 3: You're So Vain

📜Back to our regularly scheduled broadcasting of these two in the present day, trying to 'not' kill each other. Maybe...

❗️+18, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character, Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, Verbal fights, bullying, camping, injury, pranks, and angry/snarky Midge.

#7.9k

Part 2 | Masterlist | Part 4

*Present Day*

"Rise and shine, sleepyheads!"

Metal banging. Metal fucking banging. That was the noise you heard outside your tent as you woke up, groaning and hiding your face into your tiny pillow.

Somebody was clanging the ever-livin' shit out of a metal pot outside your tent. You had a pretty good feeling who, and it only made you reach for the edges of your sleeping bag to pull it tighter over your head.

Grace in the tent next to you whined out, "Somebody, please turn it off!"

"It's fucking six in the morning, Jake!" Bradley called out hoarsely from somewhere across the campsite.

The banging stopped, followed by Jake calling out, "We have to get a move on if we want to get a good campsite for tonight!"

It wasn't even past lunch, past breakfast, and he was more worried about where he was going to sleep tonight.

It's a hiking trip, not navigating the fucking airport.

You moaned, rolling onto your back and calling out, "Who made you the alarm cock?" before faking a loud cough and following up with, "Oops, I mean clock."

There was a pause. Then, all of a sudden, you could hear the sound of leaves being crunched under a pair of boots approaching your tent. Within two seconds, the person grabbed the fabric at the top of your tent and started to pull. Your entire tent shook, and you screeched as the flimsy plastic bars holding it up appeared as if they would snap at any second.

Covering your eyes with your forearm, you shouted out, "Jake, stop it! You asshole! You're going to break my tent!"

He didn't. At least not right away. Jake pulled at least another five times before he decided to stop, laughing loudly and obnoxiously.

"You could always share with me! Come on, you don't think that would be fun? We could tell ghost stories and all the gossip. Maybe even share a sleeping bag and keep each other warm."

Clearly, he had already forgotten about the little fight and agreement, if you could call it such, yesterday.

"Over my fucking dead body," you deadpanned, throwing your arm back to the ground with a thump.

"It's too early for your guy's shit!"

That could have been Javy, you thought, but it also could have been Mickey. Either one could have been just as equally pissed off at waking up at any time before ten.

"Tell that to him," you called back. "I was asleep!"

Collective groans sounded off around the campsite, singling Jake had succeeded in waking everyone else up with his antics. You don't know whether to laugh or cry. If he wanted to start shit this early, there was no telling what else he was going to pull as the day went on. Because if this was anything to go by, Jake had no intentions of staying out of your

That didn't mean you would, though.

You weren't going to pull anything. At least, not until this trip was over. 

There were some shuffling noises in the dirt before Jake finally called out to you from a distance, "Time to get up, Midge! We aren't going to wait for you!"

Maybe you could find Poison Ivy somewhere out in the bush and stuff it into his bag on the last day. 

Sighing once, you stretched against the bed roll, deciding you probably should get up. You were hankering for a cup of coffee, and you knew without a doubt you'd need the caffeine to get through the day.

It took you a few minutes to get dressed and organize your sling bag so your paints and brushes would be within easy reach. To make up for the half day yesterday because Nat was about fairness, Jake would take charge of the compass for one more day. If he could manage to follow the instructions on the back of the map, ones you and Nat had laid out, you should be stopping at a cliffside for an incredible view of Mount Rainer at a distance for lunch.

Just as you stepped outside of your tent, you were greeted by the sound of footsteps approaching. You turned your head, spying Veronica making her way to the entrance of your tent.

“Ah, Morning, Midge.”

You want to either hide or hurl. Maybe even both.

Your interactions with her had been limited at best. She and Javy had only started dating two years ago, and even then, encounters with her were limited to larger social gatherings. You often suspected she preferred it that way. Between going to school and being a social media influencer, there was not a time when you saw her without her phone, capturing moments with Jessica or Javy, even Nat, only to turn them into content for her TikToks.

There was not a time when you didn’t see her with Jessica either. The two of them seemed inseparable, the dynamic so ingrained into your mind that it was difficult to separate the two. Wherever one went, the other was guaranteed close behind.

“Painting in the wild, I see?” she said, gesturing to her bag. “Never thought you’d get out of the studio.”

That was the thing about Veronica. She was as hot and cold towards you as they come. What you ever did to her, you will never know.

You huffed a laugh. “Surprised you even knew I have a studio.”

“I keep tabs on everyone,” she declared, bringing her hand up to flick at a bright pink manicured nail. With her hand still raised, she eyed you with a narrow stare. "Sold any of your paintings yet?"

You would never admit it aloud, but her comment hit a nerve. As it probably was meant to. It was common knowledge throughout the friend group you were trying to gain more recognition as an artist. While it was true you probably didn’t hit the ‘big wig’ level Veronica believed to be the pinnacle of success, you had indeed sold some of your paintings to a small but dedicated following. Playing the long game was better than producing something with no quality.

But it had been a few months with no success. Something Veronica, being who she was, would have latched on to without remorse.

Why she had decided to be a bitch to you this morning, you weren’t sure why.

“And what’s your point of asking me that? Cause I know for a fact it's not cause you care about what I paint.”

"I just thought I'd check in on your little hobby and see if it's going anywhere," Veronica said, her tone evidently laced with condescension. "But clearly, you're too sensitive to take a bit of friendly interest."

You laughed. Hard.

“Is this just your way of feeling important this morning? Because, honestly, you could try something new, like minding your own business for a change. I don't ask you why you don't have brands jumping into your DM's to collaborate with you."

Veronica’s face started to flush a bright shade of red, her shoulders stiffening. You watched it happen, not before your eyesight shifted to the group of people standing next to the firepit. Jessica was watching the two of you interact with wide eyes and a smug smile stretching across her face.

You knew right away why Veronica had approached you. Clearly, she woke up deciding to be that attack dog on the other side of a very, very tight leash.

You barely registered Veronica as she brushed past in a fury. Her elbow made a swift, seemingly accidental contact with the bend of your arm and your bag. In an instant, the bag’s flap came undone, and your paintbrushes, their case, and your tin case of watercolour paints clattered to the ground, scattering in all directions.

Your heart sank fast, a sense of panic twisting a knife in your stomach at the thought of any damage being wrought.

"Oops, how clumsy of me," Veronica said, her tone dripping with feigned innocence. She didn't stop or look back, continuing her path as if nothing had happened, already seeking out Jessica standing by the firepit with everyone else.

You knelt as you heard slight giggles in the distance as you reached for the first brush, wanting to inspect it for damages. Watercolour brushes were expensive, if not delicate. You wouldn’t have risked bringing them on such a journey if not for how easy it was to use watercolours for this type of thing. Not to mention eco-friendly.

Luckily, no damage had been done from what you could see on the one, and the tin case of paints had landed in a soft spot of mud. The tin had mud gracing its surface, but you knew the tiny pucks within wouldn’t have split with such a soft landing. The thought makes you sigh with relief.

"Here, Maeve, I'll help you out." 

You looked up to see Bob kneeling down next to you, reaching for your paints. Despite the knot in your stomach, a soft smile graced your face, and you thanked him quietly, reaching for the farthest brush away from you. 

"Don't let him get to you. Or Veronica. They are just being shit disturbers." 

You scoffed, adding the brush to the pile Bob had created. "I didn't know we'd be encountering more than one ignoranus on this trip." 

Bob paused for a second, raising his eyebrow thoughtfully before he let out a snort and reached for your brush case. "You know that's not actually in the dictionary." 

"One can dream." 

Bob shook his head, beginning the process of sliding each brush back into their individual slots.

“Can I help with anything?” Nat asked as she walked by with a smile on her face.

She did not see any of that, you realize. You shook your head, managing a tight grin as you titled your head towards Bob. “I think we have it covered. Thanks though. Could you maybe snag me a cup of coffee?”

Nat nodded, making her way over to the drip pot someone had brought. You watched her go, feeling a small sense of relief at the thought of a hot cup of coffee. It was a minor consolation but welcome, nonetheless. However, when Nat returned, her hands were empty, and her expression was apologetic.

“Jake packed it all away,” she said.

Of. Course .

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your voice had risen more than you intended, causing Jake to glance over at you from his chair. You narrowed your eyes at him as Nat left you to join Bradley.

“So, I can’t even have a cup of coffee before we set off on the hike?” Your tone was sharp, your annoyance with the situation, with Jake, with the entire morning, everything.

“We need to hit the road, Midge. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“A big deal?” You couldn’t believe his nonchalance.  “Silly of me for expecting a bit of normalcy on this trip.”

"You can’t always get what you want, Midge," he shrugged from his chair, a grin on his face. "There's some hot water left, though."

Jake turned his head back in the direction of Ruben, who was standing over the grill covering the fire, stirring some oatmeal, and you couldn't help but hang your mouth open.

The sheer audacity of his remark makes you fall back on your heels, glaring at him. You're pretty sure you're breathing fire. And if they could, your eyes would be turning a pretty shade of bright ruby red, directed at him. You want to stand between his spread legs as he sits in that fold-up chair. You want to grab the hair at the back of his head and yank. Maybe even knee him in the groin when he wasn't looking and make him grunt with pain.

"Ah, you alright there, Midge?"

"Just dandy," you gruffed out to Bob, not taking your eyes off Jake as he slipped his coffee, the red 295 ml YETI rambler encompassed solely by the palm of his hand.

He probably just got it, along with all his other camping gear. It would totally be something only he would do, rich kid prick.

He looked like it, too. Lounging in that Green and brown Patagonia sweater that probably cost more than anything you owned. And his watch - vintage, clearly expensive, and limited edition. That one accessory on his wrist probably held more monetary value than any piece you'd ever or would create. It was infuriating how good he looked, how effortlessly everything seemed to come to him. Even you couldn't deny that frustrating fact. 

So did Jessica, it would seem, waltzing over to where he was sitting with a certain gleam in her eyes, one that said she knew exactly what she was doing. 

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, your fingers clumsily searching for your brushes without success. Your eyes, however, never strayed from Jake. Your hand closed around one, and you brought it towards your lap, fully intending to place it with the others.  But watching them converse, you only gripped that single paintbrush tighter in your hand. 

And Jake, damn him, just soaked it all up. He was basking in her attention like it was the most natural thing in the world. He lounged back in his seat, practically radiating confidence as he gleamed up at her, letting her stroke at his shoulder.

She had no shame ogling at him, even flirting with Jake when her boyfriend was literally right there, making her breakfast for her. The thin piece of wood of your painter's brush nearly snapped under the pressure of your tightening grip.

Bob placed his hand on your shoulder, lightly squeezing it once, then twice, bringing you out of your heated glare. You shook your head, eyes meeting Bob's friendly face. "I know it doesn't compare, but I have some tea in my bag instead. I can make you a cup?"

Your anger calmed under Bob's kindness, and you loosened your grip on the thin piece of wood, letting your thumb stroke absentmindedly over the spot where you had pressed into it. There was an indent from your nail, and you cursed to yourself.

These were brand new, too.

You nodded at him with a swallow. "That's kind of you, Bob. Only if you are making one for yourself."

He returned your nod with a smile, getting up to find his bag. You however, turned your gaze back to Jake, though less intense.

How you would get through the day, you had no idea.

Poison ivy, yes. In his underwear? Definitely.

----

Barely.

Just. Fucking. Barely.

That was your answer to your question. You're pretty sure your tongue has permanent bite marks scarred into it from how many times you resisted the overwhelming urge to call Jake out on his bullshit.

Why did you decide to be the bigger person? You honestly can't say why. But the urge was there in everything Jake did, whether it was opening his mouth or simply standing still.

It was the exact same as yesterday. You're at the back again with Cora and Grace. You attempt to add to the conversation where you can, but being the last person, your position puts you in the prime spot to people-watch.

It's difficult not to keep your eyes off Jake. He's drawing attention even when he's not doing anything noteworthy. It was even worse when every time Jessica or Veronica seemed to complement his skills flirtatiously, he flirted back. No doubt enjoying the attention and making it all about him.

Not to mention how he selectively listened to certain members of the group more than others. Like Bob, who pointed out the tracks of a deer in the mud along the trail. And how the deeper indent on one of the tracks indicated it sensed you guys were coming, for it to twist and take off into the bush.

Jake spoke over him, talking to Bradley about dinner, who was seemingly genuinely interested in what Bob had to say.

That one bothered you the most. Even when the group finally reached the outlook for lunch, it still played on your mind. So much so you had sat there for the better half of the lunch break, your sketchbook thrown across your lap and a brush in hand, staring up at the famous volcano, not once putting paint to the page.

Why did he always have to make everything about him?

And yet, you still had said nothing. Not then, and not even when you all packed up and left. Not one thing. You weren't going to do it.

So, what, exactly, was your tipping point?

When Jake suggested the entire group deviate off the trail and up the side of a small steep hill, though it looked more like a cliff face.

"No fuckin way."

Mickey grimaced. Bob stepped away from you. Cora and Grace huddled together, and Nat dropped her head only to wince, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. Bradley even held his arm out in front of Jake.

"Midge..."

"That's too steep for all of us with the stuff we are carrying!"

"We'll save an hour and a half going this way!"

"And risking everyone's safety for the sake of 'practicality' is just reckless. We're not all expert climbers, Seresin! One hour and a bit is nothing!"

You stepped forward, making a swipe for the map. Jake lifted it out of your way before you could grab it; however, the compass fell, and you reached down to collect it before he forgot about it.

In the midst of this, Veronica and Jessica watched from the sidelines. Jessica's face was alight with a mix of excitement at the unfolding drama and irritation that Jake's attention was so fixated on Midge.

"Guys, let's just think this through," Nat said, trying to mediate, while Bradley echoed, "There's no need to turn this into a bigger issue."

"Yes, Jake," you said pointedly. "There is no need to turn this into an issue when there was none in the first place." Your voice rose with each word, not quite angry but not civilized either.

"I'm not suggesting anything we can't handle, Midge."

"Really? Are you forgetting Mickey and Javy are carrying the food, which already weighs a shit ton? How are we going to manage to get it all the way up that?" you asked, gesturing to where they were standing, packs resting at their feet. "Or how Cora and Veronica are carrying their tents, on top of their own things? How can they climb something with that much weight on their backs?"

"Less time to be carrying everything, don't you think?"

"If you look at the map, the route we've planned out is smoother and easier on all of us. And predictable! We could lose our way by taking a different path."

Cora piped up from the back. "I agree with Maeve."

Grace nodded with her, as did Bob and Mickey. Bradley turned, placing his hand on Jake's shoulder. "Jake, I think we should listen..."

But Jake shrugged him off, stepping towards you.

"Midge, I've no doubt about your talent in leading a brush on canvas. But navigating in the wild? That's a whole different kind of art form, one you're clearly not as proficient at."

"Jake," Nat shouted. "That was very uncalled for!"

Something dropped in your stomach, and your eyes started to burn.

"Fine," you stated firmly. "You know what, I'm out. I. Am. Out."

Truly, you meant to gently toss the compass to him in the hopes he'd see it coming and reach out to catch it. You wanted to be rid of it and the conversation as quickly as you could. You were done. Done arguing, done caring and offering your opinion when it was dead-set clear Jake didn't care about it anyway.

But as you threw it, your anxiety took over. What should have been a simple toss turned into a frustrated, heavy-handed fling, like you were skipping a stone across a large lake. The compass flew faster, harder, and higher up than you intended, striking Jake squarely on the forehead.

Collective gasps shot around the group, yours included.

My bad doesn't even begin to cover it.

You don't know what's worse. The feeling of guilt settling in your stomach over it hitting his head, or for having felt that feeling of said guilt.

The silence throughout the group was just as bad, too.

"Enough!" Nat is the one to break it first, coming to stand between the two of you, her arms stretched out. Jake has a hand on his forehead, rubbing the skin through the back of his baseball cap. Your mouth is closed, and your nostrils are flaring hard with each rapid breath you take, purposely averting your eyes to stare at the ground.

"Given we have all this stuff we have to carry, we are sticking with Midge and I's original plan. We didn't spend all that time 'mathing' the hell out of those trails for nothing."

Not that you saw it, but Jake raised his eyebrows at Nat's words, his eyes then shooting to your body, taking in how you were looking at the ground.

"You and Midge planned the whole thing out?"

You lifted your head, squinting your eyes. "I know my way around more than just a paintbrush, Seresin."

"Midge..."

"Just save it, Jake," you snap, your voice on the verge of breaking. "You don't need to add to the damage that's already been done."

Without another word, you turn on your heel, holding yourself by your elbows across your chest as you go to hide behind Cora and Grace. Cora offered you a sad smile as you passed her, offering you her hand from behind her back as you came to a stop. She pulled you directly behind her so she might shield you from the looks of the rest of the group.

You didn't say a word to anyone else for the rest of the hike.

---

It was no lakeside or real private area, but the campfire Bob put up was a welcome companion. It's soft crackling, popping, and heat made you feel comfortable against the eerie feeling of being surrounded by the woods this late into the evening.

You were deeper into the park than yesterday, this campsite slightly bigger than yesterday. Despite Jake's instance that none of you would find a campsite for tonight, there are no other hikers around. It's simply just your group, so you have this place all to yourselves.

It doesn't feel like it. Out beyond the treeline, you are sure something is watching you. Stalking you. There are hidden shapes in the dark, moving and transforming with every searching look. Each rustle of the bushes or sweep of wind makes you hold yourself tighter, the concept that anything can happen in the woods was becoming real with each passing second.

Last night seemed to be okay. But now? You have no idea how you were going to manage to fall asleep tonight.

Nat and Bradley took off the second they got their tent up and ate dinner. You're not sure where, but you were positive it had something to do with getting some 'alone time.' Everyone else seemed to go off and do their own thing as well. You couldn't say you blamed them.

You wanted to escape, too.

You try to focus on the flames roaring out of the pit. Each orange twists as they reach towards the sky. Each colour changed as each flame tracked higher and higher. You think about how you would paint them, how each stroke would form the flame.

Until you aren't because the colour of the stone pit, the dull grey, reminds you of the compass. And everything from today comes rushing back in, accompanied by intense feelings of shame.

You had let your anger get the best of you. You knew that. You knew you shouldn't have thrown that compass directly at Jake's head. It wasn’t one of your prouder moments; the yelling and insults were as far as you’d ever want your dislike for Jake to go. Even after how he talked shit behind your back, he still didn’t deserve that happening to him.

You remembered the weight of the compass in your hand, the moment it left your fingers, and then the instant regret as it struck Jake. You closed your eyes, shaking your head.

It happened before it was too late.

So was the nature of these things with you, too. Even with your own family. A comment made here, voicing an opinion there. Then, the bitter feeling of wanting to be right and only to be right because that opinion should be recognized as fact.

And after every time, you always left regretting having ever opened your mouth in the first place.

Besides Cora and Grace, nobody seemed to want to talk to you either. Everyone avoided you, and you understood why.

Maybe you did deserve the silent treatment after all. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense, feeling the same feeling you fought to bury in the years after leaving school. You had been too much. Or not enough.

Maybe you were difficult to be around. Maybe it was you, not Jake. Maybe it was your presence that was the burden, more than you had ever realized. Maybe you had no right to feel hurt for what Jake said to that girl about you that night on Halloween.

You sniffed hard, wiping at your eyes.

Maybe I might be the problem after all.

Something covered in plastic landed directly on your lap with a dull thump.

"Tag, you're it."

Speak of the devil, he shall appear. 

You looked down, the compass and the map carefully placed into a clear plastic bag. You didn't bother lifting your head, mocking a two-finger salute against your forehead as you set your eyes back on the flames.

"Thanks, Seresin."

It was wishful thinking on your part to think he'd leave you alone. You fully expected him to after you caught a glimpse of the small welt on his forehead while he was putting up his tent. The visual image made you wince.

Jake didn't move. Rather, he stood over you, staring down as if he was waiting for you to say something else. Looking for an apology, perhaps.

As fucking if. You weren’t going to offer jack shit, not when he thought of you as he did.

"Can I help you?" you huffed, purposely keeping your eyes off him. You knew full well he'd be pissed you weren't giving him your full attention. Maybe deep down, seeing the evidence of your outburst marring his forehead would have been too much for you.

Him seeing you crying would be but another victory he had over you, too.

"You know we have the waterfall on the list tomorrow, right?"

You scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You didn't miss a beat when you causally threw out behind a tired smirk, "You plotting to push me off the ledge? Tell everyone I tripped and get rid of me for once and for all?"

"Temping, but no." Jake's response was quick. "I was thinking about us not getting lost. Don't be admiring the scenery too much to pay attention to the map."

Oh. This fucking asshole. No shit, that was for the compass.

"What? The treeline? The mountains? In a National Park? Or are you implying you're the thing I couldn't keep my eyes off?" you scoffed. "You wish, Seresin. I don't spend my time staring at assholes all day. I would rather admire the scenery that's actually worth it."

You could feel the tension radiating off him as he stood next to you. Probably clenching his fists, gritting his teeth. His jaw was clenched, and you could picture his jugular vein pulsing in his neck.

"Why? Admiring the view you're never going to paint?"

You bit your tongue.

Big. Fucking. Ouch. 

But then the realization struck you. He was watching you at lunch today. Why?

"You seem quite invested in what I paint. Care to explain why? Or are cheap shots your new favourite thing? You seem to be doing a lot of that lately."

Jake remained silent, not bothering to answer what seemed like a very legitimate question.

He lets out a tuff of air, crossing his arms across his chest. You can feel the retort coming on the tip of his tongue, ready to lash out. It never comes. Instead, he swiftly turns the conversation back to the reason he approached you in the first place. 

You almost wish he didn't. Almost.

"The waterfall, Midge. Bradley's thinking about using it as his chance to purpose." 

You rolled your eyes. "You don't say? I wonder whoever gave him that idea, hmm?" 

"I'm just saying, don't mess it up for them." 

"I'm not going to be the one to mess it up," you argued. "I'm not the one that nearly got us killed today or the one that started shit first thing in the morning." 

Jake huffed, his shoulders dropping hard. "You know what I mean." 

"Do I? Do I really?" you call out sarcastically. "A man, whose every interaction I've had with him since I can remember, always ending up in a fight, is telling me I know what he means. I wonder how you got to that conclusion."

There is a pause.

"It didn't mean it like that."

"Mhm."

"Midge, I didn't mean it like that."

"It doesn't matter. You made your point, Jake. Don't mess it up. I got it."

The bitter sting of his words makes itself known in the quiver of your bottom lip. You shake your head once, finally allowing yourself to look up at him, attempting to pin him with a stare.

"If that's all, Seresin."

Your eyes land on the chair bag slung over his shoulder instead.

"Please tell me you're not thinking about sitting here," you blurt out. 

What does the fucker do but suddenly light up and grin like it's the best idea in the world?

"It's a free country, Midge," he says, letting the chair fall from his shoulder.

"Yeah, no fucking thank you."

You went to stand, clutching the plastic bag to your thighs as your chair rocked slightly under the movement. Jake's voice, sharp and loud, made you stop.

"Come on now, Maeve. You're the one who didn't want to talk unless we were passing off the compass."

The use of your name, not Midge, makes you sit back down.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world to try and actually have a conversation with each other that doesn't have any insults being thrown around? Or objects?"

You grimaced.

Yes, is your immediate answer. Yes, it would be because it’s impossible.

You ignore the mention of the compass and the fact he's guilt-tripping you into staying because of it.

“Seriously? Civil is not even a word I would use to describe us. You bark, I bite.”

Jake dramatically pulled his chair apart, dropping it to the ground with the plastic legs clacking. Plopping himself down into the chair, he puts his feet up on the edge of the pit, crossing his legs at his ankles.

“Oh, so there is an us now? When did that happen?”

That five-second clip of that white cat yacking you’ve seen online comes to mind, and you are pretty sure whatever noise just came out of your mouth resembles that sound.

“Wow, nice one, Midge.”

You shot Jake a withering look. “If I had a dime for every time you’ve made me gag…”

Jake’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead. He licked his lips, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth only to bite down, the corners of his mouth turning up words.

You know right away what he’s thinking.

“Don’t…” you caution.

“Pun intended?” he huffs through a laugh.

You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the firepit. “Why do men always think with their dicks.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Shut up, Seresin.”

There's a moment of silence between the two of you after that. The sky turned even darker, and the warm, bright light of the firepit seemed to span out to flood the entire campsite. The wood crackled, crickets chirped, and the wind gently rustled the leaves on the trees overhead. You had stopped crying a few minutes ago, more surprised Jake was letting this much time pass between the two of you without saying anything.

You'd dare say you found yourself content, even if he was sitting somewhat next to you.

But when Jake decides to try again, this time on easier ground.

"Bradley's nervous," he said aloud. "Keeps wondering if he picked the right moment to do it. All he does is stare at that damn ring and ask if it’s going to go okay."

You still said nothing. Jake presses on.

"I didn't mean that you were going to mess up tomorrow. I didn't mean what I said about you and a paintbrush, either. I just.. want it to be perfect for them. It needs to be perfect for them. Bradley's done a lot for me. He deserves this going the way he wants."

"You don't think I want the same for Nat?" You suddenly challenged. "She's my best friend. Practically one of my only friends. If I can help make her happy, then you'd be damn sure I'll be doing everything I can to ensure she is."

A ball forms in the back of your throat at the words you just said aloud, wondering why the hell you said that to him, of all people. You do your best to swallow it down, even if you feel like choking.

You clear your throat, digging your nails into the space between your collarbone through your vest. "Bradley, too."

Jake nods to himself. "I remember when he came bursting through our dorm room, raving on about how Nat finally said yes." He smiles to himself. "He couldn't stop grinning until the day of. And then, I think he has a certain smile reserved just for her."

Nat had told you the story. She had only been dating Bradley for about a month when she moved in with you. He had spied her at one of his football games, approaching her afterwards and flirting. Nat kept him guessing, not saying no but not saying yes either.

She wanted to be sure Bradley wanted her for the right reasons, not as a jersey bunny, waiting on the sidelines in case he might decide to 'tap it.'

Even after all these years, the same smile she wore every time she came home from a date or was in Bradley's presence never left her face. The thought of it makes the edges of your mouth turn upwards.

"She has one for Bradley, too," you offer hesitantly, more out loud to yourself. "It's soft like she doesn't realize she's doing it until a small patch of skin crinkles around her eyes."

"Bradley twitches his moustache. The god-awful thing."

You sputter a laugh. "I remember the day he started growing it. What was he thinking?"

"That he wanted to star in a 70s cop show?" Jake remarked, a playful smirk on his face.

You chuckled. "Or a very ambitious caterpillar found a new home and hasn't left for the past two years."

Jake snorted. "I think he lost a bet with someone."

"It's a cry for help."

Jake nodded in agreement before he cocked his eyebrow at you, mischief in his eyes. "You hold him down; I'll shave it off?"

A squeak of laughter escaped through your closed mouth, your body jolting. There was a small smile too, despite your best efforts to hold your reaction back. But you couldn’t help it. Soon, with your eyes slammed shut and dimples forming on your face, your body rocked back and forth with open laughter.

You glanced once, then twice back at Jake, who was fighting his own reaction. He couldn’t resist the pull of it, letting his own laughter join yours. It made you laugh harder. Because it was a sound, you had never heard from him. It was hearty, deep, and it was genuine. Not laced in disdain or condensation.

You laughed harder because Jake Seresin was laughing with you. Not at you. And for the fact, there's a kinder warmth instead of a fire spreading across your chest.

As the laughter subsided, you both paused, a little surprised by the ease of the moment. Caught off guard, your eyes locked on to Jake’s, a soft gaze forming on his face. The one side of your mouth crooked upwards into a one-sided grin.

Maybe I shouldn’t have judged him so harshly for something he said in his youth? Maybe I have a part to play in this game of ours, too? Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought after all?

It didn't last long. Your smile was the one to fade first into a look of discomfort as you saw Jessica and Veronica approach the campfire. Jessica’s smile was wide, but her eyes didn't quite match the warmth of her expression, and like always, Veronica followed a step behind.

A chill shot up your spine, and you hugged yourself tighter, watching Jake look up at the pair with an adoring smile. It is only then you realize the shame you once felt before Jake arrived has returned with full force.

Ah, hello, you fine-flicked bastard.

"Having fun, are we?" Jessica chirped, her gaze flicking between Jake and Midge. "It seems you two have 'made up.'"

You had a pretty good idea of where this was going.

"I never took you for the outdoorsy type, Midge," she offered behind a sadistic grin.

You narrowed your eyes, a knowing smirk on your face.

Karma can be a bitch, and so can I.

“We can’t all be experts in social climbing, Jessica. But then again, I guess it’s hard to pay attention to anyone’s hobbies when you’re only around for the photo ops and the popularity points. The outdoors doesn’t really offer the kind of attention you’re usually after, does it?”

Her smile faltered, winding back into a tight grin. The whites of her knuckles shun as she balled her hand into a fist at her side. It took her a second, but she regained her composure, tossing her hair back and sporting a new sly smile.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of dabbling in things like painting. Unlike some people, I have to adapt. It’s about being relevant and knowing how to appeal to a crowd.” She leaned forward slightly in your direction, voice dripping with faux concern. “Not everyone can seem to grasp that concept.”

Veronica smiled, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Oh, you mean how you jump on every trend?” You unwrap your arm from around your stomach, placing your elbow on the armrest and letting your chin rest on the back of your fingers. “I’ve seen your posts. Tell me something, honestly, do you ever stick with one long enough actually to see it through?”

You raised your eyebrows, expecting her to answer. Her face, even in this light, seemed to blend with the glow of the fire. To your surprise, Jake was even holding back a chuckle.

You can see the imaginary foot stomp she wanted to give from her facial expression alone.

“I can’t believe you’d say that, Midge. It’s like you’re always waiting to criticize me and everyone.”

You chuckle softly at the childish display. "If you're going to dish it out, be prepared to get it back. At least Jake understands that fact."

Jessica ignored you, stepping closer to Jake. "Why is she always like this? At least you know how to handle Midge's... let's say, 'artistic temperament.'"

"It's a nice game we have going."

Veronica quickly joined in, "Yeah, not everyone can keep up with her. But you've got a way of handling things. And her."

Oh, I'm going to be sick.

You tried to tune them out, dropping your chin to your chest. The red marker lines you made on the map through the bag seemed more interesting than listening to whatever bullshit those three were spurting.

You should get up. Leave. You didn’t want nor need to hear this. Hear them flirt yet again and fawn over Jake. You didn’t want to hear him reply in kind, either.

That was until Jake’s shout suddenly punched the air.

“Bear!”

Shrieking, you shot out of your chair, trying to turn around to spot the animal. But the action must have been too fast as the chair, never designed for such sudden shifts, as it wobbled, buckled and finally collapsed beneath you. And down you went with a sickenly loud and heavy thud.

"Oh, bless her heart, she fell for that," Veronica snickered through her laughter.

It takes you a second to realize you are on the ground. All you can think about, all you can feel, is the pain shooting up your arm from the base of your wrist. You want to curl into yourself against the dirt and cradle your injured hand to your chest. You want to make yourself as small as possible and blindly hope even if you knew they did, they didn't see you fall.

You just wanted them to leave you alone.

They wouldn't. Not for the right reasons. Even though there is buzzing in your ears, you can hear Jessica's and Veronica's laughter stretch out to the boundaries of the camp. Who wouldn't? Even the crickets and the subtle chirps of birds are no longer letting themselves be heard, probably scared off by the noises they are making. 

Between the two of them and Jake, they probably plotted to scare the shit out of you anyway.

The thought alone urges you to stand, tears unknowingly trailing down your cheeks as you hoist yourself up against the stones of the firepit. Jake was closer to you than he was before, hands swaying slightly like he was fighting the urge to help you.

You felt a wave of nausea as you gingerly tested your wrist, a sharp jolt of pain shooting up your arm with even the smallest movement. You couldn't even move it beyond the slight, bitter flex of your hand.

"Midge, I'm..."

Jake never got to finish his sentence. Jessica's sickly, sweet voice interrupted him. It was anything but - each word oozing out like molasses, but with a sharp, nasal edge that made the same damn shiver go up your spine as before.

“Bless your heart, Midge. You really ought to be more careful. Anything can happen in the woods.”

Veronica nodded in agreement, quickly adding, "If I had that much riding on my hand to make a living for myself, I wouldn't be going anywhere. Especially if your art is as delicate as your balance."

You felt blindsided, wrapping your good arm around your waist as if to shield yourself. More tears bit at the corners of your eyes as the spite of their words hit you, no courageous or witty retort coming to save you. You fought with yourself to make sure they didn't fall. It was a battle you lost almost instantly.

They had no idea what it was truly like. Nor would they. Standing behind Jake on either side, their faces shadowed by the light of the fire. The sight was menacing, and you couldn't help but feel like one of those small cartoon mice trapped in the corner of the room, a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.

You couldn't let them, let him, see you like this.

Suddenly, Jake was reaching for you, for your injured wrist. You shied from him, fighting tears as you pulled your arm to your chest. Fighting tears, you willed your shaky legs to carry you away from the campsite.  You were deaf to the shouts of your annoying nickname from Jake's lips and deaf to the words of Jessica and Veronica telling him to give it up and let you go.

Nothing you could have said or could have come up with for some smart-ass quip would have made a difference anyway.

"Maeve, wait!"

Through the blood rushing in your ears, you manage to hear Nat's voice. The sound makes you stop in your tracks, though you don't turn to face her. She's running to you from wherever she had been with Bradley, feet heavy on the dirt behind you. She reaches for the back of your arm, pulling herself around and in front of you.

You didn't look up from the ground, but you did throw your injured wrist behind your back, trying to hide the wince at the snap of pain shooting up your arm.

As she took in your face, wiping a smudge of dirt from your cheek, you could hear Bradley's voice from a distance snapping at Jake.

"What the hell, man! You were supposed to talk to her, not..."

"Are you okay?"

Nat's voice cuts off Bradley's, and you lift your eyes to meet hers.

You finally nodded, trying to keep the pain from your voice. "I'm okay. I'm just a little shaken he'd do something like that."

How much she saw, you didn't know. Nor would you let on, like this morning. The last thing you wanted was something else ruining this trip for her. You didn't want to elaborate either. You just wanted to be alone.

Nat took her teeth between her bottom lip, registering the tears on your face and your shaky breath. "Do you want me to tell him off? Cause I'll do it. I'll throw his ass straight into the firepit."

You shook your head, mumbling under your breath, "I'm just going to turn in for the night."

Her eyes tracked your body anxiously. She wanted to press you further, but she didn't know if she really could. You were already on the run from the others when she approached you, and you didn't even laugh when she mentioned Jake, literally on fire.

That would have made you light up in an instant.

"If that's what you want to do. Just... Just get me or Bradley if you need anything, okay? We're here for you."

You nodded quickly, biting down on the edges of your tongue. Nat's eyes lit up in concern before she mouthed an 'okay' and squeezed your shoulder once before letting you go. You didn't say anything else as you turned on your heel and practically ran from her and everyone else, hoping they would leave you be for the rest of the night.

The second you reached your tent, you dove head-first into the small space, desperately trying to hold in the sob crawling its way up the back of your throat. Reaching for the zipper with your good hand, you pressed your wrist to your chest, the slight contact making you hiss sharply. Your entire arm seemed to shake as you managed to pull the tab down to the ground, and you were surprised the teeth managed to connect with the zipper on each wobbly tug.

The second the tent plunged into darkness, you rocked back, landing hard on your butt and finally allowed those tears and haunting cries to escape.

The first one was muffled, the sound just passing through your clenched teeth and closed mouth. You were trying to stifle the surge of anger and helplessness you felt, unable to do anything but hope there wouldn't be any lasting damage from his little 'joke.'

Holding your hand out, you gripped your pulsing wrist with the other, pressing your forehead into your sleeve. Rocking with the waves of pain, your hand was permanently locked into a claw, trying to flex under the surmounting pain and tendons straining under the throbbing ache.

How dare he?! How dare he pull something like that when he knew there was a chance something could have happened to you? He knows damn well how much your career as a paint rode on your wrist, your entire hand?!

A million thoughts surfaced, fighting against one another in your head.

Years of studying, refining your natural talent as your teachers told you, could be gone just like that. All because Jake couldn't help himself. He just had to rile you up. To piss you off. Because any attempt for him to play nice and to come with the other shoulder being dropped.

He would never listen to you. He would never 'like' you. He made that abundantly clear. And suddenly, you felt stupid for thinking a mere few minutes ago that there was a small sliver of hope Jake was capable of change.

Why you even thought he could, even for a second, you'd never know.

There was a slight rustle of leaves outside, and you lifted your head, biting your lip, a slight jolt of anxiousness and fear running through you. It could have been anything outside your tent: an animal, the wind, another person. But as quickly as you heard it, it was gone, and the following silence stretched on, making you believe whatever you had heard was a trick on your ears.

You turned toward your backpack, single-handedly searching for the tiny first aid box inside. In the darkness of your tent, your fingers finally wrapped around its edges, and you pulled it free from being buried under the rest of your things. Another cry rolled its way up your throat as you pinned the lid with your elbow against the ground, working to free the clasps on the box.

The lid popped free, and you dove for the tensor bandage wedged up in the corner, flicking the metal holders loose and bringing the stretchy material up to your mouth. Setting your teeth into the end of the bandage, you spun it out, then took the end that was in your mouth and wrapped it around the bend of your thumb.

You had seen your brother do it enough times, either to yourself or other people. The Doctor in the family who always seemed eager to showcase his talents, the steps seemed to be permanently etched into your mind without your permission. Bunch it here, pull there, and remember to watch the tendon around your thumb.

You'd no sooner seek out Cora or Mickey to help you out, but you doubted anyone would want to put up with your sorry excuse of an ass after today. Or risk the chance of something else happening.

Besides, even you can't fuck this up, your brother would say each time you hurt yourself as a kid, looking down at you and pulling the bandage with a cocky smile.

He would have done it better. He would have done it right. Nobody would have questioned him about it, either.

But your brother faded from your mind as you painstakingly wrapped your hand, hot tears streaming down your face. Each shout at each twitch and stab of pain only seemed to break down your resolve.

Because the one thought going through your mind was clear as day...

Boundary be gone, Seresin. I'm not holding back any longer.

This. Meant. War.

Are we out of the woods yet? 👀

Tag List:

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Taglist Form for those who are interested!

-Lucky/Wickett/Em

Part 4 - One Way or Another - coming soon!

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory: Chapter Twenty

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol 😉, Flirting, Suggestive Language, Insinuated Sex (off page- you horn dogs got enough last week 😂) Smoking, Some mild anxiety, someone 👀 makes some questionable choices, internal monologue moment, and last but certainly not least— piratical themes and English accents are running amuck.

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Charlotte takes advantage of Jake’s schedule and it turns into a very cute evening with them.

Author's Note: Ahhhhhh!! We’re officially in the home stretch, guys 🥹 This weeks chapter is really a treat for all of us 🤭 These two are really so sweet and I’m excited for you to giggle over them with me 🥰 💕

this is how you fall in love - Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler “You are the reason I never think twice, wherever we go, what glitters is gold, You’ll be my best friend until we grow old.”

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It’s beyond me how this man is always awake early when he goes to bed so late. I crawl out of bed and pull a sweatshirt out of his closet. It’s just long enough to cover everything; I forget that he’s not incredibly tall until these moments. 

“There you are,” I let out, walking into the kitchen as he’s making coffee for us. He’s still just in his boxers, a feast for the eyes. Well, mine, at least. Sliding my arms around his waist, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” his voice still slightly husky from sleep. “I was gonna bring this to you– go get back in bed.” 

My face still pressed against him as I giggled, “We can pretend I didn’t ruin the surprise.” He rubs my arm for a second before I force myself to go back into the bedroom. Crawling back into my spot in bed, it’s not long before he comes in, pushing the door shut with his foot. 

“Thank you, baby,” I tell him as I’m stealing my coffee from him. He slides back into bed, pulling my legs over his.  “Mmm, wish we could just do this all day.” Resting my head against him for a second. 

“Hear me out.. We both just quit our jobs,” he says, giggling quietly. 

I look at him, my eyebrow cocked as high as it can go, “You’d never give up the bar, don’t lie.” 

“You’re right, but I also make my schedule so.. I could just not work,” he says. “You, on the other hand.” His side-eye was astronomical as he took a big sip of coffee. 

The last thing I need is for him to realize I’ve been fucking around with my job. 

“How long do you have to be there?” I ask. 

He sets his coffee mug on his nightstand, mumbling, “Josh is closing tonight, so whenever he tells me to leave.” 

“…so we could go out?” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Anything where we can dress cute and not be in YOUR bar,” I smirk, batting my eyelashes at him a bit. 

His little smile creeps onto his face, “Mmmm.. maybe we can grab dinner then?” 

“Ooo, yes!” I can’t contain my excitement, not fully expecting him to agree that easily.  “You don’t mind dressing up with me?” 

He laughs before saying, “I can clean up once in a while.” 

“More handsome than usual? I’ll have to fight the girls off you.” I giggle, handing him my coffee to set on the nightstand for me. 

He turns back to me, pulling me onto his lap. He chuckles to himself, “I don’t think you’ll have to be doing all that,” he leans up to kiss me, mumbling against my lips. “But it’s cute that you would.” 

I lean forward, laying against his chest and tucking my face into his neck; I’ll never get over how cozy he is. He pulls the comforter up to cover me, wrapping his arms around me. Closing my eyes and breathing him in, enjoying the feeling of him gently scratching my back. 

“Maybe you were onto something with quitting our jobs,” I said into him with a laugh. 

Feeling his chest vibrate when he laughs makes my heart flutter a little; I shift, trying to make myself a little more comfortable. My hips pressing into him slightly. 

“Hey you,” his voice low. “I can only control what happens so much if you’re gonna be doing that.” 

I sit up to look at him, fully letting my hips grind into him, “What do you mean?” I quietly ask him, pretending I can’t already tell what’s happening. 

“Char-” 

“Yes, Jake?” I smirk, my hands settling on his stomach, toying with the waistband of his boxers. Watching his eyes flit between mine and my lips as I sit here. “You already know if I start something, I’m more than happy to finish it.”

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Leaving him today proved more difficult than I expected. Granted, deciding to try and just give him head turned into early morning sex. Not that I’m complaining; it was lovely, but it definitely slowed down the getting-out-of-bed process a bit. 

Once I made it back “home,” I found myself rummaging through the clothes I had in the closet. I pulled out a pair of light-wash jeans. I couldn’t tell you the last time I wore regular jeans. The idea finally hit. I pulled out one of my body suits, slipped it on, and looked in the mirror. The neckline is deep; I readjusted it a little so the cleavage looked a little better. 

I sit in front of my mirror, dragging my makeup bag closer. Maybe just a little extra won’t hurt. I pick up my phone, turn on some music, and check my texts before I actually start. 

Jacob: time is going by so slow this is painful   

Me: Oh, are we feeling clingy today? 

I giggle, setting my phone down and starting to work on my makeup. It’s always been a therapeutic thing for me. I’ve never been one to wear a ton of it, but the process of getting ready was always lovely. It’s probably something to do with routine. Nevertheless, even if it’s just me fluffing up my eyebrows and mascara, the few moments with some quiet music always comforted me. 

Mindlessly, I sat there, listening to whatever came on shuffle while intermittently replying to Jacob. I love it when he sends me random thoughts or just wants to have a little conversation when I’m not in his presence. It feels nice having someone just want to talk to you. 

Though, I have been very fortunate since meeting him. After introducing me to Quinn, Willa, and Mel, I suddenly feel less alone. Even if Cass did just recently pass away, and I’m still trying to handle that on my own, it really is lovely just to have a handful of friends who are there to just chat about whatever and giggle like she and I used to. I’ve never been one to have many friends, so having a little group of us now is fun. 

Part of my problem was living so far north; there were just not many people growing up, and unfortunately, my family situation wasn’t necessarily ideal. My sister is thirteen years older than me, so we didn’t have that close sisterly bond that a lot do. We’re more friendly now that we’re both adults, but I wouldn’t have considered her like a friend to me growing up. I spent a lot of my life as a makeshift only child because she moved out when I was six. 

My parents are also quite a bit older and were deep into their careers while I was growing up, which is probably part of why I get too invested in my job. I love them, but it made me grow up a bit faster, and I ended up not having many friends because of it. I didn’t relate to the kids around me, and there were only so many to begin with. 

I had never been more relieved than when I met Cass, and she clung to me, regardless of how annoying I can be sometimes.  

I’m quickly pulled out of my thoughts when I realize my music stopped. Looking over to my phone, oh no. My boss’s name sits across the screen; why right now? I stare at it as it rings, watching it go back to my lock screen, and the music starts playing again; taking a deep breath and continuing to get ready. 

What are you doing? Why wouldn’t you answer it? 

He’ll leave a voicemail, and then, at least, I can figure out what to tell him.

You’re really playing with fire here, Char. 

Once I’m happy with how my lipstick looks, I tend to nitpick it; I grab my phone nervously. Staring at the notification that my boss had indeed left a voicemail, I hesitated to click on it. 

“Hey Charlotte, I was hoping to catch you real quick to chat, but if you could just call me back when you get a second, that would be great. Thanks.” 

The nerves die off a bit after listening, not too bad, okay. He definitely didn’t sound happy, but it could have been worse. It will be worse if you don’t just call him back.  I will just.. Not right now. I sat there staring at my phone for a second before doing the only thing I knew would make me feel better. 

Me: I’m excited to show you my outfit soon 

Jacob: you’re gonna give me a heart attack aren’t you? 

His response made me laugh; it’ll never make sense how he’s never managed to keep a girl around. He truly is such a lovely man; I’ve never had someone make me feel like he does. I’m sure he’s tired of being told how sweet he is, but I don’t know if there’s a better word to describe him. I’ve never met someone like him who wasn’t on the pages of a book I was reading. 

Plugging in my curling iron, I pick up my phone, scrolling through emails to see what I should reply to before I leave—quickly answering some that don’t require much brain power before taking the time to curl my hair. I’ll clock in for a little bit before I go just to see how much I can get through. Plus, he might want a few minutes to change and whatnot anyway.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I spent a while working before I finally left. I definitely didn’t need nearly as much time to get ready as I thought. The drive back to Portland felt like forever, likely because I’m actually excited to be here tonight. I pull out my phone to text him as I walk up the stairs. 

Me: I’m here :) 

Jacob: the doors unlocked 

I sneak into the apartment, and I can hear him shuffling around; why am I nervous to see him? 

The sound of his boots against the wood floor echoes through the space as he comes around the corner. His eyes rake down my body, and I feel warm just seeing him. 

“You look–” he says, grabbing my hands, still fully looking me up and down.  “God, you’re so gorgeous.” Feeling the blood rush into my face. I don’t think I’ll get used to him complimenting me. 

I finally got a full look at him; he was in all black, his button-up hardly even buttoned, with a jacket on top. His black jeans ripped at the knees, with his nicer boots. His necklace sits pretty against his chest; his watch and the few rings he added made my mouth water. 

“You’re pretty handsome yourself,” I tell him, leaning in closer to him. “Glad I get to stare at you all night.” 

“You and me both,” he says, his hands holding my waist. “Are you sure you want to go out? We could just.. stay here..” He gives me a slow, lazy wink as he leans in, pressing his lips against my cheek. 

Running my hands up his chest, fiddling with his necklace, “If I weren’t starving, I’d consider.” 

“So later?”

“With you looking like this,” I giggle, patting his bare chest. “I’m going to say absolutely yes.”

His eyes light up at my answer, and with a smirk, he says, “Well, we should probably head out if you’re starving. Definitely not to get to the other part or anything.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I’d say the best part of him living in the Old Port is that anything we do is typically within walking distance from the bar. It’s not a super common thing in Maine to be able to walk to whatever you want, so it’s definitely a perk of the area. 

He immediately grabbed my hand once we started our walk to grab food, lacing his fingers through mine. I wonder if he’s thinking of this as a date. It’s kind of hard to deny at this point, but we just didn’t say the word. My stomach turns at the thought. Maybe I like him a bit more than I planned, but it’s okay. It’s fine. Right? 

His voice pulls me out of my thoughts when he asks, “Have you been to Pai Mein?” 

“No, Cass and I pretty much only went to bars out here,” I tell him, looking over at him. 

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” he says,  meeting my stare. “Sam convinced me after he talked about it a million times, and unfortunately, he was correct. It's so good.”

I laugh at his disappointment but squeeze his hand a few times, “I’m excited.” 

We spend the rest of the walk quietly pointing out things in the shops we’re passing, and I’m trying to ignore our reflections in the window when we stop for a second to look at something a little closer. However, getting a glimpse of him in his going-out fit just reminds me of how good he looks tonight, and I could just take a bite out of him. 

He pulls open the door to the restaurant, letting me through first. I gently grab his hand as he talks to the hostess. Following behind him to our table, which ended up being towards the back of the small space. He carefully pulled out my chair for me; why was that kinda..? 

We sat quietly for a minute, browsing the menu after ordering our drinks. Everything here sounds good; this is awful. I look up, watching him as he reads through things. It’s hard not to get distracted by him, even when he’s genuinely doing nothing. He fidgets quietly, gently picking at his bottom lip as he reads. Finally, looking up when the server comes back with our drinks to mumble a small ‘thank you.’ 

“It’s cute in here,” I tell him, glancing over at the kitchen which is exposed. 

His lips pull into a soft smile, “I had a feeling you’d like it.” 

It’s only a few minutes until the server is back to take our order, stealing the menus back from us, and now there’s nothing else to look at besides him.

“So, the bar was terrible today, huh?” I tease him.

He leans forward a little before saying, “Awful, actually.” His little giggle followed it, which only made the butterflies worse. 

“Well, at least,” I start, but hesitate when I feel his hand graze the back of my calf. He leans into his other hand, elbow propped up on the table as he lightly runs his hand up and down my leg. I don’t think I realized how close we were until just now. “Um, at least you’re free for the evening.” 

I don’t know what’s worse, the way he touches me constantly or the way he stares at me when I talk. 

“Mhmm,” he hums. “I’d be sitting in my office if you didn’t want to do something, so I appreciate it.”

Of course, he would. “You know you’re allowed to just leave the bar if you don’t need to be there?” 

His hand found its way up to hold my knee, and I snaked my own under the table, playing with the two rings he had on. 

“I don’t even know what else I would do,” he admits. 

I tap the back of his hand a few times, “It sounds like you need a hobby.”

“I could read more,” he says quietly. “Maybe I can actually read one of those books you seem to enjoy so much.” 

The cough just sort of happened, so I grabbed my drink quickly. Oh my god, he would be lethal if he had more ideas on how to be perfect. 

“I definitely meant to bring you one,” I let out a small laugh. “You just have to promise you won’t make fun of me if you hate it.”

“Hun, my favorite movie is a rom-com. You really think I’m going to laugh at you for reading romance?” 

I can feel my face start to turn red, “Yeah, but there’s.. smut.. in them.” 

“Yes, and,” he whispers back. “If anything, it could just benefit you.” 

I clear my throat, “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” 

“Why afraid?” he questions, but thankfully for me, our server walks up with our food in time, so I do not have to explain that to him.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Something about him makes the silence comfortable, in this case, just the silence as I may as well have inhaled my food. Sam is correct– they have incredible ramen. He told me about some things that happened in the bar while he was “trapped” there today– his word, not mine. Mindlessly, I found myself with my foot hooked around his leg until he was done eating, and he quickly dropped his hand down to hold the back of my leg again. 

No matter how many times I’ve witnessed him pay for something, it makes my head spin when he does. Something about him being confident enough not to look at the bill makes me sweat; I think because he’s so quiet and unassuming, it's a little shocking whenever he does something to that degree. 

I followed his lead back outside; he held his hand back for me, and I immediately laced my fingers into his. 

“Should we.. grab drinks? Since we’re already out,” he asks.  

I look over at him; he’s so close. I let out a quiet, “Where are you thinking?” 

“Wherever you want,” he says, tugging me closer. 

“Wait, really?” 

He leans in, leaving a sweet kiss on my lips, mumbling, “Really.”

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We wandered around, finding ourselves in another older bar. Posting up on some barstools towards the end of the bar, we both order drinks. Hearing him order whiskey makes me wish we hadn’t left the apartment. I was a bit surprised when he suggested drinks, and honestly, curiosity got the best of me. 

Watching him actually enjoy himself and have drinks was such a treat for me. I was prepared for him to drink a little too much after meeting him the first time, just owning a bar at a younger age. I’ve been around bar owners enough to know that it’s a slippery slope, and many of them tend to slide down it. 

So, when I realized that he was actually not a big drinker, it was relieving. Obviously, the black-out drunk underage story did clear up some things for me; even if it wasn’t his best moment, it was still precious to see. It’s nice seeing him be a normal person sometimes. 

We sat there sipping on drinks for a while, talking about whatever came to mind. Something about how he speaks, I could just listen to him read the dictionary. Maybe my drink is also starting to kick in. 

He is full of stories about him with his brothers, and their family just seems so fun. The way he laughs during almost every story about them is so adorable; I love that he loves them so much. Sitting here, I notice the pink in his cheeks slowly creeping in. 

After the last couple of weeks, I definitely have noticed little things that he does, whether he’s aware of it or not. He admitted right away to be a physically affectionate kind of person, but I don’t think I anticipated what that meant besides sex, obviously. 

He has a way of just making contact with me– subconsciously. Lightly grabbing my hand or my arm randomly while telling me something. He’ll leave his hand on my thigh while I’m talking, gently scratching or tapping his fingers against me. The little touches are something I wasn’t necessarily prepared for, but now I crave them when I’m around him. 

“I’ll be right back, hun,” he mumbles, kissing the side of my head before scurrying off to the bathroom. I turn to watch him walk off, not that I’m necessarily proud of that, but he looks so fucking good, it’s hard not to. 

After a few minutes, I feel his arms wrap around me, tucking his face into my neck, secretly pressing a few little pecks into my neck.

 “Mmm, hi,” his little mumbles were barely loud enough for me to hear.

“Are you a little tipsy, Jacob?” I ask quietly. 

His smile gave him away, “Who’s to say?” 

“Oh, I think I’m to say,” I giggle. “I was hoping I would get to meet him at some point.” 

His laugh flooded my brain, “Well, eat your heart out, honey.” 

We moved to a little table off in the corner, both of us sitting in the booth seat together. His arm propped up on the back of it as he turned to face me a little, with his drink in the other hand. I can see in his eyes that the alcohol is definitely hitting, and I shouldn’t be as excited as I am for it. 

“So, I know they told you about my failed attempts at dating,” he says, taking a small sip of his drink. “Who has been lucky enough to take you out?” 

My face warms at the thought of admitting that I would usually have never picked someone like him, “Ohhh.. haha, well.” 

“It’s only fair,” his eyebrow raises. I hate that he’s right. 

“Just very clean-cut, shitty finance guys,” I sigh. “They were always just.. boring.” 

He giggles at the comment. 

“Not that my job on paper sounds exhilarating, but–” I try to justify myself a little. 

He chimes in quickly, “No, but the fact you asked for bourbon the first time I met you definitely made me curious.” His voice lowers slightly before asking, “How did you go from clean-cut, boring men to .. us sleeping together?” Oh, what a good question, Jacob. 

“You were just .. so— nice,” I tell him, which isn’t a total lie.  

“Me being nice is all it took? Honey, get higher standards,” he laughs, his eyebrows raised. 

If he only knew that, he is so incredibly far above the standard for men. 

“I mean, you were also so humble,” I start. He deserves to have his ego stroked. Leaning close to his ear to whisper the rest, “I knew the dick had to be good.” 

His hand grips the top of my thigh tighter as he quietly laughs. He turns his face, hovering his lips over my ear when he mumbles, “Bet none of them made you come, huh?” 

“You’d be correct,” I tell him. “And if I did, it was because I took care of it.” 

His eyes drifted from my eyes to my lips, “You deserve better than that.” 

“All I’m gonna say is,” I start, letting out a small laugh. “I don’t want to know how you got so good in bed, but I’m not going to complain.” 

His eyes light up at the subtle compliment, “You think I'm that good?” 

Great. Fantastic. Super. Wonderful. Outstanding. Riveting. Incredible. Deserves a standing ovation. 

“You could say that,” I say before sipping on my drink and watching him pull his lip in with his teeth for a second. The way this man looks at me at any given moment makes me a little nervous, but adding alcohol has only made it worse. 

“Don’t be shy now,” He teases. “You already know the bulk of my past with women, but I’m not afraid to admit that you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.” 

Grabbing his chin, I pull him close, pressing a couple of small kisses against his lips. He tastes like whiskey. The butterflies when I open my eyes quickly, seeing how his eyelashes sit against his cheeks. His expression is so soft; he really is the sweetest boy.

“The feeling is mutual, babe,” I mumble against his lips, feeling the smile before I could see it. His hand rubs my thigh as we sit there with our faces a breath apart. I had never been with someone where I felt like I couldn’t stop myself; something about Jacob was different. So.. maybe I have a bit of a crush on him.. But how could I not?  The cute little smile on his face when I call him ‘babe’ will never get old. 

He’s intoxicating; he has an aura about him that just makes me want to crawl into his skin. Something about him short circuits my brain a lot of the time: the way he looks at me and always seems to want to take care of me– in a few different ways. 

“Are you excited for Wednesday?” I ask, forcing myself to focus on him. 

His eyebrows pull together, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the anniversary of the bar being open, isn’t it?” I start to second guess myself. 

“Oh, yes, it is.” His voice sounded surprised. Running his hand over his face, “Shit, that’s soon.” 

“Quinn mentioned something about it,” I tell him, trying to see how he reacts.

He laughs uncomfortably, “Yeah if there’s ever a celebration, assume they and Josh are behind it.”

Why does he seem nervous? I finally ask quietly, “Do you not want a celebration thing for it?”

“No, it’s okay, I just-” He hesitates a bit. 

“You worked hard; you deserve your moment.”

“I mean–”

“No, you shut up,” I cut him off, poking his chest lightly with a small laugh, “Mr. ‘I-can-hardly-leave-the-bar-without-checking-in-every-two-minutes,’ you deserve the attention.”

He moves closer to me, “I only want your attention.” I could throw up. 

I tap the tip of his nose a few times, “Don’t try to suck up to me right now; this is about you.” 

“Will you be there?” He asks, his eyes flit between my eyes and my mouth. 

“Do you want me there?”

“Mhm,” he nods. 

“I’ll hold your hand if you get nervous.” 

“Mmm, perfect,” He mumbles. “Actually, I’m a bit nervous now if you wanna get a jumpstart,” he pops his eyebrows a few times. 

He holds out his hand for me, sliding mine into it. Nodding his head towards the bar, I follow his lead. With a tight grip on mine, his hand pulled me through people who were getting up to the bar quickly. Ordering more drinks for the two of us, he turns to look at me as we wait; his thumb is rubbing against mine. He hands my drink to me before grabbing his. 

He starts to walk back over to the little table we were sitting at when he stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at me. 

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“It’s Bob Seger!”

I can’t help but laugh at how excited he gets. After a second, I can hear it through the chatter of the bar, the sweet sounds of Bob ringing through yet another bar. He slowly walks backward toward the table, sipping on his drink for a second before the chorus hits.

He pulls our hands close to his mouth as he sings, “And those Hollywood nights, in those Hollywood hills,” pretending my hand is the microphone. I pull him to the side so he won’t trip over a chair in the process, but that doesn’t stop him. He’s adorable. 

“She was looking so right, in her diamonds and frills,” his raspy little voice still going strong. He holds my hand up, spinning me in front of him before pulling me in close. He wraps his other arm carefully around me and sways the two of us together; he can’t be real, my hand still in his as we rock back and forth. His eyes are soft as he looks at me, and I swear, even in the dim lights of this bar, I can see them sparkle. 

“All those big city nights,” he sings next to my ear. “In those high rolling hills.”

Backing into the table we had been at, he spins us around, letting me sit down first. He sets his drink on the table before sitting next to me. I just watch him sing the last lines of the chorus and sing the guitar parts when there are no words left. I love it when he is just.. himself. I could spend forever watching him have fun. 

Once his karaoke moment ends, he sits back against the booth, quietly staring at me with his eyebrows pulled together. 

“What’s going on in there?” I smooth his brow with my thumb. 

“What am I supposed to do next weekend?” He asks, sipping on his drink. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’ll be the holiday weekend, and I assume you will be with your family,” he says, sounding a bit sad. 

Shit, I didn’t even think about that. 

I force out a quick, “Oh, that’s true..” 

“Mhmm,” he lets out a little sigh, “And I’ve been spoiled with seeing you all the time.” His hand ran down the back of my head gently. 

“Ohh,” I taunt. I have to tease him a little, asking, “Is someone going to miss me?” 

He pouts his bottom lip, “I fear I just might.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” I coo; my hand holds the side of his face, running my thumb over his cheekbone as he stares back at me. 

He leans into my hand and sighs, “Mmm, I know.” 

“Well, maybe,” I start, tracing my finger along his jaw. “We can play that little game again while I’m home.” 

“Mmm, what game is that?” His eyes focus more on my lips than my eyes, which honestly is okay with me. 

“You know.. where you tell me all the terrible thoughts in your head,” I whisper, leaning closer to him. “And I’ll send you a photoshoot in all the lingerie that I own.”

“All?” His eyebrows raised. 

I giggle to myself, pressing my lips into his. 

“Mhm. Whatever your heart desires, baby.”

He tucked his face into the crook of my neck, and I could feel how warm he was. He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. 

“Why are you hiding?” I say through a laugh. 

He double pats my leg, mumbling, “You.” 

“Me!?” 

Sitting up a little, he leans close to my ear, “Sometimes you just say things, and I have to fight demons not to let very specific things happen.”

Oh! I guess I do forget that he’s still a man sometimes. I slid my hand over his lap, and a shitty little smirk laced my lips as I did it. He grabbed my hand insanely fast, making me laugh as he looked at me with his eyebrow perked up. 

“Char– I swear,” his voice lowers. “I’d throw you over my shoulder and run out of here if I could stand up right now.” 

I lay my head against his arm that’s propped up on the back of the seat, looking up at him through my lashes, “I wish you would.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After one more drink and Jacob composing himself, I watch him glance at the time on his watch.  His English accent made an appearance, “Shall we head back, darling?”

“I think so,” I giggle at him. He holds out his hand for me, keeping my hand in his as we go up to the bar for him to close his tab. 

He let go of me for all of ten seconds, but watching his hands as he signed the bill, sliding his wallet back into his pocket- my mouth was watering. He can be so smooth sometimes, I think, as he slides his hand back into mine. 

“Ready?” 

I nod quickly, “Lead the way, babes.”

We stumble around giggling, hand in hand, and I can’t get over how silly he is when he’s drunk. The smile on this boy is brighter than the sun. His arm drapes over my shoulders, and I can’t help it when I slide my hand into his. 

He grabs my face, turning my head and leaning in for a kiss or two. Giggling when I ask, “What are we gonna do with this drunken sailor?” 

“Put him in a long boat til’ he’s sober!” 

My jaw drops before the laugh comes out, not anticipating him to sing a sea shanty in the middle of the Old Port. I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised, considering who we are working with here. 

“Now, is that the only option?” I ask– yes, I know the song. 

“Put him in bed with the captain’s daughter,” his sweet voice sings, wiggling his eyebrows at me. 

He’s so cute; I can’t stand him. 

“Let’s stick with the long boat tonight, Sailor,” I grab his hands as he looks at me, “I like calling you ‘Captain’ too much– I don’t wanna ruin that.” 

He pulls one of my hands up, kissing the back of it and then my knuckles, staring at me the entire time; his little grin kills me as he says, “Every time I think I have my sea legs around you, you say some shit like that.” 

Amid our giggles, he pulls out a cigarette, carefully lighting it. Watching him hold it between his lips as he covers the flame with his hand, preventing the wind from messing with it. I shouldn’t enjoy this like I do. I can see him inhale, and how he breathes out the smoke makes my knees weak. Maybe it’s just the alcohol talking. 

His laugh brought me back to earth, “What?” 

“I– um,” I hesitated, looking down quickly, not necessarily sure of how to tell him that I was just drooling over his bad habit. I look back at him as he’s about to inhale again, but as soon as his hand drops back down, I don’t know what came over me. Stepping in front of him, my hands pull his face to mine, breathing him in as we kiss. My lips encouraged him to just.. exhale into me. I feel his smirk against me. 

He mumbles, “I didn’t think you liked.. that.. kind of thing.”

“Me either.”

His eyebrow raises at my response, “Oh?” 

I laugh at myself before finally caving, “You just look so fine when you do; I guess I don’t mind it.” 

“You think so, huh?” he says smugly, his hand pulling me close to him and settling on my lower back. He mumbles, “Here.” Pulling the cigarette back up to his lips, he takes a small drag before leaning in. His lips slightly parted, breathing the small amount of smoke into me, humming a small ‘mmm’ against my lips as he pulled away. I look to the side, breathing out the little bit of smoke left. 

“Um,” sneaks out of me as I look back at him. The cool air makes the tip of his nose a little red, mixing with the alcohol that has his cheeks tinted pink, his eyes practically twinkling in the dim glow of the moon and a distant street lamp. My heart pounds in my chest as we just stare at each other for what feels like an hour, even though it was maybe a few seconds. Maybe.. this is a little more than a crush. 

His hand moved from my back, sliding down my forearm and into my hand, his sweet little voice mumbling, “Come on, honey. Let’s go home.” ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I plop down on the couch, watching him wander around in the kitchen. He finally makes his way over to join me, holding out a glass for me.  

“Trying to keep me drunk, are you?” I ask, taking the glass of what I can only assume is bourbon. 

He giggles as he sits down, “Not drunk, just relaxed.”  

“Mmm, I’m sure,” I raise an eyebrow but still take a sip. “So, what do you guys do for the holiday?” 

He lets out a little sigh, “Well, my parents will be here. They always come up and stay in an Airbnb nearby.” 

“Is that.. bad?” 

“No, not at all. They always get a place big enough so we can all go over and spend the day together,” he says, his tone sounding off. What about that is bothering him? “Sometimes we end up sleeping there; it just depends on how much everyone has to drink or if my mom convinces us to stay there.” He smiles a little, but something just doesn’t seem right about it. Reaching my hand over and running it down the back of his head, playing with a little section of his hair. 

“Is something wrong?” I ask, my eyebrows pulling together as I look at him. 

He sips his drink before answering, “I mean.. no.” 

“Wanna try that again, sailor?” I can’t stop the smirk that grows on my face, and watching him smile back at me made it worth it. 

“I’m just being a little dramatic about it,” he giggles, the most incredible sound I could hear right now. “I know Willa and Quinn are coming this year, and I guess I’m just.. a little bummed about– seventh wheeling.” 

I can’t help but laugh after watching him count in his head to figure it out. I wish I could go with him so he didn’t have to be alone. I mean, I– oh no. 

“Well,” I start. “I will be bored out of my mind with my parents and sister, so I’ll at least bug you throughout the day.”

He turns his head, kissing the palm of my hand before looking back to me, “You’re so sweet. We can be bored together.” I scoot a bit closer to him, letting our legs bump into each other. 

We sit there for a little bit, slowly sipping on our drinks and laughing about random things together. His hand found comfort on my leg, per usual. The fact he put rings on tonight made it hard for me not to want to touch his hands– sitting there twisting them slowly, these need to stay on forever. 

Standing up, he drinks the last of his bourbon and quietly sets his glass in the sink. I watch as he slowly walks off, stopping kind of abruptly once he realizes I’m still sitting here. 

“You comin’, love?” his English accent laid on thick, one eyebrow raised, when he hit me with a wink. My thighs clenched at the sight of it, which he definitely noticed because of that stupid smirk on his face. 

I stand up, wander over to him, and quietly ask, “Where are we going?” 

He leans down, scooping me up in his arms, bridal style, which makes us both laugh, as he starts walking to his room.  

“The real question,” he starts. I hate that the accent is kind of hot. “What do you want to do with this drunken sailor?”  

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty-One

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[vanisnotreal]

Love 119

AGHHHH my first fic is finally here!!! I suck with grammar and I'm also half asleep rn but I wanted to post this. Plz, let me know if you wanna see more fics like this or something different. thank you for reading <3 - van

wc: 820

You were counting down the minutes till your last class ended. It was the last day before the long-awaited holiday break, and you could not wait. The combination of several all-nighters and the massive amount of projects and assignments your professors threw at you at the last minute before the break made you exhausted. “Alright guys, I can see the overwhelmingly tired and bored faces of all of you. I'll end class early as a gift.” You didn't even wait until the professor finished his sentence as you started packing your belongings. Luckily, it was a short walk from the campus to your bus stop. Opening your phone, you saw a text from your girlfriend. “Look over ;)” You looked to your right, seeing Bada smiling and waving at you. You rushed over to her, embracing her. You felt her chest vibrate as she giggled. “I missed you too babe”. Moving your head from her chest to look up into your girlfriend's memorizing eyes. “Can we please go home? I know I said we should go out shopping, but I'm just-” Bada unexpectedly cut you off with a kiss. “Shh babe it's okay, I was going to suggest we just watch a movie and chill at home for the rest of the day,” she said as she led you to her car parked on the side of the road.

She took your bag, opened the door for you, and closed it after verifying that you were in there safely. Bada had always treated you like a princess since the day you had met. You had first locked eyes with Bada during a dance class hosted at Just Jerk that your friend had convinced you to come along to. You were not a good or experienced dancer, but your friend had suggested a fun way to spend a free day. Your eyes instantly locked onto Bada’s tall and lean form in the middle of the studio. Ever since that day, you have enjoyed attending the dance classes. Bada had noticed you spacing out as she had started driving. She glanced over to the right, staring at a face concentrated in thought. “ What are you thinking about?” Bada said, pulling you out of your thoughts. You turned to face your girlfriend, giving her a little smile, “Oh, it's not important.” You said, hiding your true thoughts. Bada hums and continues driving back to their shared apartment. You both enjoyed the silence that enveloped the car, music lightly playing on the radio. Bada parked and came running over to the passenger door to open it for her. You giggled at the action she had continued to do since your first date. After insisting that you carry your bag upstairs, you and Bada made your way to the apartment. Sighing as you kick your shoes off by the door, desperately waiting to sink into your bed. “Go, shower Babe, I’ll make us dinner,” Bada says as she makes her way into the kitchen. “No, you know I always cook no matter how tired I am,” you say trailing behind her. “Nuh uh, not tonight you need to rest”“When was the last time you got 8 hours of sleep?” she said, turning to face your pouting face. “Hey, that doesn't matter” “Yes it does, now go shower love, please,” Bada says as she pushes you up the steps. You finally caved in and continued walking upstairs to the bathroom. After your much-needed shower, you changed into one of the many pairs of matching pajamas you and Bada had collected over the years. This pair was covered in bears due to your extreme persuasion towards Bada, which didn't take that much considering she was head over heels for you.

You silently tiptoed down the steps as you heard music faintly playing from the kitchen. Getting closer to the kitchen, you heard Bada’s soft hums. You smiled as you saw her softly dancing around the kitchen. You snuck up on her and wrapped your arms around her, snuggling into her side. “How was your bath?” she questioned, turning to face you. “It was nice” you respond with your face on her chest. “Let's eat and get your sleepyhead to bed, okay”. You mutter an agreement before grabbing a drink and sitting down at the table as Bada has already sat on your plate. After finishing your dinner, you and Bada sat together on the couch enjoying each other’s presence. Your eyes drifted off to the window to see snow falling from the sky. “Bada look,” you say excitedly, pushing her shoulder. Her eyes followed yours to the open window. “You are so cute,” she said, turning back to see your shocked face. “I love you,” your girlfriend said, pulling you into her tight embrace. You began to playfully bicker with her as she was blocking your view of the snow, laughter filling your cozy apartment with life.

[hannahssimblr]

A sliver of light hovers above the horizon. A glow, hardly even there, rests atop the sea as waves drag rounded pebbles along the shore with a soft shh. I can’t sleep. I crawled out of bed after three and walked straight to the water's edge without shoes, to find the sand cool and white beneath the glow of the quarter moon. I sit watching the sun graze the bottom of the sky like paint bleeding onto tissue. 

Sleep evades me sometimes for reasons I cannot explain. Insomnia arrives like this. It's like all those intense feelings and urges in my body. I can't verbalise them. I sit in boxer shorts and a hoodie on this final spit of beach before the coast turns to a cliff, and try to think of some poignant reason for my lack of sleep, only to come up with everything. There are a million reasons why. All the time, all at once, but then why only sometimes? And why tonight in particular?

Sometime around four, I change into a pair of shorts and run the length of the beach as the sun rises, pushing myself until sweat rolls from my body and there is fire in my lungs. I return to my end of the beach on shaky legs and take my clothes off, all of them, because the beach house is quiet and nobody is watching. Then I wade into the sea and float there with the waves lapping under my chin until the early birds sing and my hands and feet go numb. 

After a shower I collapse on my bed and sleep until close to midday, when I wake up to an empty house, starving, and with no food in the fridge. There is a message on my phone from Jen. 

Good morning lazy bones  Gone to the tennis court and then we’ll be on the beach, probably  See you around later? 

I forage the cupboards for something, but by the looks of it, the last of the food has been ravaged by the others, leaving nothing behind but crumbs and dirty plates, stacked up in the sink as usual. Someone should clean that eventually. 

When I locate my wallet among the random books and electronics heaped on the kitchen table, I zip open the coin pocket to find just a twenty-cent piece and a few useless coppers. I used the last of the money on my debit card at the petrol station yesterday. I know because I tried to buy some snacks and the only thing I could afford was cherry cola Tic Tacs which were rationed out between the three of us. I swear under my breath and call my dad. 

He’s already pissed off when he picks up. 

“Jude, what is it? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I need more money.”

“Already? What are you doing down there? I bet you’re putting it all into those stupid arcade machines, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m eighteen years old. I’m not doing that.” I’m also banned from the arcade, which he should know after the interminable speech he gave me about decorum and respect in the aftermath. 

“I put five hundred euros on that card.”

“Yeah, I dunno, I used it.”

“It was supposed to last the entire summer.”

I sigh, “It didn’t.” As he’s ranting in my right ear, I begin to wonder what I really did do with all the money. I suppose there was all of the alcohol, the takeaways, the junk food, that PlayStation game I bought, and the earphones for my iPod since I was careless with my old ones on the beach. Oh yeah, and I bought those running shoes too. I suppose that wasn’t a necessary purchase, I just wanted them.

Yesterday I bought everything for Jen and Evie, all of their tickets, food and drinks… I have a vague, passing thought that I might not be very good at managing money and that maybe I should have done accounting or something at school like my mom suggested instead of randomly choosing geography. I’m also aware that it’s completely fine. Once Christopher has finished going on about it he’ll simply send more. We just have to go through this charade first.

I wait for a gap in his mad diatribe and say casually, “So can you send me some?”

There’s a clatter in the background and I imagine him tossing his little weighty engraved silver pen across his desk. He grits his teeth, “What do you need?”

“I dunno, another few hundred. I want to book tickets to this festival in August, too, I think they’re, like, two-fifty, so.”

“A festival?” He really doesn't need to act like we’re discussing satanic rituals, but I continue as though I'm talking to a normal man. 

“Yeah, I want to enjoy my last summer in Ireland and all that.”

He makes some flabbergasted sound in response, which is obviously stupid because he has all the money in the world, and this whole thing is an exercise in control and power.

“So, a thousand?” I venture, resting my phone on my shoulder so I can pick some dirt out from under my nails. 

“Yes. Later.”

“No, I need it now, there’s no food in the house and I’m hungry.”

He taps furiously on the keyboard of his computer, “Fine.”

“Hm?”

“Fine. I said fine. I’m transferring it.”

“Thanks.”

The line goes dead. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden pt.4

(Cersei x Fem Reader x Jaime. Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

WARNING: IMPLIED SA and Physical Abuse

The journey from that point was infinitely more pleasant. Not only because of the infinitely improved dynamic between yourself, your mistress, and her brother, but also because you'd finally mastered the basics of riding on your own.

"Ride by me today" Jaime advised you, acutely aware of the mounting tension between yourself and Clegane. "Sometimes it best to just steer clear of men like him"

It was stretching the bounds of protocol, a handmaid riding this close to the leader of the goldcloaks and member of the royal family, but you knew no one would question it if the queen approved.

It had been almost 3 weeks since you departed Kings Landing, and Winterfell was only a few days away by now. The North was beautiful country, much more sparsely populated than The South, and the inns grew farther and fewer between.

Some nights you camped out off the road and some nights you rode straight through without sleep.

By the final inn before reaching Winterfell, you were eager for sleep. You ate with the other servants in the dining hall that had been cleared for the royal party, but keep glancing up at the head table, constantly gauging if you were needed.

The king had been drinking far too much, growing loud and boisterous in a way that clearly embarrassed the queen, who took long drinks from her goblet with a deep frown.

When Cersei left the high table, you rose to follow her quickly.

"Shall l draw a bath, your grace?" You asked, knowing a hot bath was one of the best ways for you mistress to relax.

"No" she said shortly, "Just help me undress, we will be sleeping early tonight."

"Surely, Your Garce" you fumbled with the silken scarves and gown, more catching than undressing as her stripped with haste.

"Lock the door" she snapped. "Firmly"

You obeyed cooly, trying to maintain calm in the face of the Queen's obvious frustration.

You passed the evening in silence, the queen switching between pacing and sitting on the bed until the sun sank and the sky went black.

Before long, there was a heavy shuffling outside the door. It sounded as if someone was pressing their weight against the wall for support as they stumbled down the hall. Cersei stiffened and eyed the door cautiously.

"Your Grace?"

"Be quiet" she snapped in a harsh whisper.

The footsteps stopped outside the door and the door handle tried to turn, stopping firmly against the lock. There was another, harder turn followed by a violent jerking of the door against its hinges.

For a moment there was a heavy, tense silence before the room was full of the sound of cracking wood and squealing metal. You screamed at first, stumbling back in fear as King Robert ruefully examined the damage.

"Is that any kind of welcome for your king?" He rumbled, slurring his words.

"You're drunk" Cersei growled lowly. "Leave my room"

"No" Robert stumbled over to where she sat, leaning against whatever was available to steady himself. "Tonight, I will be with my wife"

You stared with large, frightened eyes at the exchange, but Cersei looked more annoyed than frightened.

"No, You've had too much too drink, there would be no point"

"You!" He wagged a sausage like finger in her direction "are my wife, and you will do a your King commands!"

Cersei looked him up and down a moment with disapproving eyes. "Y/N, leave us"

"But Your Grace!"

Her sharp green eyes flashed at you, "Did I say stand there and talk back? No, I said *Go*"

"Oh, let her stay if she wants" Robert half laughed, "Don't think I don't know you've been showing her your favors already"

Cersei drew in a long breath. "Out. Now"

You hesitated a moment before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind you.

To your surprise, you found Jaime stationed outside the door, face grim as a funeral. You stared at each other a moment before he sighed.

"This doesn't happen very often, not like it used to anyway" he assured you.

You frowned deeply, "It's not right"

"No" Jaime agreed, "it's not."

You waited dutifully beside him, trying to block out the sounds emanating from within the room. It did not last long, maybe 10 minutes.

When it was over, Robert came bumbling out and down the hall, not even noticing you or Jaime watching him go.

"Y/N" the voice that crawled it's way through the door was laced with venom. "Come. Here"

You swallowed hard but peered into the room before entering. Cersei was still clothed but her robe was rumpled, her golden locks a tousled mess in the back. Her face was drawn in tight, angry lines

"Your Grace."

Your head whipped to the side sharply, and then to the other side just as hard. Cercei's ringed fingers left red welts and small cuts across your cheeks as you began to tremble.

"Don't you *ever*, in your pathetic life, question me again." She grabbed a handful of your hair and shook you. The yelp you let out prompted Jaime to enter and blanched at the sight.

"I ought to have you lashed for your insolence, do you hear me?!"

"Yes, your grace." You sobbed, feeling some of the hairs at the back of your head begin to pull out of you scalp. "I'm so sorry, please I beg your forgiveness"

"Beg all you like." Cersei dropped you and watched as you scrambled backwards. "I want you out, I don't want to see your face or hear you voice until we reach Winterfell. Do you hear me?!"

You nodded in silence, fumbling to get to your feet and flee before you could face worse punishment.

Jaime watched you go with a blank expression before turning back to Cersei.

"That wasn't very nice."

"Shut up"

Jaime sighed, "it wasn't her fault, you know. She just didn't want to leave you alone."

"What she wants" Cersei growled. "Is irrelevant. She is here to serve *me* and obey *me*. If she can't do that, what is she good for?"

Jaime pulled an amused face and looked back at the door you fled through "I can think of a few things"

"Fine" Cersei spat at him, "take the little whore into your bed for the night, see if I care."

Meanwhile, in your flight you found yourself by the stables once again. You all but collapsed into an empty stall, trying to catch your breath and slow your racing thoughts.

She didn't mean that

Yes, yes she did. It was clear as the nose on her face.

No

You sobbed into your knees, hoping the hay you sat on would swallow you whole.

Jaime wandered out into the night, knowing better than to call out your name but at a loss wear to look first.

He followed the torch light from the stable and found Sandor Clegane sitting on a bench in front of one of the stall doors, sharpening his sword.

"Clegane" he called, "have you seen-?"

Clegane flashed him a look and raise a finger to his lips, jerking his head at the stall behind him.

Jaime peered over the door as he got closer and saw your curled up tightly in the straw, face still damp with tears.

"Cried herself out." Clegane grumbled. "Stupid girl didn't have the sense not to fall asleep where anyone could find her."

"I'll take her in" Jaime shook his head but Clegane jammed his foot again the stall door as the knight tried to open it.

"Why don't you just leave her be?" The Hound growled. "The both of you."

"What exactly are you implying?" Jaime jutted his jaw in indignation and The Hound stood up, towering over him.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He pushed but didn't elaborate further.

Jaime considered this a moment and smirked coldly. "Fine then. A good night to you both"

Clegane watched him go before sitting back down and returning to his blade, keeping a careful eye on each person who walked past the stable.

At dawn you rose when the sky was still grey and the sun was engulfed in clouds. A few souls stirred in the chilled morning air and you assessed where exactly you were. In a horse stall, thankfully a clean one.

A deep growl of a yawn pulled your attention and you sucked in a breath. Sandor Clegane had fallen asleep with his chin tucked into his chest, hand still wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

He blinked a moment, scanning this ground with his eyes before glancing at you and frowning.

"What kind of stupid girl falls a sleep out in the open like that?" Were the first words out of his mouth.

You flushed with embarrassment, both that he had found you and because he'd say up making sure no one else did.

"Thank you, ser"

"I'm not a ser, don't call me that" he yawned again, "Come here"

You stepped forward and flinched as he grasped your chin, running a thumb over your purplish swollen skin. The cuts had scabbed over but a few looked red and angry.

"I've seen worse" he sniffed "make yourself useful and fetch me some water will you?"

You moved to go but paused, replaying the events of last night in your mind.

"What is it?" Sandor rolled his eyes as you turned back to him.

"I- I think I got sacked last night" you said blankly. "I think the queen might have dismissed me?"

Sandor shrugged. "Good, that means you can help get the horses set."

You gaped at him a moment and he gave an exasperated sigh.

"Come on, if you're going to ride a horse you should know how to saddle one"

[metallicaislife]

The Exorcist

A/N: Second request done! I had some time on my trip to get these written out and posted :)

Requested by: @dallysnecklace

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 799

Warnings: swearing

I was counting down the minutes until I could clock out. Tonight, my boyfriend's band mates, who are also his roommates, are going out, leaving the house, namely the television for Kirk and I to enjoy by ourselves. 

“What are you doing tonight?” My coworker asked. 

“My boyfriend and I are going to eat junk and watch the Exorcist.” I beamed. She rolled her eyes at me.

“Girl, you’re lucky you ended up with someone who loves that creepy shit as much as you do.”  

“Oh believe me, I know!” I grinned. 

I clocked out and grabbed my bag. I went straight  to Kirk’s walking in without knocking. I found him in the kitchen popping some Jiffy Pop on the stove. 

“Hi, baby.” He greeted, smiling wide. 

“Hey, bub.” I grinned and walked over giving him a short kiss. 

“This is the last of the snacks, I got the chips, candy and drinks out on the coffee table already.” He said. 

“Perfect, is there anything I can do to help?” I offered.

“Nope. Just go get comfy and we can start our movie.” He turned his attention back to the popcorn so as to not burn it. 

I went to his room, placed my bag on his bed and raided his closet. I found a comfy T-shirt and snagged a pair of his boxers. I changed quickly and went to the living room. Kirk was in front of the TV putting the VHS in. 

I plopped down on the couch pulling one of the blankets over my lap. Kirk turned, he turned the lights off then walked towards the couch, I lifted the blanket and he settled in next to me. We began munching on the snacks as we snuggled close. 

The movie began and we watched intently. It wasn’t too bad then we got about half way through. Then I started tensing up, as I grew more and more freaked out. 

“Are you scared?” Kirk laughed softly, I remained silent. 

“You can watch zombies eat people but the girl throwing up is a little too much?” He teased me. I looked over at him and his smile dropped as he noticed the tears in my eyes. He immediately stopped the film and flicked on the lights sitting back next to me. He took my hands in his. 

“Baby, I was just teasing, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He said as he stroked my hands softly with his thumbs. 

“It wasn’t you.” I sniffed, “I’m sorry, the movie just freaked me out.” 

“No need to apologize.” He said, “come here.” He laid down and pulled me on top of him, he grabbed the blanket to cover us. I curled up on his chest and he rubbed my back in soothing circles. 

“I can do slashers, monsters, psychological thrillers, and ghosts. Apparently demons are off the table.” I murmured. 

“That’s fine, baby. We can stick to the classics and those genres.” Kirk reassured me. He continued rubbing my back comfortingly. “Do you want me to put another movie on?” He asked. I shook my head tiredly. 

“Tell me about your day.” I asked. 

Kirk began telling me about what he was up to, and before I knew it I was lulled to sleep in his warm embrace. 

“Lars, go grab the camera!” 

My eyes slowly opened and I spotted the source of the voice. James had a shit eating grin. 

“You’ve got a little.” He started and tapped the side of his mouth. I brought my hand to my mouth and wiped the drool. I looked down and noticed I had drooled a little bit on Kirk. I blushed and hid my face in his chest. Kirk groaned as he shifted a little bit. 

“We leave you for one night and you don’t eat a decent meal and fall asleep on the couch! You could’ve at least gone to Kirk’s room. Now where am I gonna sit?” Cliff teased. Lars popped back into the living room with the camera in hand. 

“Aw man you woke them! Now I won’t get the perfect shot of Y/N drooling on Kirk.” He pouted. 

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Kirk sat up as well. 

“It’s too early for your teasing.” Kirk said as he stood up. He held out his hand for me to take. 

“Oh, Kirk, it’s never too early to tease you.” Cliff grinned. Kirk flipped the guys off and led me to his room. We crawled into bed and cuddled as comfortably as we had the night before. 

“Damn it they're in a different position.” Lars complained at the doorway. 

“Fuck off Lars!” Kirk called and pulled the blankets over our heads. He kissed my forehead softly, then we quickly drifted back into a peaceful slumber.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

illicit affairs | twenty four

*Ellie's POV* (we'll get Noah's pov back soon I promise lol) The next couple days flew by for us, I felt like we were busy every waking moment. The boys came back a day early due to wildfire warnings up north, so I had to send them out on a mission to get air mattresses for everyone since our guest beds wouldn’t arrive for a couple weeks. The boys were also kind enough to keep Liam busy while Noah and I finished unpacking and visited Ikea more than I care to admit.

Liam loved the house, thankfully. I had my doubts because he sometimes has a hard time with change but he's adapted so well to everything. He spent most of his time in the pool, mostly with Folio, who didn’t seem to mind at all. They both had so much fun together. I’m just so relieved all of Noah’s friends treat Liam the way they do, and that he likes them just as much.

Tonight was the housewarming party, and I was far from thrilled to be outnumbered by fifteen boys. I guess some of guys from previous tours were coming up today as well. Who? I had no idea. Ruffilo flew in last night with Steven and Josh… Matt was supposed to be here at some point today too. I was over stressing about it because it was so fucking petty at this point, considering he had my number blocked. If he hated me, fine. I’d stay out of his way and if not… I deserved an explanation for being blocked. After dropping Liam off at Tyler’s I headed back home and went back to bed. I had been so exhausted this entire week and it was finally catching up to me. I had spent all last night cleaning and setting everything up the best I could to host a party. I just needed to grab food and booze, but that can wait a couple more hours. It was around 1pm when my eyes flickered open. The house was quiet but I heard voices outside, and I heard one I haven’t heard in months.

I ran over to my window and peered outside, I saw some of the boys from Erra, Devin and Kooter from I see stars were here talking with everyone, but there was no sign of Matt. Am I that sleep deprived that I’m hearing voices? I threw on some biker shorts and one of my million Bad Omens t-shirts before heading into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. I threw my glasses on and as soon as I could see, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Holy shit.

“H…Hi.” He met my gaze as he stood in the kitchen, not looking happy to see me in the slightest. He looked the same, maybe a little bit more tanned from the summer heat but that was it. I felt a lump form in the back of my throat, I never realized how much I missed him until now. I didn’t want him back, I just missed being around him and being his best friend. Neither of us were moving, his eyes were locked on me to the point I started to feel uneasy. My lips parted to say something else but he just walked past me without a single word.

“You can’t avoid me forever.” I spat out while he was still in ear shot. 

“Watch me.” 

Rolling my eyes, I quickly made myself some coffee before heading outside to say hi to the boys. They were all sitting around the pool, some of them were already in there to beat the heat. Every time I turned around, someone new arrived. Michael from Chief even came up which was a nice surprise. Him and Noah were so close so it was nice to see him come up to support us. Jesse and Clint hugged me before I made my way over to Noah who was sitting with Ruffilo, Davis and Jolly.

“Hey, El did you not get the memo?” Folio asked me as he walked past me with a coffee, my eyebrow raised at him, “no girls allowed.” “Yeah, go away.” 

Noah shook his head, a small smirk appeared on his face as he walked over to me, “settle down guys.” “Let me remind you that I’m feeding you guys and giving you free booze later.” Noah motioned for me to walk away with him. As soon as we were out of ear shot of the boys he kissed me, his hands gripping into my sides like he hasn’t seen me in days.  “Someone was tired today.” “I guess everything hit me finally.” I replied before taking a small sip of my coffee. “It’s okay honey, you’ve worked really hard this week.” He beamed, kissing me again. We both held our breath as Matt walked passed us, taking Noah’s spot with the guys, “I’m also sorry at how fucking forgetful I’ve been because I was going to warn you Matt was here.” “I’m okay, Noah. It had to happen eventually.” I assured him, catching myself kissing him again. I could feel Matt’s eyes burning a hole through me and I grew uncomfortable. “I’m gonna head to Costco and the liquor store after I have a shower.” “Perfect, can you take Folio with you?” I rolled my eyes, “here I thought I was going to have a kid free day.” “I love you too.” Noah chuckled, kissing me again before heading back over to the guys. “Folio be ready in an hour, we’re going on a field trip.” I went back inside, sighing heavily because Matt has annoyed me already. Why did he bother coming up here if he’s just going to ignore me but stare at me the entire time? Tonight was going to be interesting. 

“Are you okay with everything at the house?” I looked over at Folio as we stood in Costco trying to decide on chip flavours to get. I thought I had let it go, but he picked up on it quickly because I was so silent the entire car ride here. Folio had a way with reading people, and he could read me like a book. 

“Earlier, he was in the kitchen and I went to talk to him but he just walked past me.” I started, “I said to him that he couldn’t avoid me and he said ‘watch me.’ I just don’t understand why he would come all this way to act this stupid.” “That’s Matt for you, unfortunately.” Folio sighed as he grabbed a bag of Doritos and tossed them into the cart. “He’s fucking petty about every little thing. Just don’t play into it.” “I don’t plan to but if he starts anything I’ll happily remind him he’s at my house warming party with you know, my boyfriend.” “fuck, you’re not any better.” He chuckled, "this should be a fun night.” “You’re telling me.”